A Formidable Legacy

Although the first third was too heavy on tech bro-speak for me, Mountainhead is worth watching for a few reasons, not least of which is to marvel at the acting versatility of Steve Carell. Fair warning: The premise is sadly plausible, the cluelessness of the four tech-bros disturbingly familiar, the celebration of unbridled avariciousness sickeningly real. In other words, the laughs throughout this recently released satire come at a cost, just as they are intended to.

Now about Steve Carell. Put aside his well-deserved notoriety as Michael Scott, the king of smarm, on the long-running TV series The Office. Instead, try remaining unimpressed with his range in Forty-Year-Old Virgin, Little Miss Sunshine, Foxcatcher, Beautiful Boy, and now Mountainhead. Like all actors - or writers or musicians for that matter - he's had his share of duds. But those five films alone - never mind his nearly flawless consistency in The Office - represent a formidable legacy. 

In his stunning writing/directing debut, Jesse Armstrong had the good sense to end Mountainhead with an extended closeup of Carell's expressive face. No words, nothing else in the frame. I defy anyone to remain unmoved. It's no exaggeration - and a testament to Carell's gift - to say I will never forget the final shot in this blacker-than-coal comedy.       

An Act of Simple Courtesy

 When was the last time an act of simple courtesy prompted you to speak to a total stranger?

While engrossed in a book on a train ride into NYC, the cell phone of the man sitting directly across from me rang. I sighed, anticipating a scenario that has frequently happened to me: My reading reverie would now be interrupted by a conversation of indeterminate length that I had no interest in overhearing. Instead, this gentleman said quietly - "I'm on the train; I'll call you back when I get to the station." And then he hung up.

I was almost too stunned to talk but soon realized this act of simple courtesy must be acknowledged. I said - "Thank you for not prolonging that call; that was courteous and respectful." He smiled at me. I returned to my reading.

I know this is not profound; perhaps it's not even unusual. Still, when he said to me "have a nice day" as he left the train and I said "you do the same" in return, I felt something genuine had occurred. And I smiled to myself reflecting on how his act of simple courtesy had been the catalyst for our interaction.

Bookonnection #4: Brief Encounters

Most of us can readily identify the people who have had a significant impact - for better or for worse - on our lives. When I've asked others about this, I'm unsurprised when folks first cite their parents or longtime romantic partners. After that, in my experience, it's harder to predict who might come next to mind when someone is asked about this aspect of their lives.   

Aside from being worth your precious reading time, Now Is Not the Time to Panic (Kevin Wilson, 2022) and The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (Rachel Joyce, 2012) have little else in common. The former is a coming-of age story about two teenage misfits who upset the lazy summer equilibrium in their small Tennessee town. The titular character in the latter is a recently retired Englishman who impulsively decides to visit a friend he hasn't seen or spoken to in twenty years.  

But imbedded in each of these well-crafted and moving novels is a perfectly realized vignette about people who briefly enter the lives of the main characters, leaving a profound imprint. Fifteen-year-old Frankie Budge and sixty-five-year-old Harold Fry are each powerfully shaped by these encounters. Has this ever happened to you? More than once? How old were you at the time? Have you ever told your story to anyone? If you did, how successfully were you able to put into words the impact your brief encounter had on you? I love stories like this; I'd welcome hearing yours. And I think others would enjoy it as well.    

If you don't think you have a story like this, let me recommend you pick up either of these worthwhile books. I'm guessing that one or both of these talented authors will remind you of a story of yours similar to either Frankie's (with Dr. Blush) or Harold's (with Martina). Then, after you relive your story via Frankie or Harold, please try to remember to return and tell me about it.  

National Technology Turnoff Day

On this - my fourteenth attempt - I believe I've nailed it.

For this barren month without a single national holiday, how about we declare August 1 as National Technology Turnoff Day? Given how uphill this battle is likely to be, I propose we start with just the two steps below. I welcome any ideas you have for ways to build momentum here.     

1.) No device of any kind permitted in any public place on August 1. Just as we now ban smoking in public places year round, on August 1 only, the same goes for cell phones, tablets, laptops, etc. Picture families speaking to one another in restaurants, every train compartment being a quiet car, etc.   

2.) In residences, private citizens wishing to show support for the technology turnoff alert family, friends, guests, etc. that no devices are allowed in their home on August 1. Imagine conversations uninterrupted by ringing phones or buzzing text messages and people relying on their memories to recall information.  In a private residence, any fact in dispute can be settled via a reference book (dictionary, Atlas, encyclopedia!) or can wait for an answer until August 2.

As attached as I am to all thirteen holiday proposals I've made here on August 1 beginning in 2012, this one could be my favorite. That said, I purposefully waited to publish this post until just before August 1 became August 2. Wanted to be sure you read it - probably on August 2 or later - i.e., after National Technology Turnoff Day had ended. My ubiquitous rants about technology's intrusive and distracting effects on modern life and relationships always exclude my blog. 

"Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.": Walt Whitman      

Is This in Your PA's Job Description, Sir Elton?

When did you most recently have an extended period when your "to do" list seemed overwhelming? The last several months have often felt that way for me. 

On one hand, I'm grateful for my full and engaged life. On the flip side, I do find myself occasionally fantasizing about how freeing it would be to have a personal assistant to shop for groceries for house guests, get my car to the dealer for a factory recall, schedule doctor's appointments. I'd continue my kvetching if I thought nobody might notice how hopelessly privileged this sounds.  

Though I expect no one to endorse or join my whining, I also suspect I'm not alone here. No doubt, I indulge this privileged fantasy during periods like this because these mundane tasks interfere with what I think I'd be doing if someone else did day-to-day stuff for me. But would I? If that personal assistant suddenly appeared in your life, would you do all - or even some of - those things you think you'd like to do? 

While wallowing in fantasy land, why not go for broke? Given the opportunity, wouldn't you enjoy asking Sir Elton and several of his brethren which of the things they thought they would do they actually got around to doing, given all the hours they got back having a personal assistant? Though I'm sure any of you could easily tick off a long list of things you'd enjoy handing off to that imaginary assistant, in case you need one time-sucking vortex to get you started - one that has tormented me for several months - how about starting your imaginary PA's job description thus: Assume ALL Internet duties. This includes, but is not limited to, responding to e-mail, making purchases, filling out forms, managing passwords.   

Obsolete Stories

Of all the stories we each create to help us cope, perhaps the most difficult ones to let go of are those that are connected to our families of origin. 

It took a significant trauma in my family of origin to prompt me to begin examining a few of these ancient tales. The little bit I know about trauma has taught me I'm probably not alone in this regard. In addition, it stands to reason that the oldest stories would be the hardest ones to dislodge. Joan Didion once famously remarked - "We tell ourselves stories in order to live." I'm sure some of the family of origin myths I held onto in the years before that trauma helped get me through some rough patches. 

But for years now, some of those same stories have started to feel more like roadblocks than aids. At the same time, I'm learning how hard it can be to discard long-held myths, especially when I feel alone in attempts to dismantle, or even to inspect them. Add in my sometimes-volatile temper and its evil twin i.e., my big mouth, decades of shared history with all its attendant baggage, and an unwillingness all around to forgive easily, and what I'm left with are obsolete stories that interfere with genuine communication. 

What challenges do you face trying to free yourself of stories that have outlived their usefulness? 

When I Don't Get It

Pretty sure I'm not alone in saying sometimes I just don't get it. For example, a fair amount of modern poetry simply eludes me. When this happens, my internal conversation often ends up matching the kind of day I'm having. On a good day, I don't let my lack of understanding discourage me. My reaction on an in-between day is harder to predict. But when a bad day coincides with me not getting it, be it poetry, abstract art, avant garde theater or film, I can spiral into negative self-talk. How about you? What do your internal conversations sound like when you don't get it?

This dilemma most upsets my equilibrium when it's literature I'm not getting. And I'm not referring to books like James Joyce's Finnegan's Wake. I realize that kind of writing is aimed at scholars who will spend years analyzing it line-by-line vs. being read and understood as a through narrative by people like me. But how about the bestselling novels of Dom DeLillo, Thomas Pynchon, David Foster Wallace to name a few? I've tried unsuccessfully to crack V - Pynchon's acclaimed breakthrough - at least four times. As challenging as Wallace's non-fiction can be, I end up getting about 80% of that. But Infinite Jest, the novel that catapulted him into the literary stratosphere? Each attempt has left me feeling much the way I do listening to John Coltrane's final recordings, i.e., lost, confused, demoralized.  

I'm reasonably sure my intelligence puts me somewhere on the bell curve, not as smart as the top 5% of the population, nor as limited as the bottom 5%. That leaves me wondering: When I don't get it, how many other people don't? How often will my brethren willingly admit that they don't get it? How does it feel not getting it? 

Three Gifts Via Book Ears

At least for me, paying close attention when others talk about books can reap real benefits. I don't think of this as eavesdropping. Instead, I call it using book ears.

Except while asleep, my book ears are rarely off. If I'm with a group I know to be discerning readers - like my longtime traveling companions from Road Scholar or folks in either my hiking or my writer's group - I make sure the volume control on my book ears is on high. At other times, I may adjust the volume control a bit just to be sure I'm paying attention to the other stuff in a conversation. Although, I am obliged to admit that any mention of any book in any conversation sets my book ears buzzing. Which worthwhile books most recently found their way onto your radar - and then your list - via eavesdropping? I've limited this particular list to just three of the most recent worthwhile novels I discovered via my book ears. In descending order - arguably, in the case of #2 vs. #3 - of accessibility:  

1.) Heartwood: Amity Gaige (2025). Without question, the most conventionally straightforward of these three, especially in subject matter (a hiker disappears without a trace; a search ensues) and approach to the narrative line. A genuine page-turner, in the best way. Book ears route: Overheard being discussed by a book club - not mine - while reading at my local coffee shop. 

2.) The Glutton: A.K. Blakemore (2023). Difficult subject matter - the re-imagining of a myth from 18th century revolutionary France about a young man who ate everything - told in a compelling, matter-of-fact fashion. Of the three, I suspect this one will linger longest with me. Book ears route: Overheard being extolled while on a hike with the group mentioned above.

3.) Flesh: David Szalay (2025). A graphically sexual and totally modern novel with a protagonist so passive I have trouble imagining anyone relating to him. Yet somehow this undeniably talented young novelist managed to immerse me in the protagonist's story enough that the final sentence ("After that, he lived alone.") felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. Book ears route: Overheard an animated conversation between a patron and two trusted librarians while waiting on checkout line.

Your turn. I'm waiting.