STAR TREK and Me (a repost)

Today is the 58th anniversary of Star Trek‘s first appearance on teevee. On this date in 1966, an episode called “The Man Trap” of a new science-fiction show aired, and I guess that at the time this seemed like just another airing of some new show. New shows arrive every year, most of which are completely forgotten eventually…but somehow that particular new show made enough of an impact that it lives on as a huge franchise, over half a century later. Most of the people involved with making that very first episode are gone now…but their memory endures through the legacy of this great show. This is a post that I wrote on my old blog for the occasion of Star Trek‘s fiftieth anniversary, and it seems that I am now posting it on a yearly basis. Happy birthday, Star Trek!

And you people, you’re all astronauts on…some kind of star trek?

–Zefram Cochrane, Star Trek First Contact

Wow. Star Trek made its official US debut fifty years ago today. That’s…amazing. (The show aired for the first time anywhere on September 6, 1966, in Canada.)

Star Trek came and went and was already in syndication when I was born, but my sister loved it, so I quite literally do not remember a time when Star Trek wasn’t a thing. One of my earliest teevee memories is, in fact, the brief bit at the end of the episode “Friday’s Child”, when Dr. McCoy is saying “Oochie woochie coochie coo” to a newborn baby, to Spock’s great confusion.

It’s often taken as an article of faith in the geek universe that one is either a Star Wars fan or a Star Trek fan, and I can kind of see why. It’s a Yankees-Red Sox kind of thing, I suppose. Or Bears-Packers. But for me, it’s complicated. I have to be honest: push me to answer, hold a gun to my head, and I will almost certainly choose Star Wars. But the margin of victory is not large, and in truth, there’s no way I’m the writer I am now without both of them.

“Let me help.” A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He’ll recommend those three words even over “I love you.”

–James T. Kirk, “The City on the Edge of Forever”

Star Trek shaped my view, in a lot of ways, of what the future can and should be. It should be a time when humans are not afraid to explore the universe and, in fact, do so with enthusiasm. It should be a time when the diversity of humanity should be celebrated and not resisted. It should be a time when beautiful ships fly the stars, instead of rusting dingy hulks. It should be a time of wonderful cities, not dystopic nightmares. It should not be a time of universal peace without conflict, because that’s almost certainly impossible, but it should be a time when we approach conflict from a much more mature standpoint than we do now.

Of course, when I was a kid, Star Trek was none of that. It was just a show about nifty adventures in space, a way for me to scratch that particular itch in the years between releases of Star Wars movies. It didn’t ever occur to me back then that I was supposed to like one over the other; they were different things, and I liked ‘em both. If Star Wars hit me like a bolt from the blue, Star Trek was the thing that was there, day in and day out. Star Trek was what was on during the afternoon hours after school. I’d get home and watch it and thrill to the adventures of Captain Kirk and crew on the black-and-white teevee set I had in my room. This was before the Internet, obviously, and I didn’t have any access to an episode guide, so the only way to learn the episodes was to watch and watch and rewatch them as they came. I got pretty good at recognizing the episodes by sight, usually within seconds. (Often I had to wait until the first shot after the obligatory opening shot of the Enterprise.)

I don’t know if the station had some kind of plan for airing the episodes in any particular order, but I recall that you could go upwards of a year without seeing “Mirror, Mirror” or “The Trouble with Tribbles”, but other episodes – “The Return of the Archons”, “Errand of Mercy” – would show up more frequently. A certain “This one again?!” factor crept in at times, especially with some of the crappier episodes. (I can live the rest of my life to a rich old age and never watch “The Alternative Factor” again.) But the great episodes? Those live on forever. I still laugh at “The Trouble with Tribbles”, and I live for a moment when someone near me uses the phrase “storage compartments”, so I can respond as Kirk does: “STORAGE compartments? STORAGE compartments?!” And I still feel that sense of doom slowly unfolding as “The City on the Edge of Forever” spins its tale, toward the awful moment when, in order to fix history after it has been changed, James Kirk must stand and watch as a 20th century woman with whom he has fallen in love is killed.

MCCOY: You deliberately stopped me, Jim! I could have saved her. Do you know what you just did?

SPOCK: He knows, Doctor. He knows.

–”The City on the Edge of Forever”

As a kid, I attended two Star Trek conventions with my older sister – or at least, one Trek convention and one general sci-fi convention. At the latter, “The Trouble with Tribbles” was aired, followed by 2001: A Space Odyssey. Those were fun. George Takei was the guest of honor at the first one, in 1977 or 1978. I was in first grade at the time. I remember Takei wearing a gleaming white suit. (Peter Mayhew was guest at the next one.)

I eventually lost track of daily Star Trek reruns by the mid-1980s, but also by this point, the movies were a thing. I remember being terribly excited for The Motion Picture, and even though I didn’t quite understand all of the plot, I have never – not once – disliked that often-maligned film. I recall being mildly disappointed that the Enterprise never fires its phasers once in that film, and in fact it only dispatches a single photon torpedo, and that’s at an errant asteroid that’s about to collide with the Great Bird. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think The Motion Picture is the first real science fiction story I saw on the big screen that wasn’t about a galactic war or some other action-based adventure. I wasn’t thinking in those terms, but yes, the movie primed that particular pump.

I liked all of the movies that came, and I saw every one in the theater over the next decade. This was an odd time for Trek, when a movie every couple of years was all there was. Sure, every once in a while there would be a tidbit in Starlog (the late, great SF fandom magazine) about how somebody somewhere wanted to make a new Trek teevee series, but it never amounted to much until we learned that we were finally getting The Next Generation. This was for several reasons, not the least of which was that Paramount wanted to keep making money off Trek but the original cast was starting to show its age.

Through the 1980s, as Star Wars seemed to fade away, Trek was still there, churning out a movie every couple of years and then a new teevee show. That’s what Trek always was for me. It didn’t fuel my imagination in quite the same way that Star Wars has always moved me at a very basic level of storytelling taste, but Trek has always been around. Always, always there. In fact, it was always there to such an extent that in the late 1990s, I started letting Trek go…but I’m getting ahead. During this time I read a number of Trek novels, and there was a fanzine called Trek that would annually publish a paperback book filled with its best articles. These I read with zeal, and I’ve lately started regathering them all via eBay. Maybe this winter I’ll spend some time reliving some fine old fan writing.

I loved The Next Generation, and watching it religiously formed a tradition in college among my mates and I. TNG aired reruns every weeknight, and the new episodes ran every Sunday night after the 10:00 news. That station even went so far, as TNG’s popularity grew, of including a very brief astronomy segment in its 10:00 Sunday newscast – “Tonight you can see Mars in the eastern sky!”, that sort of thing – complete with an Enterprise fly-by animation. And then, in our senior year, the next show, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, arrived. That premiere was an event, and I still think that premiere was an amazing episode.

Never trust ale from a god-fearing people, or a Starfleet Commander that has one of your relatives in jail.

–Quark, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

It took a little while for TNG to really get going, but once the writers had the chemistry down, the show was more than ready to carry on the Trek tradition, with many a fine and thought-provoking story, about love and loss and what it means to be human even as we take to the stars.

If you can’t take a little bloody nose, maybe you ought to go back home and crawl under your bed. It’s not safe out here. It’s wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. But it’s not for the timid.

–Q, Star Trek: The Next Generation

And still the movies came. The Wrath of Khan and The Search for Spock, which I saw with school friends. The Voyage Home, with its goofy and infectious joy. Even the much-maligned (and mostly deservedly so) The Final Frontier had its charms for me. That poor movie may have failed, but I really give it credit for trying to be about something.

The Undiscovered Country came along in 1991, when TNG had hit its stride. We saw it in the theater the night it opened, which happened to be the same night as our annual Christmas concert performance at a big church in Cedar Falls, IA. We did the concert, quickly changed clothes, and bolted down the street to catch the show. I loved that movie, and in fact, to this day Star Trek VI is my favorite Trek film. I remember a lump in my throat at the closing scene, which boiled down to just the classic crew onscreen (minus Sulu, who finally got his promotion to Captain and got to fly away on his own ship, the Excelsior), followed by the animated signatures of the original cast. Their time was done. (Although, in classic Trek and science fiction fashion, not quite.)

CHEKOV: Course heading, Captain?

KIRK: (smiles) Second star to the right…and straight on ‘til morning.

Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

College ended and the real world began, and there was still Star Trek, even as Star Wars started making rumblings again. The TNG crew graduated to movies, and DS9 soared in quality. Another series began, Voyager…which is when I started to lose a bit of energy with respect to Trek. For one thing, I had a lot of other interests by this time, but for another, it was pretty clear as Voyager got going that the creative folks behind Trek were starting to lose steam. I stopped watching Voyager about the fourth season, and the next series? Well, to this day, I have never watched a single episode of Enterprise.

But now Trek is coming back. Three new movies, with varying degrees of success. A new series on the way, reimagined to seasons of thirteen episodes each. The Trek continues. (I haven’t seen Star Trek Beyond yet. It came and went from the theaters too quickly this summer, and it came out during our busiest time of the summer as well, so I simply was never able to squeeze it in. Beyond and Nemesis are, to date, the only Trek films I did not see in the theaters.) Will Trek eventually reach similar heights again? Are there more stories in the offing to match tales like “The Devil in the Dark,” “The Doomsday Machine,” “A Piece of the Action,” “The Best of Both Worlds,” “Yesterday’s Enterprise,” “Tapestry,” “The Visitor”? Who knows…but I look forward to finding out.

Star Trek is, was, and has been many things. It will continue to be many things, too. I don’t know that I’ll ever have the same old investment in it that I did in the late 70s and through the 80s. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel that same enthusiasm for Star Wars either, so the two tentpoles of my science fiction life have that much in common, don’t they? But I’ll always owe a debt to Star Trek. It shone a bright light on a future that doesn’t have to be awful, and it showed beautiful space ships. It put a new light on the idea of space adventure, and it showed a military organization that was devoted truly to peace. Star Trek did time travel better than just about anybody else. Star Trek gave us amazing characters, and it let those characters do amazing things.

They used to say if man could fly, he’d have wings, but he did fly. He discovered he had to. Do you wish that the first Apollo mission hadn’t reached the moon, or that we hadn’t gone on to Mars and then to the nearest star? That’s like saying you wish that you still operated with scalpels and sewed your patients up with catgut like your great-great-great-great grandfather used to. I’m in command. I could order this, but I’m not because Doctor McCoy is right in pointing out the enormous danger potential in any contact with life and intelligence as fantastically advanced as this, but I must point out that the possibilities – the potential for knowledge and advancement – is equally great. Risk! Risk is our business. That’s what this starship is all about. That’s why we’re aboard her.

–James T. Kirk, “Return to Tomorrow”

Star Trek is fifty. Amazing. Long live Star Trek.

Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Her ongoing mission: to explore strange, new worlds; to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldly go where no one has gone before.

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What are all these tabs doing open???

OK, I gotta clean some of this out!

::  Two reviews of the apparently shitty new movie about Ronald Reagan, first off. Now, I haven’t seen the movie and I’ve no intention of doing so, because I make no secret of my loathing for Reagan and for everything he stood for, and my firm conviction that Reagan’s assumption of the Presidency marks an almost perfect inflection point in our nation’s history when everything just started going awry. And my generation, Generation X, grew up firmly steeped in the ongoing mythology of Reagan and his “Morning in America” bullshit, which I see as a huge reason why our nation is still holding itself back.

Anyway, this from Slate:

Like Reagan the actor and Reagan the president, Reagan the new movie has a strained relationship with reality. In director Sean McNamara’s biopic, the Gipper, played by Dennis Quaid, can do no wrong. Charming, principled, and relentlessly optimistic, McNamara’s Reagan single-handedly resuscitates the U.S. economy, brings down the Soviet Union, and returns the nation to glory. Suffice it to say, such a hagiographic treatment requires countless omissions, distortions, and outright fabrications. Worse still, perhaps, Reagan is bloated and tedious—its lack of focus and vision exacerbated only by an insulting 135-minute runtime. This is an affront to both history and cinema, to both reality and fantasy.

And this from Substack writer Nathan Rabin:

This isn’t a movie. It’s right-wing propaganda that crams canned uplift down the audience’s throat for well over two hours. The score goes overboard on soaring strings that never stop reminding us that we are watching the inspirational story of a great Christian, a great Republican, and a great man. 

Only one man possessed the testicular fortitude to take on Marxists eager to use Hollywood as a propaganda arm for the Soviet Union: Ronald Reagan, AKA the greatest human being and Christian ever to bless this planet with his sublime presence. 

Watching Reagan reminded me of a classic, Robert Smigel-written sketch called “Ronald Reagan: Mastermind” about how the Gipper only pretended to be a doddering lightweight happy to while away his days doing photo ops and giving speeches to friendly audiences when he’s really a ferociously driven, hands-on obsessive intimately involved with everything his administration is doing, particularly clandestine endeavors. 

A team of oxen couldn’t drag me to see this movie.

::  Losers Win: Guardians of the Galaxy Turns 10.

One topic that comes up often on social media is “List your favorite Marvel movies!”, and sometimes folks are surprised when I list the first two Guardians of the Galaxy movies in my top two spots. My reason is simple: of all the movies Marvel has made in the “Golden Age” that started with Iron Man and wrapped up with Avengers: Endgame, and for my money there’s not a single bad movie in that run and quite a few really, really good ones, the first two Guardians movies come closest by far to making me feel like I’m back in my room as a kid, on a rainy day, reading comics. (I have not seen the third Guardians film yet.)

It’s a testament to the imagination and tonal control of writer-director James Gunn that impediments that might’ve stopped another trilogy in its tracks become mere speed bumps. Gunn’s as much of a pop music obsessive as a comics obsessive—the films are filled with music video-like montages and action set pieces built around specific tunes. So it makes sense to think of the main characters as a band with an evolving lineup and the three movies as albums with no bad songs on them. There’s enough individual flavor to stand the test of time, even though the trends and fads that originally brought them into existence have faded. 

You could add Gunn’s name to a list of distinctive directors who should’ve made a musical by now, given their creative tendencies, but he already has three times (five if you count “The Suicide Squad” and its spinoff, the Max series “Peacemaker”). The musicality of the movies extends beyond the music-driven sequences. The banter between the characters has a pleasing, teasing rhythm, with delayed punchlines going off at unexpected moments. In each movie, the momentum and goodwill generated by the performances and the filmmaking means that the entire enterprise seems to walk with a spring in its step. Or maybe I should’ve said “power-walk,” which is what Gunn loves to have the Guardians do right before a big action sequence, like band members putting their battle faces on as they move from the wings to the stage and try to forget their egos and become part of a hive-mind.

Also, those first two Guardians movies did something else: They made me feel the way Star Wars did back when George Lucas was still running the show. In the Disney Star Wars era, the only property that has actually come closest to making me feel that way was the teevee series The Book of Boba Fett, which seems to be generally disliked by most fans. Go figure.

::  Here’s a really negative movie review. I don’t know anything about the movie at all, really, I just like to read hilariously negative movie reviews sometimes.

::  Maestro Daniel Barenboim discusses Wagner.

First of all, Wagner had a great understanding of, or intuition for (or perhaps a combination of the two), acoustics. He was the first person to have that, I think, except perhaps Berlioz, and in a certain way Liszt, although Liszt was more limited to the piano. By acoustics I mean the presence of sound in a room, the concept of time and space. Wagner really developed that concept musically. Which means that a lot of his criticism of performances of his own time, conducted by Mendelssohn and other people, was directed at what he considered a very superficial kind of interpretation, namely, an interpretation that took no risks, that didn’t go to the abyss, that tried, in other words, to find a golden path without having the extremes. Of course, this is an impossibility and can inevitably lead to superficiality. This also had an influence on the speed at which the music was performed, because if the content was poor, the speed had to be greater. Therefore Wagner complains bitterly about Mendelssohn’s tempi.

::  Buffalo’s five-term Mayor, Byron Brown, has seemingly finally managed to find a new gig, after spending most of the last few years giving off massive “GET ME THE HELL OUTTA HERE!” vibes in his current one. (The question of “Gee, Byron, why the hell did you insist in running for a fifth term, then?” doesn’t seem to get asked much, for some reason…but come to that, the answer to that is for me far less interesting than interrogating the citizens of Buffalo as to why the hell they insisted on electing five times a bumbling guy whose record as Mayor is nearly 20 years of fiscal incompetence, no problems actually getting solved, and a whole damn lot of ribbon cuttings and “keys to the city” handed out to football players.) Anyway, Alan Bedenko notes something about the political news coverage in this region.

(As for Brown heading up Off Track Betting, whatever. That organization has precisely zero impact on my daily life, so if Brown wants to go be incompetent there, fine.)

::  Anchorman Wouldn’t Have Been Nearly As Great Without Christina Applegate.

This is absolutely true. Applegate’s work in Anchorman (which may be my favorite American comedy film ever, the thing still makes me laugh to this day) is just wonderful, as she captures perfectly her blend of exasperation with, admiration for, and attraction to Will Ferrell’s Ron Burgundy (and Ferrell reciprocates with his own perfect blend of confusion by, disapproval of, instant lust for, and eventual admiration of Applegate’s Veronica Corningstone). 

Never a prude but absolutely not tolerating Ron’s chauvinistic behavior, Veronica bewitches him from the first moment they meet at that pool party. Feeling studly in his robe and swim trunks, he walks up to her, ready to pounce, only to be disarmed by her scrutinizing stare. She doesn’t know who he is—doesn’t recognize what a big deal (in his own mind) he is—and so Ron starts to sputter, his pickup lines powerless in the face of such poise. This sort of thing doesn’t happen to him. Throughout “Anchorman,” he will try to get the upper hand, but he never succeeds. Veronica is too assured. Dumb guys are funny, but they’re never as funny as when they’re cut down to size by a smart woman. 

Yup, that. Applegate has been famously struggling with MS the last few years, which has sadly put her on the sidelines of what seemed to be her prime as an actress; her work in the Netflix series Dead To Me is some amazing, wonderful work indeed. She is really, really good.

::  Finally, Sheila O’Malley writes about Gena Rowlands, an actress for whom she has expressed special appreciation over the years. 

There will always be a place in Hollywood for beautiful blondes. Rowlands wasn’t a Marilyn-Monroe type. She was one of those “chilly” blondes, the kind Hitchcock loved. Rowlands was not a haughty person, but she often played characters with a whiff of standoffishness. Hollywood isn’t known for its sensitive handling of beautiful talented blondes, but it’s easy to imagine that Gena Rowlands, who loved acting (“I never wanted to do anything else. This was it.”), would have had a respectable career, with or without her husband. Cassavetes didn’t lift her out of obscurity. Nevertheless, she wasn’t being seen the way she needed to be seen. The world didn’t yet know what it was missing. 

::  I will end this with a picture: a nifty Darth Vader window decal I saw on a car last week.

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Something for Thursday

Continuing a few weeks of featuring music from the films of James Cameron, who just turned 70 last month, we have a selection from a score I don’t like all that much for a movie I don’t all that much care for. It’s Aliens, his mega-hit from 1986 that was a thrill-packed sequel to the Ridley Scott original horror film. I know that my reaction to these movies is deeply contrary to the geek culture in which I grew up, but hey, we all diverge from the norm sometime. For me, the original Alien is effective once, and after that it’s basically like riding Space Mountain with the lights on, when you know the gross-out stuff is coming and you can anticipate the jump-scares. It also didn’t help that I never found myself caring about the characters.

Cameron did get me caring about the people in Aliens, so that’s props to him. This film, though, is for me something else; when you give me all flow and no ebb, I eventually check out. My feelings for this movie turn out to mirror Roger Ebert’s almost perfectly, so I’ll just quote his original review of the film:

It’s here that my nerves started to fail. “Aliens” is absolutely, painfully and unremittingly intense for at least its last hour. Weaver goes into battle to save her colleagues, herself and the little girl, and the aliens drop from the ceiling, pop up out of the floor and crawl out of the ventilation shafts. (In one of the movie’s less plausible moments, one alien even seems to know how to work the elevator buttons.) I have never seen a movie that maintains such a pitch of intensity for so long; it’s like being on some kind of hair-raising carnival ride that never stops.

I don’t know how else to describe this: The movie made me feel bad. It filled me with feelings of unease and disquiet and anxiety. I walked outside and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was drained. I’m not sure “Aliens” is what we mean by entertainment. Yet I have to be accurate about this movie: It is a superb example of filmmaking craft.

As for James Horner’s score, it’s not marked by memorable themes much at all; there’s some moody stuff that mostly mirrors the Khachaturian ballet music used in 2001: A Space Odyssey, and then there’s a lot of very intense action music that’s mostly rhythm and not a whole lot of build. The best cue is probably the one titled “Bishop’s Countdown”, so here it is. Sorry for my lack of enthusiasm, but I don’t think any artist has ever hit ’em all out of the park for me; after all, George Lucas did make More American Graffiti.

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On the cusp

Fall isn’t here yet, but we can certainly feel it knocking on the door. And I’m fine with that! Fall is my favorite time of year, followed by winter, and lately summer has been rising in my esteem. The summer that’s entering its final weeks was a particularly pleasant one, if my photos (many of which are still awaiting editing!) are any judge. There’s one big post about my day shooting around the City of Buffalo that’s still waiting in the wings…but for now, here’s my latest panorama of the Buffalo Niagara region as imaged from the sledding hill at Chestnut Ridge Park. Note that now you can see clearly the emerging superstructure of the next home of the Buffalo Bills, and between the cranes, on the horizon, the faint skyline of Niagara Falls, ON.

Bigger version here.

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Tone Poem Tuesday

Luigi Cherubini is a composer with whom I am almost completely unfamiliar, except by reputation…and that reputation is via the impressions left behind by another composer with whom I am very familiar. Unfortunately for Cherubini, that composer is Hector Berlioz, who found Cherubini a conservative and pedantic obstacle in his youthful efforts to pursue his own philosophies of music and composition during his time at the Paris Conservatoire.

Now, how accurate Berlioz’s feelings about Cherubini might have been is an open question, as frankly is how accurate Berlioz’s depictions of those feelings in his Memoirs might have been. It seems likely that the two were in fact in conflict, and that Cherubini did in fact find this young and arrogant composer-in-waiting too brash and his music too harsh and unfocused. Those charges are not entirely unfair, after all, when one has listened to the early output of Berlioz, and when one has read a bit about the details of his life.

Cherubini was essentially a classicist, living as he did during the shift from music’s Classical era into the Romantic, and he is one of those figures who is not performed a great deal today, perhaps a bit unfairly; if his music presents certain challenges to contemporary ears, there is still reward to be found within, as Cherubini’s Classical influence can still be detected in Berlioz, who for all his bombast still preferred a degree of balance in his eruptions (Berlioz loved Gluck, for example), and surely a composer shouldn’t be relegated to second-rate status if he was counted as an influence by the likes of Beethoven and Rossini.

Cherubini’s opera-ballet Anacreon premiered in 1803 (the year of Berlioz’s birth!), whereupon it was greeted with complete indifference. The work failed utterly, likely due to the story (about the love life of a Greek poet) being completely out of style at the time, and from what I can tell, the work was pretty much forgotten entirely until the 1970s when it was finally recorded. The overture, however, did survive, being praised by many composers (including Berlioz!) and basically being one of the few pieces to keep Cherubini’s name alive into the 21st century. The overture is thrilling and lyrical in the best “classical” way (meaning in the manner of the Classical era), and listening to it now I find myself slotting it, stylistically, into exactly where it goes: between, say, the overtures of The Magic Flute and Der Freischutz. Chronologically, that’s pretty much where it falls, too.

Here is the Overture to Anacreon by Luigi Cherubini.

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Seasons and their Reasons

The AFL-CIO Monument in Chestnut Ridge Park, Orchard Park, NY

It occurs to me that for most holidays, we always end up hearing a lot about how important it is to remember WHY the holiday exists. We’ve got multiple holidays now where we’re supposed to meditate on Freedom and The Troops, and don’t get me started on the cottage industry that surrounds Christmas with all manner of evangelical zeal nowadays…but how much do we ever hear about “the true meaning of Labor Day”? So maybe take a few minutes today to bone up on the life of Samuel Gompers, a guy who it seems to me maybe should be as well remembered as, say, Henry Ford.

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Something for Thursday

In honor of James Cameron’s 70th birthday–which was just a couple weeks ago–I’m going to share some selections from the scores to his movies over the next few weeks. I’ll start with my favorite Cameron film, the often overlooked The Abyss, which kinda-sorta takes Close Encounters of the Third Kind and puts it underwater, with some Cold War subtext and the paranoid military turned up to 11. It’s a riveting film that I haven’t seen in quite a few years, so maybe I should see if I can track it down…meanwhile, here is a short suite from the film’s score, by Alan Silvestri. And I’ll have more to say about Cameron over the next few weeks.

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Tone Poem Tuesday

Leonard Bernstein was born 106 years plus two days ago, on August 25, 1918. Oddly, I’ve never written much about him here, have I? I really should change that one of these days…maybe after I finally get Maestro off the “to-be-watched” queue…but for now, I feature a symphonic suite Bernstein culled from the score he wrote for the Eliz Kazan-Marlon Brando film On the Waterfront.

I’ve actually never seen On the Waterfront, for various reasons (I have to admit a distaste for Kazan owing to his naming names for HUAC, but mostly it’s that I’ve just never got ’round to it), but this symphonic suite is a fine work, pieced together into a single cohesive work from a score that Bernstein found frustrating to create: a film score is, by its nature, a subservient piece of music, and Bernstein was never one to easily suffer the pushing of music into the background. In his writings, Bernstein’s attitude toward film music does not seem to have been particularly positive, but his one attempt at film work resulted in a very fine American tone poem.

Here is the Symphonic Suite from On the Waterfront by Leonard Bernstein. 

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Memories of Twenty Years Ago

Twenty years ago, a drive to the hospital in the morning.

Twenty years ago, calling off work because it was time, the baby was on his way.

Twenty years ago, bright sunny skies over Buffalo.

Twenty years ago, a very long day of pain and struggle.

Twenty years ago, thinking, “At the end of this day, one set of dreams comes true and another starts.”

Twenty years ago…seeing them wheeling her into surgery prep, and being given ill-fitting scrubs to change into.

Twenty years ago, sitting again by her side while they did the Caesarian.

Twenty years ago, thinking, “This isn’t the way we wanted this to go, but we’ve been here before and we can do it again.”

Twenty years ago, sensing a change in the mood of the doctors as they extracted him from the womb.

Twenty years ago, wondering why he wasn’t crying yet.

Twenty years ago, hearing one of the doctors–the main one, maybe?–saying, “This isn’t good.”

Twenty years ago, looking at that other table and seeing them taking out the intubation tool and thinking, “I’ve watched enough ER that I know what that is. Why are they using that? What’s going on?”

Twenty years ago, waiting at her side while they did whatever it was they did to him and for him, someplace else in that giant building that was always too cold no matter where you were.

Twenty years ago, being taken upstairs finally to see him instead of him being brought to us.

Twenty years ago, meeting the NICU nurses for the first time.

Twenty years ago, wondering how they could hook all that stuff up to a human being that tiny.

Twenty years ago, wanting to know why he couldn’t cry.

Twenty years ago, seeing that new set of dreams stop before they could even start.

Twenty years ago, learning that life was somehow going to be more now about fighting than living.

Twenty years ago, starting the remainder of my life to wonder what could have been, who he might have been, what he might have become.

Twenty years ago, beginning an unbroken streak of asking “Why?” each and every day.

Twenty years ago, the first day of a life that lasted for 458 more.

Twenty years ago, our son.

Happy birthday, Quinn.

Where are you?

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Live, laugh, learn (or something like that): A Sunday Stealing quiz

Interesting format for this week’s Sunday Stealing: instead of a selection of questions, it’s a series of prompts. I’m going to try to do these in one sentence each. Let’s see how that works out, shall we?

Reveal yourself in 24 easy steps

I am not: the least bit interested in pulling the weeds out back that I’ve been neglecting for a while now, and I am really going to regret not doing it sooner.

I hurt: at really random times these days, which I suppose goes with being 53 and well into the time of life when the body just hurts sometimes, regardless of whether or not you actually did anything that could cause an injury.

I love: photography.

I hate: missing the shot entirely because I dilly-dallied and didn’t even get the camera up. An attempt that misfires is one thing, but not even attempting is just duh. (Well, my “one sentence per reply” thing didn’t last long, but hey, did anybody reading this think it would?)

I fear: the prospect of enough Americans rising up to defeat the current possibility for the country shooting itself in the foot, but those Americans not being geographically distributed in a way that allows them to win.

I hope: for a gigantic rejection of American conservatism in November.

I regret: the shot I missed last Tuesday. 

I cry: every time that goofball cropduster guy realizes he has to sacrifice himself to save the world in Independence Day. (Sheesh!)

I care: about the unfair nature of breed-specific dog legislation.

I always: fasten both straps on my overalls. The one-strap thing always feels weird on me, like there’s all this strange tugging and pulling when overalls shouldn’t do that, and I dunno, it feels kind of unfair to put all that responsibility for the structural integrity of one’s pants on a single shoulder strap and buckle-hook.

I long: to go back to Hawaii.

I listen: to The Wife. Or I try to. Not always successful, and this always gets pointed out when it happens.

I hide: the keys for my tool cabinet at work. I just have to.

I write: less than I used to, which is a little bit of a problem! I need to find the balance between the writing and the photography.

I miss: that one coworker who brought all kinds of weird joy to the party. I’m still in contact, but she left The Store several years ago.

I search: for good deals on vintage overalls and cool tops on a daily basis. I don’t buy much these days, but you never know!

I learn: by doing. I learn more from doing something once or twice than by watching it a hundred times.

I feel: like the world is trying to turn better? Like a series of better choices might be in the offing?

I know: way too much odd minutiae about Star Wars.

I want: a full-frame mirrorless camera with three or four lenses to use with it, and a week in Toronto or Honolulu to put it through its paces.

I worry: about what if the world isn’t trying to turn better.

I wish: for more wishes. Duh!

I have: a little black book with my poems in….

I give: zero shits about how good it is for me, I am not eating broccoli!

I wait: for a better day.

I need: more money, a house with a big enough room with bookshelves to allow single shelving of my books, a dozen pitties and maybe a few greyhounds too, and as it’s been a while, I probably need a pie in the face.

And that’s it!

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The official site of Kelly Sedinger: Reader, writer, photographer, and dreamer

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