Losing our past to the coronavirus

 

This place was once my home away from home.

I don't mean that casually. In my late 20s and early 30s, when I was still single, I would often stop by in the morning for a cup of coffee before going to work. I'd grab a quick bite to eat at lunch, then sit here with a book for 20 or 30 minutes with a second cup of coffee. And many evenings, after grabbing a quick supper, I'd sit here in the evening for more reading and another cup. (This was back before I realized that all the caffeine was messing up my sleep.)

This was my Cheers. I knew the names of all the regulars. They knew me. Some of my longest friendships were formed here -- before the pandemic set in, my family was having regular suppers with a woman who was a barista at this shop for more than a decade. When I stopped going to church in the mid-aughts, this was where I spent my Sunday mornings.

La Prima Tazza is still alive. But right now it's not the same, obviously. There is no lingering over a book in the front window, reading and watching the world go buy. You go inside, get your drink, and get outside as efficiently and expeditiously as possible.

I spent some time on the block this morning. Free State Brewery next door is where my friends and I spent a lot of evenings, grabbing a quick beer or having dinner. On the other side, Liberty Hall movie theater changed my moviegoing life. Around the block, Raven Book Store shaped the reader I've become as an adult. And a little further down the block is the old Post Office -- now a Blue Cross office building, but once upon a time the headquarters for the newspaper where I grew up professionally.

The newspaper has moved. The bookstore does delivery, but no browsing for now. Liberty Hall is only open a couple of days a week -- and, well, I'm not ready to sit in a movie theater yet.

The future is uncertain for all of us right now, but one of the things that devastates me about the pandemic is how it threatens the past -- how it threatens not just our lives, but the places and people who gave us life, that shaped who we are ... who I am. I realized this morning that I don't just miss the coffee shop and its people. I miss coffee shop music.

Isn't that weird?

Movie Night: MOONSTRUCK

 

With the exception of some '80s period details, this movie feels like it could've been made during (say) the 1930s. Those early talkies were often plays that were remade into films. That's not the history of MOONSTRUCK, but this is a dialogue-driven film that could easily be performed on the stage.

Opera sits at the core of this film, and that's appropriate, because this is a romantic comedy that is ... operatic. Over the top in its dialogue and emotions, and yet utterly charming even so. Cher is radiant, Nic Cage is Nic Cage, and Olympia Dukakis deserves every bit of the Oscar she got for this movie. A pleasure.

The River is the River

The river

is the river 

is the river.

Always here.

Mostly the same

everyday,

but also a little bit not.

Higher now.

Faster.

Slower now.

The grain elevator

across the river

is my muse -- 

a spire pointing to the rising sun,

Babel's tower

rising on the Plains.

The structure will be gone someday.

The river will still be here.

Mostly the same.

But also a little bit not.

Movie Night: ONCE UPON A TIME ... IN HOLLYWOOD

Some thoughts about ONCE UPON A TIME ... IN HOLLYWOOD, after the trailer:

 I don’t know how to feel about this movie.

For much of its running time, ONCE UPON A TIME … IN HOLLYWOOD is a quiet, even moving meditation on aging and ephemerality. The movie is littered — like so much of Quentin Tarantino’s output — with references to other movies, but this time you don’t really have to be a film buff to get them: There are movie posters and marquees galore, on walls and signs and everywhere, filled with movies and TV shows that all but the hardiest film buffs (again, probably QT) have forgotten. I watch a reasonable number of classic movies, and I was unfamiliar with many of the titles on display. All the money and effort and ego goes into producing creations that mostly have a short shelf life. Look upon my movies, ye mighty, and despair!

Leonardo DiCaprio’s arc as Rick Dalton, a semi-washed up former TV star, is compelling in the same way: He was famous and now he is less so, called upon to give a lift to rising stars instead of rising himself. (Leo, the babyfaced former child star who used to be in Tiger Beat-style magazines, is 45 now. I had no idea.) This is middle age for many of us, realizing that our accomplishments will never be as great as we hoped, that perhaps our best work is done and yet … we still have a life to live. How can we make the most of it?

Also: Margot Robie is fascinating and fantastic as Sharon Tate watching herself on screen, delighting in the audience’s reaction to her, alive with being famous.

On the other hand: There’s all the violence.

(Spoiler) In the end, Leo and Brad Pitt kill the Manson murderers who — in real life — actually killed Tate and her friends. Tarantino has done this “film revenge for real crimes” thing before, notably in INGLORIOUS BASTERDS. It was clever then. Less so now. But mostly it feels A) like a separate movie from what’s come before and B) the violence that Leo and Brad commit is so over-the-top, so horrifyingly explicit. I’m not a prude. Or maybe I am. But the gleeful violence against the bad guys feels like an invitation to feel the same thrill that the real murderers had when committing the real murders.

I don’t believe for one second that watching this makes me more violent. I am smart enough — humans are smart enough, usually — to distinguish between fact and fiction.

But I don’t feel good about having seen this movie. I would give you a different opinion if it had ended, somehow, 15 or 20 minutes earlier than it did. 

The movie that rocketed QT to real fame — PULP FICTION — was renowned for its violence, but it ended with our anti-heroes choosing not to commit an act of violence. And not in a “he’s not worth it” way, but in a way that signaled some hope for the redemption of everybody involved. QT isn’t obligated to stick to that message, of course, to satisfy my latent Mennonite sensibilities. But when you consider the real-life context and facts of Manson family murders against what we see here on screen, the result doesn’t feel like vengeance, even of the fantasy style. It just feels nihilistic.

The fundamental strategic assumption of the Trump campaign is that you, the voter, are stupid

 So:

Of course, millions more jobs were lost before those three months started. And employers hiring back workers isn't exactly job creation so much as it is job recovery -- a process that still has a long way to go.

But honestly, this isn't even a lie, really, because it's so obvious and stupid. I'm not sure why the Trump Administration can't admit that there are big challenges facing the country when there are obviously big challenges facing the country. They're hoping you're too stupid to notice, I guess.

It's better to do too much to battle the Pandemic Depression than do too little. But we're headed toward doing too little.

 Just to follow up on this post: I'm not sure I'm a believer in modern monetary theory, though I'd like to be -- the idea the federal government can just magically pay for everything forever without restraint is tempting! I can't escape the feeling, though, that the theory is ironic foreshadowing for the collapse of American finance. I admit to the possibility of being an economic simpleton. It's not one of my strong suits.

That said: Even if I were a deficit hawk, I would not be one at the present moment -- I am not one at the present moment. America is facing a unique challenge to public health and prosperity. Battling it successfully will be quite expensive. The upside is that if we manage to do it, many lives will be preserved. The downside is that if we fail, many lives will be lost. So why the amount of money that's being thrown at this is huge -- a trillion here, a trillion there and pretty soon we'll talk about real money -- it sure seems that this is the moment to risk doing too much. This is no time to be stingy. Let's throw cash at the problem now and figure out how to pay the bills later.

We're facing the biggest threat to American health and prosperity in a century, but we don't want to do *too* much about it.

 My senator:

(Sigh.)