The lost art

A long time ago, in a world and time that seems more quaint with each passing minute, people had this thing they used to do with each other. Can you guess what it was?

I'll give you a hint. It didn't involve phones, smart or otherwise. Or glowing screens. Not even fast typing with your thumbs. Give up? People used to talk to each other.

Uninterrupted, interested, interesting, engaging conversations. Even in disagreement, their tongues managed to stay civil. They were receptive to new ideas. And found joy in the camaraderie. Told you it was a quaint time.

The picture above is from a movie that wouldn't stand a chance of getting made today, unless it had commitments from Vin Diesel and Mark Wahlberg. But, you know, neither of them are known for being great talkers. So probably not even then.

The movie was called My Dinner With Andre. Made 37 years ago, it was directed by Louis Malle and starred Wallace Shawn and Andre Gregory. The entire film is the two of them sharing a conversation at Café des Artistes in Manhattan. They talk about their lives, their philosophies, the simple pleasures. There are no car crashes, no CGI monsters or superheroes and no phones ringing.

And it is wildly intelligent and entertaining.

What brought on this unexpected nostalgia for a time where a social network was a cocktail party at Tavern On The Green was a conversation I had with my writer friend Eric at work today. We weren't solving any of the world's problems. For that matter we weren't solving any work problems either (Shhhh!). We were just chatting it up about cars, family, movies, This Is Us and how the older our kids get the stupider they think we are.

I enjoyed it immensely. The exchange of viewpoints, the in-the-momentness of it all. Nobody was rushing to answer a call or get back to work.

It's a contradictory world we're living in, what with devices that promise connection yet deliver isolation. Yet without a two-year plan, roaming charges, eye strain or digital chimes we can make a human connection that's so much more entertaining and enjoyable.

As Wallace Shawn in another movie might say, "Inconceivable!"

Guilty Pleasures Part 11: Paddington 2

Okay, okay, okay. Before you start in on me, let me explain.

It's been awhile since I've done a post to my wildly popular, highly quotable and often referenced Guilty Pleasures series. I'm sure you all remember Guilty Pleasures 1 through 10, including such overlooked, underrated and attention-starved films such as the Final Destination movies, Breakdown, The Faculty, Carrie, Devil's Advocate and the ever popular Three Stooges.

Now in a normal world, which I think you'll agree it hasn't been since January 20, 2017, you couldn't drag me into a theater to see Paddington 2. Not that I have anything in particular against animated, British-accented, marmalade-loving bears. It's just not my wheelhouse.

So it begs the question: why did I see it?

Because my film major son recommended it. Highly. I figured okay, I'll check out exactly why I'm paying thousands of dollars for his sensibilities and cinematic taste to be corrupted to the point of him liking Paddington 2.

My review: it was outstanding. And as you can see by the Rotten Tomatoes score below, I'm not the only one who feels that way.

The animation is as beautiful as anything you'll see this year, especially Paddington's trip through the pop-up book which is central to the plot of the movie. Hugh Grant is wonderful and a revelation in ways he hasn't been before. Funny, loose and clearly enjoying himself more than he has in years, his physical comedy and timing are nothing short of masterful. There's a genuine depth and emotion to all the characters, animated or not, and their family feels like yours by the end of the movie.

The unexpected part, besides the fact I forked over ten bucks to see it, is how emotional it gets-not with manufactured, manipulated feelings but with genuine empathy for the characters.

Like the best of Disney's animated movies—The Lion King, Beauty & The Beast or Little Mermaid—I found myself with a tear on deck for a couple things that happen towards the end of the film. With eyes welling up, I was forced to quickly reach for the incredibly thin napkins I got with the $15 dollar hot dog and medium drink combination.

Sally Hawkins plays a lead role in Paddington 2. If you saw her outstanding performance in this year's The Shape Of Water, you'll appreciate a scene at the end of Paddington 2 (one of the emotional ones) that's sort of an unintentional inside joke referencing that other film.

Before the movie, there were five trailers for other animated films that all looked like crap. Chaos, fart jokes, stupid one-liners and characters you couldn't care less about.

A lot like my high school graduating class.

Anyway, if you're in the mood for an entertaining couple of hours, do what I did. Get over yourself, put away the attitude and get ready to have some good laughs and a good cry at Paddington 2.

And don't worry if you haven't seen the first Paddington. You won't have any trouble following along.

Grabbing his attention

To celebrate the first anniversary of the shithole president's inauguration, millions of mostly women, together with many good men, took to the streets around the country and the world to protest virtually every wrong, misguided policy and decision the liar-in-chief has made since day one.

Which if you're keeping count would be all of them.

The beauty of these protests is we can be assured that he's watching, because chowing down Big Macs in front of the TV for hours on end seems to be what he does most days.

What I love about the march, besides the fact it's happening and so many millions are participating, are the signs. They're creative, heartfelt and on point. Or points. Whimsical to serious, humorous to straightforward, every one of them is a unifying message we all should be behind.

The energy of it all gives me, dare I say it, hope.

I took to the Google to show a few of the signs from today's marches. Some of them didn't have a date, so a few might be from last year's event. No matter. The message is the same.

I think the important thing is now that women have grabbed his attention, it's important not to let go. We all have to keep our energy and enthusiasm up because backing down is simply not an option. Not when it's our country, democracy and standing in the world—not to mention compassion and decency—at stake.

And besides, November will be here before you know it.

Thunder Road

You didn't really think I was going to get through the week without a Bruce post did you?

Anyone who knows me—as much as anyone can know anyone—would tell you Thunder Road is not just my favorite Springsteen song. It's my favorite song ever. I was trying to think about why that is. It's not the first time.

As you'd imagine, I get asked about my Boss obsession a lot, and I've pondered it for hours, months, years trying to figure it all out.

I was reading through the comments on this Thunder Road video, and I read this one from Jimmy Braum.

The second I did, it felt right.

So thank you Jimmy for putting in a line the feeling I probably would've rambled on for paragraphs about, without getting anywhere near as clear and succinct as you have.

As I write this I'm getting ready to leave work and head home.

I bet you can guess what I'll be listening to on the drive.

My hat's off

I suppose it'd be easy to think this is another post about Breaking Bad, what with the picture of Walter White, er, Heisenberg. That and the fact I'm the one writing it.

But it's not. It's actually about the hat.

On one of my Breaking Bad binges, I've lost count (9), I started falling in love with his Pork pie hat and wondering how it'd look on me. It was a rhetorical question, because the truth of the matter is no hat looks good on me.

For starters, there's the problem of finding hats that even fit me given the rather large noggin I use as a carrying case for my oversized brain.

Then there's the douche factor: I think 99.9% of guys in Pork pie hats—unless they're Justin Timberlake, Bryan Cranston, Buster Keaton or Gene Hackman in The French Connection—look like they go to eleven on the Douche-O-Meter.

My infatuation with the hat I'll never wear comes from my desire to have a style to call my own. Any style, I'm not particular. But I don't have one, and whichever one I eventually land on may not require a hat. Also, the "style to call my own" part wouldn't really apply since so many hats are being worn by guys in their own little fantasy world, where the Douche-O-Meter doesn't exist.

I think baseball caps are an exception. For starters, one size fits all. Even me. And it's considered, you know, a baseball cap—not a fashion statement (usually). Almost anyone can pull off wearing a baseball cap.

The point of all this is I've come to the realization, begrudgingly, that I'm going to have to put the Pork pie hat on my long list of things I wish I could do, but know I can't.

Of course I might have to binge Breaking Bad a tenth time to make sure.

Nice rack

One of the great joys remodeling the kitchen is paying the thousands of dollars in bills that seem like they'll be coming in for years after I'm dead. No, wait, that's not how I wanted to start this.

One of the great joys of remodeling is I get to pick out new appliances. There we go. And one of my best choices was our brand spanking new Bosch dishwasher.

Just to give you a little background, because I know you were hoping I would, our dishwasher is what started the entire kitchen remodel project. I won't get into all the gory details, because I already did that here. Suffice it to say eleven months and $20K over budget later, it was the right choice.

The Bosch is the third dishwasher we've had. The first that came with the house was a Westinghouse with a black door that clashed with the cabinets and counters. It sounded like a 747 taking off when it was running. So we replaced it with a snow white Maytag dishwasher, that was much quieter, went with the kitchen decor (such as it was) and worked fine for years.

Then one day, the handle broke when we tried to open it. We called a repair guy, who told us we could spend the money to get a new handle/door on it, or we could just use a dinner knife to unlock it by wedging it in and pushing down. Since we already had the knife, we decided to save the money. Besides, it felt a little McGyver-y and it was fun. At the beginning.

Soon after, we were unloading it again and the top rack broke its railings, almost crashing all the glassware in it to the linoleum floor. We could've had a nice down payment on a new dishwasher for what it would've cost to fix it, so for years we adapted to holding up the top rack with one hand, after we opened the door with the knife, and loading it with the other.

The McGyver-y part was starting to wear off.

Fast forward to the remodel. Now keep in mind it'd been years since I'd been appliance shopping, so it was a whole new world of dishwasher technology for me. I'm standing in the vast showroom at Friedman's Appliances, and our salesman—ask for Johnny—shows me the Bosch. I believe the sound I heard in that moment was the angels singing.

First of all, the Bosch is whisper quiet. So quiet in fact, if it weren't for that little red light I'd never know it's on.

Next, the controls are on the top of the door instead of the front. So whether it's running or not, it's just a slab of uncluttered, shiny, stainless steel sitting there looking beautiful (a skill I happen to know a little something about).

While those features were important, the final one that sealed the deal was when Johnny (ask for Johnny) showed me the third rack. I didn't know whether to cry or faint with happiness. After years of trying to figure out how to put soft plastic lid tops and smaller items in a place they wouldn't melt or fall through to the bottom, this opened up a whole new world for me.

I just read the last couple sentences and I'm thinking the same thing you are about my getting a life. But I digress.

The third rack could've been part of my immensely popular and often read What Took So Long series of posts. But because of the impact it continues to have on me, I thought it needed a post of its own.

If you've followed me on here for any length of time—and if you have you really should pay more attention to what's going on in the world around you, because it's not pretty—then you know I'm somewhat of a dishwasher savant. I look at the pile of disorganized dirty dishes, and in my head I see them all placed perfectly in the dishwasher. I've never used the "there isn't anymore room" excuse. There's always enough room if you do it right.

Judgmental much?

The third rack makes my life easier. Ask anyone that knows me—I'm all about easy. While it brings me joy every time I open the door, there's now an entirely new strategy to employ when I'm loading the dishes. The third rack has a spray spinner attached to the bottom of it, which means the items in the second rack have to be low enough to clear it. It's dishwasher Tetris figuring it out.

Anyway, I'm pretty sure I've spent enough time rambling on about this.

Don't even get me started on the front-loading, full-size, stacked washer and dryer. That's for another day.

The 12th of never

As I've said many times here, I'm the least disciplined writer you know. I'm not proud, but I am consistent. To that end, you'll be glad to know that finely honed, well practiced lack of discipline carries over into many other areas of my life as well.

Here's the thing: I had big plans coming into 2018. A whole new me in almost every aspect. Extreme makeover, Jeff edition. While I didn't voice my ambitious plans to a lot of people, I did make a list for myself. Reviewing that list now, it really begs the question— is it really breaking a resolution if you never started it?

In what seems like a nanosecond, I suddenly find myself halfway through January, and I'm already checking things off my evil twin list.

Not walking every day. Check.

Not working out. Check.

Not riding my bike. Check.

Still carrying on a torrid love affair with bread. Check.

Still cheating on bread with sugar. Check.

But it's not just the personal improvement goals and deadlines I'm not accomplishing. I'm not accomplishing so much more than that. In fact, I can not accomplish more in a day than most people can't do in a month.

Simple things like reorganizing my dresser drawers so they're not all "that drawer."

Making the bed every day, although the 90 lb. German Shepherd laying on it doesn't make it any easier.

Cleaning out the garage.

Emptying the boxes from the remodel still in the garage.

Reorganizing shelf space in the garage.

Putting a window in the garage.

Putting up the wi-fi extender in the garage.

Clearly the garage is a thorn in my side, and perhaps my inability to get to it and put it in order represents a more significant issue that needs to be dealt with.

Which begs a different question: Who asked you?

Anyway, it doesn't take a stable genius to see the pattern of avoidance and denial, two qualities I'm far more comfortable with than I should be.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea, although it may be too late for that. This may ruin my underachiever reputation, but since the new year I actually did manage to get two new pair of glasses, a haircut and the flu. So there's that.

But when it comes to my New Year's list, I'm going to file it all under better late than never, and not wait another year before I think about addressing all those chores and promises. I'm going to pull myself up by my own bootstraps, if I can find them in the garage, and take care of them in the most timely way I know how.

Tomorrow.