In posting my column which appeared in Wednesday’s Claremont Courier below, I just want to add that I didn’t know how much of a pioneer Mary Ellen Kilsby was in getting Christian churches to welcome those in the glbtq community. Apparently, she got several congregational churches, including the one in Claremont, to be among the first “open and affirming” churches. According to the obituary in the Courier, in one of her first sermons at the Claremont UCC, she said that Anita Bryant was wrong about homosexuals, and some people walked out. Wow! I wish I had known. Also, I’ll add that John York attends the Claremont Quaker meeting.
SEEING THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE CLAREMONT
“You know the Byrds?”
“The what?”
“The Byrds. B-Y-R-D-S.”
“The Byrds?... The band?”
“Yes.”
Yes, my friend had heard of the Byrds. He is almost half my age and probably wasn’t even born when the band was playing, but I figured he had probably heard “Turn, Turn, Turn” or “Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man” on the radio, maybe in a diner or a thrift store or an auto repair shop.
Not only that. My friend knew that the Byrds had been an important band, well-known for its jangly, folky, sunny guitar sound. He was in town for the weekend, and we had just seen that John York was playing in the area.
“He was in the Byrds,” I told my friend.
“That guy was in the Byrds?”
“And he lives in Claremont.”
“Really? Mmm!” my friend said, no doubt making a mental note to google or youtube John York later on his phone. Or maybe he was doing it right then.
Really? Who knew? I hate to say this, but I have to admit that this is what I thought when I read the obituary for Ray Collins in these pages a few weeks ago.
I had seen that there was an obituary for Ray Collins a few days earlier in the Los Angeles Times (although I didn’t read it). And I had seen the man around in the Village for years. But I hadn’t put the two together.
I didn’t know that the guy with the headlining obituary in the Los Angeles Times was the guy in the Village. I didn’t know that he had been in the Mothers of Invention, another influential 1960's rock band. I didn’t know there was this quiet treasure trove of rock history and colorful stories, complete with partnering with and then not speaking to and sometimes speaking ill of Frank Zappa, in our midst.
And now he is gone, no longer in our midst. Ray Collins is no longer here, where he chose to live out the end of his rich, creative life, making Claremont all the more rich and creative.
I wish I knew this before now. I wish I knew about Ray Collins like I know about John York. Like my friend now knows about John York.
And about how he, along with many others, is what makes Claremont such a rich, creative community.
I’m certainly glad - all the more now - that I knew Mary Ellen Kilsby, who died a few weeks ago. As I write this, I think about going to a memorial service for her on Sunday.
I also think about how, last year when I saw her for one of the last times at Pilgrim Place where she then lived, she hugged me so hard that it hurt. It occurs to me that she hugged Claremont in the same way.
For years, when I was growing up and before she and her husband Bud moved to Long Beach, Mary Ellen Kilsby embraced Claremont, giving this community much of her remarkable energy. Among other things, she served on the Claremont school board and was its president, all while I understood she was a pastor at the Claremont United Church of Christ, Congregational.
It was actually not until later in my life, when I became friends with her daughter, Kathy, and after she moved to Long Beach to serve as the head pastor of the big congregational church downturn, that I met Mary Ellen. But I had always heard and read about her and what she was doing in Claremont. While here in Claremont, she was always one of those people making this town a better, more caring community.
She still cared about Claremont after she left. I would occasionally see her, and be subject to her enthusiastic hugging and kissing, at events at Pomona College, where she was active - once again, active - in the alumni organization. One year, she gave the address at the colleges’ baccalaureate service. And it felt right, like a circle closing, when, a year or two ago, after her retirement and the death of her husband, I saw that she was living in Pilgrim Place.
The circle is always closing, just as the years keep going and coming. And people like Mary Ellen Kilsby and Ray Collins, with their wild stories and boundless enthusiasm, come and then go, enriching our lives and our community. Do we know them and the many others who make Claremont before they are no longer here, before the circle closes again?
Friday, January 25, 2013
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Not gun shy, to say the least
“[Ryan] Girard said he tried to go to the show Saturday but the out-the-door line was more than four hours long. He opted to come back about 6 a.m Sunday, three hours before the event opened. He said about 500 people already had staked out spots by the time he arrived.
“‘I’ll tell you right now, Obama is the No. 1 gun salesman in the nation,’ Girard said. ‘The NRA should give him an award.’”
- - - From an January 7 Los Angeles Times article about the Crossroads of the West gun show, held (on the last days of the Christmas season, when the Three Kings offered their gifts, by the way) at the Ontario Convention Center not far from here, and the enormous crowds there, similar to those at gun shops, shooting ranges and other such events, spurred on by the desire for protection after the Newtown school shootings and fear of stronger gun control measures favored by President Obama and other officials.
“Public Defender Matthew Hardy argued that the boy’s sense of right and wrong was corrupted from growing up in a household filled with violence and hate. Neo-Nazis frequently gathered at the family home in Riverside, family trips to the shooting range were common and loaded guns stashed around the house.”
- - - From an article in the Times on the same day about a 12-year-old boy on trial for (and since convicted of) fatally shooting his father, Jeffrey Hall, a Neo-Nazi leader, while he slept on a couch in the living room. The boy, who was 10 at the time of the shooting and who was no longer allowed to live with his drug-addicted mother, allegedly feared that Hall planned to leave the boy’s stepmother and shatter the family and was also allegedly beaten and berated by Hall, an unemployed plumber, during drunken rages.
“Guns are not for hunting. When will you people figure that out? Guns are for hunting down politicians when they steal your rights away through tyranny. Hello! Any call for gun control is treason... You can’t protect your freedom when the government has more guns than the people.”
- - - A phone message left for Times columnist George Skelton a few years ago, as quoted in his column on Monday.
Wow! Hello! As my friend Chris would say - and although there is plenty more I can mention, like the shooting yesterday at Lone Star University in Texas (yee-haw!) and gun show advocates referring to the shows as “family affairs” - ‘nuff said.
“‘I’ll tell you right now, Obama is the No. 1 gun salesman in the nation,’ Girard said. ‘The NRA should give him an award.’”
- - - From an January 7 Los Angeles Times article about the Crossroads of the West gun show, held (on the last days of the Christmas season, when the Three Kings offered their gifts, by the way) at the Ontario Convention Center not far from here, and the enormous crowds there, similar to those at gun shops, shooting ranges and other such events, spurred on by the desire for protection after the Newtown school shootings and fear of stronger gun control measures favored by President Obama and other officials.
“Public Defender Matthew Hardy argued that the boy’s sense of right and wrong was corrupted from growing up in a household filled with violence and hate. Neo-Nazis frequently gathered at the family home in Riverside, family trips to the shooting range were common and loaded guns stashed around the house.”
- - - From an article in the Times on the same day about a 12-year-old boy on trial for (and since convicted of) fatally shooting his father, Jeffrey Hall, a Neo-Nazi leader, while he slept on a couch in the living room. The boy, who was 10 at the time of the shooting and who was no longer allowed to live with his drug-addicted mother, allegedly feared that Hall planned to leave the boy’s stepmother and shatter the family and was also allegedly beaten and berated by Hall, an unemployed plumber, during drunken rages.
“Guns are not for hunting. When will you people figure that out? Guns are for hunting down politicians when they steal your rights away through tyranny. Hello! Any call for gun control is treason... You can’t protect your freedom when the government has more guns than the people.”
- - - A phone message left for Times columnist George Skelton a few years ago, as quoted in his column on Monday.
Wow! Hello! As my friend Chris would say - and although there is plenty more I can mention, like the shooting yesterday at Lone Star University in Texas (yee-haw!) and gun show advocates referring to the shows as “family affairs” - ‘nuff said.
Friday, January 11, 2013
An answer to hate
Last year, at just about this time, I posted a column I wrote for the Claremont Courier about a very visible nativity scene in front of a church here featuring same-sex couples that was vandalized. Here, in my column that came out in Wednesday’s Courier, is an update.
WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE - AND READ - A STATEMENT
When I was in high school and college and for many years afterwards, my dad would see my hair and what I was wearing, and he would ask, “Are you making a statement?”
For years, I would adamantly deny it. “No!” I would proclaim hotly, both indignant and guilty. “I am not making a statement!” Like he was both accusing me of a crime and catching me red-handed.
Like making a statement is a crime.
It took me a long time to face up to it. Not that making a statement is not a crime. It took me a long time to see and understand that I was making a statement. Of course, I was.
Perhaps I was not sure of the kind of statement I was making. Perhaps I didn’t know exactly what I was trying to say. Or was it that I didn’t know that I could say something in this way, that it was okay to make such a statement?
Most likely it was all of the above. And no doubt par for the course for those working their way to becoming their own person.
I have been thinking about my father’s question since seeing the nativity scene in front of the Claremont Methodist Church over the holidays. With its seasonal tableau, it seemed that the church on Foothill Boulevard was offering an intriguing lesson on making statements. Either it was scaling back and toning things down, or it was making a bold comment about making bold comments.
That the church may have wanted to tone things down this Christmas is understandable. In recent years, the church has been known for its provocative nativity scenes. Jesus has been depicted being born in a homeless encampment and in a jail, among other places.
Last year’s nativity scene - the one closing out 2011 - turned out to be exceptionally provocative. A more abstract tableau depicting same-sex couples following a star, it was so provocative that it was vandalized. The star was taken down, and some of the figures were set askew or knocked over.
The vandalism took place late on Christmas Eve or early on Christmas Day and was written up in the Los Angeles Times. It was not good Christmas P.R for a church.
So I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went to see this year’s nativity scene, and I was both disappointed and not surprised to see a fairly standard version of the birth scene, complete with straw bales and cardboard camels. It was a nice touch, though, that Joseph was wearing a Claremont Community School of Music tee-shirt.
There was also a small sign explaining that “historical Nativity scene...stands as a symbol of acceptance and even celebration of those who have been outcast” and that Jesus “was born in poverty, out of wedlock and from a foreign land.” It went on to state, “In our effort to give meaning to OUR holiday, we have often stigmatized the poor and the undocumented people among us by creating customs and ceremonies that include those with means and say to the poor and those who do not look like us or speak our language ‘we were not thinking of you when we planned this’ or ‘you don’t belong.’”
This was a powerful statement regarding the outsider and what the Christmas message says about how we treat the outsider. But, as a friend commented after hearing this description, it was too bad that it wasn’t more evident in the scene itself. It is too bad, my friend commented, that there wasn’t an even bolder statement made after the vandalism the previous year.
But wait - what was the chain-link fence that the sign was on, that surrounded the scene? There was an opening at the front, but it was nonetheless weird and disturbing to see this ugly, stark barricade. Even more jarring were the two other signs that stood out much more, the bold red and white signs - one that said “No trespassing, loitering, unauthorized parking” and the other one warning that there was 24-hour surveillance.
I wondered if the fence and the warning signs were there to protect the nativity scene, to keep the vandals away. This made sense, but it sure was sad. I saw that, of course, this was the point, this was the statement. The ugly, stark fence and the bold threatening signs and the way they were weird and disturbing and jarring, the way they made me feel a bit like an outsider might feel, was the statement.
As another friend said after seeing the tableau, “This is what you got after a hate crime.”
This is just one statement in a world full of more and more statements. But it reminds us to take care and have the courage to make statements that need to be made and at least as much to take them.
Not a bad statement as we venture into a new year.
WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE - AND READ - A STATEMENT
When I was in high school and college and for many years afterwards, my dad would see my hair and what I was wearing, and he would ask, “Are you making a statement?”
For years, I would adamantly deny it. “No!” I would proclaim hotly, both indignant and guilty. “I am not making a statement!” Like he was both accusing me of a crime and catching me red-handed.
Like making a statement is a crime.
It took me a long time to face up to it. Not that making a statement is not a crime. It took me a long time to see and understand that I was making a statement. Of course, I was.
Perhaps I was not sure of the kind of statement I was making. Perhaps I didn’t know exactly what I was trying to say. Or was it that I didn’t know that I could say something in this way, that it was okay to make such a statement?
Most likely it was all of the above. And no doubt par for the course for those working their way to becoming their own person.
I have been thinking about my father’s question since seeing the nativity scene in front of the Claremont Methodist Church over the holidays. With its seasonal tableau, it seemed that the church on Foothill Boulevard was offering an intriguing lesson on making statements. Either it was scaling back and toning things down, or it was making a bold comment about making bold comments.
That the church may have wanted to tone things down this Christmas is understandable. In recent years, the church has been known for its provocative nativity scenes. Jesus has been depicted being born in a homeless encampment and in a jail, among other places.
Last year’s nativity scene - the one closing out 2011 - turned out to be exceptionally provocative. A more abstract tableau depicting same-sex couples following a star, it was so provocative that it was vandalized. The star was taken down, and some of the figures were set askew or knocked over.
The vandalism took place late on Christmas Eve or early on Christmas Day and was written up in the Los Angeles Times. It was not good Christmas P.R for a church.
So I wasn’t sure what to expect when I went to see this year’s nativity scene, and I was both disappointed and not surprised to see a fairly standard version of the birth scene, complete with straw bales and cardboard camels. It was a nice touch, though, that Joseph was wearing a Claremont Community School of Music tee-shirt.
There was also a small sign explaining that “historical Nativity scene...stands as a symbol of acceptance and even celebration of those who have been outcast” and that Jesus “was born in poverty, out of wedlock and from a foreign land.” It went on to state, “In our effort to give meaning to OUR holiday, we have often stigmatized the poor and the undocumented people among us by creating customs and ceremonies that include those with means and say to the poor and those who do not look like us or speak our language ‘we were not thinking of you when we planned this’ or ‘you don’t belong.’”
This was a powerful statement regarding the outsider and what the Christmas message says about how we treat the outsider. But, as a friend commented after hearing this description, it was too bad that it wasn’t more evident in the scene itself. It is too bad, my friend commented, that there wasn’t an even bolder statement made after the vandalism the previous year.
But wait - what was the chain-link fence that the sign was on, that surrounded the scene? There was an opening at the front, but it was nonetheless weird and disturbing to see this ugly, stark barricade. Even more jarring were the two other signs that stood out much more, the bold red and white signs - one that said “No trespassing, loitering, unauthorized parking” and the other one warning that there was 24-hour surveillance.
I wondered if the fence and the warning signs were there to protect the nativity scene, to keep the vandals away. This made sense, but it sure was sad. I saw that, of course, this was the point, this was the statement. The ugly, stark fence and the bold threatening signs and the way they were weird and disturbing and jarring, the way they made me feel a bit like an outsider might feel, was the statement.
As another friend said after seeing the tableau, “This is what you got after a hate crime.”
This is just one statement in a world full of more and more statements. But it reminds us to take care and have the courage to make statements that need to be made and at least as much to take them.
Not a bad statement as we venture into a new year.
Friday, December 28, 2012
More good Claremont thoughts
In my last post, I brought up some good - or at least amusing - things in Claremont. Here’s another, as I explored in my column which appeared in the Claremont Courier early this month.
THE (WHITE) ELEPHANT ON THE CAMPUS
It was great to see the write-up in these pages on Bridges Auditorium a few weeks ago, including a nice full-color photo on the front page.
Not!
Don’t get me wrong. I love this grand old theater on the Pomona College campus and have many wonderful memories, literally a lifetime of wonderful memories, of Big Bridges, as it is often called.
One of my strongest memories is of when I couldn’t get in. I went to hear Jesse Jackson speak on a weekday when he was running for president, only to have the front door close on me. I banged on the front door - yes, I literally banged on the front door - and was told there was no more room. Really? The gigantic auditorium was so full that there was no room for me? I had to go over to the side of the building and listen in on a speaker that kept going in and out.
Fortunately, I was able to get in many, many other times - maybe hundreds of times - over the last forty years or so. One of my earliest memories of Bridges Auditorium is my mother and I with tears streaming down our faces, laughing at Bill Cosby.
I remember seeing Marcel Marceau, the renowned French mime, two or three times, after he kept saying that he would no longer perform. And I won’t forget seeing Harry Belafonte, a true entertainer, putting on quite a show when he was well into his sixties.
I also have special memories of going more recently with a friend who had never been to Big Bridges to see Claremont High School’s production of Cats. Sure, it was a treat to see the students, as well as my awed friend, in the big-time theater, but who else but the indefatigable Krista Elhai, the CHS theater director, could get high school boys to wear, let alone sing and dance in bib overalls with tails sewn onto their butts?
No doubt many of us in Claremont have many such memories of going to Bridges Auditorium as I did to hear such people as Sandra Day O’Connor, Bill Clinton, Spike Lee, Bono, Michael Moore and Ralph Nader and to be entertained by the likes of Margaret Cho, the Ahman Folk Ensemble, Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain, Judy Collins, the Lar Lubovich Dance Company, Ben Harper and Willie Nelson, what is returning later this Winter. Many of us have also gone there for performances by the Inland Pacific Ballet Company and student groups like the ballroom dancers and the a-capella singers that I wrote about last month.
Yes, I’m sure we all love Bridges Auditorium and having this great, world-class theater, that has featured world-class acts, right here. That some of us don’t have to drive to get there is a bonus treat.
So why does it need to be saved or revived? And why does it need saving and reviving again?
This is why I didn’t like about the recent Courier article. Or what I didn’t like about it. Here is this immense 2,500-seat theater, built in a grand Italian style and completed in 1932 and named for a Pomona College student that died and which, as I always understood to be the largest collegiate auditorium on the West Coast if not west of the Mississippi, looks as if it might take over the campus and perhaps all of Claremont, and the big, happy news is that there have been a few shows scheduled for this school year (comedian Eddie Izzard on December 2, a musical production of A Christmas Carol on December 8 and 9 and Nelson in February, along with two ballet productions).
Something is really wrong here.
Yes, it is wonderful that, now under Pomona College’s purview, Bridges Auditorium has a new administrator, Christopher Waugh, who is thrilled to be in charge of the facility that he calls “stunning.” Yes, it is great that there is renewed commitment, with, according to Mr. Waugh, the college “absolutely looking at ways we can create a sustainable staffing pattern for the space” and “bringing back the classic Bridges” that was “about bringing world-class leaders, speakers and artists to the colleges and to the surrounding colleges and community.”
But why is this an issue? Why is this commitment “great news?” Why hasn’t there been this commitment?
What is more disturbing is that we have seen this story before. Every five years or so, for as long as I can remember, there has been an article in these pages about this magnificent white building, with hand-wringing over it being run down and not being used or with giddy hope about it coming back and being revived to its former glory.
Why is Big Bridges’ glory always former?
Also, in these articles more recently, it’s is mentioned that the theater has been handed off between Pomona College and the Claremont University Consortium, like the proverbial hot potato. This latest article states that Pomona College obtain Big Bridges this time for $1.
$1. Like it was being given away. Like nobody wants it.
Definitely not like a magnificent, world-class treasure. And it’s certainly not used like a magnificent, world-class treasure. When I attended U.C Riverside, the University Theater brought in two or three shows each months during the school year. I often attended, and music ensembles and contemporary dance companies were emphasized. Also, it appears that UCLA’s Royce Hall is always booked with an impressive, big-name line-up. And these are in the U.C system, which isn’t exactly rolling in dough.
The article also mentioned a show with Taylor Swift that was filmed this Fall for a television broadcast. Apparently, “with colored lights bathing the 22,000-square-foot ceiling, famously embellished with a gold and silver-leaf rendering of the Zodiac, the 2500-seat theater his never looked better.”
Bridges manager Sharon Kuhn commented, “They took what we had already, this beautiful ceiling, and just highlighted it. It was glowing.”
Too bad Big Bridges isn’t always lit up and glowing.
THE (WHITE) ELEPHANT ON THE CAMPUS
It was great to see the write-up in these pages on Bridges Auditorium a few weeks ago, including a nice full-color photo on the front page.
Not!
Don’t get me wrong. I love this grand old theater on the Pomona College campus and have many wonderful memories, literally a lifetime of wonderful memories, of Big Bridges, as it is often called.
One of my strongest memories is of when I couldn’t get in. I went to hear Jesse Jackson speak on a weekday when he was running for president, only to have the front door close on me. I banged on the front door - yes, I literally banged on the front door - and was told there was no more room. Really? The gigantic auditorium was so full that there was no room for me? I had to go over to the side of the building and listen in on a speaker that kept going in and out.
Fortunately, I was able to get in many, many other times - maybe hundreds of times - over the last forty years or so. One of my earliest memories of Bridges Auditorium is my mother and I with tears streaming down our faces, laughing at Bill Cosby.
I remember seeing Marcel Marceau, the renowned French mime, two or three times, after he kept saying that he would no longer perform. And I won’t forget seeing Harry Belafonte, a true entertainer, putting on quite a show when he was well into his sixties.
I also have special memories of going more recently with a friend who had never been to Big Bridges to see Claremont High School’s production of Cats. Sure, it was a treat to see the students, as well as my awed friend, in the big-time theater, but who else but the indefatigable Krista Elhai, the CHS theater director, could get high school boys to wear, let alone sing and dance in bib overalls with tails sewn onto their butts?
No doubt many of us in Claremont have many such memories of going to Bridges Auditorium as I did to hear such people as Sandra Day O’Connor, Bill Clinton, Spike Lee, Bono, Michael Moore and Ralph Nader and to be entertained by the likes of Margaret Cho, the Ahman Folk Ensemble, Hal Holbrook as Mark Twain, Judy Collins, the Lar Lubovich Dance Company, Ben Harper and Willie Nelson, what is returning later this Winter. Many of us have also gone there for performances by the Inland Pacific Ballet Company and student groups like the ballroom dancers and the a-capella singers that I wrote about last month.
Yes, I’m sure we all love Bridges Auditorium and having this great, world-class theater, that has featured world-class acts, right here. That some of us don’t have to drive to get there is a bonus treat.
So why does it need to be saved or revived? And why does it need saving and reviving again?
This is why I didn’t like about the recent Courier article. Or what I didn’t like about it. Here is this immense 2,500-seat theater, built in a grand Italian style and completed in 1932 and named for a Pomona College student that died and which, as I always understood to be the largest collegiate auditorium on the West Coast if not west of the Mississippi, looks as if it might take over the campus and perhaps all of Claremont, and the big, happy news is that there have been a few shows scheduled for this school year (comedian Eddie Izzard on December 2, a musical production of A Christmas Carol on December 8 and 9 and Nelson in February, along with two ballet productions).
Something is really wrong here.
Yes, it is wonderful that, now under Pomona College’s purview, Bridges Auditorium has a new administrator, Christopher Waugh, who is thrilled to be in charge of the facility that he calls “stunning.” Yes, it is great that there is renewed commitment, with, according to Mr. Waugh, the college “absolutely looking at ways we can create a sustainable staffing pattern for the space” and “bringing back the classic Bridges” that was “about bringing world-class leaders, speakers and artists to the colleges and to the surrounding colleges and community.”
But why is this an issue? Why is this commitment “great news?” Why hasn’t there been this commitment?
What is more disturbing is that we have seen this story before. Every five years or so, for as long as I can remember, there has been an article in these pages about this magnificent white building, with hand-wringing over it being run down and not being used or with giddy hope about it coming back and being revived to its former glory.
Why is Big Bridges’ glory always former?
Also, in these articles more recently, it’s is mentioned that the theater has been handed off between Pomona College and the Claremont University Consortium, like the proverbial hot potato. This latest article states that Pomona College obtain Big Bridges this time for $1.
$1. Like it was being given away. Like nobody wants it.
Definitely not like a magnificent, world-class treasure. And it’s certainly not used like a magnificent, world-class treasure. When I attended U.C Riverside, the University Theater brought in two or three shows each months during the school year. I often attended, and music ensembles and contemporary dance companies were emphasized. Also, it appears that UCLA’s Royce Hall is always booked with an impressive, big-name line-up. And these are in the U.C system, which isn’t exactly rolling in dough.
The article also mentioned a show with Taylor Swift that was filmed this Fall for a television broadcast. Apparently, “with colored lights bathing the 22,000-square-foot ceiling, famously embellished with a gold and silver-leaf rendering of the Zodiac, the 2500-seat theater his never looked better.”
Bridges manager Sharon Kuhn commented, “They took what we had already, this beautiful ceiling, and just highlighted it. It was glowing.”
Too bad Big Bridges isn’t always lit up and glowing.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Reaching for Christmas
I think it’s Lily who, as a teenaged girl, greets her family in John Irving’s The Hotel New Hampshire with “Merry Fucking Christmas!”
It is hard not to be bitter and cynical about Christmas, with its message of peace and hope and good will to all, this year when...
...there are plenty of people like the man who recently wrote in a letter in the Claremont Courier, “They obviously enjoy living under the Obama administration and in an entitlement state. No longer is it necessary for individuals to plan for and cope with tough times and take responsibility for their own lives. It’s one thing for the state to provide assistance for infrastructure or low-income people whose lives were wrecked as a result of Katrina. But it’s quite another for upper-income people on Long Island to be standing there after Sandy with their hands out to the Obama administration rather than sacrifice the buying of a new car or toys such as boats, instead of purchasing insurance for unforseen calamities.” (No wonder the healthcare law was/is such a long, hard slog.)
...not only is Newtown, Connecticut, along with the rest of us, reeling and mourning after the brutal mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School and burying twenty 6-and-7-year-olds and nine others, including the shy, troubled shooter and his gun-keeping mother, but gun control is still a dicey proposition - although now, finally, after a number of these uniquely American shootings, it just may be a possibility.
...in the same vein, on Black Friday, the biggest day for Christmas shopping, there was an all-time-high number of people asking to buy guns; there are people who say that, if we can’t have guns, there is no telling what the government will do to us and the N.R.A has just called for every school in the nation to have an armed guard - in other words, more guns!
I can go on with a bitter, bah-humbug list - the “fiscal cliff,” polio vaccinators killed in and driven out of Africa - but the world is about so much more. As Christmas reminds us and as I riffed on in my latest column in the Claremont Column below, the world is also full of hope and happiness and things seen in the best (or humorous) light. (Hey, if you’re reading this, that means the world didn’t end - and that’s a good thing!)
ALL IT NEEDS IS A BRIGHT RED BOW
“Make a left at the light up here and we’ll go to Pomona.”
We were out running a few errands. We were heading north toward Foothill Boulevard when my friend, who was out from L.A, mentioned that he wanted to pick up some fast food. I had to explain to my friend that there are no drive-through fast food restaurants in Claremont. I had to tell him that we had to go to Pomona if he wanted to grab a burger or get a burrito from Hell Taco, as I call it.
I’m always having to explain to him that this is Claremont and that things are not quite the same as they are in Los Angeles and West Hollywood where he works. I have to explain that things are a bit different here in Claremont. Like how he might get a ticket if he parks on the street overnight, or like how there are hardly any tall signs.
It is also like how, as I wrote about some time ago, he noticed that the red lights seem to take a little longer out here.
I like having to explain to my friend that Claremont is a bit different. I think he likes it too.
My friend ended up stopping at Sprouts Market, at the light on Foothill, and getting a Salisbury steak dinner in the deli department. I don’t know if it was the best, healthiest thing, but it was definitely better than a Whopper and a large order of fries.
My friend would agree that he eats better out here in Claremont.
* *
It’s a good thing, though, that Pomona isn’t far, that it’s easy to get to Pomona. Not so that we can get fast food, but so that we can see Raul Pizarro’s paintings.
Raul’s paintings shine. Literally. They glow. I don’t know how he does it - no, he doesn’t use neon paint - but his works appear to have an inner light. The colors - especially the blues and white - are so rich and deep, they are iridescent. Magic.
This is what got me when I first saw the paintings when I first went to see Raul at his home in Pomona. Never mind that he has Muscular Dystrophy and uses a wheelchair. I don’t know which I like better: the large paintings that are like classic Disney films (I’m talking Fantasia, Pinochio, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) on the big screen or his small pieces, many featuring bear-like creatures and stars, that are like jewel boxes.
Like I said, Raul’s paintings are magical. Which makes this exhibit nearby in Pomona a special treat for the holidays.
The exhibit, entitled Theatro Del Mundo, is up right through the holidays, until January 8, at the Bunny Gunner Gallery, 266 W. Second St., in the Pomona Arts Colony. I find many of the places there have weird hours or aren’t open when they say they are, so it may be a good idea to call before going. The number is 858-2808.
* *
Meanwhile, at Pomona College back here in Claremont, it looks like, as always, the kids are alright.
More than alright, actually. I went by Lyman Hall two weeks ago to hear the Pomona College Jazz Ensemble in an end-of-semester performance, and I was, as they say, blown away by the students, including a vocalist, Anna Miller, who sounded like a much older, seasoned pro. Not only did the kids sound great - cool and hot and swinging - but many of the pieces they played were pieces they had brought into practice sessions and “tweaked” themselves.
This was explained by Barb Catlin, who was directing the ensemble for the first time. She was clearly quite pleased and impressed and chatted up the audience between numbers with tid-bits about the L.A jazz scene and how this ensemble fits right in. She made the classroom-like hall feel like her living room.
All the more so when it turned out that the guest trumpet player, Wayne Bergeron, who has played in a bunch of places with a bunch of people and is big in L.A and Hollywood, is her fiancé.
* *
Sometimes, I wonder if these kids are completely sane. Another friend and I were laughing about these guys at the colleges who walk around on these cold, damp nights barefoot in sandals. And when I say sandals, I mean flip-flops.
They might be bundled up in sweat shirts and wool caps - except for the completely insane ones in shorts and tees - but they always have flip-flops. No doubt, to a kid from Pennsylvania or New Hampshire, flip-flops are obligatory in Southern California and make perfect sense - just grab and go - an long as it’s not snowing and Mom is a thousand miles away.
* *
I wonder if a few of the students are heading down to the Mayan pyramids this week after finals. At the very least, flip-flops may make more sense, and, in any case, Mom will be even further away.
Earlier this year, Ed Krupp, who runs the Griffith Park Observatory and who now and then enthusiastically pops up on T.V, gave a lecture at Pomona College, saying that the Mayan calendar 12/21/12 end-of-the-world prediction is bunk, based on a faulty miscalculation. Nevertheless, the Peruvians are cashing in on the date, expecting quite a crowd.
Another friend reports that a guy he knows with dreads down to at least his knees is on his way to the pyramids. He’ll be joining something called the Rainbow Gathering. My friend, who isn’t as young as he used to be, suggested that it is probably worthwhile to avoid this crowd.
**
Assuming we get through 12/21/12 and make it into the new year, we’ll be smack dab in a political campaign, complete with yard signs, coffees and debates, with Michael Keenan signing up at literally the last hour to run in the March 5 City Council election.
For a few days, it looked like there wouldn’t be more than the two incumbents, Larry Schroeder and Corey Calaycay, in the two-seat race, and, with the two simply being reappointed, we would have had a breather after the marathon of campaigning last year.
Oh, well. As usual after New Year’s Day, life - and the democratic process - goes on.
That is, if Ed Krupp is right.
It is hard not to be bitter and cynical about Christmas, with its message of peace and hope and good will to all, this year when...
...there are plenty of people like the man who recently wrote in a letter in the Claremont Courier, “They obviously enjoy living under the Obama administration and in an entitlement state. No longer is it necessary for individuals to plan for and cope with tough times and take responsibility for their own lives. It’s one thing for the state to provide assistance for infrastructure or low-income people whose lives were wrecked as a result of Katrina. But it’s quite another for upper-income people on Long Island to be standing there after Sandy with their hands out to the Obama administration rather than sacrifice the buying of a new car or toys such as boats, instead of purchasing insurance for unforseen calamities.” (No wonder the healthcare law was/is such a long, hard slog.)
...not only is Newtown, Connecticut, along with the rest of us, reeling and mourning after the brutal mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School and burying twenty 6-and-7-year-olds and nine others, including the shy, troubled shooter and his gun-keeping mother, but gun control is still a dicey proposition - although now, finally, after a number of these uniquely American shootings, it just may be a possibility.
...in the same vein, on Black Friday, the biggest day for Christmas shopping, there was an all-time-high number of people asking to buy guns; there are people who say that, if we can’t have guns, there is no telling what the government will do to us and the N.R.A has just called for every school in the nation to have an armed guard - in other words, more guns!
I can go on with a bitter, bah-humbug list - the “fiscal cliff,” polio vaccinators killed in and driven out of Africa - but the world is about so much more. As Christmas reminds us and as I riffed on in my latest column in the Claremont Column below, the world is also full of hope and happiness and things seen in the best (or humorous) light. (Hey, if you’re reading this, that means the world didn’t end - and that’s a good thing!)
ALL IT NEEDS IS A BRIGHT RED BOW
“Make a left at the light up here and we’ll go to Pomona.”
We were out running a few errands. We were heading north toward Foothill Boulevard when my friend, who was out from L.A, mentioned that he wanted to pick up some fast food. I had to explain to my friend that there are no drive-through fast food restaurants in Claremont. I had to tell him that we had to go to Pomona if he wanted to grab a burger or get a burrito from Hell Taco, as I call it.
I’m always having to explain to him that this is Claremont and that things are not quite the same as they are in Los Angeles and West Hollywood where he works. I have to explain that things are a bit different here in Claremont. Like how he might get a ticket if he parks on the street overnight, or like how there are hardly any tall signs.
It is also like how, as I wrote about some time ago, he noticed that the red lights seem to take a little longer out here.
I like having to explain to my friend that Claremont is a bit different. I think he likes it too.
My friend ended up stopping at Sprouts Market, at the light on Foothill, and getting a Salisbury steak dinner in the deli department. I don’t know if it was the best, healthiest thing, but it was definitely better than a Whopper and a large order of fries.
My friend would agree that he eats better out here in Claremont.
* *
It’s a good thing, though, that Pomona isn’t far, that it’s easy to get to Pomona. Not so that we can get fast food, but so that we can see Raul Pizarro’s paintings.
Raul’s paintings shine. Literally. They glow. I don’t know how he does it - no, he doesn’t use neon paint - but his works appear to have an inner light. The colors - especially the blues and white - are so rich and deep, they are iridescent. Magic.
This is what got me when I first saw the paintings when I first went to see Raul at his home in Pomona. Never mind that he has Muscular Dystrophy and uses a wheelchair. I don’t know which I like better: the large paintings that are like classic Disney films (I’m talking Fantasia, Pinochio, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs) on the big screen or his small pieces, many featuring bear-like creatures and stars, that are like jewel boxes.
Like I said, Raul’s paintings are magical. Which makes this exhibit nearby in Pomona a special treat for the holidays.
The exhibit, entitled Theatro Del Mundo, is up right through the holidays, until January 8, at the Bunny Gunner Gallery, 266 W. Second St., in the Pomona Arts Colony. I find many of the places there have weird hours or aren’t open when they say they are, so it may be a good idea to call before going. The number is 858-2808.
* *
Meanwhile, at Pomona College back here in Claremont, it looks like, as always, the kids are alright.
More than alright, actually. I went by Lyman Hall two weeks ago to hear the Pomona College Jazz Ensemble in an end-of-semester performance, and I was, as they say, blown away by the students, including a vocalist, Anna Miller, who sounded like a much older, seasoned pro. Not only did the kids sound great - cool and hot and swinging - but many of the pieces they played were pieces they had brought into practice sessions and “tweaked” themselves.
This was explained by Barb Catlin, who was directing the ensemble for the first time. She was clearly quite pleased and impressed and chatted up the audience between numbers with tid-bits about the L.A jazz scene and how this ensemble fits right in. She made the classroom-like hall feel like her living room.
All the more so when it turned out that the guest trumpet player, Wayne Bergeron, who has played in a bunch of places with a bunch of people and is big in L.A and Hollywood, is her fiancé.
* *
Sometimes, I wonder if these kids are completely sane. Another friend and I were laughing about these guys at the colleges who walk around on these cold, damp nights barefoot in sandals. And when I say sandals, I mean flip-flops.
They might be bundled up in sweat shirts and wool caps - except for the completely insane ones in shorts and tees - but they always have flip-flops. No doubt, to a kid from Pennsylvania or New Hampshire, flip-flops are obligatory in Southern California and make perfect sense - just grab and go - an long as it’s not snowing and Mom is a thousand miles away.
* *
I wonder if a few of the students are heading down to the Mayan pyramids this week after finals. At the very least, flip-flops may make more sense, and, in any case, Mom will be even further away.
Earlier this year, Ed Krupp, who runs the Griffith Park Observatory and who now and then enthusiastically pops up on T.V, gave a lecture at Pomona College, saying that the Mayan calendar 12/21/12 end-of-the-world prediction is bunk, based on a faulty miscalculation. Nevertheless, the Peruvians are cashing in on the date, expecting quite a crowd.
Another friend reports that a guy he knows with dreads down to at least his knees is on his way to the pyramids. He’ll be joining something called the Rainbow Gathering. My friend, who isn’t as young as he used to be, suggested that it is probably worthwhile to avoid this crowd.
**
Assuming we get through 12/21/12 and make it into the new year, we’ll be smack dab in a political campaign, complete with yard signs, coffees and debates, with Michael Keenan signing up at literally the last hour to run in the March 5 City Council election.
For a few days, it looked like there wouldn’t be more than the two incumbents, Larry Schroeder and Corey Calaycay, in the two-seat race, and, with the two simply being reappointed, we would have had a breather after the marathon of campaigning last year.
Oh, well. As usual after New Year’s Day, life - and the democratic process - goes on.
That is, if Ed Krupp is right.
Friday, December 7, 2012
See this film - and take a deep breath
I see that The Sessions is being nominated for some awards from minor groups. I hope this movie is nominated for many more awards, including the Oscars and, yes, even the Golden Globes. I’ll take Golden Globe nominations, because the more nominations this film gets, the longer it will be in theaters and the more publicity it will get. This is good - not just because it’s an excellent film but because I want people to see it.
I want people, many people, to see The Sessions, because it is one of the very few mainstream, non-documentary feature films that gets it about disability. Not since 30 years ago, when I saw Coming Home, which literally made me see that I could be sexual, have I been so turned on and encouraged by a mainstream movie dealing with living with a severe disability.
This film is breathtaking - literally - and not just because it puts living with a severe disability in your face. It is about Mark O’Brien (John Hawke, wonderful), a poet and journalist living in Berkeley in the 1970's who, having polio, spends much of his time in an iron lung and gets around by being pushed on a gurney and who wants to lose his virginity and, with the blessing of a cool, only-in-Berkeley Catholic priest (William Macy, better than ever with long hair), hires a sex therapist/surrogate (Helen Hunt, absolutely luminous) to help him do so. The film is based on an essay that O’Brien wrote about the experience.
If this sounds challenging, like “yikes!,” that because it is. From the time we see O’Brien being washed by an attendant that he doesn’t like, this is a hard film to watch. It just gets more real, painfully and brutally so, such as when the surrogate undresses O’Brien, prone and rigid, for the first time. As I said and as with Hunt’s full frontal nudity, this is in-your-face stuff. Definitely not like the all-too-glib, feel-good French film, Intouchables, that was all the rage earlier this year.
But this isn’t your standard sad, dreary, tragic-crip story. Yes, this is a man who can’t even use a wheelchair and has to suck on an oxygen tube, but he is brimming with life, love, wonder, curiosity and a sense of humor and adventure, if not mischief. (After all, hiring a woman so that he can fuck, not to mention consulting with a Catholic priest about it, is pretty gutsy and outrageous, while also remarkably naive and innocent.) Sure, that O’Brien is rejected when he makes romantic passes to his female attendants is morose, but it is frankly the way things are (believe me, I know).
At the same time, the movie, which was written and directed by a guy who has polio if I’m not mistaken, does a reasonable job at not making O’Brien too much of a brave, inspiring hero-crip. Although, as I said, what he does is pretty gutsy, and I guess it’s hard not to be inspired by him and his story - heck, I am (can you tell?)! There is some melodrama - there is a power outage one night, shutting down his iron lung, and he can’t call anyone on the phone (Why didn’t he have an overnight attendant? Did he not have enough funding for one? Mmm....perhaps the movie can be even more real....) - but it is again frankly the way things are.
Since seeing this film a month ago, I have also been even more aware of how I get around and how people see me in the world. For example, I whine about feeling trapped when it rains, but what about always being on a gurney? (The film opens with archival footage of O’Brien getting about on a motorized gurney, but, as explained in a voice-over, the motorized gurney was taken away because, even with a bunch of mirrors, he had no idea where he was going and caused “terrible accidents.”) And I both really see and am okay with sticking out when I zip around town in my chair with an attached computer that speaks and plays music even as I am more comfortable tilting back my chair and letting my body dangle when I’m out at talks and concerts.
There are several other things I love about this movie. I love it that it’s set in Berkeley, a city that I’ll always have a very soft spot for, even as I no longer want to live there or can take being there for more than a couple days. I love it that O’Brien has a very strong and pure Catholic faith and that he talks to Jesus and Mary and has a cool little icon sticker on the front of his iron lung. And I love it that his cat, that scampers in through an open window and brushes past O’Brien’s face at the beginning of the movie, is just like my cat Irie and that in the film’s last image, after O’Brien has died, the cat is perched on top of the iron lung, waiting.
I want people, many people, to see The Sessions, because it is one of the very few mainstream, non-documentary feature films that gets it about disability. Not since 30 years ago, when I saw Coming Home, which literally made me see that I could be sexual, have I been so turned on and encouraged by a mainstream movie dealing with living with a severe disability.
This film is breathtaking - literally - and not just because it puts living with a severe disability in your face. It is about Mark O’Brien (John Hawke, wonderful), a poet and journalist living in Berkeley in the 1970's who, having polio, spends much of his time in an iron lung and gets around by being pushed on a gurney and who wants to lose his virginity and, with the blessing of a cool, only-in-Berkeley Catholic priest (William Macy, better than ever with long hair), hires a sex therapist/surrogate (Helen Hunt, absolutely luminous) to help him do so. The film is based on an essay that O’Brien wrote about the experience.
If this sounds challenging, like “yikes!,” that because it is. From the time we see O’Brien being washed by an attendant that he doesn’t like, this is a hard film to watch. It just gets more real, painfully and brutally so, such as when the surrogate undresses O’Brien, prone and rigid, for the first time. As I said and as with Hunt’s full frontal nudity, this is in-your-face stuff. Definitely not like the all-too-glib, feel-good French film, Intouchables, that was all the rage earlier this year.
But this isn’t your standard sad, dreary, tragic-crip story. Yes, this is a man who can’t even use a wheelchair and has to suck on an oxygen tube, but he is brimming with life, love, wonder, curiosity and a sense of humor and adventure, if not mischief. (After all, hiring a woman so that he can fuck, not to mention consulting with a Catholic priest about it, is pretty gutsy and outrageous, while also remarkably naive and innocent.) Sure, that O’Brien is rejected when he makes romantic passes to his female attendants is morose, but it is frankly the way things are (believe me, I know).
At the same time, the movie, which was written and directed by a guy who has polio if I’m not mistaken, does a reasonable job at not making O’Brien too much of a brave, inspiring hero-crip. Although, as I said, what he does is pretty gutsy, and I guess it’s hard not to be inspired by him and his story - heck, I am (can you tell?)! There is some melodrama - there is a power outage one night, shutting down his iron lung, and he can’t call anyone on the phone (Why didn’t he have an overnight attendant? Did he not have enough funding for one? Mmm....perhaps the movie can be even more real....) - but it is again frankly the way things are.
Since seeing this film a month ago, I have also been even more aware of how I get around and how people see me in the world. For example, I whine about feeling trapped when it rains, but what about always being on a gurney? (The film opens with archival footage of O’Brien getting about on a motorized gurney, but, as explained in a voice-over, the motorized gurney was taken away because, even with a bunch of mirrors, he had no idea where he was going and caused “terrible accidents.”) And I both really see and am okay with sticking out when I zip around town in my chair with an attached computer that speaks and plays music even as I am more comfortable tilting back my chair and letting my body dangle when I’m out at talks and concerts.
There are several other things I love about this movie. I love it that it’s set in Berkeley, a city that I’ll always have a very soft spot for, even as I no longer want to live there or can take being there for more than a couple days. I love it that O’Brien has a very strong and pure Catholic faith and that he talks to Jesus and Mary and has a cool little icon sticker on the front of his iron lung. And I love it that his cat, that scampers in through an open window and brushes past O’Brien’s face at the beginning of the movie, is just like my cat Irie and that in the film’s last image, after O’Brien has died, the cat is perched on top of the iron lung, waiting.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Something black
“Retail giant Wal-Mart Stores Inc. is kicking off its Black Friday deals earlier than ever, as more stores open their doors for holiday deals even before shoppers have polished off their turkey dinners.”
From the same Los Angeles Times article earlier this month regarding Wal-Mart stores opening at 8 p.m on Thanksgiving with the guarantee that items, purchased at sale price, will be shipped to customers if supplies run out: “Last year, a woman in Porter Ranch pepper sprayed fellow customers, and a 2008 stampede in Long Island killed one worker... ‘If they get the word out that if a store runs out, people shouldn’t panic and they can still get the deal, that will help with the crowds,’ said Ron Friedman, a retail expert at accounting and advisory firm Marcum in Los Angeles. ‘That is a smart move to prevent what happened...which really gave Wal-Mart a black eye.’”
Then there was this from a Times story earlier this week about how “picking a smart strategy - and the right Black Friday hours - is crucial” for small, independent stores as “goliath retailers such as Wal-Mart Stores Inc., Toys R Us Inc. and Target Corp. advertise deals that launch as early as 8 p.m on Thanksgiving”: “Anton at Body Basics has dreamed up a ‘flash sale’ plan for Black Friday involving back-to-back 10-minute discounts on select items. Sales associates will walk through the store toting cardboard signs stating, for example, that between 1 and 1:10 a.m, Hello Kitty pajamas are 30% off... Once the 10 minutes are over, clerks will start another quicky sale on, say, cotton T-shirts or slippers. ‘It’s to get people excited about shopping,’ Anton said.“
In the paper yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, there was this in a front-page article about the Los Angeles Police Department preparing for Black Friday crowds, noting that Chief Charlie Beck says, “We are not in the optimism business”: “The LAPD has talked to other retailers about creating ‘time-specific entry passes’ that would stagger the number of shoppers who are inside the store at any given time. In a flier the department is handing out to store managers, officials note that ‘this process has been very successful at many of the major theme parks...’ The LAPD has also suggested that retailers avoid stacking sales items on pallets ‘to mitigate crowd aggression.’”
‘Nuff said, as my friend Chris would say. Except that I’ve also read in the last couple weeks that there’s a protest, as in a strike and boycott, afoot against Black Friday so that both store workers and shoppers can enjoy a holiday on Thanksgiving at least. How about stores being closed on Friday, in addition to Thanksgiving, to prepare for “Black Saturday” (not to mention “Black Sabbath”)?
From the same Los Angeles Times article earlier this month regarding Wal-Mart stores opening at 8 p.m on Thanksgiving with the guarantee that items, purchased at sale price, will be shipped to customers if supplies run out: “Last year, a woman in Porter Ranch pepper sprayed fellow customers, and a 2008 stampede in Long Island killed one worker... ‘If they get the word out that if a store runs out, people shouldn’t panic and they can still get the deal, that will help with the crowds,’ said Ron Friedman, a retail expert at accounting and advisory firm Marcum in Los Angeles. ‘That is a smart move to prevent what happened...which really gave Wal-Mart a black eye.’”
Then there was this from a Times story earlier this week about how “picking a smart strategy - and the right Black Friday hours - is crucial” for small, independent stores as “goliath retailers such as Wal-Mart Stores Inc., Toys R Us Inc. and Target Corp. advertise deals that launch as early as 8 p.m on Thanksgiving”: “Anton at Body Basics has dreamed up a ‘flash sale’ plan for Black Friday involving back-to-back 10-minute discounts on select items. Sales associates will walk through the store toting cardboard signs stating, for example, that between 1 and 1:10 a.m, Hello Kitty pajamas are 30% off... Once the 10 minutes are over, clerks will start another quicky sale on, say, cotton T-shirts or slippers. ‘It’s to get people excited about shopping,’ Anton said.“
In the paper yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, there was this in a front-page article about the Los Angeles Police Department preparing for Black Friday crowds, noting that Chief Charlie Beck says, “We are not in the optimism business”: “The LAPD has talked to other retailers about creating ‘time-specific entry passes’ that would stagger the number of shoppers who are inside the store at any given time. In a flier the department is handing out to store managers, officials note that ‘this process has been very successful at many of the major theme parks...’ The LAPD has also suggested that retailers avoid stacking sales items on pallets ‘to mitigate crowd aggression.’”
‘Nuff said, as my friend Chris would say. Except that I’ve also read in the last couple weeks that there’s a protest, as in a strike and boycott, afoot against Black Friday so that both store workers and shoppers can enjoy a holiday on Thanksgiving at least. How about stores being closed on Friday, in addition to Thanksgiving, to prepare for “Black Saturday” (not to mention “Black Sabbath”)?
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