The New York Times recently published a list of “The Best Books of the 21st Century”

and they got a lot of nice (and some snippy) publicity for it. The list was compiled from

the choices of over 500 writers, critics, celebrities, and maybe some real people too.

This was quickly and efficiently followed by another list, this from the comments and

offerings of Times’ readers. 

Since I don’t read a lot of new fiction, aside from a few primarily genre authors, I didn’t expect to have read many of these titles. And I was right. From the original “experts’” list, I had read exactly one of the 100. That’s a solid 1%.  That one book was LINCOLN IN THE BARDO, which I had read only at the insistence of a casual friend.

As I expected, I did a little better on the Readers’ list. Four of 100 (a sweet 4%). These were: LINCOLN IN THE BARDO (again), HAMNET, 11/22/63, and THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY.

I’d love to say that I’m going to make a strong effort to read all those other unread modern books, going to take a lot of those folks’ suggestions. But I’m not. Frankly, while those may be wonderful books, genuine classics-to-be, they just don’t seem interesting to me. Call me doofus, I don’t care. I already have a couple of shelves of unread books to conquer. Plus I’m sure there will be more from Stephen King, Michael Connelly, John Sandford, Nick Hornby. Those are my 21st century books. So, thanks Times, but I’m good.

Today is my mother’s 100th birthday. Spoiler!--she didn’t make it. 

Momma’s was not a joy-filled life. Most of her 83 years were not so good.

Too much illness, too much sadness, too much worry, too much poverty,

too little joy by far. 

If I could know that she’d live 17 more GOOD years, I’d wish she was still

here. But odds being what they are, and age being what it is, the cards are

seriously stacked against that.

         So I'll not be selfish and, instead, try to be glad she was spared the likelihood

of more unhappy years.

         Whatever I am is entirely due to my mom. Those who know me will, I hope,

forgive her for this. She did the best she could with the materials at hand.

I miss you, Momma, not only on this centenary, but every day.  To you,

to the empty, unhearing air, I wish a Happy Birthday.

Couple of days ago, I had to attend a sort of Zoom meeting, something very rare for me.

I found the channel, twisted the red wires together, tuned in on the electrical device,

threw the necessary switches, adjusted the rabbit ears, pushed the big red button and lit

the fuse. My face popped up on screen and I flinched. Hard. Almost fell out of my chair.

Now, I do know what I look like. Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I see myself in the mirror almost every day. I know I’m old, grey, wrinkled, sagged and generally repulsive. So this shouldn’t have been such a gol-durn shock to the system.

But I quickly realized the problem. I can’t explain it, but I recognized it. I knew my face would pop up onscreen, but, for whatever reason, the image I expected, the image I previewed in my mind ahead of time, was not the old man in the mirror. 

I thought I would see myself as I was maybe forty-fifty years ago. No grey hair, no more than sun wrinkles, relatively fit and tan. Not as I look now, but a face which would not scare children. 

Why did I expect such unreality in my appearance? I don’t know. I’d recently been sorting some old photos online, so maybe--maybe--I expected to see the same young face on Zoom that I’d seen in my computer’s photo files. That’s the best I got.

But, lemme tell ya, there must be some sort of denial (or perhaps decay) in the mind of a man who knows the ravaged face in the mirror all too well and who still expects to see young Dorian. Must be.

For Father's Day, my wonderful, kind, brilliant, generous son took me to the movies, at my

request. We saw FURIOSA (my choice) and I loved it. George Miller is, always has been,

and always will be, a moviemaking genius. 

The opening credits tell us that the movie stars Anya Taylor-Joy and Chris Hemsworth, in

that order. I knew that Anya, The Alien Who Doesn’t Look Human At All, was playing

Charlize Theron but I had no idea what role Hemsworth filled. 

Since I'd first read that Hemsworth was in the movie, I was doubtful. That sort of

uber-muscled, chiseled-profile movie star seemed wrong and out-of-place for a “Mad Max

Saga.”  I could understand Hemsworth taking the job. After all, working in a Mad Max

must be like a blessing from the gods for any Australian actor. I couldn’t understand,

however, why George Miller would cast him. It just felt wrong to me--Thor and Max

don’t mix--but I was hopeful of George and Chris showing me how stupid I was.

So we’re about two hours into the movie, half-hour to go, and I’m thinking. Always a

dangerous thing.  I was just about to lean over to my son and whisper this wisdom:

“Chris Hemsworth has the best billing since Mark Hamill in THE FORCE AWAKENS.

He’s got second-billing, we’re two hours into the movie and no sign of him."

Thankfully, I did not say that. Sudden doubts. Didn’t want to reveal myself as an idiot. 

Clearly the hook-nosed villain was the second-largest role, but that was not Chris Hemsworth.

I knew it wasn’t. It just wasn’t, don’t contradict me. 

I actually thought, when we got our first look at the baddie's muscles, that we'd eventually see

a posing battle between Chris and the villain. Yeah, I thought that.

But I wanted one more look at him. Really look into his eyes, really take stock, see if there

was any way it might be beautiful Chris. 

And there he was. I leaned forward and stared deep into his eyes. Tried to peer all the way

into his soul. No. That simply was not Chris Hemsworth. There was no sign of his totally

familiar, disgustingly beautiful features in that bad guy’s face. Not a trace.

End of the movie. I decided that the villain was played by…Chris Hemsworth. I know it

now and I accept it. But I will swear to the end of days that no bit of Thor peeked through

that disguise. So well done, I guess.

I have told you that I’m really old, haven’t I?

DONALD SUTHERLAND

Since the sad passing of Donald Sutherland, there have been a ton of “tributes” on Facebook,

on film boards, on blogs, in the New York Times. All of these list some of Sutherland’s

movies. Clearly those most often mentioned are M.A.S.H. (understandably), INVASION OF

THE BODY SNATCHERS (of course), and THE HUNGER GAMES (gotta keep the kiddies

happy…and it’s a pretty good movie, too.) But not mentioned as much are my three choices.

These are the movies which feature, to my eyes, the best Donald Sutherland performances,

the films which remind us that the guy was truly a fine actor when he had the role.

JOANNA… I think this was the first of Sutherland’s movies I ever saw. I know it was the first

in which I really noticed him. His performance as a dying, gay, English lord was so touching

that I made sure to read the end credits to find out the name of that terrific actor.  The movie

itself was an arty, hippie, fuzzy-imaged thing. It was very much of its time. As a matter of

fact, it was too much of its time even in its time, if you follow.  To be perfectly honest, the

movie is laughably bad.  Sutherland, though, was wonderful.

DON’T LOOK NOW … Sutherland plays grief, confusion, passion, skepticism, hope and, ultimately… nah. No spoilers.  He is paired here with Julie Christie and they are both nigh-perfect. The movie is one of the greatest horror films of all time. And those who know me will recognize that that is a compliment of which I am truly sparing.

ORDINARY PEOPLE … Timothy Hutton won the Oscar for this, Mary Tyler Moore was the

big, everybody’s-talkin’-’bout-her surprise of the movie, but it was Sutherland who broke my

freakin’ heart.

Thanks for the memories, sir, and rest in peace.

 

When I was a pathetically shy 17-year-old, just before I started to develop something of a life, I had a sad, embarrassing, time-passing habit. I would sit in a boring English or Chemistry class and, with ruler and pencil, I'd make a grid on a piece of school paper. I would then, from memory, fill in the entire primetime schedules of all three (at the time) TV networks. I never left a blank space, never had to think too hard. In those lost days, TV was about all I had in my existence. Well, that and monster movies. I've always had the monsters to keep me company.

Sometimes I'd just start filling in the grid from early Monday evening and work straight through the week. Channel 3 (NBC) at the left side of the page, Channel 11 (CBS) down the middle, and Channel 32 (ABC) out there on the right. Sometimes I'd start with favorite shows and fill in around them. At least once I tried to start from the most recent show I'd watched and work my way back.

Pitiful, I know. You don't have to tell me.

I thought of this tonight for the first time in ages. You see, tonight I tuned into Fox to watch the Yankees game. I had almost forgotten how to access actual TV on my, uhh, TV. And I realized that the last time I'd watched broadcast TV was...the Super Bowl. Four months ago. 

I'd watched a lot of YouTube, some streaming, a few Blu-rays, but no Real TV.  

As far back as I can remember, back to when I was maybe three years old, we always had a TV set. We always watched that TV set. Certainly there has never been a time in my life when I was away from broadcast television for as long as four months.

I've read and heard, of course, of the imminent death of standard broadcast TV. Maybe that prediction is wrong, but you couldn't prove it by me.

Presented as my personal testament to the looming extinction of the Peacock, the Eye, and whatever ABC and FOX pass themselves off as.

RIP TV.

NOTES FROM THE STILL ABOVE-GROUND

It was right about my 60th birthday when I started saying, "I'm getting old" and meaning it.

I don't say that anymore. Now I simply say, "I'm old." That covers it.

So, thoughts from an old man.

I was writing something the other day and wanted to drop in a mention of my age. I wrote that I was “seventy- ----”        Uh, what? Seventy what? Yes, for just a bit, I forgot my own age. For just a second I thought maybe I was 77. No, that can’t be right. Very quickly it came to me. 74. I’m 74.  The whole incident lasted maybe 3-4 seconds but it was enough to make me sit up and take notice.

If you think about it, when an old man forgets his own age, that very act is sort of a symptom of itself. If you follow.

Quit your bitchin’, old man.

You had your time,

Your wins and losses

Your loves and losses.

You’ve been there, done that.

Don’t moan if you muffed it.

It’s someone else’s time now

Someone else’s turn.

Why are you here?

Why are you bitching?

Oh, I get it. You want more.

Who doesn’t? Who ever hasn’t?

What makes you special?

Get over your damn self.

It’s just that it’s me, you see.

I don’t want the world to go on without me.

Yes, I’ve had my time…but I didn’t always spend it well.

Yes, I’ve had my wins, but too few, never enough.

Yes, I’ve had my losses, and they were fairly earned.

Yes, I’ve had my loves but so so long ago.

Was that even me?

Loving those beautiful, wonderful women?

Loved by them?

It seems like something I heard about

Or something I read

Or a movie I saw

That was me?

Yes, I’m greedy. I want more life

Because that’s all there is.

Besides, my back hurts.

And you get over your damn self.

 I'm not one of those people who has seen KING KONG 100 times, or THE WIZARD OF OZ 150 times, or--God forbid--TWILIGHT 7000 times. I have seen many movies multiple times. Great movies, good movies, or movies that just hit you right should be viewed and re-viewed as often as they still uplift, educate, or entertain. I just have never watched any movie on occasions numbering three digits.

I do know, definitely, which movie I've seen more than any other and it is...

THE BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN... which I have seen, at best guess, 30-35 times. Well, it's a great movie!

After that, I'm almost certain the next few on the most-viewed list would all be old horror movies. I am, and have been all my life, a true Monster Kid. So, popping THE WOLF MAN into the electrical machine would be a regular, unsurprising event with me. Even old horror movies I'm not crazy about, like THE MUMMY'S HAND, I've still seen many times.

So let's eliminate the old horror movies. On that basis, which movies have I seen most often? Oh, I dunno. Really. There would be a long list of movies I've seen 10-20 times, but which one or two or so I've seen the most, I cannot say. Here are some likely candidates.

THE GODFATHER

PATTON

DUCK SOUP

TOP HAT

THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR

SINGIN' IN THE RAIN

AIRPLANE

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND

THE PRODUCERS

BANANAS

HORSE FEATHERS

THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE

SUPERMAN (THE MOVIE)

...and probably quite a few more. Kinda wish I'd kept track of the numbers. Oh, well. Gotta go now and rewatch some movies.