So badly broken

The 59 people who died from a crazy man's gunfire in Las Vegas, the days of their lives broken forever, never to be repaired.

The over 500 people injured by that crazy man's gunfire in Las Vegas, their skin broken, their bodies broken, with luck most to recover there, but how much this breaks their spirits and hearts we cannot yet know.

The thousands of people in the concert, scrambling for their lives, their lives also at least a little broken, at least then, maybe forever. 

Our country's heart, broken again by senseless acts of gunfire-fueled violence. 

A gunman who must have been so badly broken once, if not many times, to wreak so much damage on so many.  I cannot sympathize with him, he does not deserve that, but he must have been such a mess to do this.

Less than a year and a half ago, the horror, the breakage, was in Orlando.  Naming more examples feels pointless, in part because we in America have so many. 

Our national psyche, increasingly broken by these acts of violence and by the divisiveness that is more and more our most outstanding trait.  We are so broken that we learn of these tragedies and shake our heads in sorrow and shed our tears and then brace for the next one, knowing another will come all too soon. 

I don't have any answers, though I wish I did, but I do know that we need to make figuring out how to stop this violence a priority.  We cannot allow ourselves, each other, our country to stay so broken.

American Made

How you'll feel about this movie depends a great deal on what you expect from it when you walk in the door.  If you're in the mood for a manic, high-energy, Tom Cruise-fueled fantasy that happens to touch here and there on the 1980s war on drugs, you'll have a fine time with American Made--as I did.  If, though, you want historical accuracy or smart people behaving intelligently or a moving exploration of the human experience, then you should turn around, cash in your ticket while you still can, and catch another film.

Cruise is in fine form in this one, returning to the crazed version of himself that is so much fun in so many movies.  The supporting cast members are uniformly good, and the story wings its way along a flight path that is just near enough to reality land that you might at times be tempted to believe in it--which is all you need for a fun couple of hours. 

You don't need any more data to decide if you'll enjoy this movie.  As I said, I did, but there are many good reasons you might not. 

Because sometimes you need a little Aretha

and tonight, for me, is one of those times.



She is amazing.  She still sings like an angel; check the most recent videos on YouTube if you don't believe me.

Blade Runner 2049 might actually be good

As I wrote back in May, I never doubted that I would go see Blade Runner 2049 when it hit the theaters.  What I was uncertain about was whether the movie needed to exist at all and, given that it was about to, whether it had a prayer of being good.

From the early reviews--the film has a RottenTomatoes critics rating of 98% as I write this--the answer appears to be that the movie in fact may be not merely good, but excellent, a thoughtful and even mind-blowing (to some critics) sequel.

I'm by no means convinced that the critics are right, but I have now gone from planning somewhat reluctantly to catch the movie to being downright excited about it.

Until it appears next week, we can all enjoy this trailer.



I will report my own thoughts on the film once I've seen it.

Rufus Wainwright at the Carolina Theatre

I had the privilege of enjoying this show earlier tonight.  I wasn't very familiar with his music, but I left determined to listen to more.

Though he played mostly his own songs, he also treated us to two songs by Leonard Cohen, who was a friend of his.  One of them was this classic.



Hearing him sing it live was a gift, as live music shows so often are.

The power of live music to touch me continues to amaze me. 

Do check out Rufus Wainwright's work if you don't know it.

Lo-tech high-tech

As is my habit, tonight when I settled down to my late-night work, I started to plug in my phone to charge it.  The plug would not go into the phone.

I cursed the tech for failing and assumed the phone had broken on me.  It looked fine, though, so then I berated the plug on the cable for breaking.  It also appeared normal, however, so I went back to being upset at the phone.

Then I paused.  I grabbed a paper clip, extended one end, and gently moved it around inside the phone's plug receptacle.  Out popped some lint.  I repeated the process three more times, until no more lint appeared.

The plug went in easily. 

Afterward, the problem was easy to see.  I keep my phone in my pants pocket.  Clearly, lint had gotten into the small plug receptacle and filled it just enough to stop the plug from locking in place.

In the moment, though, I let my cognitive bias--tech device, therefore a tech problem--blind me temporarily to the real issue.

I'm amazed that I still have to learn such lessons, but clearly I do.

Allergy serum blues hit again

This morning, I had to get up early and drive to my ENT clinic's nearby office to pick up my allergy serum.  After some years of non-physical sparring, my previous nemesis and I have made peace, so I expected a simple trip.

Instead, I found a new person doing the stick tests, in which they poke a little of each of my serums into my arm. 

The test itself went fine, but then rather than letting me sit in the waiting room, the tester demanded I stay in the room with her--and with other patients.  The others and I found this awkward, but we politely kept to ourselves.

When it was time to check to see if I had reacted strongly to the serum, the tester decided she should lower my dosage because my reaction was on the edge of being too big.  Fine; it is what it is. 

Then we took an unfortunate turn.

"Let me put some cream on that," she said.

"No need.  It doesn't itch."

"Are you sure?  It looks like it should itch."

"But it doesn't."

"You don't have to be macho."

Now, I know that at this point I probably should have just surrendered to her cream fetish and let her rub some on my arm, but I didn't, because my arm didn't itch, and she had really annoyed me.  So, I kept trying to be polite as I refused her ministrations.  "I'm not being macho.  It doesn't itch."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?  It sure looks like it should itch."

"It doesn't."

"I don't mind putting on a little cream."

"It does not itch."  Before she could speak again, I said, "May I please leave?"

"If you're sure you don't want some cream," she said, "I guess so."

I bit my tongue and left.

I am now actively hoping for my former nemesis to do the stick test next time.