for not writing since godknowswhen, so I'm not making any. Suffice it to say the Id will be released. What's on my mind? Here goes:
For starters, while I do not mind drinking alone (actually I prefer it) I do mind laughing alone which is why, at day's end, instead of watching comedies to signify the end of yet another mega-productive Day in the Life of Blocked Short Story Writer, I watch dramas. I am a creature of routine -- same peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day, same TV series every day. Lately I've been tearing through the police procedurals set in the British Isles -- Rebus (the Ian Rankin creation), Inspector Lewis, even some show set in Glasgow that wasn't all that good (like B-grade Law & Order) but I was proud of myself for comprehending most of the dialogue without having to resort to subtitles or close captioning. (British and Irish English is a foreign language.) After a few viewings I stopped to ask why I prefer them to the American shows. Finally realized that hands-down the acting is better. Even small roles are deliciously played, tutorials in the use of facial expression that American actors are scared to study. I'm convinced that theater (here) attracts a whole lot of people who have faces that Hollywood would love. They get into it for the gaze, and some of them become actors in the process. England (and by extension, Ireland) I think the motivation is different. Don't quite know what it is, but it seems different.
I mean, there are some phenomenally homely folks on camera in England. If I were a kid I'd think that the English people have long faces, lantern jaws, and toothpick slashes for mouths. (The women must save a fortune on lipstick.) And who could blame me for coming to that conclusion? It's fascinating. There they are acting with gusto, tearing up the screen as if they had as much right to be there as Scarlett Johansson or James Franco (who, I have to admit, I find tiresomely pretentious. Kind of like John Mayer without the songwriting chops). That movie he did, 27 Hours? [nota bene: it's 127 Hours, which is probably 126.5 too long] Why didn't he just saw off his head and get it over with?)
And the English get to swear on camera! How refreshing that you can call another character "a perfect little shit" instead of having to call him a perfect little twit.
And speaking of Perfect Twits! Poor Romney. He's starting to remind me of the Stephen Root character in NewsRadio, Jimmy James. Lately there's been a lot of bloggage about why Mitt(ens) is making such a bollocks of it all. (See I told ya I've been watching a lot of British TV.) And while it's interesting reading, I think it goes too far. I mean I'm as guilty as the next person for performing armchair psychoanalysis, but really? Asperger's Syndrome? Bi-polar disorder? I've known people with Asperger's Syndrome and you, sir, are no Idiot Savant! I mean really now.
Mitt Romney is, by virtue of being born into wealth and leading his own company, used to being in command and in charge. Can't do that in the white-hot heart of a nuclear reactor called the modern American Presidential race. You can't control it; it controls you.
Mitt Romney is old school Republican and a Mormon square to boot. You don't talk about sex, the money you make, your feelings nor the nakedness of your personal ambition in public. You. Just. Don't. I draw a straight line from the triumph of confessional daytime TV (Oprah and Jerry Springer to name pre-eminent examples) to 24/7 cable coverage to blogging to Twitter et alia and personal rectitude goes out the window as a virtue, much less a practice. In fact, it's become a liability. The more the press asks of "Mitt" as opposed to "Mr. Romney" the more flummoxed and flustered he (his wife, and his staff will become). Call it death by a 1,000 personal questions.
For starters, while I do not mind drinking alone (actually I prefer it) I do mind laughing alone which is why, at day's end, instead of watching comedies to signify the end of yet another mega-productive Day in the Life of Blocked Short Story Writer, I watch dramas. I am a creature of routine -- same peanut butter and jelly sandwich every day, same TV series every day. Lately I've been tearing through the police procedurals set in the British Isles -- Rebus (the Ian Rankin creation), Inspector Lewis, even some show set in Glasgow that wasn't all that good (like B-grade Law & Order) but I was proud of myself for comprehending most of the dialogue without having to resort to subtitles or close captioning. (British and Irish English is a foreign language.) After a few viewings I stopped to ask why I prefer them to the American shows. Finally realized that hands-down the acting is better. Even small roles are deliciously played, tutorials in the use of facial expression that American actors are scared to study. I'm convinced that theater (here) attracts a whole lot of people who have faces that Hollywood would love. They get into it for the gaze, and some of them become actors in the process. England (and by extension, Ireland) I think the motivation is different. Don't quite know what it is, but it seems different.
I mean, there are some phenomenally homely folks on camera in England. If I were a kid I'd think that the English people have long faces, lantern jaws, and toothpick slashes for mouths. (The women must save a fortune on lipstick.) And who could blame me for coming to that conclusion? It's fascinating. There they are acting with gusto, tearing up the screen as if they had as much right to be there as Scarlett Johansson or James Franco (who, I have to admit, I find tiresomely pretentious. Kind of like John Mayer without the songwriting chops). That movie he did, 27 Hours? [nota bene: it's 127 Hours, which is probably 126.5 too long] Why didn't he just saw off his head and get it over with?)
And the English get to swear on camera! How refreshing that you can call another character "a perfect little shit" instead of having to call him a perfect little twit.
And speaking of Perfect Twits! Poor Romney. He's starting to remind me of the Stephen Root character in NewsRadio, Jimmy James. Lately there's been a lot of bloggage about why Mitt(ens) is making such a bollocks of it all. (See I told ya I've been watching a lot of British TV.) And while it's interesting reading, I think it goes too far. I mean I'm as guilty as the next person for performing armchair psychoanalysis, but really? Asperger's Syndrome? Bi-polar disorder? I've known people with Asperger's Syndrome and you, sir, are no Idiot Savant! I mean really now.
Mitt Romney is, by virtue of being born into wealth and leading his own company, used to being in command and in charge. Can't do that in the white-hot heart of a nuclear reactor called the modern American Presidential race. You can't control it; it controls you.
Mitt Romney is old school Republican and a Mormon square to boot. You don't talk about sex, the money you make, your feelings nor the nakedness of your personal ambition in public. You. Just. Don't. I draw a straight line from the triumph of confessional daytime TV (Oprah and Jerry Springer to name pre-eminent examples) to 24/7 cable coverage to blogging to Twitter et alia and personal rectitude goes out the window as a virtue, much less a practice. In fact, it's become a liability. The more the press asks of "Mitt" as opposed to "Mr. Romney" the more flummoxed and flustered he (his wife, and his staff will become). Call it death by a 1,000 personal questions.
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