Weekly Wilson – Blog of Author Connie C. Wilson

Fifty years ago today (February 25, 1964), Muhammad Ali (born Cassius Clay) defeated Sonny Liston (aka, “the Big Bear”) to win the Heavyweight Championship of the World. It was “the Scowl” versus “the Mouth” in Miami.

Muhammad Ali and me: Iowa City, 1968:

When I read that today was the 50-year anniversary of the Clay/Liston fight (Ali was still known as Cassius Clay, what he called his “slave name,” until after the fight), I remembered the day Muhammad Ali visited Iowa City, Iowa and spoke at the Iowa Memorial Union. I was there. I was one of many students crowded into the room.

His anti-war message against the war in Vietnam was what drew me to his speech. At the time, it did not make Muhammad Ali popular, just as the student protests at Berkeley had made student protest leader Mario Savio much reviled in 1965, three years earlier, when I was a student on campus at the University of California at Berkeley. Today, there is a statue of the (now-deceased) Mario Savio on the campus grounds, and Muhammad Ali’s name is known and revered around the world. And, yes, perhaps reviled by some for being “mouthy” and proving he was as “good” and as “pretty” and as “fast” and as “great” as he always claimed to be. [It’s amazing the insights that time gives to events happening in the immediacy of the present.]

Like many young people of the sixties, I thought it was unfair that speaking out against the war might land the heavyweight champ in prison. (He was facing 5 years in jail and a $10,000 fine for refusing to serve in Vietnam). Ali was also denied the opportunity to do what he did best—box— and 4 of his prime athletic years were taken from him. He was stripped of his title and banned from fighting from age 25 until he was 29. (March of 1967 until October of 1970). Many sports experts have speculated about how that might have affected his legacy, since he did mount a comeback and fought well past his prime, winning the coveted heavyweight boxing crown three times.

Muhammad Ali (born Cassius Clay)

Ali’s standing up and speaking out on principle emboldened even Martin Luther King, Jr. to push more strenuously for human rights and racial justice and equality for African-American citizens. Ultimately, the Supreme Court overthrew the previous court decision that denied Ali conscientious objector status, and he was able to return to boxing in 1970, beating Jerry Quarry on October 26, 1970. But when I heard him speak, “live,” his future was very much up in the air. Soon after his return to the ring, Ali lost to Joe Frazier in what has been dubbed the Fight of the Century on March 8, 1971, in Madison Square Garden. I still remember my husband’s excitement when he came home from the closed circuit grainy televised match.

Time frame of Ali’s Iowa City Speech

Ali’s speech on campus happened between March of 1967 and March of 1968, although the University archives say it was 1969. I am fairly certain this is wrong. (I was married and living in the Quad Cities by March of 1968. Ali’s appearance in Iowa City had to have taken place during the first semester of 1967-1968 when I was still on campus and living at 229 Iowa Avenue. I remember being present. I am certain I didn’t drive BACK to campus from East Moline, so it was in the fall semester of school year 1967-1968). I always tried to take in speeches and concerts by any Big Name speaking on campus, which led me to hear Saul Bellow speak, and the Ramsey Lewis Trio play, and Booker T and the MGs perform “Green Onions” and Johnny Mathis (remember him?) sing in the Union. Many years later, I did drive back, to hear former President Bill Clinton speak and to hear Ben Folds (without the Ben Folds Five).

I remember Ali’s message, which was characteristic of the anti-war message he was delivering at a number of colleges across the nation during the time he was not allowed to fight in the ring, but was fighting in court to stay out of jail, be allowed to resume his career, and urging equality for citizens of color. His rhetoric, which sounded very anti-white, was scary to his elders, but the students of the sixties on campus at Iowa, anyway, embraced his message of liberty and justice for all, just as our forefathers had embraced such radical notions in 1776. It’s unclear whether Ali’s reception was as warm and fuzzy in the South, but I can tell you that it was a very closely packed, interested, respectful and enthusiastic crowd that listened to him speak at the Iowa Memorial Union that day. I remember the room was crowded with students who turned out en masse to see the fighter we saw on television “float like a butterfly and sting like a bee.”

Ali’s Legacy

His strong suit not being humility, Ali had self-described himself as “the Greatest.” He wasn’t far off in this early self-assessment of his own boxing prowess. Muhammad Ali was named one of the most recognizable sports figures of the past 100 years, with only Babe Ruth coming close to the universal recognition that Muhammad Ali earned. Ali was also crowned “Sportsman of the Century” by Sports Illustrated magazine and “Sports Personality of the Century” by the British Broadcasting Corporation. It’s safe to say that boxing will never see a fighter so good who was so controversial, entertaining and larger-than-life than Mohammed Ali/Cassius Clay, and whose stance on so many important issues of the day resonated in such important ways. He was a showman. The sport will not see his equal and, in fact, seems to have withered and died in favor of WWC and cage matches and other televised fare.
History changed forever when the 6’ 2” good-looking, outspoken fighter with the 80 inch reach bested the rough-and-tough gangster-related Sonny Liston [who would later be found dead from a possible heroin drug overdose on December 30, 1970.] The intimidating Liston was heavily favored to knock Cassius Clay’s block off. I remember thinking that Clay probably didn’t have a chance against a thug like Liston and hoping he wouldn’t get hurt too badly. Some even wondered if the brash youngster would even show up for the fight. Clay took pride in his good looks; the general feeling going into the fight was that Clay might have a hard time preserving his handsome good looks against the brutal beating Liston was about to administer.

The Fight

Liston was a 7 to 1 favorite. Clay had not really beaten any professional boxers of note, but, instead, had won a gold medal in the light heavyweight division in the 1960 Rome Olympics. In his 1975 autobiography, Ali claimed he threw the gold medal into the Ohio River after being refused service in a white diner in Louisville. Others dispute that version of events, saying he merely lost the medal. [Ali was issued a replacement medal 36 years after the fact, and it was presented to him during a basketball intermission at the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, an Olympics where Muhammad Ali lit the Olympic torch. Talk about a national change of heart!].
Clay, prior to the fight that would launch his career as the only heavyweight to win 3 lineal World Heavyweight Championships (1964, 1974, 1978) on his way to becoming one of the most recognizable figures in the world, in a typical display of the psychological trash talk for which he became known, said that Liston “smelled like a bear” and that he was “going to donate him to a zoo” after defeating him In the ring. Prior to the fight, he recited this poem: “Clay comes out to meet Liston and Liston starts to retreat. If Liston goes back an inch farther, he’ll end up in a ringside seat…”

At the time, nobody thought the good-looking 22-year-old kid from Louisville, Kentucky, had a chance against the hardened ex-con, who learned to write his name while in a Missouri prison— a career criminal who had been arrested at least 19 times. Liston told Sports Illustrated, “I had nothing when I was a kid but a lot of brothers and sisters, a helpless mother, and a father who didn’t care about any of us. We grew up with few clothes, no shoes, little to eat. My father worked me hard and whupped me hard.”

Ali’s pattern of confidence and taunting his opponents before fights would continue in his career as he took on other fighters, like George Foreman. Ali was also confident and colorful before the Rumble in the Jungle in 1974. He told interviewer David Frost, “If you think the world was surprised when Nixon resigned, wait ’til I whup Foreman’s behind!” He told the press, “I’ve done something new for this fight. I done wrestled with an alligator, I done tussled with a whale; handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail; only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick; I’m so mean I make medicine sick.” Ali was wildly popular in Zaire, with crowds chanting “Ali, bomaye” (“Ali, kill him”) wherever he went.

The Boxer and the Beatles

When Liston was offered a chance to pose with a new British band touring the United States at the time (and causing a sensation) Liston refused to pose with “those sissies,” meaning John, Paul, George and Ringo, who were appearing on Ed Sullivan’s TV show on February 16th and February 23rd. Cassius Clay (who would change his religious affiliation and his name to Muhammad Ali after the fight) DID accept boxing promoter Harold Conrad’s offer to pose with the Beatles, bursting through the door of his 5th Street Gym in Miami Beach and shouting to the mop-topped group, “Come on, Beatles! Let’s go make some money!”

The Conscientious Objector Issue

Then came the difficult years. As an outspoken black man advocating black pride and opposition to the unpopular war in Vietnam, Muhammed Ali’s topics of choice were not popular. He spoke at the Memorial Union, attired in a suit. He had just been denied status as a conscientious objector and stripped of his heavyweight title (1967). He did not fight between March 22 of 1967 and October of 1970, years when he was 26 to 29 years old. That was the period of time when I heard him speak at the Iowa Memorial Union. Every state denied him a license to fight.

After his title defense against Zora Folley on March 22, Ali’s title was stripped following his refusal to be drafted into Army service (on April 28, 1967). His boxing license was immediately suspended by the state of New York and he was convicted on June 20, 1967 (by an all-white jury) and sentenced to five years in prison and a $10,000 fine for draft evasion. While his case was on appeal, he was free on posted bond, traveling the country giving speeches like the one I attended, in which he made statements against the Vietnam War and urged that blacks be given racial equality in America. Ali’s conviction was overturned on appeal and, (as he was out on bond despite the threat of 5 years in jail), he served no jail time. He did, however, lose 4 crucial years of boxing eligibility during his athletic prime.

Among statements Muhammad Ali made, woven into his college addresses, were these:

“Man, I ain’t got no quarrel with them Vietcong.” (He would add that no Vietnamese had ever called him the “n” word)…No, I am not going 10,000 miles to help murder, kill, and burn other people simply to continue the domination of white slave-masters over dark people the world over. This is the day and age when such evil injustice must come to an end…Why should they ask me to put on a uniform and go 10,000 miles from home and drop bombs and bullets on brown people in Vietnam while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights?..My enemy is the white people, not the Vietcong…You’re my opposer when I want freedom. You’re my opposer when I want justice. You’re my opposer when I want equality. You won’t even stand up for me in America because of my religious beliefs, and you want me to go somewhere and fight, when you won’t stand up for my religious beliefs at home?”

In 2014, fifty years later, when the film Twelve Years a Slave is a major Oscar contender for Best Picture at the March 2nd Academy Awards, these words ring as true as ever.

Boxing Talent

Ali probably had the fastest hand and foot speed ever for a big fighter. Jimmy Jacobs, who co-managed Mike Tyson, measured young Ali’s punching speed (using a synchronizer) versus Sugar Ray Robinson, a welter/middleweight often considered the best pound-for-pound fighter in history. Ali was 25% faster than Robinson, even though Ali was 45 to 50 pounds heavier. (Ali had once asked Sugar Ray to manage him, but the former champion declined.) “No matter what his opponents heard about him, they didn’t realize how fast he was until they got in the ring with him,” Jacobs said.
The effect of Ali’s punches was cumulative. “Ali would rub you out,” said Floyd Patterson, who fought Ali on November 22, 1965, right after his two fights with Liston. “He would hit you 14,000 times and he wouldn’t knock you out; he rubbed you out. It’s very hard to hit a moving target, and (Ali) moved all the time, with such grace: three minutes of every round for fifteen rounds. He never stopped. It was extraordinary.”

Of his later career, Arthur Mercante, (boxing announcer), said: “Ali knew all the tricks. He was the best fighter I ever saw in terms of clinching. Not only did he use it to rest, but he was big and strong and knew how to lean on opponents and push and shove and pull to tire them out. Ali was so smart. Most guys are just in there fighting, but Ali had a sense of everything that was happening, almost as though he was sitting at ringside analyzing the fight while he fought it.”

Taunting: the Louisville Lip

Speaking of how Ali stoked Liston’s anger and overconfidence before their first fight, a sports writer commented that “the most brilliant fight strategy in boxing history was devised by a teenager who had graduated 376 in a class of 391.” Ali knew that what he said outside the ring, taunting his opponents as “ignorant” (Frazier) or comparing them to an animal (Liston) did psychological damage to his opponents when they were in the ring. Ai got under their skin, and that was his intention. When Ali referred to Joe Frazier as “ignorant” on national TV, Frasier wrestled Ali to the ground while live television cameras broadcast the unexpected outburst. The animosity towards Ali, from Frasier, lasted until Frazier’s death on November 7, 2011.

Considering that I’m a small-town Iowa girl from a hometown of not quite 5,000 people, I’ve had the good fortune to be in several places when events were taking place that would turn out to be turning points in history—or, at least, important historic events that one might even call a milestone. Among them were events such as the beginning of the Free Speech movement on campus at Berkeley in 1965 and the student riots that year; Ted Kennedy’s last speech inside the DNC in Denver in 2008 nominating Barack Obama; in Grant Park in 2008 when Obama spoke to a cheering crowd on election night; at Invesco Field in Denver when Obama accepted the nomination for president from his party; at the very beginnings of the Tea Party movement inside Ron Paul’s Rally for America in Minneapolis in 2008; at a concert at the Savoy Hotel in Birmingham, England by a band (using a light show) which would go on to become Pink Floyd; in the 7th row of the Beatles concert at the Cow Palace near San Francisco in 1964; at a concert in Paris given by James Brown and the Famous Flames in 1965; at the Howard Dean Scream Heard ‘Round the World at the Val Air Ballroom in West Des Moines in 2004; at concerts by the Rolling Stones, Prince, Dave Matthews Band, John Cougar Mellencamp, U2, and a host of other memorable live acts, including Taylor Swift on May 8, 2010, at the IWireless Center (formerly the Mark of the Quad Cities) when my daughter worked for 13 Management, Ms. Swift’s organization.

And I was also at the Iowa Memorial Union in Iowa City, Iowa, when Muhammed Ali stood up and spoke out for his beliefs in 1968.

Some of you may know that my husband and I lost his mother (my mother-in-law) on February 12th. She died at 12:12 a.m. on February 12th of congestive heart failure, in hospice, at home, after struggling since October with pneumonia and related health issues, and we buried her yesterday after a 10 a.m. mass held at St. Anne’s Church in East Moline, Illinois.

Prior to the funeral, there was a visitation at Van Hoe Funeral Home. The family was told to arrive at 2:30 p.m.; the visitation dragged on until 7 p.m. Father Greg performed the ceremony and did a great job. Many of Grandma Wilson’s (as she was known to her great granddaughters Ava & Elise, age 5) few still-living friends came to either the funeral or the visitation, and many more friends of the Wilson family, in general, came to pay their respects.

For someone who would have been 96 on April 24th, it was a great turn-out.

Her three children (Craig, Regina and Mark) were present with the grandchildren: Scott (46); Megan (28); Matthew (26); Stacey (26); Michael (23); and Hannah (20). Grandchild Emma (22) is studying at the University in Limerick, Ireland in a program from the Rochester Institute of Technology, so was unable to attend. There were many flowers, donations to St. Anne’s Church, and I wore “the diva coat” (white mink) she gifted me with at least a decade ago, saying, at the time, “I think you’re the only one in the family this will fit.” I said that I felt like Grandma was hugging me from heaven and my new prescription sunglasses (LaCoste frames) contributed to the “Who’s that behind those Foster grants?” feeling.

Believe me, when it’s -20, you want to be wearing a fur coat! This winter has been particularly brutal, both physically and emotionally. Caring for Grandma at home since 2 days before Thanksgiving, my husband became the chief Night Shift and spent nearly every night sleeping there. Her youngest grandchild, Hannah, came home from college and provided some respite during her college break from Western Illinois University, which was great. Daughter Regina and son Mark (from St. Louis) were present with her during her final week, and Craig and I were there nearly every day, along with 2 lovely ladies who formed the “day shift,” Lynn and Doris.

Grandma had hip transplants in 1986 (November 15, 1986). One hip was totally out of the socket and the other she was able to perch on for only brief periods, so helping her to the rest room and administering showers, etc., was challenging. It was difficult to get her into the walk-in shower we installed (tearing out the tub) and, at the end, she was bedridden. She quit taking all pills (about 13 a day), with the exception of the Lasix pills to keep the fluid from building up around her lungs.

Helen’s “long, slow fade to black” really started approximately October 20th and lasted for not quite 4 months, with hospitalization for pneumonia followed by a period of time at Illini Restorative Care until she returned home 2 days before Thanksgiving. Grandma would have been 96 on April 24 (born 1918). She had been a widow for 22 years, with her husband of nearly 50 years, Kenny (Samuel Kenneth), dying Feb. 10, 1992, only 2 days before Grandma’s date of death.

The parish priest said that there had been a rash of funerals where too many people got up to speak and said inappropriate things. Only one speaker would be allowed, and he should not speak more than 5 minutes and be “appropriate.”

Grandma Wilson had told her oldest grandchild (of 7), my son, Scott, that she thought it was so lovely when a grandchild had eulogized his grandmother at a funeral she had attended many years prior. Scott (age 46) had eulogized my own mother in 2003, along with her 2 other grandsons, Chris and John Castelein, and he did a beautiful job. Pall bearers for Helen were her 3 grandsons (Scott, Matthew and Michael Wilson), my nephew Chris Castelein, Tim Daebelliehn (Wendy’s younger brother), Dan Rowe (son of their long-time neighbors Lou and Anne Rowe) and Honorary Pallbearer Joe Daebelliehn, Jr.

Scott, who was born in 1968, was the sole grandchild for 18 years. It wasn’t until 1986 that Helen’s youngest child, Mark, 12 years younger than brother Craig and a resident of St. Louis with his wife Wendy, had Megan, now 28, and that was the second of the seven grandchildren. But, for 18 years, it was just Scott and his Grandmother Wilson. She took him everywhere and people would remark on his curly hair and say, “He’s too pretty to be a boy.” Scott was a very happy and malleable child and Grandma was smitten. She used to say to her friends with many, many grandchildren, “Quality, not quantity.” I think Scott’s entry on the scene sealed my place in the family, as, otherwise, she had selected a different girl for Craig. (And, yes, I know who it was).

So, Scott eulogized Grandmother Helen at her funeral and Stacey, his 19-years-younger sister wrote a poem to go along with the playing of Grandma’s favorite song, “Unforgettable,” as her casket was wheeled from the church.

We loved you, Helen, and we miss you already.

EULOGY for Helen Wilson on Saturday, February 15, 2012.

“I’m Helen’s oldest grandson and the son of Connie and Craig.

Grandma was truly unforgettable.

She was the core of a wonderful family that she raised and stayed close with for her entire life. She helped to shape who I am as a person.

To me, she was easily the coolest Grandma around. With her Oakley sunglasses and her vodka tonics, she would prompt you to grab a beer, pull up a chair and play some poker. It doesn’t get much cooler than that.

I will admit that I am completely spoiled when it comes to Grandmothers. I had two of the best and had both of them with me into their 90’s. I’ve also had the honor to be able to represent my family to speak on their behalf at each of their funerals. I am also blessed that my twin 5-year-old girls were able to spend time with Grandma and really bond with her. It makes me happy to know they will have lasting memories of the time they spent with their Great Grandma Wilson.

The main thing I can say about Grandma was the extreme JOY that emanated from her. She was just so pleasant to be around and didn’t have an enemy in the world. You could talk to her about anything. She was a straight, no-nonsense shooter and extremely thoughtful, considerate, caring and kind and warm-hearted. The list goes on and on…

When I look back and reflect, it will be on all the little things about her that I will remember the most:

The way she treated everyone like they were part of the family.

Her GREAT memory, even to the very end, bringing up high school or college friends of mine by name and asking how they were doing, decades later.

She LOVED Guy Lombardo—not so much Lawrence Welk.

She was the opposite of a pack rat. She gave everything away! You’d have to scrounge around to find a proper pot or pan to cook a meal, as she’d given most of them away. I just learned that she had burned her wedding dress in the incinerator—it was taking up too much space. In the last week or so, when she was bedridden at home and unable to really communicate, my father told me that he would turn on the Guy Lombardo Show on TV for her to listen to and enjoy. I asked, “Why didn’t you take her CD player in to play her big band CD’s that she loved?”

He said, “I would have, but I didn’t realize that she donated all her CD’s and donated her CD player, too!”

I’ll miss sharing ice cream with her after packing up her favorite turtle sundae from Whitey’s.

The way she used to remind me that “nothing good happens after midnight.”

Her wonderful china paintings that decorated her house.

Her beloved hat pin collection that she gathered over the better part of a century. (She eventually got rid of that, too!)

I LOVED that delightful relaxed voice and the way she pronounced things, like “Mundee,” and “Tuesdee” and “Wednesdee”. And the way she answered the phone with that wonderful “Haaalow!”

My twins referred to her as “Gentle Grandma” and I am happy that, after her many world travels and her 95 years on Earth, she was able to join Grandpa in heaven the way she always wanted—drifting off in her sleep, in her own home, surrounded by her loving family.

I would like to end with a poem that my sister, Stacey, wrote for her Grandma and asked me to share:

The one that we will miss so much
The one that made us smile
The one that loved to paint, play cards,
In the kitchen, where we’d pile.

The one who loved her family so
And they loved her as much.
The glue that held us all together,
The house where we grew up.

Her gentle, soothing presence,
And her easy-going way.
The times we spent together,
All the games that we would play.

We’ll miss her now but not forget
The way she touched our lives,
And so, today, I want to say
These few but sincere lines.

We had a great time with you, Grandma,
We loved you dearly, so,
We’ll raise our vodka tonics,
And we hate to see you go

Grandma was truly unforgettable.”

Spike Jonze, former husband of Francis Ford Coppola’s director daughter Sofia (1999-2003) has created, in this year’s Oscar-nominated film “Her,” a futuristic tale of how things might become. Or perhaps it is a tale of how things already are?

Spike Jonze (birth name in 1969, Adam Spiegel) is a three-time nominee in the 2013 Oscar race, with his film nominated for Best Film, Best Original Screenplay (for which it has already won Golden Globe and Writers’ Guild of America Awards) and for Best Song (“The Moon Song”). Jonze was also nominated as Best Director in 1999 for “Being John Malkovich,” scripted by Charlie Kaufman, so this makes 4 nominations.

Will “Her” win the Best Picture Oscar on March 2nd?

No, but it has a very good chance to pick up Best Original Screenplay, and—given the fact that, somehow, all the music from “Inside Llewyn Davis” escaped nomination—“The Moon Song” and/or the song from “Frozen” would seem to be potential favorites for Oscar gold on March 2nd.

“Her” is an odd film about a man who falls in love with his operating system in a futuristic city meant to represent Los Angeles of at least ten years (if not more) in the future. Everyone has an ear bud in his (or her) ear, and no one talks to “real people” any more.

This is foreign territory for me, because I rarely turn on my cell phone and only give the number out to people I don’t want to talk to. I hate the idea of being “tracked” and telling the world, “Just ate at the House of Pies” (as one Facebook friend always does), and I’m not impressed with “apps” at all, [unless I’m trying to avoid a tornado at the time---then, I like them].

But that’s because I’m Old School, of the generation(s) that actually talked to one another, rather than “LOL-ing” our way from Facebook to Twitter to Pinterest to Tumblr to My Space to whatever the next online fad might be.
I do remember that, when I had to begin using a computer (1985) to write a book (29 years ago now) I was alone among my peers in even HAVING a home computer. Nobody else had computers much in the Heartland. Maybe they did in Silicone Valley, but they didn’t play in Peoria—or anywhere within 200 miles.

For one thing, the Internet was in its infancy (Al Gore hadn’t invented it yet, I guess) and all messages flew across the screen as Egyptian hieroglyphics, which required several painstaking steps to convert to regular English. Practically the only online “source” was the Department of Education at One DuPont Circle, and only AOL was a factor in “the olden days” of computer technology. Son Scott (one year older than Spike Jonze/Adam Spiegel) had a distinct advantage over his schoolmates in having a humongous WANG PC in his basement, courtesy of Performance Learning Systems, Inc. which hired me to write a book and insisted I use the WANG PC to do it. (I just love saying WANG PC!)

If it weren’t for Scott’s ministrations, I would never have figured out how to do anything on this behemoth with the gigantic laser printer, and, today, Scott troubleshoots computer programs for steel companies written by his United Kingdom Company, Broner Metals,located in Sheffield, England. Do I feel that his early exposure to computer technology in our basement in East Moline, Illinois, when he was 17 years old, helped him to gain an advantage over his less fortunate peers? Yes, I do. Does he? No idea.

I mention this generation gap only because I think it has a lot to do with how audiences will perceive and react to the film. If you’re past 45 or even older (God forbid, because we’re all supposed to simply keel over quickly after retirement so that our children don’t have to pay even higher money in to the broke Social Security coffers to support our feeble elderly selves) or even older, “Her” won’t resonate as much as it will for the younger generations, which my 26-year-old daughter confirmed. (*Aside: have you ever noticed how women’s magazines never have a decade category past 50? Recently Christie Brinkley at 60 and looking 30 made the cover of “People” magazine, but you rarely see women touted as “attractive”–or even alive–in their 70′s and 80′s. We are all supposed to be good little parents and die off quickly in our 60′s, even if we look like Christie Brinkley!)

If you are my son’s age (and, also, a fan of Weezer and the Beastie Boys and Kanye West and Jackass and all the other groups Spike Jonze has been involved with during his video-making career
) you may find this film wonderful. If you are younger than 45 (Jonze’s age) you may find it spectacular. If you are “mature” (euphemism for “old”) you may just find it a “meh” experience—except for the futuristic sets and the first-rate script.

As an oldie-but-a-goodie, I found it curiously lacking and weird as entertainment. For me, the single line that best summed up the film was one spoken to Joaquin Phoenix’s character, Theodore Twombley, by his blind date, when she says, “You’re a creepy dude.”

No matter what part he inhabits, Joaquin Phoenix IS a “creepy dude.” The Old Man pants pulled up to his armpits [as humorously engraved in my brain-pan forever by favorite comics like Jeff Altman and Martin Short], may echo what I see happening in men’s fashion right now (i.e., they seem to have run out of material, so Adam Levine and his contemporaries are wearing tight, short jackets and tight, short pants) but that just adds to the “meh” moment(s) that the AARP generation will experience while viewing this film.

But the alienation issues addressed by Jonze’s script are happening right now. I could definitely relate to the lines that sum up angst as experienced by many of us. Example, explaining his divorce to friend Amy Adams: “I think I hid myself from her and left her alone in the relationship.” This bit of wisdom may be a personal note on the demise of Jonze/Spiegel’s own marriage to Sofia Coppola. Indeed, many have speculated that the busy on-the-go photographer who rushes off and abandons his lovely wife in a hotel room to be wined and dined by Bill Murray, (played by Giovanni Ribisi in Sofia’s film “Lost in Translation”) represented the problems in Sofia’s own 5-year union to Spike.

Whether that is true or not (Sofia says “not”), the lines in this film seem intensely personal but the emotions, as expressed by Scarlett Johanssen’s tour de force vocal performance, are Words of Wisdom that many of us can relate to in our current 2014 lives. The observations are universal truths. It’s no wonder that the Original Screenplay category is one for which this film has received the nod this year. Here’s another gem: “I sometimes think I’m going to feel all the emotions I’m ever going to feel.” Or how about, “I want to discover myself.”

The speaker of that last line is the OS1 operating system Samantha, who is seeking discovery, because she is, —well, a disembodied voice. But Theodore is so lonely and estranged after his marriage to his childhood sweetheart founders that the comforting voice of a machine becomes human to and for him. Soon, Samantha, the disembodied voice, is his love interest, telling Theodore, “You helped me discover my ability to want.”

Of course, as the script notes, love is a form of socially acceptable insanity and having a machine for a wife means that you don’t have to cope with the reality of actually dealing with anything “real.” That, in fact, is what his ex (played by Mara Rooney) tells Theodore when they meet to sign the final divorce papers. Theodore’s ex had a childhood with demanding parents for whom her best was never quite good enough. Theodore was able to restore some of her self-esteem in the early days of their marriage (Is this hitting too close to home?), but, ultimately, he was not enough to mend her. Theodore constantly reminisces (in flashbacks) of happier times. My favorite glimpse of the couple showed them wearing traffic cones on their heads. I got the feeling that Theodore would have taken his ex back in a heartbeat—especially since he has been reticent to sign the final divorce decree and his dating life is a disaster, complete with a hilarious phone sex service scene.

But, as so often happens IRL (in real life), the path of true love seldom runs smooth(ly).

After the initial “honeymoon phase” of their relationship, complete with phone sex and longing for face-to-face contact (as if anyone in this futuristic society gets THAT anymore!), Theodore even begins to find tiny, niggly little things about his Vocal Dream Girl that annoy him, like the way she takes a breath when speaking. Then he discovers that she sometimes is speaking with more than just one person, when she pledges her love. How many more? A LOT more! A male voice in the audience actually cried out, “Oh, no!” at this betrayal of the flesh-and-blood Theodore by the mechanical Scarlett/Samantha voice. It was an amusing moment. I wasn’t sure if the audience member was being sincere or sarcastic.

Another line that is gold: “You’re always disappointing someone.” Or how about, “All I do is hurt and confuse all those around me.” (How many of us have had THAT feeling a few times in life? Hmmmmm?)
Ultimately, one of the messages that resonated with me the most was, “We’re only here briefly, and, while I’m here, I want to allow myself joy.”

Kudos to Amy Adams who plays Theodore’s good friend in the building, as well as to Chris Pratt (“Parks & Recreation”) and to Hoyt Van Hoytema, who has done a fantastic job of creating a futuristic world with his cinematography, shot in both Shanghai and Los Angeles.

And while we’re praising Scarlett Johanssen’s sexy vocalizations (she replaced Samantha Morton, for reasons that are not quite clear), listen closely for Brian Cox’s easily recognizable voice as Alan Watt, a dead philosopher who has been recreated in the unreal world that Samantha inhabits and may be (one of) Theodore’s rivals for Samantha’s affections.

If you ever saw “Three Kings,” you may know who Spike Jonze/Adam Spiegel is, after all, as he portrayed the dimwitted, bigoted Conrad, as directed by his good friend David O. Russell, [who is, himself, up for an Oscar this year for “American Hustle” (and was similarly nominated for “Silver Linings Playbook” last year).]

Let’s put it this way: if you’re coming off directing “Being John Malkovich,” “Adaptation” and “Where the Wild Things Are,” you have a pretty good streak going, and, while I, personally, will not recommend this film to anyone in my age range as “entertainment,” the thoughts in the script and the message about how we all long to connect to someone and how it is becoming increasingly more difficult to do so with each new technological advancement (I use the term ironically) was interesting and thought-provoking.

And, besides, I got to say WANG PC at least four times in this review, and that, alone, made me smile.
,

Back when the Earth’s crust was warm, I convinced my parents to buy me a round-trip ticket from Marion to San Francisco so that I could attend Berkeley for summer school. The ticket cost $75. (I still have the receipt).

It was “the summer of love” and the boy I met there, from Philadelphia (William Hopkins) bought a purple Czechoslovokian motorcyle, which he did not know how to drive. He was living in a fraternity house on campus; I was in a dorm that overlooked San Francisco Bay, and my roommate, who asked me to be in her wedding, was engaged to a sailor who was about to ship out to Vietnam. (The ceremony was at China Lake, and I was the only other female present amongst a large group of sailors about to ship out to go to war in Vietnam. That made me very popular).

One day, we learned that the Beatles were going to play the San Francisco Cow Palace, and I convinced Colgate—err, Bill—to cut class with me and drive up and see if we could get in. We got tickets in the 7th row for $7 and it was the craziest, most hysterical concert I’ve ever attended. The closest I have seen young girls go nuts were the pre-teens at the Taylor Swift concert in Moline on May 8, 2010, when my daughter was working for 13 Management and got me extremely good seats.

The Beatles were brought in in an armored car. But they were late. The restive crowd began stomping on the bleacher seats.

Finally, they emerged and began playing, especially some songs from their new release, HELP! The National Anthem was played by King Curtiss and his band (a noted saxophonist of the day). On the bill after that, Shirley Bassey came out and sang the theme from “Goldfinger,” which was then a new release. “Cannibal and the Headhunters” came out and sat down on the stage and did a sort of “choo choo train” number. And The Astronauts from Colorado were supposed to be on the bill. I was looking forward to hearing them (again) because they had played at some Beta Theta Pi parties at the University (of Iowa) and I’d heard them before, but they didn’t show up.

Security at the Cow Palace was always bad. In fact, this night, it consisted of only one guy and chicken wire waist high. Therefore, some random fellow went streaking across the stage, stole John’s hat and Ringo’s drumsticks. The concert was delayed a bit while someone fetched more drumsticks.

I remember thinking that George didn’t add much. He literally just stood there, like a stick in the mud. My favorite (then and now) was Paul, but it was definitely Paul and John who ran the show. THe best parts were the punctuation of various rhythms with the head shaking that became their trademark.

People down in front started standing on the folding chairs, and, one by one, they went down like dominoes. (*Note to self: do not stand on folding chairs.) After the concert was over, they herded the crowd out through a narrow concrete-passageway. My feet were not touching the ground, but I was moving. It was scary. I thought I was going to e crushed by the crowd. (I’ve experienced this only once since, at the Hubert Humphrey Dome Rolling Stones “Bridges to Babylon” tour, when they refused to open the doors because the roof might collapse.)

It is a concert I will never forget, and I offer the video up to you on the occasion of the 50th year since the Beatles came to America. (The audio on this clip was added from a different concert, so at times the lips don’t seem to “synch up” with the music.)

Ever since this concert experience, I’ve been gun-shy about being “down front” in a mosh pit sort of atmosphere, which is why, when the Dave Matthews Band played Palmer Auditorium, I took my young daughter up in the balcony, rather than down front, and, after audience members began crowd surfing and were dropped on their heads, I was glad we were far away.)

The local paper (Quad City Times) had an article from a former resident talking about her experiences driving in the Southland during the recent snowfall. She commented on how she felt that, having grown up in the Midwest, in Illinois, where we are used to driving on snow, she had a distinct advantage over some of the Southerners who seemed totally unable to cope. My favorite description of the recent Atlanta situation:
Q: What do you call 2 and ½ inches of snow with a gentle breeze in Atlanta?
A: The Apocalypse.” (Courtesy of Jimmy Fallon)

Son Scott works for a British steel company as their only North American representative and travels frequently for work to other steel companies as a project manager selling and installing and trouble-shooting software that steel companies use (he previously worked for LTV Steel, which went bankrupt and was later bought by a French company and re-opened.) His current employer is Broner Metals of Sheffield, England. I’ll call Scott’s boss “David” (because I think that may really be his name.)

The boss had flown in from the United Kingdom and Scott had flown to Mobile, Alabama from Chicago to give a presentation at a steel company there. When they arrived, the entire plant had been shut down by reports of snow heading their way and employees had been told to stay home. After trying to salvage a few meetings held in their hotel room with a few of the decision-makers who were available, the boss wanted to fly out and go back home (to England). [Who can blame him?]

Unfortunately, the Mobile (Al) airport was virtually closed, so David urged Scott to find other airports in larger cities, suggesting Miami (a 12 hr. drive). Scott suggested they stay put, but the boss really wanted to fly out. So, they took off on what would turn out to be a 12-hour Odyssey to try to drive the distance between Mobile (Alabama) and Atlanta (Georgia) —a trip that would normally take only 5 hours. It’s also worth mentioning that the rental car company, which had expected their car to be returned to Mobile, wants to charge him $750 for taking the car to Atlanta, instead. (That is still being discussed, since the entire rental charge was only $150).

Scott said he was going 50 mph at first on the Interstate and the snow wasn’t too bad, but, as the day wore on, it got worse. Soon, they were going only 20 to 30 mph and, after that, gridlock. The boss was on the phone, contacting the airport. His original departure time was to have been 8:45 p.m. It did not look like they were going to make it in time, but, in a phone call to the airport, he learned that the departure had been set back to 9 or 9:45 p.m. and the airline employee on the phone said he might as well try to make it, since he was nearly there by that point in time, and he could always cancel at the airport, so they continued on this questionable journey.

Basically, Scott described driving AROUND people who were simply sitting in their cars, acting like they had no idea what to do. He was driving on the shoulder of the road, where there was at least some traction from the grass, at various points, and, in one spot, he saw a detour through a parking lot that would give his car tires something to attach to, since the roads were becoming sheets of ice.

As they neared the airport—with very little time to spare before the flight would board—the exit ramp to the airport was totally blocked with immobilized cars. Scott described trucks that were simply FLOORING their accelerators, smoke coming off their tires as they spun helplessly, as trucks would try to climb a slight incline and find themselves sliding back down into other cars. He described hundreds of cars sliding sideways on the icy roads and they saw at least 50 cars in the ditches. The general populace acted as though they had no idea how to handle an icy road.

At one point, he noticed that a few enterprising drivers who had been stuck there for a long time, immobilized (some were abandoning their autos and walking to nearby convenience stores or gas stations), were driving the wrong way onto on ramps, to avoid the congestion and gridlock that had occurred on the off-ramps. He turned their rented Toyota Corolla around on the shoulder of the Interstate, (where some traction was possible in the grass), and followed their lead. He described getting the boss to the airport with only 20 minutes to spare and the boss texting him from the plane, “I made it!”

So, now the boss is winging his way back to Merry Olde England.

What about the East Moline/Chicago native?

A good friend of Scott’s (Chris Haggerty) who was a groomsman in his wedding (and vice versa) is an attorney in Atlanta and lives only 9 miles from the airport. Scott called and asked if he could take refuge at the Haggertys house. He was welcomed enthusiastically, but was also told tales of a 6-mile trip home from school for Sarah Haggerty (a teacher) taking and hour and a half. (Chris takes the train, so he made it okay). (I once called up an old classmate to see if refuge was a possibility once in Denver when I traveled for Performance Learning Systems, Inc. and got snowed in there, but Jane was less-than-welcoming and said, rather coldly, that there were plenty of motels around the airport—even though I had no toiletry items, nor clothes (except the ones I was wearing) nor anything to sleep in, etc. So, not all friends would welcome you with Open Arms. (I use the term loosely, since it has become readily apparent in recent years that, despite our families vacationing together twice in our youth, Jane was never my “friend.” You live and you learn.)

But Scott was much luckier with Chris and Sarah, who are a peach of a couple. Kudos to them and their dogs, Daisy and (the other one whose name I have now forgotten.)

Scott checked his cell phone for alternative routes off the Interstate because the Interstate looked like a scene from “World War Z:” cars backed up for literally miles, none of them moving. I’m very familiar with this scene, as I remember the Chicago blizzard of 2011 when I could see people abandoning their cars on Lake Shore Drive from my condo window.

He began driving the 9 miles to the Haggertys by alternate routes. It took 2 and ½ hours to get there, with some fancy driving (he gave high marks to the Toyota Corolla’s navigability) necessary.
One of his favorite sights as he crept along in the snow was this: 5 guys waiting for a bus (which, obviously, was never going to show up). One even went out into the street and peered down the street to see if their bus was approaching in the snow (not likely). Between that and the man just REVVING his truck engine as much as he could (he had no traction and could not go forward or backwards), the Midwesterner in their midst was shaking his head in wonderment.

When Scott reached the Haggertys (where he was “stuck” for 2 days), neither Sarah nor Chris went to work for 2 days because of the storm. They actually played some board games with neighbors. The entire city was immobilized and the local populace felt that the Mayor, who kept blaming it on “everybody got on the roads at once”, was being disingenuous. After all, schools and work get out at the same time every day. Shouldn’t the Mayor have expected that? Apparently, the salt trucks that they DID have (and they don’t have many) were much further south than the Atlanta city proper, and Scott said he saw no plows or salt trucks or anything resembling what we would routinely experience in the Quad Cities (or Chicago).

At one point, the 3 of them (Scott, Sarah and Chris) decide to walk to a nearby restaurant that they often frequent. (It was within walking distance). The owners of the establishment know the Haggertys and told them that one of their cooks had left work at 9:45 p.m. the night before and he STILL had not made it home 16 hours later, so they were a bit understaffed.

Sarah and Chris were also quite surprised that Scott had been able to make it to their house from the airport, 9 miles away, since the entire city of Atlanta seemed to have become paralyzed by what we in this area would consider a light dusting of the white stuff.

And, yes, the locals DO think the Mayor and city officials are going to have a hard time begging off with the excuses they’ve heard so far.

Here is a quote from Rebecca Burns, Deputy Editor of “Atlanta”magazine:

“What happened in Atlanta this week is not a matter of Southerners blindsided by unpredictable weather. More than any event I’ve witnessed in two decades of living in and writing about this city, this snowstorm underscores the horrible history of suburban sprawl in the United States and the bad political decisions that drive it. It tells us something not just about what’s wrong with one city in America today but what can happen when disaster strikes many places across the country. As with famines in foreign lands, it’s important to understand: It’s not an act of nature or God—this fiasco is man-made from start to finish.”

Academy Award Predictions for the 2013 Oscars in the Main Categories

I’ve been watching magazines (like “Entertainment Weekly”) predict the potential Oscar nominees for Best Actor in advance and score only 3 out of 5. (They missed with Tom Hanks and Robert Redford). True, they did better in other categories, but as someone who covered the Chicago Film Festival and has seen nearly all of the nominees, it’s time to share my view(s) on who will win. After all, it’s over a month away.

Best Picture of 2013

The nominees are: “12 Years A Slave;” “American Hustle;” “Captain Phillips;” “Dallas Buyers’ Club;” “Gravity;” “Her;” “Nebraska;” “Philomena;” and “The Wolf of Wall Street.” First of all, let me say that there were enough good movies out there this year that the Academy could/would/should have picked 10 films, but it is my understanding that, to make the list, a film has to receive enough first-place votes from Academy members, and, obviously, films like “Inside Llewyn Davis,” “August: Osage County” and “Blue Jasmine” didn’t quite make the cut. Why? Beats the heck out of me!I’d say they were too much “downers” as movie fare, except that “Blue Jasmine,” in particular, has some very funny moments, and “Dallas Buyers Club” is hardly frivolous fare.

If I were to put the list above in order, entertainment-wise, I’d be hard-pressed to pick a favorite between “American Hustle” and “Captain Phillips.” For me, “12 Years a Slave” started much too slowly, was too depressing, and did not accurately depict what life would have been like for a free man in 1841 in the North. Steve McQueen, its director, is British, and I think he must have missed the Jackie Robinson film “42,” which depicted the struggles of blacks (even Jackie Robinson) to crack the color barrier as recently as the sixties. No way would a black man in 1841 in the North in Washington, D.C., have been served in the fancy dining room (seated with white men), attired as a fop, nor lived in the very fancy house he returns to at film’s end. I also did not like the hanging scene. From the standpoint of veracity, I will never believe that the other slaves depicted tip-toeing around in the background wouldn’t have helped poor Solomon out of that noose, since the slave master(s) had disappeared from the scene. However, having these negative things, I do think that the Best Supporting Actress award should go to new-comer Lupita Nyong’o. (For my money, the SAG awards got it right most of the time).

However, if you hold my feet to the fire and say, “Rank order these films in the order of which ones are really good movies that I will enjoy,” I’d start out with “American Hustle” and move to “Captain Phillips” second.

After that, “Dallas Buyers Club” was a revelation. I recognize the achievement(s) of “Gravity,” but it was a boring film a lot of the time, despite its technical achievements. I look for the Academy to award those achievements and perhaps its Director, but not the film. I think the feel-good film (“American Hustle”) will win out over watching the wicked slave owner Edwin Epps (excellently played by Michael Fassbender) whip Patsy till she damn near dies. I regret the omission of “Blue Jasmine,” a truly funny, yet heartbreakingly honest film. The minute I saw Cate Blanchett’s performance, I took my husband back for a second look, since it was such a good film and she was phenomenal in it. Let me be honest here: I’ve not (yet) seen “Her” or “Philomena;” I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be swayed by either. “The Wolf of Wall Street” contained good performances, but it was way too long and seemed rather self-indulgent on Scorsese’s part to carry scenes on so long when the point had been made 20 minutes earlier. (I’m thinking of Leonardo DiCaprio’s many scenes exhorting his troops of brokers.)

So, Best Picture: “American Hustle”—-when “Blue Jasmine,” which wasn’t even nominated, was its equal and so was “Captain Phillips,” a truly heart-thumping Paul Greengrass effort with his trademark quick cuts, which have made Matt Damon’s outing in the Bourne series so great.

Director: Even though David O. Russell deserves it, for directing both “Silver Linings Playbook” and this year’s “American Hustle” (and, many years ago, “Flirting with Disaster,” one of my All-Time Favorite comedies), the Academy will give it to “Gravity’s” director, Alfonso Cuaron, which I can live with. I realize he overcame some daunting technical issues to make this space epic so realistic, but, quite frankly, the best line I’ve heard about “Gravity” was from Tina Fey when she told the Golden Globes audience that George Clooney floated away after 10 minutes so he wouldn’t have to spend any more time with a woman his age. (I paraphrase loosely). That was part of the problem. One-person movies are not as riveting as those with an actual cast that hangs around. Yes, I know that “Castaway” was well done and that Robert Redford’s effort this year was good, but, for me (and most other movie-goers) watching one person onscreen for a couple hours gets boring after a while. Sorry. It’s just the way it is, Tina Fey funny remarks notwithstanding.

Best Actor: Nominees-Christian Bale (“American Hustle”); Bruce Dern (“Nebraska”); Chiwetel Ejiofor (“12 Years A Slave”); Matthew McConaughey (“Dallas Buyers Club”); Leonardo DiCaprio (“The Wolf of Wall Street”). I’ve bold-faced the winner. I could give you all the (good) reasons why, such as his great year appearing in “Mud” and his superb cameo in “The Wolf of Wall Street,” which is one of the film’s most memorable moments. I will give you that both Tom Hanks and Robert Redford were snubbed, especially since Hanks not only had “Captain Phillips” but, also, “Saving Mr. Banks.” Nevertheless, the momentum is with the letter “M” and he will be joined onstage by his co-star Jared Leto, as Best Supporting Actor. Why not Best Film then? Too depressing, overall, but a really, really good film. (*It played in the Quad Cities for about 2 days, so I had to drive all the way to Chicago to see it; I think it’s coming back, however, so be sure to catch it if you are a true film buff).

Best Actress: Nominees –Amy Adams (“American Hustle”); Cate Blanchett (“Blue Jasmine”); Judi Dench (“Philomena”); Meryl Streep (“August: Osage County”); Sandra Bullock (“Gravity”). I’ve not seen Judi Dench, but both she and Streep and Bullock have won previously, so there’s that to consider. The bottom line is that Cate Blanchett’s performance was pitch perfect, at times, funny, always touching and just perfect. She deserves it.

Best Supporting Actor: Nominees – Barkhad Abdi (“Captain Phillips”); Bradley Cooper (“American Hustle”); Michael Fassbender (“12 Years A Slave”); Jonah Hill (“The Wolf of Wall Street”); Jared Leto (“Dallas Buyers Club”). This performance as a trans-gender male is outstanding. Leto deserves it, also. While the Somalian pirate was a wonderful debut by Minneapolis resident Barkhad Abdi, it’s his first film and we’ll have to see if there is a big market for Somalian pirates in future films. (Abdi hopes so, because he already has moved to Hollywood and plans to act.) Michael Fassbender was good, as always. I’m bummed that Jonah Hill got the nod while Tom Hanks and Robert Redford were ignored, but oh, well. Alfred Hitchcock never won, nor did Richard Burton and Hanks and Redford have at least won Oscars previously. Leto was just absolutely spot-on.

Best Supporting Actress: Nominees-Sally Hawkins (“Blue Jasmine”); Jennifer Lawrence (“American Hustle”); Lupita Nyong’o (“12 Years A Slave”); Julia Roberts (“August: Osage County”); June Squibb (“Nebraska”) Frankly, I think Jennifer Lawrence was a bit young for the role she played in “American Hustle.” She’s definitely Hollywood’s “it” girl, right now, but that isn’t a good enough reason to give it to her. Julia Roberts has already won. If Lupita doesn’t get the trophy she so richly deserves for playing Patsy, I’d enjoy seeing either of the 2 lesser-known nominees (Sally Hawkins or June Squibb) be so honored. This is the “Wild card” category that I would “wheel” if I were entering contests, because Jennifer Lawrence is the front-runner. I’m voting with my heart and remembering how many times there have been upsets in this category.

So, to sum up, my winners (given the nominees) are: “American Hustle”
Director – Alfonso Cuaron
Best Actor – Matthew McConaughey
Best Actress – Cate Banchett
Best Supporting Actor – Jared Leto
Best Supporting Actress – Lupita Nyong’o
How much you want to bet I can get at least 3 out of 6 right to rival “Entertainment Weekly’s” nominee predicting?

While vacationing in beautiful Cabo San Lucas, I caught up on all the many magazines I had been meaning to read AND read two novels that were also on my “to read” list.

The first book I completed (in 2 days) was Stephen King’s “Dr. Sleep,” a continuation of the young boy Danny Torrance from “The Shining.” Dan Torrance is now middle-aged and called upon to aid a 12-year-old girl (Abra Stone), who also has the special power called “the Shining.”

The book held your interest and picked up quickly. Stephen King is a master of limning characters quickly, with small details like the tee shirt they wear or an expression they use, and he creates many characters that capture your interest. They are also characters for whom we will be rooting as an evil cult called The True Knot, led by the evil Top Hat wearing Rose, searches for small children with the same special power that Dan and Abra possess. No child is safe from the cult’s vampire-like tendencies. Our fear that the group will find Abra ratchets up the tension in the beginning and middle portions of the novel.
Towards the end, with all the astral projection and the emphasis on Dan’s skill at guiding the dying in hospice towards death, I began to become slightly queasy. This had more to do with some things going on in my own life with a hospice patient than with the book.
I remember thinking that the book is probably only the first that will focus on the female YA protagonist, Abra Stone.
I also was surprised to find a proofreading error on page 206 in the first paragraph of the “your/you’re” variety (“Like when you were eating breakfast, you’d wonder if your missing….”). It made me feel slightly better to realize that the most successful author on the planet, with the might of Simon & Schuster behind him, can have these simply errors (that Spellcheck will never find.)

“The Cuckoo’s Calling:” This is the adult mystery that J.K. Rawlings wrote under the pseudonym “Robert Galbraith” until the publishers (Mulholland Books) realized that the book was not selling under the pseudonym, but would if people knew it was written by Harry Potter’s creator.

The main character in the novel is Cormoran Strike, a down-on-his-luck private eye with a fake leg from his tour of duty in Afghanistan. Cormoran’s personal life is complicated, as he is the bastard son of a famous man and his mother, a groupie, died under mysterious circumstances which Cormoran has never accepted as suicide.
It is, therefore, a bit hard to accept an assignment to investigate the apparent suicide of a beautiful model who fell to her death from her apartment balcony in Kentigern Gardens. The model, Lula Landry, is the adopted daughter of a rich society maven, and I couldn’t help but think of Rihanna when descriptions of the lovely girl were provided. I imagined that John C. Reilly would be a good fit to portray Cormoran, Rihanna as Lula and that the relationship between Lula and her rock star boyfriend was probably modeled on that of Kate Moss. The black rapper from America (Deebee Macc) sounded suspiciously like Kanye West (pre Kim Kardashian) and his sidekick was a Biggie Smalls sort.
Cormoran only takes the job in the first place because he knew Charlie Landry when they were classmates together in their youth. Charlie fell to his death in a quarry and Lula was adopted to fill the void created by his passing at a young age.

There is also Tony Landry, Lula’s uncle (brother to her adoptive mother) and Rochelle, a young black girl living in a homeless shelter that Lula befriends while trying to “find her roots.”
Cormoran has had a love/hate relationship with the beautiful Charlotte for years, and, in this book, his secretary Robin—although engaged to Matthew as the book opens—-seems to be headed towards becoming Cormoran’s replacement romance for the feckless Charlotte.
The plot is quite convoluted and intricate. Near the end, it takes about 10 pages just to explain all the ins-and-outs to the reader who has just struggled through it all. (And I haven’t even mentioned the venal Bestigui clan, who live in Lula’s apartment building and whose wife, Tansy, says she witnessed the fall.)

There are so many likely suspects posited that the author succeeds in keeping us guessing till the bitter end. I have to admit that I left the book for quite a while, however. This was not because it wasn’t interesting, but was because I was reading it aloud, in the car, to my spouse, and I didn’t want to read ahead without him.

However, when I finished “Dr. Sleep,” I had no choice but to finish the mystery of what happened to Lula Landry, whose nickname from her designer friend Guy Some, was “Cuckoo” (hence the title).
The first book I completed (“Dr. Sleep”) was so named because the adult Dan Torrance has the unique ability to assist the dying in hospice to shuffle off this mortal coil with less angst, and is thus called “Dr. Sleep” by his hospice colleagues.

As soon as we arrived in Cabo San Lucas at the Sunset Beach Resort, we were told to be sure to take in sunset from the hot tub near the Sky Bar Pool.

To get to the Sky Bar Pool—-or anywhere, for that matter, at Sunset Beach—-you take a small golf cart driven by the staff.

No one warned us that the Sky Bar Pool was crowded at all times of day, and, given the crowd there in early afternoon, the entire idea of room in the hot tub at sunset was soon discarded and a plan was formulated to try to film the sun going down.

“It goes down fast!” said the experienced tourists who had witnessed the phenomenon in the past.

So, I set up on a railing of the pool area and waited, and the video above is the result.

Finished two books this week: “Dr. Sleep” (Stephen King) and “Cuckoo’s Calling” (Robert Galbraith/J.K. Rawlings).

Most of the video I took of gray humpback whales and spinner dolphins on Monday looks like it was shot by an 8-year-old. It was so sunny out that I couldn’t tell whether I was getting the dolphins and whales or not.

Even those with eye views said it was hard to tell in the bright sunlight off the Caborey (boat) and, so, you will have to watch through a large amount of shakey footage to see a whale’s tail disappearing. I may post it, but it is going to take over 35 minutes to do so.

Therefore, for the moment, here is the short piece of spinner dolphin footage, running directly in front of the ship. Truly an amazing sight. Because we sat through a “presentation” (which consisted mainly of a tour of the properties at Sunset Beach—see pictures on the Pinterest page for Connie Corcoran Wilson)—we got our tickets for half price, and it included all you can drink and breakfast.

Enjoy!

We went out whale watching on a large boat and it was truly an amazing experience. Not only did we see many whales, but there were entire schools of dolphin(s) that ran right ahead of the boat.

Plus, it was an open bar and breakfast was served.

Beautiful weather here, but it ends day after tomorrow, sadly.