He Knew All The Words

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Good morning, Committee. My name is Phillip Schooner and I live at 5 Graham Street in Biddeford. I am 86 years old and a lifetime Republican and an active VFW chaplain. I still serve three hospitals and two nursing homes and I also serve Meals on Wheels for 28 years. My wife of 54 years, Jenny, died in 1997. Together we had four children, including the one gay son. All four of our boys were in the service. I was born on a potato farm north of Caribou and Perham, where I was raised to believe that all men are created equal and I’ve never forgotten that. I served in the U.S. Army, 1942-1945, in the First Army, as a medic and an ambulance driver. I worked with every outfit over there, including Patton’s Third Army. I saw action in all five major battles in Europe, and including the Battle of the Bulge. My unit was awarded Presidential Citations for transporting more patients with fewer accidents than any other [inaudible] I was in the liberation of Paris. After the war I carried POW’s back from Poland, Hungary, and Yugoslavia, and also hauled hundreds of injured Germans back to Germany.

I am here today because of a conversation I had last June when I was voting. A woman at my polling place asked me, “Do you believe in equal, equality for gay and lesbian people?” I was pretty surprised to be asked a question like that. It made no sense to me. Finally I asked her, “What do you think our boys fought for at Omaha Beach?” I haven’t seen much, so much blood and guts, so much suffering, much sacrifice. For what? For freedom and equality. These are the values that give America a great nation, one worth dying for.

I give talks to eighth grade teachers about World War II, and I don’t tell them about the horror. Maybe [inaudible] ovens of Buchenwald and Dachau. I’ve seen with my own eyes the consequences of caste systems and it make some people less than others, or second class. Never again. We must have equal rights for everyone. It’s what this country was started for. It takes all kinds of people to make a world war. It does make no sense that some people who love each other can marry and others can’t just because of who they are. This is what we fought for in World War II. That idea that we can be different and still be equal.

My wife and I did not raise four sons with the idea that three of them would have a certain set of rights, but our gay child would be left out. We raised them all to be hard-working, proud, and loyal Americans and they all did good. I think it’s too bad [inaudible] want to get married, they should be able to. Everybody’s supposed to be equal in equality in this country. Let gay people have the right to marry. Thank you.

I have nothing to add to this elegant speech.

On Friday I went with my friend Mark to see Where The Wild Things Are. We both loved it. I gave it a 10 out of 10, Mark gave it 11.

Like everyone else of my generation — and each subsequent generation — Maurice Sendak’s Where The Wild Things Are is a favorite book from childhood. As a kid, I loved the idea of my bedroom becoming a forest. I loved the idea that I myself was a wild thing — in fact, King of the wild things. But of course, most of all I loved the idea that if that didn’t work out my loving family was waiting for me back in the real world with a hot dinner. It’s a touching, warm book.

This film version of Where the Wild Things Are is, I am convinced, a movie for adults, and only for adults. There’s been a lot of media back-and-forth of this question; I am squarely on the made-for-adults side of the argument. I think kids will be bored out of their wits for 80 minutes of it, and scared out of their minds for 10 minutes of it. It’s a slow, quiet meditation on confusion and loneliness in childhood. It’s a major downer in that it brings the loneliness of childhood flooding back. Adults will re-experience all the hesitations and bewilderments of childhood. And though they’ll also experience the let’s-just-make-something-up creative spirit that kids have, its focus remains fixed on loneliness, isolation, quietness, pain, angst, and sense of self. All these things are of course things we remember about childhood but are not things that kids are aware of while they’re going through it. So although the movie shows a child who invents a complex world, at its base this is a crisis movie, not feel-good family fare. And although the movie’s ultimate message is about happiness and security, it’s a long row to hoe to get there.

The boy who plays Max — a natural-born actor named, god bless ‘im, Max — has one of those expressive faces that you could easily look at for two hours even if the movie were shit. Luckily, the movie’s great — sensually filmed even though much of the camera work is hand-held, lovingly acted, and smartly edited. And the music by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and established film & theater composer Carter Burwel is wonderful. And the audio editing that allows that music to subtly insinuate itself into scenes before exploding in full-on music video mode is superb. Director Spike Jonze has pulled together an auteur-ish, simple-and-lonely-as-a-lost-lamb masterpiece that cloaks itself literally in wolfskin.

The marketing of this film seems to be hedging its bets and aiming it at both children and adults. There are weird ads that talk about HOPE, in all-caps hand-written lettering. But I found very little hope in this movie. It engages inevitability much more strongly than hope, loneliness much more than fun, and creativity in its basest form — which anyone who has any talent at all will tell you that along with the rewards that creativity brings come heartache, frustration, and solitude.

I cried here and there throughout the movie’s 94 minutes. And the rest of the time I mostly felt worry and nostalgia, not relief or exaltation. I didn’t lose myself in fantasy the way kids do, I reflected on all I’ve lost, the way adults do. It’s wonderful. Go to a midnight screening and bring a flask. But leave the kids with a babysitter.

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[nonmobile]The original Sendak book cover:

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[nonmobile]A 1970s animation of the original book:

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Trailer for the new film:

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Ben Watt is one of my musical heroes. His entire output, from his initial solo work and his long-term work with Tracey Thorn as Everything But The Girl through his DJ days at Lazy Dog and now Buzzin’ Fly, has been an integral part of the soundtrack to my life. My musical inner life is unthinkable without his cover of Dylan’s You’re Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go, about 20 key EBTG songs, and my late-night cathartic dance-fests in NYC every time Ben Watt comes to town to DJ a club night.

One of those EBTG songs that ranks among my favorites is The Heart Remains a Child, whose key lyrics go:

And years may go by, but I think the heart remains a child. The mind may grow wise, but the heart just sulks and it whines and remains a child. I think the heart remains a child. Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me? Why don’t you love me?

Sung plaintively in Tracey Thorn’s unmistakable, beautiful voice.

This morning Ben Watt tweeted:

had a nightmare last night that made me cry and now i have tummy ache. we are all still little kids. when do we grow up?

So I replied directly to him, quoting the above lyric:

the heart just sulks and it whines and remains a child

He replied to me:

:)

Smile indeed. I love social networking like Twitter for allowing the famous and talented to communicate directly with their fans. However else could I have a casual, minimal — and yet still personal — interaction with someone who means so much to me in such an abstract way? Twitter is such a good platform — simple and limited, and therefore expansive and universal.

Everything But The Girl: The Heart Remains a Child
Hear it here:

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Buy it here.

Hey everyone out there in Zazauraland! Did you hear the great news that the DOW closed above 10,000 for the first time in over a year! Hooray! Oh, wait, what am I so happy about? I’m still as poor as dirt. And so are you. Let’s watch some YouTube before they cut off our internet service, shall we?

I have to say, I do feel somewhat better after hearing Ginger Rogers sing in Pig Latin!

If anybody thinks hate-crime legislation is a waste, or that bigoted political culture doesn’t trickle down to mass culture in terms of what’s acceptable and what’s not, perhaps a look at this video might be in order. It’s a very disturbing document of a recent beating in Queens, New York, where two men attacked a third man simply for being gay. Anti-gay slurs were spoken, and the violence was extreme, landing the victim in the hospital, in intensive care. He’s recovering and improving now, and both assailants have been arrested. Let’s hope they both go to prison for a long time.

Let’s also hope Congress passes sexual-orientation-included hate-crimes legislation soon. The House has already passed it, and it’s believed to have enough votes in the Senate to get through. President Obama has promised to sign it as soon as it passes.

Here’s a fascinating TED talk by Eric Sanderson about the ecological history of Manhattan. Well worth spending 15 minutes:

You can learn more about this at the Mannahatta Project‘s own site.

Wish I could’ve been there with him!

It was historic. The president of the United States of America gave a speech the likes of which no other president of the United States has ever given. Too bad it doesn’t add up to a hill of beans.

Let me be clear, I think it’s terrific that President Obama addressed the Human Rights Campaign at a fundraiser in Washington tonight. I think it’s wonderful that President Obama is renewing his commitment to end Don’t-Ask-Don’t-Tell. And it’s nice that he even waved in the direction of repealing the Offensive Defense of Marriage Act. Very, very nice. Thank you, Mr. President.

But if President Obama thinks that re-stating everything that he said on the campaign trail — when he lied promised to be a “fierce advocate” for gay issues — is some sort of newsworthy event, he’s dead wrong. He has absolutely nothing to offer the LGBT community other than what he offered us back in the campaign. And I, for one, and sick of being made a fool of.

I would have more respect for the president if he said “DADT and DOMA are important issues that need to be addressed, but for now my administration must remain focused on health care reform.” And left it at that. I mean, I’d be pissed, but at least I wouldn’t feel I was being lied to. But instead, he’s still making promises about something that is relatively easy to fix (DADT, that is), and still offering the same niceties he offered in the campaign. But nothing is happening, no concrete plan is ever laid out, no timetable is ever prepared. And meanwhile, Arabic translators are being dismissed from service.

UPDATED:
Here’s the speech.
Part I:

Part II:

Part III:

Stop Me If You Think That You’ve Heard This One Before:

I admit, I think it’s odd too. But the vitriol of this country’s right-wing is plain old weird. And scary. And my god the media are idiots. So tiring.

I think Claire McCaskill’s take on this is perfect:

For eight years some people called anyone who disagreed with the President’s foreign policy or war in Iraq unpatriotic. Then in the course of two weeks, those same people cheer when the United States does not get selected for the Olympics and boo when our President is the unanimous choice for the Nobel Peace Prize. Go figure.

Her whole statement hits the nail right on the head.

UPDATED on October 11 to add:
Here’s the best writing I’ve yet seen on this issue.

It’s time progressives started winning some battles. We must defeat the effort to revoke marriage equality in Maine and replace it with bigotry.

Support NO on 1 / Protect Maine Equality

The summer flew away. Autumn moves. Music gets us through. Some of the music I’m about to write about is old news, but I’m playing catch-up here. These are in the order they were added to my iPod, from early June to this past weekend…

I downloaded the unreleased Danger Mouse/Sparklehorse album, Dark Night of the Soul, though I didn’t buy the released box to put it in. The box looks great, but it sold out fast and I don’t want to pay top dollar for used packaging that has no product in it. The album itself is fantastic — dark and soulful. Danger Mouse and Sparklehorse made the music then recruited different friends to contribute lyrics, melodies, and vocals. Best tracks are the Flaming Lips-penned opener “Revenge” which has a deep bitterness and a catchy, plodding melody. Julian Casablancas sings so quickly through the middle section of his track “Little Girl” that you may twitch if your headphones are turned up too loud, and Suzanne Vega phones in her contribution, “The Man Who Played God,” through a long distance wire laced with hesitation and gentleness. The mood of the whole album is consistently lonely and slightly paranoid — so it’s no wonder that David Lynch is involved. Not only did he provide the visuals for the packaging (limited edition book, poster, cover treatment) but he also delivers lyrics and vocals for a couple of the songs. Anyway, I recommend it. You can’t buy it, but yeah, it’s pretty easy to find on the web.

I tried to get on this bandwagon. I mean, hey, if Gizzly Bear is good enough to get Beyonce and Jay-Z out for a local show in Brooklyn USA then it’s gotta be good right? Sorry, I think this is pretty boring. I can’t find a way into Veckatimest anywhere. On first listen, I thought the second track, “Two Weeks,” with its chopping piano chords and its Beach-Boysy backing vox was gonna be the thing that got me. Nope. I just do not understand the accolades that have been showered on this snoozer. Will someone out there who loves this please open the door and let me in?

I know nothing about Cass McCombs, except that he’s been around for a while and I’ve never heard anything until I bought this new album Catacombs based on one review and a samples of the tracks on iTunes. It’s a strange album, with punch-in-the-gut lyrics, punk frame-of-mind, and enough acoustic sweetness and singability to make you want to hear it every day. I nearly fell out of my chair the first time I heard “Harmonia.” I immediately played it five more times. Folk and punk have always been friends, and this album puts that relationship up on a pedestal for us all to look up to. I mean, “Lionkiller Got Married” sets up a marching tension that is so thick and so complete that the track is remembered as being a simple infinite drive forward — but it’s anything but simple. The layers of instrumentation and vocals is sophisticated and complex and that relentless marching beat, repeated endlessly over the course of five-and-a-half minutes lays a foundation of dread and expectation, both of which are curiously never fulfilled. It’s a weird and wonderful track — and the whole album’s great. Hear “Harmonia” here:

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Buy it here.

Two weeks after Michael Jackson died, Discovery — indie-pop super-duo of Rostam Batmanglij from Vampire Weekend and Wes Miles from Ra Ra Riot — released their LP called LP. It’s a weird piece of cultural tourism, with these scruffy indies offering their take on contemporary pop, especially of the R&B flavor. And hey, why not, they include a cover the Jackson 5′s classic “I Want You Back.” I think it’s a great cover, slower and more adult than the original, and well, it had a bit of kismet in the timing of its release. The whole album works, somehow, though it really shouldn’t. Perhaps it’s the stand-out tracks that feature special guests — “I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend” features Angel Deradoorian of Dirty Projectors, and “Carby” (best track on the album in my view) features Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend — or perhaps its the indie spirit that sticks to these guys’ souls even when they’re doing R&B. I love the tempo changes on “So Insane” and the extremes of percussion and layering they’re willing to go to on “It’s Not My Fault (It’s My Fault)”.

Speaking of Michael Jackson’s death…. back in 2003 The Dandy Warhols opened their Welcome To The Monkeyhouse album with a little ditty whose lyrics included this line: “When Michael Jackson dies, we’re covering Blackbird.” Well, Michael Jackson died on June 25, and at 9:01pm that night lead singer Courntey Taylor-Taylor tweeted “So, blackbird eh?” It took a few weeks, but now we have a Dandy’s cover of The Beatles’ “Blackbird” — and it’s great. I love the Dandy’s for making the song their own, imposing their trademark drone, applying the slow nodding of singing along to a song with a minimal, but memorable, melody. The three opening chords to this song are so distinctive in their progression that even though this cover sounds nothing like the acoustic original it is immediately recognizable. Thank you, Mr. McCartney. You can hear and buy the song here.

Speaking of The Dandy’s 2003 album Welcome to the Monkeyhouse… It seems the Dandy’s weren’t exactly thrilled that the album they delivered to Capitol Records was rejected and they were forced to re-mix the album using the record label’s own mixer. The resulting album was a surprise to most Dandys fans, but it was also rather well-received critically. It was poppier and slicker than any of us would ever imagine the band to be. But it was also catchy, filled with great hooks, and showed the band growing. Well they were indeed growing, just not in the same direction that Capitol was pointing them in. So fast-forward to 2009 and they are free of Capitol and finally release their original mix on their own Beat the World label. For fans it shows that the band has been more consistently themselves over the years than we originally knew, and for everyone else it proves that there’s more than one way to skin a cat. I mean, I actually really love Monkeyhouse, so although I sympathize with the band that it’s not what they intended, I’m still very happy to have it. But I’m delighted to have this new [old] version of the album too, called The Dandy Warhols Are Music — a pun both on the song title “I Am Sound” and on the idea that this is their own version: “our” music. It’s rougher, more basic, much more subtle, and well, dandier. Get it here.

There’s more to say… but let’s hold it till the next entry. Next time: The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, The Big Pink, JJ, The xx, Why?, and Sea Wolf…

With beautiful autumn weather, and having finished my planned errands of the day, I set out in the late afternoon into the sunshine, with no destination in mind.

I started by walking across Atlantic Avenue through what many people consider the best street fair of the year, the Atlantic Antic. I hate to be a killjoy, but I don’t get it. Sure, it’s bigger than most street fairs, and it’s nicer than most in that it has special booths from all the wonderful vendors that line Atlantic Avenue. But those restaurants and shops are always on Atlantic Avenue — so I don’t see how adding some sock vendors, corn on the cob stands, and an Italian sausage or two makes it so special (except of course that I highly support adding Italian sausage to anything :). Anyway, it looked just like any other ol’ street fair and I quickly left it and hopped on the 2 train at Borough Hall.

I emerged in the West Village, at 12th Street and 7th Avenue. I walked west and when I got near to Gansevoort Street I realized how close I was to the entrance to the High Line, our new elevated park that I hadn’t yet been to see. So I ascended to the old abandoned railway tracks and experienced this unlikely success story for the first time. The park is wonderful. It’s beautifully designed with a crazy combination of nods to the site’s industrial past, the wildlife that overtook the tracks when it fell into disuse, and the slick urban hipness of the (overly) revitalized Meat Packing District. Because the weather was beautiful and because it was near sunset, I assumed the park would be packed with people. But it wasn’t. There were plenty of people there, but it felt very relaxed and very much like a park. In a few places where cafe tables or chaise lounges appeared, it was easy to forget you were on an elevated train track at all — it simply felt like a very peaceful urban park. It’s hard to believe this project came through with such perfection, especially given the fact that when it was first proposed then-Mayor Giulinani played Grinch by signing demolition orders for the tracks, and then of course he was replaced by Mayor Bloomberg who’s overseen one great failure of city development after another. That this project didn’t turn into another botched Coney Island or Atlantic Yards is nothing short of a miracle.

Only the first section of the High Line is completed, so I after walking the whole length I exited at the for-now north end, at 20th Street. I continued to wander, heading east toward Madison Square, then turning north toward midtown. My goodness, the beautiful people were out and about tonight. On the subways, all along the High Line, in the parks, on the streets. I stopped for a hot dog at a papaya place and as I ate my dog in the window two cute 18-year-old Mormon Missionary boys walked by and flashed adorable smiles at me and nodded. I’m a believer!

I pressed on along 6th and stopped for a rest when I came to Bryant Park. This is my favorite urban park — it’s filled with cafe chairs and tables, paths of pebbles, a big formal grassy square at its center, and it sits at the foot of the main building of the New York Public Library. It’s a rather grand park, despite its small size. I sat at a table on the lawn for a while, then continued north to find the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck, which Twitter told me was parked a mere six blocks away!

This is the last week the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck will be operating for the season, so even though I wanted to try something new I felt I should have the Choinkwich bacon/ice cream sandwich before it disappears for 6 months or more. But the decision wasn’t mine to make: the ice cream man had no bacon today, so I got to try the new concoction I’d read about a couple weeks ago: The Salty Pimp. Oh lord — a cone with vanilla ice cream, drizzled with dolce di lecce, then salted with sea salt, then dipped in chocolate. Sweat heaven, I tell you, I am a believer!

I finished my ice cream just as I arrived at the steps to the Rockefeller Center subway station, where I descended to the underground and returned home. On the train, I realized something wonderful had happened — something truly signaling the change of seasons. Falling leaves? Nope. Cool breezes? Nope. Stylish scarves on young girls in swing coats? Nope. The summer has ended and the fall has begun and to make everything right with the world the city no longer stinks to high heaven. Tonight I didn’t smell piss, body odor, dog shit, rotting fish slime, or putrid garbage. I smelled cupcakes. I smelled a faint scent of someone’s perfume on the street. I smelled frying meat from a street vendor. I smelled some car exhaust and cigarette smoke, but it didn’t hang in the air and force itself into my lungs the way it does in humid July. I smelled fresh air. And as I turned the corner onto my breezy street, I smelled the water of New York Harbor.

I hope spring never comes again.

PLAY:

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Harry Reid (Asshole-Nevada) says there will be a public option in the final Senate bill. From the article:

“I believe the public option is so vitally important to create a level playing field and prevent the insurance companies from taking advantage of us,” he said.

Are the Dems coming together? Are they realizing that the American people want the public option by a large majority? Are they running scared? Are they finally taking the ball away from Baucaus? Color me skeptical, but I don’t trust Harry Reid one teensy weensy bit.