Curiosity 98: West Wing

The numbering of this iteration of my blog has become ridiculous, but I will get to 100! I am so close!

In any case, I just wanted to note here that last night we finished watching the last two episodes of the seven-season series The West Wing (1999–2006)—154 episodes altogether. We've been at it for months. And so often during that time, I was struck by how prescient that show was: bringing us crises and causes that even today we encounter. Things don't ever really change, do they?

Except, no, that show (or more specifically, the writer, Aaron Sorkin) didn't anticipate that things could fly so out of whack that we'd ever have a dictator on our doorstep. Indeed, the show's "Democrat" President Bartlet and the final season's "Republican" contender for office on Bartlet's departure were both gentlemen, and moderates. Nothing like the gibbering, hateful narcissist who is banging—again—on the White House door. The West Wing's politicians were much more like the current resident of the People's House: statesmen, aware of the hard work all the people all around them do to keep the country running. 

Anyway, I didn't come here for a political rant. I am already tired of the next seven months. I know who I'm voting for. I know who is impossible as president. And I guess I'm starting to consider an exit strategy (while trying to remain hopeful that rationality will prevail). Then again, there's the fact that our house will be fully paid off in only another 17, 18 months. And we have our animals. So leaving, while appealing in a certain sense, is also not.

I'll just end with a few videos I found googling YouTube for West Wing moments. I'm so glad we watched it from start to finish. It was a great show.

Seriously, can you imagine Trump being challenged to articulate his "thoughts," as in the last video? Derision and scorn seem to be the only things in his vocabulary. Or "love me love me love."

I could almost feel sorry for the man. He is so pathetic.

And yet, a good percentage of the country either loves him so much or is so beholden to their "Republican" (nowadays, read MAGA) ideology that they don't care that a sick, sick man might become president again.

Yeah, exit strategy. That, and prayer. 

Curiosity 97: Writing retreat

This actually is an example of curiosity: how sane/engaged can I keep myself over the course of two weeks on a hillside overlooking the southern California town of Temecula? I have brought myself here on a writing retreat, nudged by a howler friend who has been here twice before herself. I have brought books galore—on poetry, of poetry, on the Japanese incarceration of WWII, various nonfiction that I'd like to finish. My laptop, of course. A huge stack of old journals that I haven't peeked inside for decades. 

Today I read a book—mostly illustrations—about internment camp artistic creations. It feels too slight to write a report on. But I used it to write a very short section (perhaps) of the novel I'm hoping to put some time in on while I'm here. I also took a couple of short hikes. All the hikes here are short, but they do have the challenge of being vertical. Up to "the top"! Of Dorland Mountain, the name of the artist colony I've planted myself in. 

I also ventured into Old Town Temecula this afternoon, which was a bustling place if you're interested in food and drink. Which I wasn't. So my visit was brief. It looks like I'll mostly be perching up here on my mountain, with the occasional dip down to Temecula Parkway to pick up sustenance.

In any case, I took a few photos today and yesterday. Here they are.

The view from my porch upon arrival.

My cabin: Connors.

A beautiful sunset.

I was in search of a trail that departed from this stone circle
—which I found, but which didn't amount to much...

Stone circle detail (who can resist a hedgehog? I can't!).

Upside down, sorry. But... doesn't everything feel upside down
right now?

 

 

 

That's Mount San Gorgonio in the distance.

That's Mount San Jacinto on the left (with the snow).

The top of Dorland Mountain Trail.

Curiosity 96: A few photos

Years ago on Flickr—I've written about this before—I did a few "Project 365s": posting a photo every day  for a year, usually with a fairly detailed caption. Of course, to get the one, I snapped all sorts of shots most days. Just stuff I noticed.

Today, I took four pictures—little snapshots of moments from the day. It reminded me how much I enjoyed (mostly) paying that sort of attention. (There were days I was not in the mood. But still I did it. It was my job. For 365 days, anyway.)

Here today's four are—monkeyed with with Snapseed.

First, we went tire shopping. The bear is courtesy of the business that shares the tire store's property, which does chainsaw sculptures. 

I was impressed by the pile of tires out the back door.

Then we went for coffee and croissants. These, uh, decorations adorned the tables.

And finally, this weekend I am leaving on a two-week writing retreat in Southern California. And I am gathering supplies. Among which will be my favorite pens. These fountain pens needed cleaning.

That's all. A few moments from a day.

Curiosity 95: A few random videos

Tonight I offer a few random videos that I enjoyed today. Starting with something someone shared on FB, of course—CDK Company, with the song "Somebody That I Used to Know" by Gotye:

Which led to a band, OK Panda, two of whose members are young friends of mine from Brussels; I did find myself thinking of OK Panda while watching the above, and YouTube apparently channeled that, because the next offering was this, the acoustic DIY "Echoes":

And then, in the list off to the right of other videos I might find interesting, was Taika Waititi in the "Letters Live" series reading "a hilarious letter about a parking ticket." The potential success of this video was no doubt divined by YouTube from the fact that I binged four episodes of Our Flag Means Death last night.

And speaking of bingeing, we've been watching the absolutely delightfully hysterical Staged with David Tennant and Michael Sheen the last little while, and that, too, was sparked by a video that I bumped into on FB. So I'll end with it (the bumped-into video, that is). 

Mind you, I rarely visit YouTube. Occasionally, like today, I'll stumble into a video that I enjoy, but that's it: nothing further. I did once actively use YouTube to figure out how to get the hatch on my brand-new Subaru to close, and I've used YouTube suggestions to clean the glass shower door or the microwave, that sort of thing. I tend to be pretty utilitarian when it comes to YouTube.

 I can't quite imagine what it's like to just flow from video to video to video to video to video, and on and on, thanks to the YouTube algorithm. To get carried along on that stream. It feels like it would end up being a closed loop, the flattening of time. Brrrrrrrr.

But I've had fun this evening doing a tiny bit of following along. Three's my limit, I think, though.

Anyway, here's that DT/MS video, a sort of prelude to the recent BAFTA awards. I hadn't ever realized how funny David Tennant is.

Book Report: The Kill Artist

6. Daniel Silva, The Kill Artist (1998) (2/27/24)

I have about four nonfiction books going at the moment (which I won't list here, because hopefully I'll eventually finish them all and offer book reports—but writ large they're, variously, about geography, colonialism, and poetry—twice). I like nonfiction, very much, but of course it's not as compelling (usually) as plot-driven fiction. You read a chapter, you've learned something, you put the book down, maybe pick up something else. Well, "you" being me. Though I did read The Library Book straight through, which perhaps attests to both Susan Orlean's skill as a writer and the draw of the subject matter (books, local LA history, fire) for me personally. 

In any case, when I find myself shuffling too much from book to book to book, I will often put a stop to the restlessness by settling in with pure plot-driven schlock. Which The Kill Artist definitely is. I don't know where I stumbled into a mention of Silva, but I believe it was with regard to one of the more recent volumes in his Gabriel Allon series of, now, 23 novels about this art restorer–cum–Israeli assassin. I was intrigued by the enthusiastic review, but, as I do, I decided to start with the first in the series. 

Well. It was okay—despite it's rating of 4.02 on Goodreads (I gave it 2 stars out of 5, meaning, according to the site, "it was okay"). I found the story rather obvious, some of the situating scenes unmotivated, the dialogue pedestrian, and the twist at the end unnecessary and, hence, puzzling. I almost abandoned it midway, but a scan of Goodreads reviews kept me going. I guess I'm glad to have closure.

It is, in brief, the story of this assassin brought out of retirement when an Israeli ambassador is ambushed and killed in Paris by a Palestinian hit man who, years earlier, murdered Allon's wife and child. (Well, there's a twist there too, but it doesn't change anything.) This after, more years earlier, Allon murdered the hit man's brother. Revenge carries far. 

Along the way we do get a tiny bit of insight into the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, but mostly the book is about the operation, and flits around from Cornwall to Greece to Zürich to Tel Aviv to London to Paris to Jerusalem to Provence to Lisbon to, ultimately, Montreal and New York City. The flitting around was perhaps the one thing that kept me reading. (I like geography.)

Anyway, will I read more Silva? Mmmm, maybe. The Goodreads reviews do indicate that this book (despite its 4.02 rating) does not measure up to his later ones; that Silva becomes more skilled, more nuanced, the Allon character deeper. Then again, part of me wishes that when Allon accomplishes his goal and heads back to the centuries-old Renaissance painting he was in the midst of restoring when he was so rudely interrupted, he'd just stay put, enjoying his work and his little boat and the kid next door. If I don't read any more books in the series, I can keep him retired. I'd be doing him a favor.

Curiosity 94: Best boy Dipper

I was really glad to see that Jon Stewart was returning to the Daily Show. And I haven't been disappointed. I know his first episode, on Joe Biden, was controversial, but honestly? If we aren't aware of the potential disabilities of our leaders (think, for example, Reagan, in full-blown Alzheimer's), where do we really stand? 

In the case of a somewhat demented Biden (which, personally, I'm skeptical of) and a flat-out crazy Trump (of that, I'm absolutely certain)... well, it might be the slate we're stuck with. And I sure as hell know how I'm going to vote. Good God, is there really any choice at all? (Don't get me started.)

I hope to that same God (okay, you got me started) that the journalists of this country, including ones like Stewart, stop going on about Biden's age and start focusing on how profoundly destructive the alternative will be for the United States. As a friend commented re the endless (and meaningless) polls, "Don't tell us what the odds are; tell us what's at stake." Biden is surrounded by smart, able people; his opponent is surrounded by power-hungry, twisted sycophants. I repeat: is there really a choice?

Anyway, that's not why I came here. I came here because in the third installment of Jon Stewart helming the Daily Show, he ended with these amazing few minutes of love. Which I just want to keep here, because I know that not too long from now—up to a year maybe, with luck two—I'll be shedding the same tears. And I really appreciated that Jon broke up in front of millions, because of his love for his best boy, Dipper.