2010: The Year We Make Contact (1984)

Well…Ok…I just finished  2010 :  The Year We Make Contact.  The sequel to 2001:  A Space Odyssey.  A sequel with favorable reviews?  Perhaps I a little too distracted while watching the film tonight.  The film is over and the question remains unanswered.  The year we made contact with what, exactly?  I didn’t get it.

In a film that really stretches the imagination — if one were looking for a unique and compelling story line, that is — seeing Keir Dullea reprise his Dr. David Bowman character offers the greatest hope that something interesting might happen.  (That was him, right?)

Keir Dullea looked great.  In fact he looked just like he did in 1968.  Shoot, I had no idea he was still alive!  And he might not be…I’m not sure what he is in this film.  Dead?  Alive?  Something different?  Was that really Keir Dullea?  Maybe that’s the film!  The Year We Make Contact with Keir Dullea.  2010 is just a shortened title.

And it was nice to see HAL9000 come back to life, but HAL is a silicon-based life form and I guess they can do that.  (I wish HAL would talk to the Dell tablet my office expects to work with me.  It is 2012, little Dell, get caught up with the old man!)

In fact the two most interesting characters — and the two characters offering the most potential for an interesting story — were from 2001:  A Space Odyssey, but we had to see this stupid Cold War-infused drama play out when no one really gave a rat’s ass about the Cold War anymore and especially don’t care now.

And poor Roy Schneider.  That guy just can’t get a break.  Another mediocre role in a mediocre film.  Hell, I can’t even watch Jaws anymore.  What else was he in?  Did I see him in Mayberry RFD or something?  Showgirls?  I can’t remember.

I would attempt a reasonable review and share some meaningful insight into the film, but like the characters in the film, I still don’t know what The Monolith is all about and I sure as hell don’t know what the conclusion of this film is all about.  I am confused.  In short, there is nothing to write about, not even a sexy astronaut.

Keir Dullea

I encourage you to watch 2010 though, especially if you like science fiction, science fiction gadgets, bad science fiction space suits, and lots of science fiction colors.  There are indeed some cool moments in this film, they just don’t get stitched together very well.

Two stars out of five.

HOLD ON!  Holy Mother of Coincidence.  Guess who has a birthday today.  Guess who…  Keir Dullea!  There is something  strangely cosmic about this.  Some monolithic and spacey.  Something very, very strange.

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The Bedford Incident (1965)

The Bedford Incident

Richard Widmark plays uncompromising, determined Captain Eric Findlander in this too-often-missed Cold War classic, The Bedford Incident (1965).

The cast is solid.  The film making tight.   Outstanding sound, too.  This is a Cold War drama mostly occupied by dialogue occurring within the tight quarters of the navy destroy Bedford, but the action — as it were — never lets up.  All in all, an awesome film, perhaps even Widmark’s best?

Sidney Poitier plays Ben Munceford, a reporter for a national magazine on assignment to document the Bedford’s patrol in the North Atlantic, but he is also there to study Captain Findlander’s reputation as a hardened, punishing commander.

Poitier’s character feels out of place early in the film.  He’s a bit too smug, presuming, and self-righteous, but he is a necessary foil to Findlander.

Findlander is all Navy and a zealous patriot.  Poitier is press — you know, the Fourth Estate – is there to be a check on the power of government and military.  He’s also black, which might have had more social significance in 1965.  In fact he is the only black person seen on a ship of more than 300 men.  He is the outsider.

It is the juxtaposition of outsider versus Navy that I want to hit on in my reading of this film.

Briefly, the Bedford discovers a Soviet submarine in violation of NATO ally territorial waters.  Findlander pursues the trespassing sub back into international waters and all the while pressure and tension increases on his ship builds.

Findlander demands exacting discipline.  No compromise.  He works his officers and crew hard.  Stress mounts.  All the while Munceford tirelessly pursues a story, with camera in hand, which provokes an even sterner hand from Findlander.

Also on board the Bedford is Commodore Wolfgang Schrepke, former Third Reich naval commander, played by Eric Portman.  He is a technical and intelligence advisor to Findlander.  He also becomes a voice of reason and restraint in the film’s conclusion.

The key character, however, is played by James MacArthur, in what also might be his ultimate performance.  MacArthur plays Ensign Ralston, an eager and underappreciated subordinate to Findlander.

Findlander relentlessly demands more from Ensign Ralston, criticizing him for errors big and small.  There is no let up.  Ultimately Findlander’s insistence on strict and immediate response to his orders dooms his ship.

In the closing scenes the Bedford has finally trapped the Soviet sub.  Findlander turns up the heat, attempted to both provoke and humiliate the Soviet sub and crew.  His actions are aggressive and confrontational.  Munceford is joined by Commodore Schrepke in advising Findlander to pull back and stop the pursuit.  But Findlander only seems more determined to force the sub to surrender.

In the tense atmosphere of the emerging conflict, Ensign Ralston misinterprets Finlander.  Findlander tells Schrepke that will not fire on the Soviet sub unless he is fired on.  He won’t “fire one” unless they “fire one.”  Ralston hears:  ”Fire one” and he obeys the order.  He fires an Anti-Submarine Rocket at the submarine.

The submarine is destroyed, but not before it has had a chance to launch torpedoes at the Bedford in response.

Here is where the insider/outsider dynamic that plays out.

Findlander gives one order to evade the torpedoes, but then seems to give up.  He walks through a quiet ship, glancing at his broken crew who only stare back in return.  Even Schrepke is silent.  He stoically looks on, unfazed, as Findlander wanders through the bridge, then turns away.

Bombs Away

Munceford, on the other hand, literally is on Findlander’s coat tails, demanding that he take evasive actions and try to protect the ship.  He is alone in his demands.

Munceford is the outsider.  The others are Navy.  The crew of the Bedford destroyed a Soviet submarine.  One might argue that the responsibility ultimately rests with Captain Findlander, but on this ship in particular we are told the men on this ship are different.  They choose to be with Findlander.  Therefore, I would suggest that crew shares in the culpability of the accident and take responsibility for the lost sub and crew.

Findlander doesn’t try to save his ship, he goes to a top deck to get a view of the torpedoes that will deliver the blow that will even the score.  It is a sort of naval justice that none of the crew protests.  Munceford, the outsider, protests.

Discuss.

Quick Notes on a Dream [Draft]

I have been dreaming far too richly.  Dense, substantial dreams.  Thoughtful dreams that feel like I really am going to a different place in my experience.  The past maybe.

Do I look like a man upon whom time has taken a toll?   No, I think it is only a slight attack of time that has me.  Time and memory.  These comforting dreams of which I write, with their strange, gentle sadness, seem too close to me now.  That’s all.

And I think I am figuring it out.

These dreams stand out because they utterly lack frustration.  They are emptied of any worry.  And I dream that I am entirely present and seen.  The dreams make sense maybe because I want them to make sense.  The melancholy is a welcome refuge.  Calm.

That is quite unlike my real attachments, which feel distance and receding.  The more I try to recapture them, the further they abandon me.

I have been caught in a trap, caught in this almost surreal frustration which I cannot square with my experience.  I want to fix things and reason with irrationality.  But I can’t.  It isn’t my problem to correct.  The dreams, on the other hand, feel as if they answer that frustration.  Or at least they give me an opportunity to see an answer.

When something really matters, it is difficult to let a mistake go unanswered.  But often pushing to correct a mistake hides that mistake.  The pushing becomes the issue.  Stubbornness doesn’t help.  That won’t turn back the clock.  There is only going forward.

Perhaps two paths that have separated will meet again.  And perhaps while along that path the mistake will expose itself and be corrected.

Where there is time, there is hope.  And in time I might be seen and understood.  My dreams might catch up and meet me here again.  I am still here.

 

“Each of us had a dream the same night, and each dream had a meaning of its own.” — Genesis

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Walking Without Glasses

I have been out more often without my glasses recently.  And it isn’t without it’s advantages.

For one, everything has a bit of an impressionistic feel about it.  My eyes really are not that bad, but bad enough to erase sharp edges and make colors blend in the light.  Impressionism suits my walks nicely, too.

The real fun occurs when I start seeing people I know.  I will always error on being friendly so when I don’t have my glasses, I am waving a lot.

I saw my Uncle Lloyd, for example, sitting by the Lake Harriet boat launch.  Never mind that Uncle Lloyd doesn’t come over the Minneapolis and the woman he was with looked nothing like my aunt.  I waved just in case.  When I got close…well, I was mistaken.

I thought I saw the mother of a childhood friend who lived next door to me when I was a boy.  I waved, squinted, and got a little closer.  Wrong again.

Interestingly, I seem to only see people I like when I think I am seeing someone I know.  Although I did think I saw an ex-wife and of course an old girlfriend or two, but you know…I don’t really hold a grudge.

Then there was Cousin Phillip coming toward me on the path wearing a pink madras baseball cap.  Now I am almost certain Phillip would never wear anything in pink madras, but I figure if he were going to wear something in pink madras it would be a baseball cap.  So I walked up:  ”Hey, Phillip!  Oh, never mind…”

Disadvantages exist, of course.  I probably did walk right past people who I did in fact know.  And I’ll never know if the fish I saw jump was a bass or a carp.  Let’s be thankful I wasn’t witness to a crime, too.

I also worry a little about my eyes.  I spend a lot of time out in the sun.  I am told eye color doesn’t really mean much when it comes to tolerance to brightness, but I worry.  Although I am sure back in my family tree there were people who chased reindeer across glaciers in Europe.   I imagine that was a glaring business.  But blue eyes survived the genetic washout.

I planned to convert one of my walk pictures into an impressionist painting using Photoshop or something, but trying to figure that out gave me a nasty headache.  (What the the hell are “layers” , “overlays,” and Command-E??)  ’So I included the painting above, Allée of Chestnut Trees by English painter Alfred Sisley.  It does not take much of an imagination to see the north side of Lake Harriet in Minneapolis, looking toward the band shell area on the northwest corner of the lake.

Who needs Photoshop?

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Macaroni and Cheese for Breakfast!

I had a girlfriend who had a crazy thing for cheese.  She was always bringing blocks and bags of it to my place, especially Sargento shredded Parmesan, until I had a fridge full of it.  Cheese, cheese, cheese.  I’ve been slowly eating my way through it all.

Last night I put a fairly healthy dent in the supply. I had a box of elbow macaroni and some other ingredients so I whipped up a batch of macaroni and cheese.

Here’s how you do it.

First, you really have to shred the cheese.  I used some cubed cheese and that was a mistake.  Shred it, all of it.  Get it ready in a bowl so it is all nicely shredded  and handy when you need it.

Next get your macaroni cooking.  I always cook it al dente at most.  The pasta will cook more as you prepare the macaroni and cheese anyway.  I don’t want to overdo it, but some people like softer pasta.  It is up to you, but keep in mind that whatever you choose, your pasta will soften more before all is finished.

While the pasta is cooking I melt a stick and half of butter in two cups of whole milk, add a little salt.  When the butter is melted and the milk begins to steam, start mixing in the shredded cheese.  (Remember, shredded cheese.)  Oh, and this is so much fun to do with the kids, but I don’t have kids.  Never have.

I had three cups of cheese which is plenty for a box of macaroni.  My mix was a sharp cheddar and some of that Parmesan.  I had some Swiss I added, too.  (This was the cubed stuff.)  It did add a good flavor, I thought, but probably not necessary.

It is always faster and better to turn the flame down on the stove, cover your pot, and let the cheese melt slowly.  You do have to keep checking and stirring, but the covered pot on a lower heat does the trick best.

When the pasta is ready, the sauce is probably ready, too.  I usually return the pasta back to the pot used to cook it.  Don’t rinse the pasta.  Take the cheese, butter, and milk that has been blending so nicely in a sauce pan and pour it over the hot pasta.  Stir it all up.  If it is a little runny, you can continue to cook on low heat for a minute until the sauce firms up.  Again, having al dente pasta is best.  Stirring overcooked pasta, for example, can tear the pasta up and it looks like hell.   That’s no way to put a smiley face on the day.

Now last night I wasn’t hungry.  I just wanted something to do.  So I packed up my mac and cheese and saved it for this morning.  Here’s a tip for you:  Make your macaroni and cheese when you’re hungry and when you are going to eat it.  Reheating macaroni and cheese isn’t the easiest thing to do and it ruins the pasta.

A second option for reheating — if you have more patience than I do — is taking the macaroni and cheese and putting into a casserole dish adding a little more melted butter and milk and baking it for a half hour or so in a 350 degree oven.  This will totally ruin the prized pasta you made the night before (the pasta gets too soft for my liking), but it tastes good.

One final comment on taste.  Using a good Parmesan will add flavor and salt, but I think you need to add salt to the mix anyway, probably more than you expect.  Taste your sauce, though.  Nothing is worse than too much salt.  Or use more Parmesan.  Don’t have enough Parmesan?  Well go out and find a woman who buys it in bulk and stuffs it in your fridge.

By the way, a fried egg atop your steaming plate of macaroni and cheese not only makes it feel more like breakfast, it tastes great too!

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Sunday Breakfast

Not much on my mind today.  Not much to say.  Writing about nothing seem to be my most popular posts, however, so why don’t I tell you about my breakfast.

I steamed a pinch of fresh spinach and scrambled it in with a couple of eggs and large spoonful of diced tomatoes.  By chance I happened to have some cheese in the fridge and grated that in with a some fresh ground black pepper.  It made for a very satisfying breakfast and I enjoyed it with a brimming cup of French roast from Coffee & Tea in Linden Hills.

Lunch was a bit more pedestrian, but perfect for the season.  I picked up some locally made hot dogs — the old fashioned style that should be the only hot dog anyone buys — and steamed one.  Steaming is the best way to prepare hot dogs.  I also had some corn that was surprisingly good and fresh.  I mixed it with butter and salt.  Sliced a tomato and sat down for a good summertime lunch.  Mustard is a must with this, of course, and it is best served with a soft drink.

I made an awesome vinaigrette for a salad this afternoon, too.  I wish I could remember exactly how I did it, but it turned out well.  One more tomato, a lot of spinach, carrots, and cauliflower.  Black pepper and cheese (I happened to find some more) my salad was set.  Very good.

Not Sure Which Picture I Like Best

I’m not sure what I’ll do for dinner.  Maybe stroll down to Amore Victoria for a little pasta.  I’m not in the mood for more cooking.  I am finishing the last of a bottle of Brunello I bought on a splurge.  A nap might be the result.

I am waiting for the storms to develop later anyway.  Right now there isn’t even a hint of stormy weather.  The clouds are too ragged and thin. Until they start to look more like cotton candy, the atmosphere is too mellow.  But once they begin to pop, the storms should develop quickly.  That’s what I am looking for.

Did I mention a nap?

Discussing Lightning and Thunder

Lightning bolt! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

With all the storms in the weekend forecast, why not talk about lightning and thunder?  Local WCCO-TV news ran a story on this yesterday, but in my humble opinion, it didn’t tell us much.  Some of it even missed the mark.  So here we go!

The question was asked:  Why does thunder crack and sometimes roll?

Many reasons determine the sound of thunder.  Distance is a key component.  As the sound waves from thunder travel toward you, they travel through different densities of air, different temperatures, and fade.  Lower tones travel the farthest.  You tend to hear the low rumble of distant thunder, therefore.

Also the length of a lightning bolt affects the sound you hear.  All thunder is the result of lightning and some lightning can travel over 60 miles.  You literally hear different parts of the lightning bolt at different times.  This can also give thunder and rumbling, rolling sound.  Different parts of the sound travels through different densities of air, for example.

Where you are in the storm matters, too.  Generally we hear the first strikes of thunder the loudest and clearest, especially if the thunder precedes any rainfall.  Without rain impeding the sound waves, the thunder tends to be more sharp and clear.

And if you happen to be right next to a strike, you get the loud crack that sounds instantaneous because the sound has very little distant to travel and distort.  You hear the loud crack.  If you still have your wits about you, you can often still hear the thunder roll away in the distance, too.

Two errors in the WCCO story.  One minor and the other a bit more signficant.

First, lightning and thunder rarely occurs in the winter not because there isn’t as much moisture in the air, but because there isn’t as much static electricity in the air.  The turbulent rising and falling of rain and especially ice in thunderstorms creates a charge (usually a negative charge) in the cloud that is discharged against a positive charge elsewhere, even in another cloud.   It is a matter of turbulent storm dynamics, not moisture, that causes lightning and thus thunder.  It does happen in the winter, but rarely, because the storm dynamics are not right.

May Storm Over Linden Hills

(I heard someone once say that lightning is rare in hurricanes, too.  Is that true?  I was told hurricanes expend energy in circulating winds that inhibit tall thunderstorm development.  I don’t know if this is true.  Does anyone from Florida or Louisiana read this post?  My dear friend Sandy can answer this for me.  I’ll get back to you.)

The second and more silly error is how the difference in time between a lightning strike and the sound of thunder was explained.  They explained that every five seconds counted after seeing a lightning flash and hearing thunder counted for a mile of distance, which is essentially accurate.  If you can count thirty seconds, for example, the storm is about 6 miles away.   The meteorologist said this was true because light travels five times faster than sound.  This is incorrect.   (Sorry, Mike Augustyniak…but it is ok.)

Light travels at a speed of 186,000 miles per second or almost 700 million miles an hour.  (We learned this in school, right?)  Sound travels about 768 miles per hour, right?  I’m not a math wiz, but light travels many millions times faster than sound.  And if you think about it, it doesn’t matter anyway.  If light travels “five times” faster than sound, how would counting to five measure that.  Where is the constant?  If I counted really slowly and only got to three, would that mean light traveled three times faster than sound?  Nope.  The logic behind the incorrect answer is incorrect as well.

So there you have it, my little brush up on lightning and thunder.  Please reply with all corrections kindly.

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The Good Life

Take a look at these two kids.  They are sitting in mom’s side-by-side stroller and that’s what they do.  That’s it.  They sit there and chew on things and watch the world go by.  That’s it.

I do the same thing and at the same place.  But I am behind the bar poisoning myself with cheap red wine (Brunello has become so expensive) and I don’t have a woman to push me around.  Not anymore anyway.

I took this picture at Amore Victoria last night.  I don’t think I have ever seen such well behaved kids.  They epitomized calm and that isn’t the first thing I tend to think of when I think of toddlers.  The one little guy even kicked off one of his socks and he’s perfectly ok with that.  No worries.

His sister is a little more tuned into the world, but I doubt she’d miss a sock either.  She’s looking forward to days ahead when she can walk on her own down Lake Street.  (Her brother looks more like a couch potato in training.)

Good looking kids.  Almost makes a guy want to go out and rent one for an hour or two.

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Primebar Minneapolis Update

I stopped at the old Il Gatto location on Lake Street and Hennepin Avenue in Uptown Minneapolis to see what was going on with the new Primebar.  I am sure they are making progress, but it isn’t obvious.  They might be laying the flooring.  I don’t know.

I thought I might be in luck when a non-construction worker type showed up on a bike, but he wasn’t much help.  He denied any connection with the restaurant even as he asked a lot of questions.  Questions are good.  It is an opportunity to start a dialogue and maybe get information.  Unfortunately my conversation was pretty much one-sided and he denied connection with the restaurant until the end.

I don’t believe him, by the way.  He likely is a local manager.  Deception doesn’t seem to be his strong suit.  I thought I would offer to take his picture, but he seemed to be a little uptight.  I let him go.  If Primebar is going to be the good neighborhood place we like in Uptown, the staff needs to be a bit more open and approachable than this guy, however.

So I don’t have much of an update.  It appears that a May opening isn’t likely.  I did hear from a bar employee in the neighborhood that they recently cancelled interviews.  The employee didn’t want to say too much.  She had a bar job and her peers might wonder why she knows about hiring at Primebar.

Anyway, watching this project evolve is a lot like watching paint dry.  A snoozer.  Try Chiang Mai Thai, Urban Eatery, the cozy bar at Lucia’s or Amore Victoria for easy, friendly cocktails.

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Troubling Dream?

What the Puck…

A dream I had last night makes me a bit uneasy.  It was a dream unlike any other I can remember.  And the fact that I seem to remember it so clearly also seems odd.  Usually I retain blurry fragments and impressions of dreams.  Not this time.

It is an odd dream because it is the type I think you might experience at the end of life.  And that’s why I am questioning if it should be a troubling dream.  Or maybe it is an odd dream because of how strangely the dream felt emotionally.

In this dream I had a perfect sense of satisfaction and peace.  In a word, I felt like I belonged somewhere and I didn’t want to leave. I experienced a very real emotional fullness that must otherwise be eluding me.  It was a good experience.  An eye-opener, perhaps, because it was all so easy and simple.

The dream occurred in a surreal world that compressed many parts of my life into one moment.  The setting was familiar mix of all that time I spent in school, by the way…I experienced this dream on a college campus even as things like work, home, and travel spun into the mix.  Many of the people and images in the dream were familiar, too.  Of course nothing was literally like my waking memories, but it felt like my psyche was simply dumping all of these pleasant symbols and moments of my past in a long narrative for me to experience.  (I wonder why?)

The dream was like one of those “my life flashed before my eyes” experiences.  I awoke disappointed that it was over.

Then I started to wonder…Why that dream now?  Maybe I should stay in bed today.  Or should I expect big things?

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