Readers Guessed the Movie Quote

Congratulations to Walter and Andrew for guessing the origin of Tuesday's quote:

"You kill your film several times, mostly by talking about it. A film is a dream. You kill it writing it down, you kill it with a camera; the film might come to life for a moment or two when your actors breathe life back into it - but then it dies again, buried in film cans.

"Mysteriously, sometimes, in the editing room, a miracle happens when you place one image next to another so that when, finally, an audience sits in the dark, if you’re lucky -- very lucky - and sometimes I’ve been lucky - the dream flickers back to life again..."

These were, of course, the opening lines of the 2009 musical "Nine".

(I watched "Nine" again the other night, and unlike most reviewers who found much to dislike, I actually liked it more... Perhaps just having returned from Rome, I felt, among other things, that "Nine" captured a certain Italian mindset.... And the spirit of Fellini was most strong.  "Nine" holds a musical prism to Fellini, and Fellini's humor and visual generosity show brightly. 

See "8-1/2" and then watch "Nine".  I think "Nine" is a worthy contemporary rendering of [and companion-piece to] a masterwork of one of my cinematic idols.)

The quote sets up the central crisis in the film; creative malaise. In the character Guido's case, he is blocked by his conflicting cultural expectations, experiences, and fantasies.  "Nine" is a concoction borne of Guido's psyche and mind.  It is Guido's ninth film, an ambitious exploration of the country itself titled "Italia". Guido cannot articulate his dream, which is fully formed inside his mind.

"Nine" is actually the film Guido will succeed in creating at the end of the film.

The idea of creative panic does not seem to trouble the creators of much current popular cinema.

This tendency for today's popular filmmakers to plumb old ideas, and their assumption that the "magic demographic" of moviegoers will keep buying tickets, is just one of the elements that are troubling today's movies, and disappointing those who believe there is a place on the local multiplex screens for stories that reflect what's happening today, in this world,  something more closely approaching the pleasures of art and literature.

The quote from "Nine" is a good place to begin my discussion, over the next week or so, about what role film criticism plays in today's movie landscape.

I hope you'll be back to discuss this with me.

Ciao! For Now--

Pre-Travel Antics--"Dobbiamo lasciare domani per Roma"

"Dobbiamo lasciare domani per Roma": Tomorrow we must leave for Rome.

Here's a glimpse of the madness of packing for a long trip.  Notice Maggie in the humorously large portrait overhead, as if to say, "are you SURE that ALL of it will fit in ONE suitcase?

What follows is as much for my own future recollection of the experience, as it is a sharing of humorous bits of anecdote with those who visit here.  It's a partial list of the tasks that had to be completed to prepare for this journey:

--Passport photos

--Mail passport applications a day before the Federal Government threatens to shut down (April)

--Research tour options

--Find out when both of us could get 2 weeks off of work at the same time

--Commit to a date with a small tour group; we are numbers 3 and 4.  If the group does not have at least six signed up by the next week, it will be cancelled.

--Breathe sigh of relief...persons 5 and 6 are now on board

--Overcome personal family challenges; prepare to cancel if there is an emergency.

--Get the cancellation insurance... for peace of mind

--Teach your fellow employees how to do your job for two weeks. Accept the possibility that you will have two weeks worth of work to do when you get back

--Stop mail  and newspaper delivery

--Buy toiletries, like travel-size shaving cream, toothpaste, sunscreen, and Imodium (you never know)

--Splurge on a new wardrobe, to be stylish in romantic Italy, including shirts, shoes, and even undergarments (YOU NEVER KNOW!)

--Rent a phone from your service provider after you are told that your current phone will not handle overseas calling. (My parents' wall-mounted DIAL PHONE could make calls everywhere...Ah, technology)

--Leave your emergency phone number with the neighbors, your kids, your parents, and your co-workers.  Ask the latter to call only if the office burns down, so that you can extend the trip for an extra week (why not?)

--Do the laundry, the dishes, water the garden, alert the neighbors and all of your social networking friends.

--Get very nice messages and visits from everyone wishing you well

--For the two week trip, pack enough for three weeks... You Never Know

The posts during the first week of August will be a transcript of the journal I will keep on our journey, as well as the best of the pictures I manage to take.

Preview of Coming Attractions:  Dealing with Jet Lag; Character Sketches of our Group Members; FOOD; WINE; What I've absorbed in Rome; Meeting the natives and speaking Italian; The Tuscan countryside; ART, including the Vatican and the Uffizi museum; A Tuscan Cooking Class!; Tales of the unexpected.

A Little Gem For Chicago Visitors

Our birthday fell midweek this year, so we did our traditional  2-night "outing" over the July 4th holiday weekend. We took a chance on a little Bed and Breakfast we had seen in our many trips to Evanston.  The rates proved  reasonable, the drive was quick, and it would be a refreshing change before the post-holiday work- week started again.

To our friends who will someday visit the Chicago area, we definitely recommend the Margarita European Inn in Evanston (the town just north of the city limits, on Lake Michigan, and home of Northwestern University).

Originally known as The Margarita Club for Working Women, it served as  a hotel/apartment for young business women needing proper housing starting in 1927.  Father David O'Leary and his sister Margaret Lynch purchased the land and built the facility. They named it after their mother Margaret.

Margaret O'Leary, after whom the Margarita Club was named, was the first female resident of Evanston, and was active in the Evanston community for 60 years, until her death in 1900 at the age of 99.

The Margarita European Inn now houses 42 rooms, each of them uniquely decorated, most containing  appointments and antiques found in the original Club. 

The Main Lobby/Ballroom is not only beautifully furnished with antique rugs, furniture, mirrors and dishware, it is also one of the most comfortable spots to relax in town.  Breakfast is served here every morning.  Small groups can gather around a baby grand piano for entertainment, read a book from the Inn's gorgeous library, or work on their laptops using free Wi-Fi provided.

More "adventurous" guests may climb to the 5th floor to enjoy the view from the rooftop deck.

In the evening the Pensiero on the garden level serves authentic Italian delicacies.  On a mild day, you can't beat the atmosphere on the small outdoor patio.  On Sunday there was a fixed menu served family-style. We were treated to homemade bread, a variety of bruschetti, pasta with pork, meatballs and "Sunday gravy" (red sauce), lemon chicken, seafood stew, and a banana-chocolate bread pudding. Bellissimo!

Within walking distance are the beaches by Lake Michigan, myriad shops and eateries, including the awesome Bookman's Alley Antique Bookstore, and one of the best movie theaters in all of Chicagoland.

Guests from all over the world are attracted to The Margarita European inn for its historic charm, comfort, and reasonable rates.

I'm sure we willl start a tradition of visiting here.


(Photos courtesy of the Inn's Web Site.  Next time we visit, I will have ORIGINAL PHOTOGRAPHS!!)

July May Be A Significant Month...A Monday Journal

Tom: July 6, 19--

                           Mark: July 6, 19-- (same as above)

Two things promise to make July a significant month, if not a turning point, in the reinvention of this writer.

1) I just received a new camera from Mark to commemorate the birthday.  It is beyond belief that, for the last couple of decades I have not had a camera of my own.  Once upon a time, you could not see me without my Super-8 movie camera.  When that became obsolete, I just never acquired another camera of any kind. I have taken photos with a camera Mark and I have shared.   For a guy like me who often thinks in pictures, this could mean the beginning of a new direction, one that I never followed and perhaps should have.  This camera is HD and allows for up to 1,000 stills and 4 hours of motion pictures on one memory card.

(I can feel the spirits of Bergman and Fellini, Fosse and Malick, seeping into my consciousness....)

2. I am finally traveling to Italy.  At the end of the month we are joining a very small tour group (about 8 people) to immerse ourselves in Roman history and Florentine art, and bask in the countryside and culinary splendors in between.

More...much more...as the day approaches. 

Coming Up: A weekend at a unique inn, named for the first female resident of Evanston, Illinois

Reviews of "Super-8" and "Beginners"!

A St. Joseph's Day Italian Movie Marathon

Poor St. Joseph always seems to get the raw deal. And this year, I'm guilty too, of ignoring the March 19 commemoration.


Last March, a year ago to the day, I posted some interesting and amusing facts about the Feast Day of St. Joseph, which occurs soon after St. Patricks Day, and often gets lost amid the Irish festivities.  It's like having your birthday on Christmas. (St. Joseph's Day---Food, The Color Red, and Real Estate--March 21, 2010).

But in the more traditional Italian communities, St. Joseph's Day is still celebrated by wearing the color red, and cooking special delicacies like St. Joseph's Pants (cookies filled with sweetened ground fava beans).

So to give St. Joseph his cinematic due, and to give a nod to the Italian festival, I give you an Italian movie marathon.  It will be shorter than last Thursday's Irish film festival (because the holiday has already passed).  Also, I am leaving off the list a lot of extremely popular Italian-themed films like "The Godfathers" and "Goodfellas" because this is a celebration.  Good as these films may be as cinema, they have become a tired cliche of an Italian way of life that, frankly, isn't worth celebrating. 

What follows is a more representative sampling of films that are closer to my experience growing up with my Italian relatives.  Sentimental?  You bet.  But that's how we were....

"Moonstruck".  Of course. A warm homage to the extended family, and the comedy of the loud-talking, hard-eating, hand-waving joy that rises naturally from these humorous characters with hair-trigger tempers and love to spare.  The old man with his dogs is the quintessential grandfather, the one that  gentle Italian men eventually become.  Olympia Dukakis is the cynical wisecracker who knows who she is, and suffers through lovers complications and Vicki Carr records.  Vincent Gardenia is the perpetual bad boy who imagines he runs the household but knows he has to answer to his loving wife.  Danny Aiello is the superstitious mama's boy who believes in miracles.  Cher and Nicolas Cage are the impetuous lovers with the matching bedroom eyes.  Intoxicating, and not as exaggerated as one might think!

"Amarcord".  Federico Fellini's look at boyhood in a small Italian town during the reign of Mussolini.  Broader in scope than "Moonstruck", Fellini orchestrates a symphony of an entire town's antics, lusts, fantasies, and characters, all tinted with the forgiving light of memory.  More caricature than character, the movie still zings us with surprising emotion.  We are moved by the magical appearance of a peacock in the snow, or an impromptu dance of lonely schoolboys to the wonderful melodies of Nino Rota.  Laughs are plentiful, and so are the family arguments, naturally.

"Life is Beautiful".  A fairy-tale-turned-horror-story, few films in memory gave us a character with a head so full of opera and romance.  He exudes the best of what I have noticed about the Italian spirit: an almost naive happiness, and a fierce determination to protect his loved ones during bad times.  While Don Corleone protected his children by having the family "enemies" murdered,  Roberto Benigni's Guido helps his little boy survive a concentration camp, no less, by reducing it to a game of survival.  Narrated by the boy as a young man, it is a lovely tribute to the love of a parent.

"Marty".  Paddy Chayefsky had a perfect ear for the banalities of everyday Italian conversation, the automatic references to the Catholic Church, to family loyalty, and a kind of guilt that, combined with love, cements families together.  The butcher Marty is surprisingly eloquent (a "professor of pain"), which is a humorous counterpart to his friend Angelo, whose constant refrain of "So, whaddaya wanna do?" neatly sums up the modest aspirations of a particular community.  If you want to eavesdrop on one of those bungalows with the lace curtains and the constant aroma of tomato sauce, drop in on this film.

"8-1/2" and "Nine".  These must be seen together for full appreciation. Fellini's complex exploration of creative and romantic dissipation is nicely captured in Rob Marshall's contemporary musical vignettes.  Nothing can replace the depth of Fellini's dreamlike visions, but Marshall's musical has been unfairly reviled by those who either are unfamiliar with the original, or who are closed off to any re-interpretation.  "8-1/2" is Fellini at his most ambiguous and breathtaking, and the film is almost too fast-paced to catch it all in one viewing.  "Nine" I think accurately recognizes the Italian character, and is remarkably faithful to the idea of movie director Guido's macho dilemma and creative roadblock.

Feel free to bring a print of your own favorite "Italian" film to my marathon.... 

A Preview Of The Week In Posts!!

A memorable weekend has helped to restore the creative juices....

A change of scenery... A great choral concert and time spent with many wonderful and talented friends... Rain, and even a flat tire (more this week) have all conspired to put me back in the "writer's seat".  That, and the support of my blogging friends like  Ben, and Tom, and others who checked in this weekend. 

Even since Friday, when I darkened these pages to fill the pipline, world events have become more dire, with the conflict intensifying over Libya....So now there's another story about which to learn more, and form an opinion.

But I have determined that I won't let that paralyze me again.  So here's an itinerary of some of the items coming up on this Journal:

• The Windy City Performing Arts and their Spring concert, "Bon Voyage" this past Saturday.  This is the third of their musical events I have attended, and the group triumphed over some complex and beautiful material.  I will provide a breezy description of the program, and a personal reaction to the music, the people involved, and the events of the weekend including a mishap...
• After enduring my marathon of Irish films for St. Patrick's Day, I must give St. Joseph's day equal time with a marathon of films that celebrate the Italian experience (therefore some big titles will go unmentioned).
• A look back at some clasic films: First, after hearing a great interview with Alan Arkin on NPR, I went back to re-visit his introduction to movie audiences in his first oscar-nominated role, "The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming";  Then, the second of the Merchant-Ivory trilogy of E.M. Forester adaptations, "Maurice".

Reviews of new films will be delayed until there's something that seems promising, and original.  "Jane Eyre" is somewhat appealing...

Plus I'll try to make sense of the escalating conflicts in the Middle East and North Africa.

On to the week ahead....

The Awesome Wrath of Italian Women

Is there anything more nurturing than an old-world, first-generation Italian woman?  Is there anyone more slyly humorous and passionate than an Italian woman? And is there anyone you want to stay out of the way of more, than an angry Italian woman? 

How about tens of thousands of them?

When I heard about the mobs of women in Rome and elsewhere in Europe rising in solidarity against the sexism and scandal of Prime Minister Silvio Burlusconi, I  smiled with amusement and pride. 

Pride, because I know how much these women sacrificed to rally together in a male-dominated culture.  Amusement, because I know firsthand that even though these women are patient, even indulgent, with the males in their midst, they are formidable when patience gives way to annoyance and anger at male buffoonery, or worse.  (Read the article on Reuters here.)

I was proud of these women for demonstrating their displeasure against Burlusconi, whose misogyny reflects badly on Italy, whose contempt for women and his abuse of power is an insult to Italy's remarkable women.  Even Italian men, thousands of whom also protested, are fed up with this poor example of what has traditionally been acceptable masculine behavior.

I send a late Valentine to these women who rallied with one voice.  Italian women are the ones who run the households and the country, and merely allow men to pretend they run things. The women are quick to love, forgive easily, but if you want to eat (and you will eat WELL) you know where the lines are drawn, and try not to cross them. 

Burlusconi and his ilk are in for it.  At this writing, an indictment has been handed down after a long investigation into sexual improprieties.

I fondly recall the Italian women in my family: my grandmother, her sisters and those of my grandfather, and all of their aunts and female cousins, providing the heart and good nature from the kitchen, while the men schemed and cajoled in the back yard. 

On those rare occasions when one of the uncles made a stupid remark, or was revealed to have caused a family outrage, the collective anger of these women was frightening.  As a small boy I would giggle at the raised voices in clipped Italian, the almost slapstick cacophony of voices and fluttering of hands.

Now, of course, I understand this intricate system of checks and balances, one that has just played out on a grand scale on the streets of Rome and the squares of Italy and Europe.

In these women's voices, I hear the voices of the relatives I loved: of Lucy and Johanna, Mary and Josephine, Carmella and Connie, Bertha and Louise, Angie and Muffy.  If they were here, they would wave their ladles and rolling pins and wooden spoons proudly, circling the wagons to preserve their dignity along with the brave women of modern Italy.

SALUD!

"I Am Love" Captures Grand Passions Like Opera Does--A Film Review

"Io sono l'amore" ("I Am Love") tells the story of a wealthy Italian family adjusting to the globalization of their textile business, the insecurities of their grown children, and the infidelities of the wife and mother (Tilda Swinton) struggling to honor her Russian roots within this closed system.

It's a gorgeous, overheated, angry, fashionable, passionate, muddled, food-laden concoction that invites a viewer for a sophisticated wallow. (Sounds like Sunday afternoons with my Grandparents and their friends.... ). In spite of a few wrong turns, I enjoyed this film, and experienced the kind of catharsis that one has at a tragic opera, where you may chuckle  at yourself for succumbing to the gamut of sentiment and emotion.

“I Am Love” surrounds us with the seasons of Milan, its action and incidents occurring inside gorgeous villas, stylish cities, and the tranquil Italian countryside. It is a leisurely setting for the story of Emma (Swinton), her husband Tancredi, an art dealer, and her elder son Edoardo, a student athlete and businessman. At a lavish birthday party for Tancredi’s father at the start of the film, the patriarch turns over the family business to both Tancredi and Edoardo, each of whom have conflicting aspirations.


It’s a complex scene in which the characters and relationships are filled in like a mosaic, and the motives and conflicts are slowly revealed. In a later plot development, Emma discovers by accident that her daughter, who is attending art school, is involved with another woman. This revelation will create a bond between mother and daughter that will provide Emma with an advocate in her escape to her future life of passion with another outsider, the chef Antonio.


Antonio, Edoardo’s school friend, a fellow athlete and restaurateur, appears at the villa with a special dish he has prepared for the occasion.  Edoardo and Antonio are close, and plan to go into business together by opening a restaurant. What unfolds, in a mystical and poetic way, is how Emma meets Antonio, and slowly discovers her love for him during subsequent incidents in which he has an opportunity to cook for her. The sensual connections blossom into an irresistible physical attraction which explodes with abandon during a tryst in the country.

From there, the film appears to explore the idea of globalization by positioning the characters and their origins against each other, their conflicts and alliances illustrating the pros and cons of a world in which boundaries are blurred, yet regional and ethnic traditions still hold a powerful influence on our psyches. It is also a forceful parable about being overcome with love, and the risks inherent in following one’s heart at all costs.

The film seems uncertain about its attitudes toward maintaining familial roots, or whether it approves of a global world. But it’s the romance, and the tragedy borne of it, that carries us along on waves of melodrama. By the end, it’s a marvel of grand, irrational passions.


If I could change one thing about “I Am Love” it would be my desire to let the images breathe a little more. I would guess that two thirds of the movie is filmed using a telephoto lens, which is effective in intimate human drama, but washes out the opulence of the surroundings; these could have been put to better use as an enhancement to the themes of love and longing. With so much beauty all around them, why not use the fashions and the landscapes and the sets to the film’s advantage?


The performances are first-rate, and the actors are attractive and convincing. The young men in the cast outshine even the opulence of the sets. Swinton gives the role her all, and bares her soul (along with everything else). Seeing her also credited as a producer, the film comes close to appearing to be a vanity project for her;  but this character is very close to her heart, and she displays the full range of sensitivity, lust, maternal caring, fear, guilt, and rebellion.


I was enthralled by the appearance of Marissa Berenson in a large supporting role as the family matriarch. I would not have recognized the innocent Jewish bride of “Cabaret” or the aristocratic Lady Lyndon. She gives the most full-bodied performance I have ever seen from her, and her presence was a comfort to me, just as Sophia Loren’s recent return to the big screen reassured me.

This film is operatic in its resolution of the story for maximum anguish. Here, I have to describe what may be the most unusual explanation of a movie’s title I have yet seen. Emma and Tancredi are in bed watching the late show (when Late Show meant a televised classic movie). The film is “Philadelphia”, and the scene is Tom Hanks’ translation of the aria La Mama Morta from the opera“Andrea Chenier”. A recurring lyric in the aria is “I am love”. Otherwise, the scene has no bearing at all on this film. Those who know the aria understand that a celestial spirit has come to alleviate the singer’s suffering with a fatal kiss. As foreshadowing, it’s as obscure as you can get.


One  moment threw me out of the story and made me blurt an involuntary laugh: this was the second film in a row I had seen in which a found lock of hair supplied a clue to a character’s infidelity. This device should now be retired permanently. (I won’t spoil it by naming the other film, but those who read this journal regularly will have figured it out.)


“I Am Love” is in Italian with English subtitles. It has an authentic feel for the Italian way of thinking and feeling (which is usually exhausting and overabundant). As a meditation on love, loss, family ties, and global connections, it provides much to ponder, especially with one’s heart.

La mia classe è finita--Wednesday Journal #1

To commemorate the 100th birthday of my maternal Grandparents, I have just completed the Level-1 course of Conversational Italian. What better way to effect a personal re-invention than by learning to speak a new language?


I now know the alphabet, numbers, common greetings and questions, directions, family relationships, clothing, and how to tell time.  We also breezed through definite articles (in Italian there are SEVEN ways to say the word "the"), masculine, feminine, singular and plural nouns (Italian does not add the letter -s to make a word plural), present-tense conjugation of frequently used verbs, and the forms of irregular verbs like "to be". 


Amusingly, we also  learned the translations for phrases like "I have a headache" (Ho mal de testa) and "I'm tired" (Sono stanco), both of which I have lately used quite often!  Must be a regular state of being for my paisani.


Now it's time to use the next few weeks to learn to assimilate all of this into phrases I can use to hold a simple conversation.  I am considering signing up for Level 2 in June.


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Our final class meeting was a small party for the two dozen students and our instructor, Francesca.  She brought homemade bruschetta for us to eat, and others provided various Italian cheeses and salads, cookies and cannoli.


We watched a beautiful slide show in which we learned a great deal about Italy's many provinces, shown in the map above.  Images of the beaches of Sicily, La Scala opera house in Milan, and the Venetian carnival were especially wonderful.  Aah, the wanderlust is beginning to consume me!


The Italian language has been in transition ever since Dante wrote in what would become the "proper" Italian vernacular.  The language, along with its many dialects, changes dramatically from province to province: the Arab influence in Bari on the Southeast coast, the Norman and Greek flavor of Sicily, the French sounds of northern Milan; Tuscany is where the Standard language is heard most regularly.


Of course, the aspect of "talking" Italian that remains constant and universal is the hand gesture: as Francine Prose stated in "Sicilian Odyssey", Italians speak, as they live, with intensity, gesturing with their hands up to their elbows.


Here's a video that has fun with the Italian hand gestures.  It's a little ribald, but gently so.  I hope you enjoy!  By Level 2, I will be thinking in Italian.

A Writer's Quiet Fears, Just After Midnight, in The Wee Hours of Sunday Morning

I don't talk much here about my fiction.  It is a fragile topic....ideas for fiction are as delicate as unfinished silk webs, and any early disruptions are likely to destroy them.

My motivation often comes from creating expectations for myself.  In the case of writing fiction, I am anxious about what i expect will be the final opinion of my readers: I want them to like the story, but also to be moved, transformed...changed for good.  But, like an actor on the stage, I feed off applause, an artist's ultimate creative climax at the end of the work.  By sharing bits and pieces early, I risk changing my original vision, and losing the incentive, the promise of acclaimed recognition of my effort, before giving myself a chance to complete something I know is original and exciting. Worse, a lukewarm reception to the unfinished masterpiece leads to discouragement, again no incentive to finish the work.

Sometimes by dwelling too much on readers' reactions, I paralyze myself against moving in a new direction, trusting my instincts.  I tend to want to get it just so, and perfection is like an asymptote---you can get infinitely closer to it without ever touching it.

Tomorrow I have decided to take the plunge and write for a contest offered by National Public Radio: a "three-minute short-story contest", of only 600 words, and 4 specific given words must fit somewhere in the story.

600 words.  Not a word can be wasted.  I have to meet a tight deadline.  And I have to be brief as well as expressive.

As if in a dream, the ideas stirred in the cauldron of my imagination, the ingredients of which came in pinches and shakes from my own experience.....  And so I will craft a story of a dog, a shelter, Opera, a concerned owner, the Italian language.....and hope to move people in a concentrated way.  Lady, shown to the left, was an inspiration...

After the contest ends, I'll submit my story for your review.....Wish me luck!

The Hadron Collider....Sicilian Odyssey...Shelter Dogs--Short Takes for Tuesday

Three seemingly unrelalated posts on wildly disparate topics.  What they have in common is how they each have shaped my thinking and outlook over the past six months, and how eager I am to share my observations with my readers.  Enjoy!

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Scientists are earnestly studying the origins of the Universe, bringing their expertise to bear on replicating conditions that may have produced the Big Bang and analyzing the results for clues to the creation of, well, everything. 

Last night in Geneva Switzerland, the Hadron Particle Collider succeeded in colliding protons at record energy levels. Scientists gathered in Geneva, at Cal Tech and other locations world-wide, eagerly waiting with pizza and camaraderie, all night, to observe the collision.  Soon, a lot of data will be analyzed.

"Researchers were waiting for the promised flood of data that would come as protons from two particle beams from the 17-mile-circumference collider smashed into each other.   Several experiments using the particle accelerator could help test for smaller particles, dark matter, other dimensions, supersymmetry and other theories in particle physics, researchers said."  Click here for a full article from the Los Angeles Times.

I have followed this story on and off for several months.  I remember discussing it with a good friend months ago; my interest was renewed afer reading physicist Michio Kaku's book on Physics of the Impossible.  I wonder, though, if any man-made collider could withstand a reaction as strong as the actual big bang.  Probably not, although the prospect of the world exploding from a physics experiment took my breath away for a second or two.  I have a lot of catching up to do, science-wise.  But I do find it exhilarating, and fascinating, as I never expected....  One of the unforseen benefits in my efforts at personal re-invention.

*     *     *    *    *    *  

As I commemorate my Grandparents' 100th Birthdays, I have immersed myself in the culture and language of Italy.  This allows me to feel the presence of these two people who I miss awfully, especially now. 

My Italian class is a transport for me, more than a mere language course.  I feel as though, speaking the ancestral language, I have made an archetypical connection; spoken loudly and properly, I am speaking operatically.  It's a connection to history and culture that are in my very blood. 

I started reading a book called "Sicilian Odyssey" by Francine Prose (what a perfect name for a writer!).  Her "Reading Like a Writer" was a huge inspiration to me as a budding writer and as a vertan, hungry reader. "Sicilian Odyssey", published in 2003, is part history of its culture and art, part modern travelogue, part affectionate appreciation of  its people.  Her description of the Sicilian termperament mirrors my own life observations:  

"Though Sicilians have a a reputation for dourness, for severity, for short violent tempers and an agonized religiosity, the fact is that almost every casual social interchange we have is characterized by sweetness. "

*    *    *    *   *    *  
The shelter was busy tonight, and the dogs were extremely affectionate.  My heart belongs to a new arrival, an 8-month-old chihuahua; and also to Hickory, a friendly (and vocal) overweight brown and white Cocker Spaniel; Trooper, an alert and playful German Shepherd mix; Casper, a quiet and massive Golden mix with sore hips; Roxi, a deaf German Short-Haired Pointer who is spotted like a Dalmatian; and Chuck, a very shy but loving Black Lab.

Of all of the changes I have made, becoming a part of this Shelter at the Buddy Foundation has been one of the most significant.  Nothing excites me more, or calms me more, than the satisfactions of easing the lonely existence of these creatures, and helpng connect them with good-hearted people who have a place in their homes.

I heard a rumor that there will be a delivery of some Bassett Hound puppies soon.... If so, then Mark and I, as well as my readers, will be in big trouble!

La Boheme, "Moonstruck", My Grandparents, and Arizona

A wedding picture from 1929. My maternal Italian grandparents, Sam Triolo and Lucy Salvati, occupy my thoughts lately. This year, both of them (had they lived) would be 100 years old.  Married at 19, theirs was a life filled with humor, roaring discord and passion, extended family, food (ah!---long, long tables filled with food), and fierce love for their grandchildren, especially me, for that is how it felt then, and now.


This photo was used on the invitation to their 50th wedding anniversary in 1979. My cousin Peggy and I, both of us creative, with dreams of stardom, presented a skit in which we played the roles of our grandparents on their wedding day.  Sam worked for many years at Nabisco in Chicago; in the skit, my wedding present to Lucy was a bag of Oreo cookies.


Some say that I resemble Sam in his youth, and share his restlessness and volatile temper and humor.  Lucy was regarded as a saint by those who knew her.  I had the good fortune to have been singled out by this quiet, good-natured woman as the "apple of her eye".


I want to remember them in all of their many ages and moods, all of the good sense of safe belonging in the fellowship of colorful and eccentric friends and relatives, the times when hearts were broken and losses were suffered, but mostly when laughter was heard, and everyone talked all at once, and loudly, to my youthful amusument.  I want to share Sam and Lucy with you.  In doing so, I will reveal more of myself, and chart the path from my origins to my chosen roads to reinvention.


This weekend I will travel to Scottsdale Arizona, and stay in the modest home thay made, which they gave to my mother on their passing.  Lucy and Sam's spirits are strongly felt there.  I can hear my grandfather teasing Lucy, making jokes, talking on the phone, and shouting at the television; and see my grandmother playing cards, wearing her sweater even in 110-degree heat, and laughing at Sam's antics.  Being there will allow me to remember them more clearly.

Many brief stories will be posted here in the weeks ahead.  My journal next week (all hand-written, as I am unplugging and leaving my laptop at home) will recall their presence, even as I record our activities and my impressions of each day.


It is easy to romanticize their lives, which had more than their share of hardship.  But whoever I am now, I owe to their genetics, their history, their example, and even their prejudices.  Mostly, I just loved them, and they, me.  Lucy was direct in her expressions, with hugs, or more food.  Sam, always on the go, always with friends--he had a lot of friends--showed his love in a teasing way. 

Their stories will also inform my new-found love of opera, my lifelong obsession with movies, and my attempt to capture and preserve my heritage as I study their native Italian language starting later this month.

Emotions...listening to the Metropolitan Opera's live broadcast of "La Boheme" on the radio on Saturday; remembering how it was used in the movie "Moonstruck" with such mischief, and loving emotion; and how the family portrayed in that film was so much like the characters in our family and myriad friends.  The music was so beautiful it made me cry...and the menories it invoked made those tears nostalgic, and tender.  I will soon review La Boheme, and especially "Moonstruck", one of my favorite films of all time.


And then I remembered with excitement that the trip would be soon....


Tomorrow...my Oscar pics, and thoughts on possible upsets.


In the meantime, enjoy the trailer from "Moonstruck", featuring Puccini's lushly romantic and sentimental aria: