top photo via Hidden Los Angeles
bottom photo via Mandalit del Barco
… is looking a little bit like the Night One of the 405 Closure … :
Thanks Vintage L.A. for another great backward glance at the city of Angels…
THIS lovely little treasure just went up this week on The Paris Review’s blog. Having been a former bookstore clerk and manager, I found this quite moving. I just finished writing a piece about “living with and inside” books so this, of course really struck a chord.
I’M MORE than kinda gettin’ tired of all of the talk about this. People, the road is closed for two days, it’s going to be terribly inconvenient and have certain impact on how we live our lives here, but it’s not the end of the world. However, I have to say, this is one of the funnier takes on this meme.
I JUST finished a short piece about specific children’s book I was asked to reflect on — how it has affected me as a thinker, writer, etc. More about that closer to when the piece publishes, but writing it made me think a lot about the other ways that books from my childhood got under my skin, entered my dreams.
Alice Through the Looking Glass and Alice in Wonderland were enormously influential to me — but in ways I didn’t realize until many, many decades later.
It was never, Alice per se, but the vibrant, off-kilter world that she wandered through, that I felt pulled into. As a very young child, I was drawn to the Mad Hatter, something about his exuberance, his mercurial nature. I was more enchanted by him in the books more than in the Disney film. Later, as a young adult I revisited the books and found myself head-over-heels: this time it was the music of language. Re-reading Lewis Carroll’s book was akin to rolling down a hill myself — endorphins alight!
Because the clip was buried under the Tim Burton version, sadly it took me a few tries to find this interpretation. I remember first seeing this 1933 filmed retelling of Alice on one of the local television stations of my youth — some sort of kid’s afternoon theater. It’s stuck with me. There is something haunting/unsettling about the makeup of all of the characters that Alice encounters — particularly Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. But this segment of “The Walrus and the Carpenter” is deeply affecting — to this day — for me. Something about the rough action of the “animation” coupled with the macabre trajectory of the story line works in a way that something Disney-like couldn’t quite deliver. The tale is haunting, absurd and of course, occupies the province of dream/opiate logic. I was so happy to finally look at this footage again — it sparked something old and hidden, but still very much alive. The sure-footed march of a good story.
Thinking about Carroll’s Alice and the alternate universe he created for her made understand that fantasy isn’t just wild creatures, suspended disbelief and dream logic — but more it is about connecting the fanciful or the outrageous with our humanity — fear, sadness, joy, grief — all of it is there turned up to to the fullest, but told in a language of bold and brilliant, vibrating hues.
I’m adding it to my “re-read” list this summer.
… as only he can.
Thanks via one of my tumblr friends:
THIS IS what I did with mine.
For the Fourth — Independence Day — I watched the first two segments of The Martin Scorsese series “The Blues” — more history lessons/reminders. Fireworks and firecrackers tearing up the twilight sky…
The moments I was most moved by were those that symbolized the role of (and need for) self-definition, telling your stories — in your voice — and the impact and resonance of that simple act.
Garland Jeffreys was intensely channeling Skip James and the poignant curve of his story — Mississippi bluseman recorded but not paid — the back-in-the-30s familiar story arc. James disappeared for 30-some years and then reappeared, pulled from his near-death bed, to cameo at Newport Folk Festival in 1964. A resurrection.
Whole song here:
For the most part, I felt that the intercutting in “The Soul of a Man” which served to underscore the contemporary through-line (that these men/words/experiences haven’t been forgotten) — felt disruptive after awhile. I didn’t feel as if I could be in one place. I think fewer performances would have allowed the present-day material to feel that much more resonant and impacting. The stronger moments stood out nonetheless: Jeffreys’ and Lou Reed’s spare early bars of “Blind” Lemon Jefferson’s “See That My Grave is Kept Clean” stole my attention.
And this too: James Blood Ulmer, Vernon Reid and Eagle Eye Cherry:
Today, I’m still digging and listening and digging some more.
The man, Skip James, here: