For Movie Buffs Only

(For my daughter only: Be sure to store a copy of this blog post in a file called something like "Things to remember to ensure my place in the will.")

Which line of movie dialogue have you and your partner used as a repetitive riff over the course of your relationship?

About seven years ago, after seeing Moonrise Kingdom - Wes Anderson's quirky 2012 release - I was convinced I'd discovered a line that could take the place of "Hey, Boo" from To Kill A Mockingbird for my wife and me. Since we'd used that phrase for more than thirty four years at that point, I figured it was time for a change. So far, so good.

Well, I've tried out the new line from Moonrise Kingdom - "I love you but you don't know what the hell you are talking about" - a few dozen times over the past seven years. It hasn't stuck. Bear in mind - That new line wasn't supposed to be aimed in just one direction. Since my wife and I had said  "Hey Boo" to each other for over three decades, my vision was that we would simply replace the old line with the new line, giving new life to an old tradition. And, there is solid experiential support for my contention that the line from Moonrise Kingdom fits us, even with its slightly caustic edge.

Now that I've officially abandoned my seven year quest - and reverting back to "Hey Boo" feels too much like a nostalgic copout - I'm on the lookout for a new movie line. Any suggestions? I'm looking for something fresh so please don't go all Cool Hand Luke on me.  

Grateful For The Seduction

Been reflecting quite a bit lately on some of my stories. The one where music transformed my life - a favorite among the ones I most frequently repeat - has, in particular, received a great deal of recent scrutiny. Examined any of your stories carefully lately?

The details of that story have been truthful. At the time it did feel like the short drum break in He's So Fine, the harmonies in Surfer Girl and If I Fell, the energy of She's Not There and You Really Got Me all grabbed me at a molecular level. At the urging of a talented middle school friend who was starting a band, I did start playing the drums and singing at thirteen. I did begin making money playing music soon after and have been doing so ever since.  

But of late, my story has begun sounding a little inauthentic to my ears. I'm recalling the younger Pat who was more seduced by music than he was transformed by it. He wanted things from music like glamour, excitement, notoriety. He gave no thought to what he could contribute to the art form and he didn't work hard enough at it to earn the rewards. Transformed now rings hollow to the older Pat.

Though being seduced by music may not be as profound as being transformed by music, it is more accurate. And it's also accurate to say that music continues to sustain me in ways that are difficult to measure. That part of my story remains wholly intact.      

A Few Questions For List Makers

Lists can be useful to help us remember stuff. In honest moments, some list makers - like me - will confess to deriving some satisfaction when crossing items off a list. And when a list can be tossed because everything on it has been accomplished? That actually can be a mild triumph.

Unfortunately, lists have a way of sometimes evolving. As soon one of my lists expands to include a goal, it's likely that list will be with me for a long time, unless the goal is modest. A similar result follows when any list ends up including one of my projects. Although I try to guard against putting goals, projects, or worst of all - missions - onto any of my lists, often as not, one of those somehow ends up finding their way there. When any list expands in this fashion, crossing items off gets much harder. The chances of tossing a list like that? Slim.

Now, instead of a mild triumph, I've got myself a mild burden. Sane people would likely coach me to stop making any lists. Reasonable advice. List makers on the bell curve: Tried going cold turkey? How long did you last? How much did you miss the moments of satisfaction and that occasional mild triumph? What was the first list you made after falling off the wagon? Mine could be a list of people who gave me that reasonable advice. Probably would be wise to avoid speaking with those folks for a while.      

An Elevating Conspiracy

For as long as I can remember, New York Times book critics have frequently helped me decide who and what to read and who and what to skip. When a Times critic I respect gives an author high marks I pay as much attention as I do when one of my reading posse recommends a book to me. When the unassailable Michiko Kakutani raved about Kate Atkinson in 2013 in the Times, Atkinson's name was added to my "must read" author list. Then my reading universe conspired in two additional ways:

 * I made a pledge last November to read only authors new to me for the next year.
 * I received a Kate Atkinson novel - Behind the Scenes at the Museum (1995) - as a gift.

"Tina contained more light in her than most people." Atkinson's prose is luminous throughout this multi-generational tale. The architecture she constructs to tell her tale is startling yet wholly organic. In Chapter Ten - entitled Wedding Bells, 1966 -  Atkinson somehow manages to be hysterically funny, mordantly sad, surprising and predictable. I can't recall another instance of an author pulling off that hat trick.

I've rammed through plenty of bestselling page-turners in my reading life. I fully recognize the skill it takes to write that  kind of book. But as Act Three of my life continues, I suspect I'll continue to rely more on the sage guidance those smart New York Times critics have long provided me than I will on bestseller lists. And, I'll be returning to authors like Atkinson; her command of her craft elevates me as a reader. Life After Life will be my next adventure with this gifted author - after November 23, of course. Have you read it? Anything else by her? Can we talk?

A Different Slow Song

Here's a question for everyone, except for my dear friend Jimmy and my neighbor Drew (because I already know how they'll both answer): Which musician or group have you seen in person the most?

Both my wife and I have lost count how many times we've seen Joe Jackson. We know we began loving his music soon after his debut album - Look Sharp - was released in 1979, the year after we met. I'm pretty sure we first saw him on the tour that supported either his second (I'm The Man) or third (Beat Crazy) album. From there it gets harder to separate the consistently first rate albums from the even more consistently excellent - and always surprising - live shows.

Despite those surprising shows, my wife and I were confident he would close his show with A Slow Song when we invited friends to join us a few months back to see Jackson at the State Theatre. Our smug prediction seemed a sure thing. That soaring ballad - which Jackson has re-imagined each time we've seen him since he first began playing it during the Night and Day tour - is a near-perfect closing song, given its lyrical theme. And, the last four or five times we've seen him, A Slow Song sent us home on a high.  

But as the show ended - a musical triumph in every sense - our ostensible Joe Jackson "expertise" collapsed. Were we disappointed not hearing A Slow Song? We were not. His closing song this time? I'll keep that to myself because I want you to go see Joe in person. Then, tell me what song he closes with. That way, I can vicariously experience the joy you'll get listening to this man do his magic. No matter what his last song is, both my wife and I will know it and you'll enjoy it. That I can guarantee.

Words For The Ages: Line Eleven

"It ain't no sin to be glad you're alive."

Despite the "ain't", I trust even English teachers out there - especially those who are fans of the Boss - will agree this phrase from Badlands belongs with the others I've previously selected as words for the ages. For me, this lyric concisely captures the affirming message that everyman Bruce Springsteen has continually conveyed for a half century.

Which Springsteen lyric do you think will resound many years from now? Since doing a presentation on Bruce's songwriting craft a few months back, that phrase above hasn't left me alone. Would you be surprised if someone quoted these words in a eulogy? How many tattoos or gravestones would you guess feature this aphoristic lyric?

My Evolving Perfect World

https://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/2011/06/today-in-my-perfect-world.html

https://reflectionsfromthebellcurve.blogspot.com/2015/06/fours-years-later-in-my-perfect-world.html

The two posts above - published four years apart on this date in 2011 & 2015 - each list a few items that would clearly make the world more perfect. I remain curious as another four years has passed what you'd add to my flawless lists. And, here a few more new items for my evolving perfect world.

* We all have eyelids to help us screen out things we don't care to look at. Unquestionably, the world will be more perfect as human evolution develops a similar protective mechanism for our ears.

* Texting might be more tolerable when we're each able to identify who is sending the text before we decide whether to open it. My guess? Texts from some folks will remain unread.

* When rock & pop stars stop comparing Pet Sounds or Sargent Pepper's to Mozart, a collective sigh will be heard around the world. (BTW, Pet Sounds and Sargent Pepper's are personal favorites. But, Mozart? Come on.)

Digits With A Story

Once upon a time, one of two sets of three digits identified where people in my lifelong home state likely resided. 201 marked you as a New Jersey Yankee; 609 made you a New Jersey Rebel. Though our North-South line of demarcation didn't carry as much cultural or historical baggage as the Mason-Dixon line, when I was growing up there were at least a few stories attached to those digits. And as an adolescent, I recall those stories helped to make me proud of my 201 roots as well as sometimes a bit wary of those 609-ers.

Now that New Jersey residents can have any one of six area codes, I suspect folks Gen X-age or younger would find this reflection baffling, at best. I wonder: What percentage of people in those age groups know the first three digits of their cell phone numbers have a geographical significance? Do they ever wonder why any friends they've made who first got their cell phones when they resided in a different state - or a different section of New Jersey - don't share their area code? Do younger folks ever use the phrase area code? Are there any New Jersey stories connected to 908, 856, 732, or 973? Do any of those stories involve regional differences, e.g. Do people expect those with 732 area codes to be more likely to own several beach chairs?

It's highly doubtful anyone reading this is old enough to recall when the New Jersey phone universe had one area code. But if so, I really want to hear your recollection of when the State got bi-furcated. Also, I've got to know: Do you still have a landline? If yes, what percentage of the calls you get each day are robotically generated? And, have you read Reclaiming Conversation? Great book, right?