A Shotgun, A Case Of Whiskey, And Some Beef Jerky

How many outstanding New Years Eves have you had?

I’ve had a few, but I’m certain that none of them happened after the age of 26. Over the past decade there have been nice nights spent with friends (both of the buddy and special lady varieties), but nothing wild or crazy or particularly memorable. And I’ve been happy with those because the alternative (paying a big cover charge to hang out with strangers in places I probably wouldn’t visit while sober) were never better.

Way back in that other millennium, as we getting ready to crash into the year 2000, there were a lot of people who really believed every single computer would malfunction and reign chaos throughout the world. I’m not sure of the exact figures, but if you had looked in the water or battery aisle of your local supermarket on December 31, 1999 you would have found little or none of both items.

I remember saying that I was going to barricade myself on the balcony of my apartment with a shotgun, a case of whiskey, and some beef jerky. I believe Dennis Leary says something to that effect in one of his songs, and to me it sounded Right. But for some reason (maybe it was the 30 day waiting period for the permit . . . ) I ended going back to Massachusetts for that “special night”.

Well . . . sadly, the global computer crash never materialized. New Years Eve 1999 was mostly like ones that preceded it. An okay time.

I have ambivalent feelings about New Years Eve. I’m not one of those people who piss on it and say it means nothing, but neither do I believe it’s a night where I MUST have plans. Although it can just be viewed as an arbitrary date, the beginning of a new year is something to toast for its symbolic meaning. It’s a rebirth, with new chances to make things right.

Of course that only works if you really believe it. Resolutions can be a good thing if you’re able to convince yourself that you have a “do-over” to make things right. Whether it’s lose weight, save money, drink less, eat better or whatever, most people give-up because they forget why they decided to begin a goal on January 1st. Eventually people will say, the New Year really doesn’t mean anything, I’ll do it later . . . which negates any the good feelings of the clean slate you were supposed to give yourself.

“If you will it, it is no dream.”
- Theodor Herzl (and Walter Sobchak)

But now we are getting into metaphysics, and that’s a tangent for another time and place. What I’m really trying to get to here is that it would be nice, every few years or so, to celebrate New Years Eve in style. It would be wonderful to gather all my friends together and party like it’s 1999 . . . but the logistics are of course impossible. There’s vast distances and babies and competing commitments and all sorts of forces aligning against a party where all my friends of the last 20 years get together for a night.

So tonight in San Francisco, I’ll just have to settle for the whiskey and beef jerky.

Here’s to being better in 2008.

*****

And with that, the blog is officially closed for the winter.

I must board up the shutters. Under the umbrella of “being better”, I need to focus all my free time on completing my 2nd novel. And with new responsibilities at work and taking classes at Berkeley, my hours available for creative ventures are scant. So I thank everybody who spent time reading my blog.

You stay classy.

The Dude vs. The NFL

This year The Patriots have played many games out of the normal Sunday afternoon schedule. And while it’s great to see your team compete on National TV, it presents challenges. If you’re married or in a serious relationship, there probably isn’t much of a problem. You clean your garage, you cut the hedges, you go to the multiplex to that romantic comedy with your special lady friend, or you spend a little more quality time with your children.

But if you’re single and live in a studio apartment. . . .

My God, it really forces you to take ugly looks at yourself.

The Patriots beat The Steelers last Sunday, and it was their first normal scheduled game in the last month. The previous three contests were all played at night, and it’s made Sunday afternoons extremely taxing. Take for example December 2nd. Living in San Francisco, the only game on my TV set was the 49ers and the Carolina Panthers. I didn’t want to watch even a second of it, but for some reason I switched the channel to Fox. I guess my brain waves have been wired to pant like a Pavlovian Dog for QB sneaks and shotgun formations and safety blitzes.

But I regreted my decision quickly. Only three minutes into the game the announcers (guys I’ve never even heard of . . . the Z team of Fox) have referred to Vinny Testerverde as “The Old Guy” at least 12 times. They even put it on their graphics as San Francisco’s key to the game: “Don’t Let The Old Guy Beat You”.

And here are the highlights of the first quarter:

*San Francisco calls a timeout before they punt.
*The timeout seems to be a genius move when Carolina muffs the punt and the 49ers look like they recover the ball. On the field the officials first signal SF ball and then give it back to the Panthers.
*It looks like the officials blew the call, but The 49ers coach, Mike Nolan, doesn’t challenge.
*Vinny, aka “The Old Guy”, has 1st and goal from the 3 but cannot score.
*It’s week 13 and the Panthers have yet to win a game at home.

I check ESPN hoping they’re showing The World Series of Poker. Instead it’s The Great Lakes Classic, a bowling event. Walter Ray Williams needs two strikes AND two pins to beat the immortal Scroggins. This is tense. First strike wipes out all the pins quick. His next strike is more dramatic, with the last pin wobbling before it falls. He only needs two more, and gets the win when he knocks down seven.

This is what happens when you live in a city with two bad NFL teams.

I shudder knowing the game after this will be the 3-8 Raiders. But I switch back to the “football” game. Here are some more stellar statistics:

*With 10:07 left in the half Carolina has used all their timeouts.
*Testerverde throws a TD, and it’s the Panthers first TD at home in something like 80 quarters.
*The 49ers somehow convert a 3rd down and keep a drive alive. Of course they end up punting four plays later, but damn they must have felt good about getting 10 yards in a series.

Back to bowling.

It’s now the women’s championship. It’s Carolyn Dorin-Ballard vs. Diandra Asbaty. Dorin-Ballard has a lunch lady vibe about her. She could easily be a tough aunt from your Dad’s side of the family that nobody fucks with. Asbady is actually cute, a red head with a nice smile who seems as if she enjoys drinking beer and, well . . . bowling. Both of these women have their names on the back of their shirts. Not printed, like a football player, but their signatures embodied into the material. When I notice this I flip back to the other game.

Trent Dilfer, who for some reason is the starting QB for San Francisco, gets sacked. It is only the 11th sack of the season for The Panthers. Dilfer then throws an INT which is returned for a touchdown. It’s 17-0 Carolina.

Could professional women’s bowling be better?

Yes. Yes it is.

Asbaty makes two strikes in a row. While I’m trying to figure out how old she is (my guess is 29), the announcers say she “has finally figured out the lane”. Figured out she was throwing a ball at ten pins from the same distance as every bowler does in the world? Is there a sand trap that creeped up without us noticing?

Then the announcer says that Asbaty wanted him to give a “shot out” to her grandmother.

Okay . . . switching to the football game Dilfer gets sacked again (The Panthers now have 12 on the season . . . my God- this is exciting). But I somehow pry my vision from the intense action and glance at the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen. The Dolphins lead the Jets 13-10. For a few seconds I ponder whether I’d rather be in Miami watching their winless club duel the hapless NY Jets. It’s a tough choice- their shit sandwich to the one that is now on Fox? There is no way to answer that question except to watch some bowling.

It’s too bad I’m not watching The Dude, Walter, and Donnie advance to next Round Robin.

Instead we’re now in the last frame of The Great Lakes Classic Championship. Asbaty needs a mark to win. They flash a graphic that says she was part of a NCAA Championship team from Nebraska in 1999 & 2001. That would put her at about 27 or 28 (I was close). I wonder how it would feel to date a professional bowler. Would she talk about 7-10 splits while in bed? Does she have a bumper sticker that says “I’d rather be bowling”? Could she drink me under the table?

And then Asbaty rolls . . . she gets a nine. I was hoping for somebody to yell “OVER THE LINE” and pull out their “piece” on the lanes. Mark it an 8! Am I the only one that cares about the rules?!!

No such luck. This is not The Big Lebowski come to life. One more pin and Asbaty is the winner. She gets it and is all tears. And then a guy rushes up and hugs her, who The announcers say is her husband. The dream is over.

With the “NFL Game” Dilfer has just thrown an interception with 1:24 left in the half. But Carolina doesn’t have any timeouts, and the “Old Guy” has to rush. The second quarter comes to an end after Vinny throws a ball that is astutely described by JC Pearson as being “way underthrown”.

It’s getting close to noon and I have yet to step outside. I would like to have the last hour and half back in my life, but I’ll simply have to use it as a good life lesson. I get outside for a walk and some lunch, and when I return I see the San Francisco 49ers were somehow worse than the Carolina Panthers today. Next time I will show more fortitude: when The Patriots are not playing on a Sunday morning/afternoon I will immediately leave the apartment.

My Key West Days From The AV Club

It's 8 minutes long and took a helluva long time to get it up on the site. But here is my first foray into video blogging.

Worst. Blogger. Ever.

Okay . . . and this is my second apology to anybody who reads my blog. In my 1st apology (which I never ended up posting for various reasons) I guessed my audience to be seven, but after nearly a month without a post I can’t imagine anybody reading this unless I ask them nicely.

But I’m writing this anyway.

Today The Patriots beat The Steelers and are now 13-0. So it boils down to six games for perfection, with the last three (playoffs) meaning everything and the next three (regular season) simply ones for the record books. But now every time The Pats take the field it will be AN EVENT.

And this is fun.

Especially when you remember very well that season in 1991 when I was ECSTATIC when The New England Patriots won 6 games.

I was a senior at BU and would have to scheme to watch The Pats when they played home games. Back then you would have to find a bar that would illegally put the game on their satellite (before Direct TV and the NFL package bars could be fined huge amounts of money by showing a local game that had been blacked out for lack of ticket sales). In 1991 we were coming off a ONE WIN SEASON. The Pats were almost surely being moved to St. Louis, and none of the home games were on TV because they could never sell out the stadium.

The Alley Pub, which was less than a hundred yards from my apartment, was one of those bars that would show Pats games illegally. I would go there every Sunday, and there is one day that burns brightly in my mind. We were playing the Buffalo Bills, the same Buffalo Bills with Jim Kelly and Thurman Thomas that went to 4 straight Superbowls. Hugh Millen was our QB and Dick McPhearson was our coach. There wasn’t even a chance of The Pats going to the playoffs, but on that afternoon we beat The Bills and it was amazing. Our record didn’t matter. For one game we were able to best the best team in the AFC.

Sixteen years later it’s hard to imagine.

In 2007 it’s going to be fans of The Jets, The Dolphins, and The Giants who will be ecstatic if they can beat the best team in the country. The Pats are a long way from being lovable losers . . . they are now hated with as much venom as The NY Yankees. It’s New England and their fans vs. the world.

And as much as I enjoyed that six win season, it’s simply something for nostalgic yearnings. Any sane person would prefer being 13-0. I will never be 21 again, The Alley Pub is no longer, and I will never be happy about anything less than making the playoffs.

Okay, that's it for tonight . . . here is what I wrote last week and never posted:

*****************************

Monday December 3rd
11:15 p.m.

. . . . .My apologies to anyone (all seven of you) who read my blog. Due to being very busy at work, traveling out of the country, and not having an Internet connection at my new apartment I haven’t written anything in weeks. I can hear The Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons saying “Worst. Blogger. Ever.”

But I’m back, and let’s start with Monday Night Football and The New England Patriots:

PATRIOTS 27
RAVENS 24

This whole season my thought process has mirrored that of my team, The New England Patriots. I have just wanted them to beat the next team they were playing- a true one game at a time mentality. And if there was a goal, it was only to win The Superbowl. I honestly haven’t given much thought to not losing and the ’72 Dolphins and the chance to be called The Greatest Team Ever.

But tonight . . .

My God did I want The Pats to win.

I was at my usual seat at the far left of the bar at The Buccaneer, the Boston sports bar in San Francisco I frequent nearly every week. Because of my travels and the bye, I hadn’t been there since the Indy game almost one month ago. And I wasn’t going to make the trip up Polk Street tonight either. It was a long day at work, I was tired, and relaxing on the comfort of my own couch seemed like a good option.

But I knew this game was important.

The Pats were favored by 20, but it just didn’t seem like a blow-out kind of night. They were on the road, facing a very tough defense, in prime time, and contending with history. I knew (and know) that ever single game they play is going to be a battle. Every team they play are going to compete against The Pats as if it were their Superbowl.

Tonight I needed the energy of being surrounded by my people. I am all about watching The Game, and for most of the 60 minutes of play I’m barely aware of those around me. But it’s always nice to be around friends, and it’s especially important when the games are of higher meaning.

This comeback win over Baltimore was special, and it was made even more so being surrounded by Pats fans on Russian Hill in San Francisco. When Jabar Gaffney caught the winning TD in the back corner of the endzone it felt great to high five everybody around me. And when Jill, one of The Buc’s great bartenders, gave me a “still undefeated shot”, I lifted it up and downed it with a smile.

But let’s keep perspective. 12-0 is nice, but there’s still 7 more wins to get. Go Pats!

The State Of The Union by Joel & Ethan Coen

No Country For Old Men

The brilliance of the new Coen Brothers film can be heard in the wind whistling through the bleak desert landscape. It can be seen in every perfectly constructed frame of film- a deserted nighttime street, light sneaking through a key hole, or the smirk of a hired killer. And it can be felt in every tension filled moment where the fates of people’s lives are left, literarily and figuratively, to a flip of a coin.

Based on the Cormac McCarthy novel of the same name, No Country For Old Men is a story set in 1980 about a regular guy who inadvertently finds a bag of money and decides to keep it. Llewelyn Moss (played gruff and charismatic by Josh Brolin) is a welder who lives in a trailer and has drifted through an average life since his tour in Vietnam. Like the cowboys and pioneers of the old west, Llewelyn sees his opportunity for a better life and decides to act.

But standing in his way is good luck, bad luck, no luck, and the inevitability of circumstances. Such factors are personified by a cold and bizarrely philosophical killer named Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem, who could not have been better) and a weary small town Sheriff with the folksy name of Ed Tom (Tommy Lee Jones, using his familiar screen personae to twist the character in a prodigious performance). The plot is simple- a cat and mouse game between the 3 characters- but what lies beneath the text enriches the film and makes it extraordinary.

No Country For Old Men bends and smashes all preconceived expectations and archetypes. The Coen Brothers have made several excellent films about bags of money, ruthless hit men, and everyday people caught in the lure and swirl of crime (such as Blood Simple, Millers Crossing, Fargo, and even the hilarious The Big Lebowski). With this new effort they take all of their own cinematic history, combine it with a hundred years of westerns, gangster pictures, and hero stories to give the audience a warped masterpiece of originality.

Is it really that good?

Yes, it is.

There will be people who say it’s too violent, but the graphic depiction is crucial to the story. And there might be some who will criticize The Coens for choosing to leave key scenes out, but I believe they were invoking the Hemingway iceberg theory: if you do your job right what lurks under the surface makes what shows even stronger. And there’s sure to be some naysayers about the ending, but I believe the resolution to the story is as perfect as the silence after a symphony.

No Country For Old Men demands you to listen and pay attention and become absorbed in the world that is in front of your eyes. If you’re able to do that you’ll be rewarded with a film that somehow manages to be frightening, thrilling, and philosophical. It will also give you a profound insight into American ideas, opinions, and culture.

From Sandwich Layaway to The Director’s Chair

GONE BABY GONE

Could it really have been ten years ago that I took the red line to Kendall Cinema in Cambridge to see Good Will Hunting? At the time all I knew about that film was that it was shot in Boston, starred Robin Williams, and a couple of local guys my age wrote the screenplay and acted in it. Back then I had just finished my film program at Emerson College and wanted to do exactly what Ben Affleck & Matt Damon had accomplished.

Well . . . the two buddies from Boston went on to Oscars, action films, and superstardom. I moved to Hollywood with my Masters Degree and wrote a bunch of screenplays that caught the attention of nobody. 1997 morphed into 2007, and it seemed I had as good of chance as writing and directing a film as Affleck & Damon.

Neither had written a screenplay, either collaboratively or on their own, since Good Will Hunting. What had happened to them? Sure, Matt Damon’s reputation was pretty solid as an actor. The Talented Mr. Ripley showcased his skills, The Bourne films proved he could be an action hero, and Ocean's 11 demonstrated he was cool.

But Affleck . . . his embarrassments are well documented: Armageddon, Pearl Harbor, Daredevil, and Gigi just to name a few. It just seemed the guy couldn’t make a right career choice. Even when he reunited with the director who brought out his best acting performance (Kevin Smith’s Chasing Amy), the result was a disappointment (Jersey Girl).

But if you own the DVD for Good Will Hunting, I urge you to listen to the commentary. When you hear Ben Affleck talk he clearly demonstrates his knowledge of filmmaking. Here’s a guy who not only knows writing and acting, but also speaks intelligently on shot selection and cinematography.

So when the lustrous reviews of Gone Baby Gone started pouring in I wasn’t surprised. He was working off terrific source material (Dennis Lehane’s acclaimed novel), adapted the script himself (he is an Oscar winner), and shot the film entirely in his hometown of Boston.

But this is not the Boston of Good Will Hunting. To borrow the phrase Will says to Sean while they’re staring out at the serenity of The Public Garden lagoon, there are no “Tasters Choice moments”. This film is gritty Dorchester, South Boston and Chelsea. It’s the three decker houses with the chipped paint and barking dogs. It’s the dive bars where the men and women who long ago lost hope go to drink and drug their sorrows away in the afternoon.

The only time we glimpse picturesque Boston is from rooftops and bridges far away from the reality of the movie.

And the reality of “Gone Baby Gone” is harsh. The film’s plot revolves around a kidnapping of a four-year-old girl. There’s also pedophiles and psychopathic drug dealers and a whole lot of people who you spend your whole life trying to avoid.

At the center of all this madness is Patrick Kenzie (played perfectly by Casey Affleck), a small time private investigator who gets this case because he is from the neighborhood. Patrick’s partner is his girlfriend Angie (Michelle Monaghan, who’s eyes express so much depth), and although you don’t get too many personal details of their past you know they are smart, caring individuals who had the integrity to rise above all the degeneracy around them. All they want to do is make a living and be happy together.

In fact Angie doesn’t want to take the case. She says they have a good life, and doesn’t want to be involved in a missing child investigation- where statistics say they normally turn up dead or abused. But Patrick & Angie both know as insiders to the neighborhood they could actually help to rescue little Amanda. They make the decision to sacrifice the safety of their world and enter what will become a nightmare for both of them.

Gone Baby Gone works purely on the level of a crime/detective thriller. There’s mystery, suspense, gunfights and a few scenes that will rival Silence of The Lambs in getting your heart racing. Sure there’s some plot points that might border on the incredulous (true of most films in that genre), but overall the nuts and bolts of the story are grounded in reality and will keep you watching intently.

But this film is so much more than a genre piece. By shooting in these blocks and neighborhoods that nobody outside the area knows much about, Ben Affleck was able to capture the feel of the lower-middle class (the population that makes up much of America). The feel of what it’s like to be born in your hometown and be resigned to live and work there (probably at a tough job) your whole life. And by casting the film with local non-actors (who don’t have to “act” the speech and mannerisms), the authenticity is heightened. You can see it on their faces- most of these people didn’t get many choices.

I grew up not too far from where the action takes place. Lynn, Mass is a cousin to as the economically depressed Dorchester. But luckily I had great parents who provided me with as many choices as I wanted.

And that brings us right to the heart of Gone Baby Gone. In the opening voice-over Patrick says we don’t get to choose much of what defines us- our family and where we’re from. But most of us, especially the people of Boston, take extreme pride in our roots and even feel a sense of accomplishment (even though we had nothing to do with being born there). This pride can either be an asset or a hindrances to your life.

This sets up beautifully the ending of the film, where Patrick has an enormous decision to make. One that is morally ambiguous and will cause pain no matter which side he takes (I can’t spoil it by mentioning specifics). While Patrick struggles with the decision the audience gets to participate with him. But whether or not you agree with the resolution, you’re bonded with the characters and story in a way that happens rarely.

Gone Baby Gone could be the best film I’ve seen all year. Possibly Zodiac was technically better and The Darjeeling Limited more entertaining, but Ben Affleck has created something special. Let’s hope his next writing and directing project doesn’t take another decade.

Escape To The Florian Villa

There are times when you feel as if your job, your responsibilities, and your daily existence have ground your soul into chalky dust. Just waking up in the morning is a chore. Whether dulled by monotony or overwhelmed by a frantic pace, a change must be made.

But what can you do? You could quit your job and join a commune in a remote desert. There are always narcotics, whether prescribed by a doctor or procured by other means, which offer a survival of foggy indifference. Or you could simply stroll through your days in a purely perfunctory manner.

I don’t like any of those options.

For me a great trip has always reinvigorated my life. Getting far away from my routines stirs the blood and lights up those unused brain cells. And when the weather turns cold there is no better place I’d rather be than a tropical island.

This year I am going to St. John.

St. John is part of the U.S. Virgin Islands, and to get there you take one of the numerous non-stop flights to the more crowded St. Thomas. After landing you board a ferry and traverse azure Caribbean water. Less than an hour later you’ll be in the secluded and exotic outpost of St. John. And if you’ve made the right choice, you’ll be truly experiencing the island by staying at Florian Villa.

I’ve stayed at big hotels in tropical escapes like Key West, Aruba, and Curacao. And while I’ve enjoyed the amenities of the big chains in those locales, I’m really looking forward to experiencing a more personalized trip in small rental property. At The Florian Villa there will be no noisy neighbors, no housekeepers knocking on my door when I’m hung-over in the morning from my rum punches, and no obnoxious kids splashing in the pool when I just want to work on my tan.

But there will be personalized service, great snorkeling, hiking, secluded beaches, and that tropical air to give me serenity.

Of course I’m very lucky that one of my best friends owns the Florian Villa. Scott Whalen, who used to sling drinks next to me behind a bar but is now a Boston Fireman, recently bought the villa with his girlfriend Deb. Both had been frequent travelers to St. John and wanted to share the magic they felt with the island. Although Scott & Deb have demanding full time jobs, they have a sincere desire to be tropical hosts.

So the Florian Villa isn’t simply a rental property. It’s a place where they are going to host retreats, all inclusive vacations that will be tailored to their guest’s interests. Deb is a certified Yoga instructor and will get you completely relaxed and focused. Scott will lead snorkeling trips underneath the glass clear Caribbean water and hiking adventures in the island’s national park. They take care of all the details, and will also be providing gourmet food and drinks.

Thanksgiving week is their inaugural retreat and I will be there. I spoke with Scott yesterday and he said there might be a space or two open. So visit http://www.florianvilla.com/
to get in on the fun.

See you on the ferry. I can’t wait.