You've Got to Have Heart

It’s a cool Monday morning and I’m alive and healthy. True, I’m having a pacemaker shoved into my chest in ten days but it’s not because of any discomfort I’m experiencing. My heart rate is too slow and I have atrial fibrillation which means my heart often beats in flurries -- when it's not too slow. I notice it but it never prevents me from doing anything. Still if left untreated it can cause problems down the road and I do not want problems down the road or the street or avenue or boulevard or highway or esplanade or strada or lane or anything else. I’ll only miss two days of work and will have just the one night in hospital. There’ll be a couple of weeks before I can work out and for a week after the “procedure” I’ll be restricted to sponge baths. There’s also going to be a monitor by the side of my bed for the rest of my time on this planet but I don’t see that as in anyway inhibiting. I have a friend who has a pacemaker and he’s told me about the ins and outs though there aren’t many of either. I don’t have to change my diet or exercise more so it seems that life will return to normal — whatever the hell that is.

I had a great Saturday watching the California Golden Bears defeat the University of Arizona, 49-31. What fun to cheer two seventy-plus-yard touchdown runs by Cal’s freshman sensation, Jaydn Ott. There were other offensive fireworks from the locals and key defensive stops to prompt fist-pumping, leaping, high fives and hugs. Nothing like a home team victory in a college football game. The high carries into the next day and indeed I'm feeling lingering effects of the jubilation as I write this.

Life is pretty good these days though I’d never know it on days when I’m struggling with depression, anxiety or both. The more I deal with these plagues the more unfair they seem. After all, I’m healthy (my somewhat dodgy heart notwithstanding) enjoying teaching, love writing am happily married and have films, books, sports, music to keep me entertained and stimulated. Part of my problem is that I live with regrets. I made too many mistakes in the past to possibly recount even in a multi-volume autobiography. You’d think that at some point I’d realize that those mistakes can only be learned from, not changed, and it’s better to appreciate the many blessing I’ve had in life. You’d think. After all, despite all the missteps I have a great marriage, two wonderful and successful daughters and everything else that makes life grand -- aside from untold riches. Or even told riches. My brain could use a pacemaker, something that would straighten my thinking out when it goes dark and pointless and it meanders down dark, lonely roads to nowhere. That would be nice.

I turned the novel over to my editor/wife after working on it most days over the last twenty months. It’s weird not to be hanging out with the characters I’ve created. I know them so well and have great affection for them. I’m hopeful that this book will find a publisher and reach many, many readers. I’m convinced it’s entertaining, thought-provoking and an excellent chronicle of the Sixties. I'll keep my faithful readers (Gavin Huckleberry of Appleton Wisconsin) updated on its progress.

I’ve been looking over the first draft of a novel I was working on when I was inspired to write Untitled Sixties Novel. It’s very different and I'm enjoying it, am impressed by it and proud of it. The trifecta! It may end up being novel number four. Fingers are crossed, but not for long as I need them for typing.

I realize that I’ve not written much on this here blog of late but….maybe that will change in the weeks to come. Not working on novel #3 and only pecking away at #4. Hang in with me dear reader -- you’ve got to have heart.

More News and Notes From the Latest Streams of Unconsciousness Newsletter

Dua Lipa will perform at Streams in November

Premium members of Streams of Unconsciousness, receive a monthly newsletter. As a teaser, here's some experts from last month's missive. 

In a cost-cutting measure the Fall Jamboree and the Autumn Jubilee have been combined and re-branded as the October Bash. It will be held this year on October 15 at the Streams of Unconsciousness Fairgrounds. Admission is free for attendees between twelve and sixty-five years of age. Youth tickets are $35 and Seniors $40. See you there!

The gift shop is once again carrying the popular Streams of Unconsciousness doilies. Also now in stock are Streams fedoras and girdles. Hoodies will be two per cent off for the rest of the month!

Just a heads up, the Streams bake shop will be closed on Monday September 26 for yearly maintenance. Plan accordingly.

Tuesday bake sales have been moved to Thursday and will now be known as Thursday bake sales. Make a note. 

Our director of marketing, Percival Pinwheel is stepping down at the end of October to take a position with Al-Qaeda. Join us in wishing Percy the best!

More comings and goings: Hans Gertfröbe, that dashing young chap in the mailroom, has been re-assigned to our legal department where he’ll help deal with the many libel suits we face at Streams. Welcome Liza Clockenlocker our new community outreach coordinator. She’ll be taking over for Ned “Jonesy” Johnson who was recently fired for malfeasance. Also departing is Charlene Evergood who retires at the end of the month. We wish Charlene (aka Goody) and her husband Roscoe all the best as they live out their life-long dream of owing and operating a nicknack store in the Yukon wilderness. Also coming on board is our new quality assurance associate, Lance Boyle. Lance comes to us straight out of high school having recently graduated from Methadone High School in the Bronx. Go get ‘em, Lance! Lastly, long time receptionist Chita Istanbul is leaving us to take a position in the defense department with the Joint Chiefs of Staff.

Streams is proud to announce it will be partnering with Industrial Workers of the World in promoting and fomenting labor unrest throughout the western world. The Streams/Wobblies partnership will focus on creating a worker’s paradise. Viva la Revolution!

Our November concert will be officially announced later this week but a little birdie tells us that scheduled performers will include Paul McCartney, Beyonce, Taylor Swift, Usher, Dua Lipa, Coldplay and Billie Ellish. Tickets will go on sale Friday and they’ll range from five to twenty-five dollars in the VIP section.

In sports: The Streams cricket team ended their season with a flourish and took second place in their league. Things are looking up for our sumo wrestlers who are currently undefeated heading into their big match with Apple. Let’s take a bite out of them, lads! Meanwhile our dog sled team is training for the coming campaign. Ask about season tickets!

Reminders: our competitive haiku team opens its 2022-23 schedule Saturday at the Streams Pavilion. Our opening tilt is nearly sold out, so act now! The day care center has been refurbished and earthquake proofed, also the sharp metal spikes have been removed from the play structures by popular request. Drop the kiddies off. Finally, the Rufus T. Firefly Streams Museum has opened  a new wing with dazzling and amazing exhibits to stimulate, excite and illuminate. Don’t miss it!

My Wonderful Weekend, A Football Game Sandwiched In Between Four Films

L to R, Pangborn, Bracken and Demarest, Hail the Conquering Hero

My weekend was nice.

I watched Bullit (1968)Yates Friday afternoon, a film I first saw upon its initial release. I’ve never stopped loving it. My enjoyment of it comes despite the confusing — dare I say — plot. The script is a bit of a mess but director Peter Yates managed to rescue it. Supposedly an iffy script dooms a movie, but here is an exception to the rule. Of course the film would be nothing without Mr. Cool himself, Steve McQueen in the lead role. Bullit and The Great Escape (1963 J. Sturges were McQueen at his coolest. That the gorgeous Jaqueline Bisset played his love interest didn’t hurt either. McQueen is not only up against the mob (or the “organization” as everyone in the film calls it) but a crusading District Attorney (Robert Vaughn in his self-proclaimed best performance) who cares more about self-promotion than justice. The city of San Francisco is another main character and looks lovely throughout. It is highlighted in the film’s famous chase scene where, as those of us familiar with SF can vouch, a car turns down a street near the marina and suddenly is on the other side of town. Details are not what Bullit is all about. It is about maverick detective trying to do the right thing in the face of a criminal gang and slimy politician. That he goes about his business as such a cool guy enhances the fun immeasurably. The car chase scene is a masterclass in directing and editing. Two other chases -- on foot -- the latter at the movie's climax, are also noteworthy. 

Friday night I watched Preston Sturges’ Hail the Conquering Hero (1944) P. Sturges, the last of an incredible run of seven great pictures in five years that Sturges made from 1940-1944 (among them classics like Sullivan’s Travels (1941) and The Lady Eve (1941)). This is a film dominated by outstanding performances from supporting players, most were part of Struges’ “stock company” of regular bit players. The “star” of the film is Eddie Bracken, not exactly someone who shone in the firmament, but the shining is done here by lesser knowns particularly William Demarest and Franklin Pangborn who may have had more screen times and more lines in Hero than they did in any other picture. Harry Hayden as Doc Bissell, Jimmy Conlin as Judge Dennis and Raymond Wilburn as Mayor Noble also excel. It's especially nice to see Pangborn, who appeared in a plethora of great films in tiny roles, get some room to shine as the fussy befuddled and oh-so-well-intentioned Committee Chairman. Hail the Conquering Hero is a brilliant satire on the excesses of hero worship and its nefarious influence on the serious business of politics but is also a touching look at a community rallying together for decency and honesty. If Hero has a fault at all it could be that Bracken overplays his part at times (he was no Brando) but then his scenery chewing fits into the general zaniness that permeates the story. Like Bullit, I can’t wait to watch it again.

From Saturday's game, photo by author

On Saturday I went to a college football game, watching my beloved Cal Bears take on the heavy underdogs from UNLV. The Bears stormed out to a 14-0 lead and it looked like we’d be able to enjoy a pleasant, relaxed afternoon of cheering our team as they scored an endless series of touchdowns. But that is not the way of Cal football. Our heroes only managed six more points the rest of the game and had to rely on late-game defensive heroics to win by the skins of their teeth, 20-14. The ending was thus exciting and we cheered mightily as the final gun sounded and the home team had prevailed. No matter the sloppiness of play nor the lowliness of our opposition, it was a win and as such should be savored. That we did. A compatriot and I led a chant, with another we linked arms to sing along as Hail to California was played and I skipped down the street in celebration with the marching band who were having the time of their lives. It was all great fun. At home I read an online recap of the game where comments were generally very negative, fulminating against the Bears for their poor play. The game was a travesty, disaster was surely to come, heads must roll, the sky was falling. I marveled at how seriously people take college football and their inability to enjoy a simple win. Most, I speculated, had not been at the game and thus missed the excitement coursing through the stands as the defense held and held again. And what if the Bears had lost? Surely these same folks claiming gloom and doom would be flying off tall buildings. And how must they react to other more important issues such climate change, war in Ukraine, floods in Pakistan, global pandemics and American democracy in peril? Anyway, I had a damn good time and make no apology for it. 

Saturday evening the missus and I watched The Secret of Roan Inish (1994) Sayles which I’d not seen in about twenty-five years. It had been a favorite of mine back then and I was curious to see how I’d view it over two decades later. I liked it. A lot. Quite simply it’s a lovely story of a ten-year-old girl sent to live with her grandparents on an Irish isle to get away from the big city after her mother’s death. There she is told magical tales about a baby brother living on the open sea in a large wooden cradle and seals that can transform into beautiful women called selkies. These fables come true before her eyes and the resulting story is as magical as its premise. After watching Inish you’ll want to visit the Emerald Isle, I know I do. 

Sunday afternoon I watched another film that I hadn’t seen in about twenty five years, Se7en (1995) Fincher. It’s a film most remembered for its shocking ending, once you’ve seen it that particular “thrill” is gone. David Fincher is an excellent director (Fight Club (1999) and Zodiac (2007) are masterpieces) and his attention to detail, lighting and ability to sustain tension are evident here. There’s not a yawn in the picture, even knowing how it’s going to end. Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman are solid co-stars and their relationship slips neither into the good buddy cops nor the opposites attract cliches. The plot sometimes strains credulity but not enough to totally distract us from a compelling story. In other words, it holds up.

My weekend held up rather nicely too. I also managed to squeeze in a workout, reading the Sunday New York Times, taking a big chunk off the latest novel I’m reading (Elizabeth Strout’s Oh William!) and kept up with household chores. Now it’s back to ye olde grind.

My Day -- With a Special Emphasis on Turkeys and My Walk to Work

A turkey of the type that lives on our block

Some mornings there are turkeys. We have a family living in our neighborhood. They’re generally only out and about in the early morning or at dusk. Unlike some turkeys they are not aggressive, but neither are they particularly friendly. I don’t believe it’s in a turkey to be amiable to the approaches of humans. They clearly are aware of Thanksgiving -- their holocaust. 

Two days ago there was one family member in front of our house when I went to get the morning paper. It made it’s way across the street and I noted that it left behind a feather. Turkey feathers are rather attractive. Turkeys themselves however are unsightly creatures. Put put a puppy's head on them and you've got something.

Last night I walked to the front of the house. Staring at me through the window were two adult turkeys. Upon seeing me they departed the premises. 

In an hour I’ll walk to work. I tell everyone that one of the blessings of my job is that it is but a fifteen-minute walk from home. That’s a bald-faced lie. It’s eighteen minutes. (Please don’t tell.) Most days this summer the morning fog has been draped over the city. This is most pleasing because absent that fog I’ve got the damn sun blaring into my face. Even my sunglasses can’t fully protect me from its annoying rays. 

For a few months I hardly saw a soul for most of my walk. But now school is in session and there are packs of high school students everywhere as well as some walking alone. High school students can be anywhere from fourteen to eighteen. They come in all sizes, shapes and attire. Some are clearly rebelling against society (though they probably couldn’t articulate exactly why). Others are trying not to be noticed. Some are gregarious others painfully shy. Some appear studious, others are social butterflies, still others live in both worlds. High school students — like most of us — appear quite different at 8:20 AM than they will at noon or at 3:00 PM. The chatter is at normal tones and not terribly animated in the morning. Later in the day they’ll be boisterous, some feral. 

Most take little notice of me, some random old man. Occasionally one (invariably a female) will acknowledge me with a friendly smile. But adults are generally invisible to teenagers, excepting those they have to directly deal with like parents and teachers.

I also stroll past an elementary school. Wee ones are already being led around by adults while others are being dropped off by moms and dads.The little cherubs know too little of the world to be anything but eager and excited. A few of the younger ones show displeasure at their parents’ departure but quickly adjust. The parents seem impossibly young to me, after all many are around my daughters' ages.

By the time I get to the intersection of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Way and Allston Way I am directly across the street from the high school. The intersection is chockablock with high schoolers. Cars are streaming down the street and traffic lights are defied at one’s own peril. 

Crossing the street I part company from my teenaged travel companions and cut through a small downtown park. It is a haven to the homeless, addicts, a few lost souls and skateboarders. There is a Veteran’s Memorial Building across the street which provides free meals, so many in the park are having their morning repast. (Interestingly, high school students take over the park during their lunch and the mendicants make way.)

Once out of the park — always leery of some loon with a knife mistaking me for their arch enemy — I have but a block before I reach school. There are two colleagues who have arrived before me by a minute or two. We exchange morning pleasantries then I get my materials and set up camp in my classroom. 

Work days fly by. It’s like that when you enjoy your work and most especially when you teach but one class. In the middle of class there is a twenty-minute break. I have a snack and get some air. Often I chat with co-workers, particularly my boss who supports the same Premier League team as I do. 

My walk home is faster because it is on a downward slope. I’ve never timed it, but I believe it to be two minutes shorter than the morning stroll. 

The city is fully awake by this time. I encounter all manner of citizen including moms pushing strollers, truant high schoolers, gardeners, construction workers, people running errands and folks out for a stroll. 

Home again I am greeted by my wife. The rest of the day is ours. I variously write, read, watch a film, go for a walk or nap. The missus and I often have pleasant chats.

It’s a good life — turkeys or no.