Archive for June, 2007

Putting a Baby into the Shower

baby

A cou­ple of days ago I was get­ting up and Pey­ton, the baby of the fam­ily, was wak­ing up too. Rather than put him in the bouncy seat, or let him play on the floor and bang a lot of toys on the tile, Kim sug­gested that I put him into the shower with me.We have a pretty big shower. It has 2 heads and is about 6 by 6 feet. Glass walls, very cool.

So I put him in there with me. I was tired, half asleep still and not fir­ing on all cylin­ders. Pey­ton, naked, was on the shower floor. Usu­ally in the morn­ing one of the first things that Pey­ton does is poop. After that I change him and we both go on our merry ways, but like I said, I was tired, half asleep still and not fir­ing on all cylinders.

So after rins­ing the sham­poo out of my hair I look down at him to make sure he’s fine and not splayed out on his back. And then I saw it — there was poop all over the shower floor. The hair stood up on the back of my neck and I prob­a­bly lost all the color in my face as I went sheet white. There was garbage all over him and he was just about to start play­ing with it.

I grabbed him and held him up to the water, a cas­cade of poop rain­ing down onto me.

Couldn’t get worse, could it?

I washed him off and set him down and started to clean myself up. After hav­ing been both peed and pooped on I wasn’t too wor­ried about me; skin is water­proof, and noth­ing was going to get into my blood­stream unless I wanted it to, but still, it’s poop. It’s what your body doesn’t need or want, that’s why you get rid of it.

I looked down again at him. He’d pooped again.

Now I had two watery piles of poop on the shower floor. We’d reached Def­con 1 in my opin­ion. I called for backup.

Kim came and helped me out. She’d been asleep. I hate wak­ing her up, but I felt that this mer­ited a lit­tle teamwork.

We got him cleaned up (no more poop­ing after that) and then I scrubbed myself down. Later Kim, the saint that she is, Cometed the shower floor. What kind of woman would love you enough to clean up garbage? Like I say, she’s a keeper.

Brush With Local Greatness, Vol. 3 : Jerry Haynes

Mister-Peppermint

I saw Jerry Haynes, aka for local Dal­las kids in the 1970’s, Mr. Pep­per­mint, in the park­ing lot of the Albertson’s talk­ing to an older man. At first I thought, “Hey, it’s Mr. Pep­per­mint.” Sec­ondly, I thought, “Wait a minute — he must live around here.”

Mr. Pep­per­mint was the host of Pep­per­mint Place, a local kids show in Dal­las that showed in the area from 1975 to 1995. Mr. Pep­per­mint, wear­ing his trade­mark white and red striped blazer, and his side­kick Muf­fin the Bear enter­tained me daily when I was a kid. Think of it as a local ver­sion of Cap­tain Kan­ga­roo, if you will.

Years ago when I worked at a book­store (where I met Bizarro cre­ator Dan Piraro) Haynes would drop by and browse the shelves. He was fairly hippie-ish, often with longish hair. Always quiet, he hardly ever spoke to any­body, which I never took as a sign of arro­gance but more of shy­ness. He was just a very unas­sum­ing, very tall guy.

He’s also is the father of Gibby Haynes, the lead singer of the But­t­hole Surfers. I remem­ber at the time that I learned this (from the news­pa­per, no less!) and they called his group the ‘B Surfers’. Ah…the naive quaint 1980’s. How we miss your cen­so­ri­ous ways.

But back to my story.

So as I’m get­ting the gro­cerys in the car and get­ting one of the kids into the car, I see him walk­ing behind the car. Where was he going? To his car, a green Ford Tau­rus. How un-pepperminty of him.

He gets in, I start head­ing home, he leaves and I get it into my head to fol­low him. I thought if he was going in the direc­tion of my house I’d fol­low along, but if he diverted from my pre-determined course and devi­ated, I’d break off the chase, resolved to never know where he lived. But when he started dri­ving I saw that he was going the way that I had intended to go in the first place. Very interesting.

So I gunned it and caught up with him. He drove really slow. And strangely, on the wrong side of the street.

But he kept going the same way I would have gone home. And he turned right where I would have turned right, and then he turned left onto a street near mine. Not want­ing him to become alarmed, I broke off the chase at this point. But I picked it up again when I real­ized that the street he was going down existed for only one block, and if he turned there he prob­a­bly lived on that block.

And he did. Dri­ving down that street slowly, I saw him park the car and get out and go into a house not 3 blocks from mine. Six tenths of a mile. How crazy is that?

Bread and Tulips

bread_and_tulips

My wife and I rented this flick the other night, and it’s not good nor is it bad. It’s just kind of aver­age, hence the two stars. I couldn’t really tell if it wanted to be one of those light­hearted roman­tic Euro­pean romps like Cin­ema Par­adiso or a screw­ball kind of com­edy the likes of Jerry Lewis. I mean, it was alright, but that’s all it was. Licia Magli­etta plays Ros­alba Bar­letta, an Ital­ian house­wife who lives in a small town tak­ing care of her fam­ily, a lovely bunch that includes her hus­band (Anto­nio Cata­nia) who has been cheat­ing on her for years and her pot-smoking kids.

She seems to exist in their world to feed them and clean up after them. Ros­alba is so naive about life that she doesn’t sus­pect a thing is wrong with it until she takes a fam­ily vaca­tion and while try­ing to fish her wed­ding ring out of a rest stop toi­let bowl she is left behind by the tour bus and sub­se­quently has an epiphany. (Unre­lated side note: Maybe my wife and I are dif­fer­ent, but I think we would notice if one of the other was miss­ing from a bus while on vaca­tion together. Ah movies, sus­pen­sion of dis­be­lief and all that.) Ros­alba calls her hus­band (Anto­nio Cata­nia) on the bus, and he nat­u­rally goes bal­lis­tic because she’s thrown the group off sched­ule by get­ting left behind. This is when Ros­alba dis­cov­ers that she’s lit­tle more than a door­mat for her hubby, so she takes off for Venice — which she has never seen — for a per­sonal “vacation”.

Enter the screwi­ness. Quickly Ros­abla meets soft-spoken and elu­sive waiter Fer­nando Gira­soli (Bruno Ganz) who, after a brief encounter at the restau­rant where he works, takes pity on her pen­ni­less state (she some­how has no money of her own on her) and lets her stay the night at an extra room in his apart­ment. Fast for­ward, Fer­nando has a sad past that he doesn’t speak of, but Ros­alba learns by spy­ing on him. She quickly decides to extend her “vaca­tion” by find­ing a job with a crazy florist, befriend­ing Girasoli’s kooky (and I don’t use that word lightly) next door neigh­bor, a holis­tic masseuse (Marina Mas­sironi) who wears jew­els in the mid­dle of her fore­head and has plumb­ing prob­lems, and per­ma­nently mov­ing into Girasoli’s place on a strictly pla­tonic basis.

Star­ring:
Licia Magli­etta, Bruno Ganz, Giuseppe Bat­tis­ton, Marina Mas­sironi, Anto­nio Cata­nia
Directed By:
Sil­vio Sol­dini
Release Date:
July 27, 2001
MPAA Rat­ing:
PG-13 for brief lan­guage, some sen­su­al­ity and drug ref­er­ences.
Dis­trib­u­tors:
First Look Pic­tures
2 Stars

Every­thing comes to a head when Rosalba’s hus­band tires of his shirts being wrin­kled and steps up his quest to bring her home by hir­ing a plumber/private detec­tive named Costan­tino (Giuseppe Bat­tis­ton) to find her. The man is a com­edy of errors. He attempts to get into char­ac­ter with a trench coat and clip-on sun­glasses, but he’s still a bum­bling plumber. Costan­tino was my favorite char­ac­ter in this uneven film if only because he rose the level of humor here from aver­age to just a tenth of a point above aver­age. I pulled for him because even though he’s in a city of 60,000 peo­ple he knows he can find Ros­alba, even if he’s got to look at the other 59,999 peo­ple first. He was the high point.

In the end, I have no strong feel­ings about this film. I’m only puz­zled by ques­tions like:

Why did the writ­ers feel com­pelled to make a man named Fer­nando Gira­soli a native of Ice­land? “Hi, I’m Fer­nando and I’m from Ice­land.” No won­der he moved to Italy.

Why did there have to be a scene where we are forced to see the sweaty man-boobs of the over­weight plumber/private eye? And why would a decent look­ing woman like the kooky masseuse think that was hot?

But you shouldn’t try too hard to answers to these ques­tions. Even with the added knowl­edge you’d still end up feel­ing nei­ther good nor bad about the film.

Broken Flowers

broken_flowers

I saw my first Jim Jar­musch film, Stranger Than Par­adise, my 2nd junior year at Bay­lor in 1993. I was a film major at the time, and the stark cin­e­matog­ra­phy and edit­ing (the cam­era never moves in a scene and each scene is played from begin­ning to end with no cuts) was cool. I had always been a fan of those unsung actors, those, “Hey, it’s that guy that was in fill-in-the-blank” movies, and I orig­i­nally watched it because it had Richard Edson (if you saw him, you’d prob­a­bly rec­og­nize him), but the film drew me in, kind of like A Clock­work Orange. It was hyp­notic and auteur cool. After that, nat­u­rally, I wanted to see more Jar­musch films.

Up to a point. Yes, I tried to see all of his films. Down by Law, Mys­tery Train, etc. Then came Night on Earth, what with its 5 cab­bies dri­ving around the world on one night and what hap­pens to them, and I just plain lost inter­est. Maybe it was Winona Ryder and her “it girl” sta­tus at the time. Maybe I just didn’t care. Pulp Fic­tion had just come out, cin­ema was chang­ing and more excit­ing, and the Euro­peanesque­ness (is that a word?) of Jarmusch’s ethos just kinda bored me at that point in my filmic development.

It only got worse later. I didn’t care about see­ing Dead Man, even though it paired the amaz­ing Crispin Glover and ver­i­fi­able screen leg­end Robert Mitchum, or Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samu­rai or any of those Cof­fee and Cig­a­rettes films he’s been doing for almost 20 years. I was bored with Jimmy’s work. I didn’t care for his way of doing The Busi­ness anymore.

Star­ring:
Bill Mur­ray, Jef­frey Wright, Sharon Stone, Frances Con­roy, Tilda Swin­ton, Julie Delpy, Chloe Sevi­gny, Jes­sica Lange
Directed By:
Jim Jar­musch
Release Date:
August 5th, 2005
MPAA Rat­ing:
R for lan­guage, some graphic nudity, and brief drug use.
Dis­trib­u­tors:
Focus Fea­tures
2 Stars

Bill Mur­ray, on the other hand, had and has never fol­lowed the auteur path. He started out as an overt comic on “Sat­ur­day Night Live”, moved on to Meat­balls, Cad­dyshack, Stripes and Ghost­busters. Then out of the blue came The Razor’s Edge and it hit peo­ple like a brick wall at the time : How could Bill Mur­ray do drama? Is that even pos­si­ble?

He was slammed for it and quickly got back into com­edy. It was sort of down­hill for him from there. Ghost­busters II, Quick Change, Larger Than Life, The Man Who Knew Too Lit­tle. He inter­spersed small gems, and some out­right clas­sics, in between these fes­ter­ing steam­ing turds of cel­lu­loid — Ground­hog Day, Mad Dog and Glory, and the fab­u­lous Ed Wood, but the ver­dict was in on Mur­ray by 1997, and his career was DOA.

Then out of the blue Wes Ander­son wanted Mur­ray for the part of Her­man Blume in his lit­tle film Rush­more, and the rest is his­tory. Murray’s career since that touch­stone has been one of highs (The Royal Tenen­baums, Lost in Trans­la­tion) and lows (Osmo­sis Jones, Garfield) but he is now at the point in his act­ing career that he’s widely respected as an excel­lent and depend­able char­ac­ter actor.

Put the two pre­vi­ously talked about peo­ple together, though, and it’s like watch­ing water evap­o­rate off of the sidewalk.

Mur­ray, usu­ally kinetic to a fault, plays Don John­ston, aged wom­an­izer who made a killing in com­put­ers and now lives in retire­ment doing noth­ing but watch TV and have his ex-girlfriends walk out on him. On the same day that his cur­rent flame (Julie Delpy) is leav­ing him, he receives a let­ter typed on pink sta­tion­ary let­ting him know that he and an unnamed ex-flame had a son 20 years pre­vi­ous and that the boy may be look­ing for Don. Enter Win­ston (Jef­frey Wright), Don’s neigh­bor and an ama­teur sleuth who takes up the quest to find the letter’s sender with a zealot’s zeal. “You have a son out there. Don’t you want to know who he is?” Don’s ini­tial answer? No. Prob­a­bly in in his mind it would be Hell No. Unde­terred, Win­ston plunges in, demand­ing a list of women Don would have known in the Bib­li­cal sense roughly 20 years hence. Win­ston pro­duces an itin­er­ary, dri­ving direc­tions and hotel reser­va­tions for Don.

Tired of bore­dom, or I would hope, out of curios­ity, Don takes off to unnamed locales across the US of A search­ing for his past and, as you can prob­a­bly guess, some­thing about him­self that shows him that he mat­ters in this world. Along the way he gets to see what hap­pened to these women that he knew inti­mately and how they turned out, and pos­si­bly what might hap­pened to him­self in a par­al­lel uni­verse. They range from bizarre (Jes­sica Lange) to funny (Sharon Stone) to pathetic (Tilda Swin­ton). His­tory comes back to bite Don again and again, but he con­tin­ues on his quest for rea­sons, through Jar­muschian logic, that are his alone.

Really, Bro­ken Flow­ers is not a bad movie, it just isn’t ful­fill­ing. I under­stand the Jar­muschian logic that the out­come means less than the jour­ney (Movie Trailer Guy Voice — “One Man…Alone…A Quest…of Par­ent­hood.…”), but after invest­ing 2 hours of your life, and a hard-earned $16, you might be want­ing a lit­tle more than is given to you. I won’t give away the end of the film, since I hate peo­ple who do that, but yes, you will prob­a­bly be dis­ap­pointed unless you’re one of those peo­ple that likes to go to a late night cof­fee shop in the Beat­nik part of town after see­ing your film and be snarky about what you’ve just wit­nessed ad nau­se­aum until late into the night. Bill Mur­ray is really good in his min­i­mal­ist way here, and I don’t fault him at all for my belief that the film fails. It’s just that I should have looked back to what inter­ested that 21-year-old boy at Bay­lor and see if that was applic­a­ble to my cur­rent sit­u­a­tion. Matu­rity should guide us in our choices, so here is a mes­sage to you, Glenn Vance, “What would Don John­ston have done here? Would he have gone along with Win­ston to see a Bergmanesque film about a man search­ing for his son? Don’s ini­tial answer? No. Prob­a­bly in his mind it would be Hell No.