Melville _ American Literature's Mad Genius

As stated in my last post, teachers ruin many books for students. My high school English teacher killed Moby Dick for me. I reached the point where I didn't care what the whale symbolized or what Ahab believed. I was glad when the whole boring ship sank and we were done with the book. Then, years later, on my Dad's recommendation, I reread it and was captivated.

Melville was a sailor and he did indeed work on a whaler. His first books Typee and Omoo were about the time he spent in the South Seas among the Native Islanders and Americas loved those romantic adventures in strange lands. Then he wrote Moby Dick and the response was, "Huh. What the hell is that?." Folks just couldn't get the book and Melville's star fell. He continued writing, even though many, his family included, thought him deranged.

Moby Dick is a strange tale. Yes, you can spend a lifetime contemplating its symbolism and meanings, and, if you are so inclined, great. If not, read the book for 2 reasons; the writing and the story.

The story is incredible, full of cannibals, and wild men, stern Quakers and pagan Farsis, down to earth seamen and jolly ramblers such as Ishmael, all watched over by one of Literatures great madmen, Ahab. Ahab is a brilliant man, educated, and a fine captain for a whaler. Or he would be, except for his need to seek vengeance on the whale that took off his leg, the infamous, white Moby Dick. The Pequod chases the whale through dead seas and typhoons to a climax that is stunning in its lunatic frenzy of violence.

The writing is in a style much different that writers use today. It is beautifully descriptive. Melville is a master, able to evoke the serenity of the sea as the whales frolic, the butchery of the whale hunt. He can probe the mind of Ahab in his brilliant insanity and he captures Ahab's manipulation of the crew and the power the man had, power enough to lead them to a sure doom. The writing requires patience since it is more elaborate than the style of modern authors but it is worth the patience. Just loose yourself and don't rush.

Moby Dick was shunned by the readers of Melville's days, not to be rediscovered and fully appreciated until the early 1900s. Melville continued writing. I have not read all of his works but I can recommend two. First, Billy Budd, a story of a conflict between innocent perfection and envy. It is a very strange story, disturbing. The second is The Confidence Man, about a conman on a riverboat who may be a bit more than what he initially seems. It is a funny story, both funny 'haha' and funny 'strange.'

But, if you read nothing else by Melville, read Moby Dick and when it is assigned to your kids by a teacher (I guess they still teach the book) tell them to play the teacher's game, then read it themselves for pleasure/ America's two greatest writers are Twain and Melville and I don't believe they will ever be topped.

Mark Twain

Most folks my age were, at some point, required to read Huckleberry Finn, and, I am sure, that in most cases, your teacher killed the book for you. Teachers tend to do this by forcing attention on things like themes, symbolism, and social significance. Certainly all of those things are present in Twain's masterpiece, but they are all secondary to the story. It is just a hell of a story.

Twain was able to capture the essence of youth; fear and courage, fun and exploration, rebellion and cunning. These are characteristics of kids in all ages, as much, I think, in our time as in his.

Twain had a gift that most writers lack and one that I am sure they envy, he was funny. Generally, in literature, humor, when present, may evoke a smile or maybe a chuckle. Twain was able to write scenes that are side-splittingly funny. Of course, Huck Finn is also, at times deeply serious, even frightening, and, here and there, heart breakingly sad.

I don't know if they even still teach this book in schools. I am not sure they actually do a lot of teaching these days. For those who had mind numbingly dull teachers in school who forced this book on you, read it again, for the fun of it. It is among the very few masterpieces in American literature.

If you enjoy it, and I am sure you will, give some of his other books a go. Personally, I was not that thrilled with Tom Sawyer, but I can heartily recommend Roughing It, Life on the Mississippi, The Gilded Age, Innocents Abroad and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.

There are 2 other, less read books of his I will recommend. I believe that they are less read because they are dark and bitter, written late in his life after he had lost loved ones. They are Letters From the Earth and, especially, The Mysterious Stranger. Life is fun and grand, but any view of life that does not deal with the darkly bitter aspects that color our time on Earth is puerile.

Read Twain. He is perhaps our greatest writer ( his only match may be Melville and I will write of him next time).

Steven King and Visions of Youth

Steven King is loved by readers and, often scorned by those who consider themselves upholders of fine 'literature.' In a way, I understand this. While King can surely write a suspenseful and frightening tale, he often lapses into the just plain gross. He readily admits this, saying that if he cannot find a way to induce terror, he will go for the gross out.

Okay, that's his choice and should not obscure the fact that he can tell a fine tale. In addition, he is the best, the absolute best, among writers today, at evoking the memories and feelings of young people.. Well, perhaps I should amend that. He is the best at evoking childhood and adolescence as it was during the era I grew up in, the 1950s and 1960s. I have little idea what growing up today is like. From things I have been told, it is both wildly different and still much the same. But, I do know that King nails it when writing of that older time.

In one of his newer novels, Revival, he opens the story with a beautifully written section about a kid playing alone with toy soldiers on a sand hill. The imagery, the description of the child's thought process is perfect.  I have spent hours doing similar things. He goes on with the boy's tale as he goes through the pain and joy of growing, of learning the world, tracing him through the pangs of early teen awareness of sexuality and the finding of one's calling, in this case music.

Even better is It. It, while certainly a horror story complete with a fearsome monster, is really a coming of age story. All of the horror comes from the kids, their fears and fantasies as they begin the passage into adulthood. The monster simply picks up on those fears and projects images that feed the terror back to the children. His pictures of small town adolescence, as the kids pass from times spent on juvenile pastimes to more grown up interests and back again is absolutely perfect.

King is at his best when he writes about childhood. I believe he might be trying to figure out his own and that's okay because most folks I know spend at least some time doing the same. He is the best at it in our time. RL Stevenson and Twain were past masters of writing about children on the cusp of adolescence, and, in this area, King is their equal. In other parts of his writing, well, not so much. Always entertaining, sometimes, his plots collapse a bit but his strengths make him worth reading.

If there are any young folks out there reading this, you may be asking why you would care about kids from the 50s and 60s. Well, they are your grandparents; their upbringing set the tone for how they raised their kids who are now your parents. It's history, without the boring teachers and textbooks.

The Olympics _ Maybe Brazil was not the Best Idea

The 2016 Olympics are coming soon and boy does Brazil seem a bad choice. Just today, Rory McElroy became the latest golfer to withdraw his name from consideration, joining Adam Scott, and several others. Some athletes from other sports have also withdrawn.

This cannot be an eayt decision. The Olympics are the crown jewel of sports and the chance to represent your country is an incredible honor. But, as hard as it may be for some to believe, there are more important things than sports.

First problem is the Zika virus. The illness it causes is said to be flu-like and only severe in folks in poor health, but it is pretty well established that the presence of the virus in pregnant women leads to microcephaly, a devastating birth defect. In addition, no one seems sure how long the risk continues after exposure to the virus. To worsen matters, a man exposed to the virus can pass it to a woman by sexual contact. The virus is quite active in Brazil and young men and women, wishing to later have children are weighing the risk against winning Olympic glory. No one should fault them for their caution.

On top of all that, in the recent news, I noticed that a plot to kidnap 2 athletes was foiled. Such crimes are not unheard of in that country and golfer Ricky Fowler has expressed concern about the game's security.

As if that wasn't enough, the nation is going through political upheaval. Its once popular President has been impeached for various economic improprieties and no one is sure how all of that will work out.

Things are actually even worse. Brazil is a prosperous Nation, however, the prosperity falls to a comparative few while wretched poverty is widespread. There have also been reports that those running the Olympics are not even close to being ready.

By all accounts, Brazil is a beautiful and fascinating country. I have known a few Brazilians and found them to be delightful people. It is a shame that their Nation is undergoing such difficulties, but sympathy is one thing and foolish risk taking is another.

2016 US Open - Why Can't the USGA Run a Tournament

First, Congratulations to Dustin Johnson for overcoming Oakmont, a lot of fine opponents and the USGA in winning the Open. The USGA gave us Marion where the rough was so deep and think you needed a scythe more than a wedge to get out. Then they gave us Pinehurst where the dome shaped greens and shaved banks around them provided Martin Kaymer with a stage on which to win without chipping; he putted when off the greens (I thought the Open was meant to test all of a players skills). Then we had Chambers Bay where the greens were not ready for competition and balls hopped and swerved there way to the holes on a surface some said was like 'putting on broccoli'.

This year, Oakmont. After 3 inches of rain, Mike Davis and the USGA decided that the only way to make the course tough was make the greens as fast as possible. It took them until Sunday, but they made it. Thursday, Friday and Saturday they had to make do with setting the holes in impossible locations, but on Sunday, they had greens running well over 14 and, for those who don't know, that is akin to putting on glass. Putting them was bad enough, hitting approaches to them was nightmarish. The course, on Sunday, was unfair.

Now, golf is not, by nature a fair game. Most who play the game have hit fine shots, only to have them hit an unseen twig or catch a sudden wind gust and wind up in trouble. Okay, that happens. But when player after player, the best in the world, are hitting great approaches, and having them roll off the green to a point farther away that when they started, something is wrong. I saw Speith hit a brilliant wedge to 2 feet from the flag that rolled into a bunker. I saw Lowery stick a pitch 3 feet from a hole and it wound up 40 yards down the fairway. I saw players barely tap 4 foot putts and watch them roll 10 feet past.  When things like that happen, over and over again, the course has become unfair.

The USGA has a history of doing things like this. One year, at Shinnecock, the let the greens get to about 16 and players were just desperate to get the ball to stop anywhere on the greens.

The Masters frequently lets its greens get to 14, but Augusta National is a different kind of course. Their greens are such that, even with speeds that fast, a properly hit shot to the proper spot will be rewarded.

The US Open should be hard. Its purpose is to test the best players in every aspect of their game and we all like to see that. However, when you make the courses over the top in difficulty, luck becomes too big a factor.

I mean no disrespect to the courses mentioned. They are all beautiful, difficult and fair, It is the USGA treatment of them that is the problem.

This is to take nothing away from Dustin Johnson. He played the best on a ridiculous layout and he dealt like a gentleman and like the great competitor he is in his handling of the penalty situation. The rule about a ball moving on the green is poorly written and the USGA officials' handling of the whole situation was deplorable. When greens are set that fast, just walking on the green can set the ball in motion. This is an issue they need to deal with immediately.

2016 US Open

This is the week of the US Open, golf, not tennis, and I am thrilled. The last 2 Opens have been played on odd courses. Two years ago, it was at Pinehurst. The course was remodelled to resemble its original design. After 4 days, I began to see why it had been changed over the years. It was like playing in a vacant lot, with some ridiculouly hard greens set here and there.

The next year was at Chambers Bay, a totally bizarre layout. It's sort of lunar like terrain was weird enough but then, there were its greens. The idea was to have fescue greens, as in Scotland. However, the weather was not what they expected, the fescues did not grow right, and they had to add the wretched and dreaded poa annua. The players said it was like putting on broccoli and that was being kind.

This year, a classic, Oakmont. No trees, no water, lots of sand, narrow fairways, ungodly thick rough, and lightening fast greens with lots of slopes, in other words, what a US Open should be.

The players will be tested to the utmost. Some will snivel, complaining of freen difficulties and unfair rough. That's all part of this great event. Who will win? I think it will be someone we haven't heard a lot of. Remember, last time it was played here, a relatively unknown, Angel Cabrera, one. Those ready to crown, McIlroy, Speith, or Day, should keep that in mind. This should be fun.

Jack Kerouac - Tristessa

Kerouac was, and still is, loved by those of us who live at the fringes of society. The Beatniks, the hippies, and every other group, or individual, who just never quite fit in with the norm, idolized Kerouac and his way of blending wild adventures with a deep spiritualism. Many a young man was set on the path to adventure by reading On the Road and many explored Buddhism, of a sort, after reading The Dharma Bums (I say young men because that's just how things were back in the old days. Most girls we knew had to be coaxed into a bit of wild adventure, most, not all. Sexist? Sure, but, again, just how things were.)

The problem was, most never read any of his other works. They never realized that Jack, like most of us, moved on. This is a problem with celebrity in America; you are expected to remain frozen in time and folks resent change in their heroes. Jack went on to become a conservative and deeply patriotic, Republican, living his life, when not writing, watching sports on TV and drinking with friends. He must have seemed reclusive to those who had worshiped him but, he had just changed and was uncomfortable being out amongst his former groupies. In addition, he was terminally alcoholic and in a lot of physical and mental pain.

Still he wrote, and as time went by, he dealt very, almost painfully honestly, with his life, his past, and his old friends. Read The Subterraneans for a different view  of his time in the cities with his artist friends.  Try Big Sur for a view of his alcoholism. Visions of Cody takes a hard look at his old buddy Neil Cassidy (Dean Moriarity from On the Road, a figure, thanks to Ken Kesey and Tom Wolfe, much to idolized in the 60s. In his last book, The Vanity of Dulouze, he explains his return to Catholicism after years of touting Buddhism.

Most of all, read Tristessa, a little known novella that is a work of tough honesty that still manages to be absolutely beautiful. In short, it deals with one of  Jack's trips to Mexico, during which he falls for a lovely, young, heroin addicted prostitute. It is, of course, a doomed affair, but, it is a true love affair, told with remarkable tenderness. Ultimately, I suppose, it is about illusion. Jack and the girl each want love, and convince themselves that they have found it, and in a sense, for awhile, they did, illusion or not, the love was real. It couldn't last, but illusions seldom do and Kerouac seems to be saying, 'that's okay. Sometimes, illusions are enough.

Tristessa is a short, quick read, but it will haunt you.

America's Musical Treasures

 The best of America has always, to me, been found in its music and, before they are gone, we should take a few minutes and give a thought and a nod to a few of our greats. Yes, of course, there is the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but I refuse to take seriously any organization that inducts The Beasty Boys while continuing to ignore the Moody Blues.                                                        

 Anyway, take a minute or two and pay respects to these folks while they are here. To often we ignore artists until they depart.  

From Country Music, we have six greats left, Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, George Strait, Loretta Lynn, Reba McIntire, and Dolly Parton. They are among the last to not only play real Country music, but to remember the roots, the lifestyle that Country Music came out of. Just because you throw in a fiddle, a steel guitar, and sing with a vague country drawl, you do not have Country music. Most of what you here on Country stations is just really bad, watered down rock. The rawness, the harshness, and the soul of Country music is simply not there.         

Speaking of soul,You should give a thought to Mac Rebbanac, better known as Dr. John. The Dr. has stored in his fascinating mind the music of the city gave birth to much of our music, New Orleans. No New Orleas, no jazz and no rock. The first of the rock'nroll records was done by Fats Domino (yes, I know that usually is credited to Ike Turner's Rocket 88 but a record collector hunted down a song by Fats that predates that by a couple of years). Fats is very old now and not really active in music, but Dr. John is still alive and playing and to hear him is to hear a master. He knows and plays the Mardi Gras songs, funky R&B, Dixieland, the medicine show music, gospel songs and, here and there throws in the voodoo sounds he played for the Reverend Mother Healers he worked for as a young man. An extraordinary musician, he is also something sorely lacking in modern America, an original, something unique and his likes will not be seen again for awhile.                                                                                                                                   

Pause for a moment please, and give thought to Robert Hunter, the lyricist who wrote so many fine songs with Jerry Garcia for the Grateful Dead. I know that, over the years, many have scorned the Dead as just remnants of the hippy days of the 60s, but Hunter and Garcia wrote some wonderful, lovely songs. It is true that they lived in a kind of bubble and clung to hard to those old days, but, within the Universe they chose to live in they found beauty. And, from that World, they looked out and saw the rest of the Worlds and wrote of it. There were songs of hope (Box of Rain) and inspirational beauty (Eyes of the World), but there were also songs of ager (Ship of Fools), sadness (China Doll), and humor (Operator) There were also good time songs (Loose Lucy), mean, evil songs (Jack Straw), and songs about the down trodden (Black Peter) and the willfully lowdown (Warf Rat). And of course, just down right psychedelic weirdness (That's it for the Other One, Dark Star). Even those put off by the hippy, 60s vibe they sometimes put out should recognize the beauty of their work and give a thought and a nod to Hunter.                                                                                              

Next,aknowledgement should be made of two guys who were, in ways, the polar opposites of Hunter and Garcia, Donald Fagan and Walter Becker, Steely Dan. I once read a review by someone (I wish I remembered who so I could give credit) who called Becker and Fagan the Hunter and Garcia of the real world, and that pretty much sums things up. Musically, the seem at home with rock and they are deeply influenced by jazz, but they have found a way to blend things together and have created a sophisticated blend, a shiny new kind of pop music. Lyrically, they are largely thought of for their cynically intelligent commentary on the modern world, but, as an old saying goes, scratch a cynic and you will find a hurt romantic. It is easy to overlook the fact that they have written some beautifully romantic songs. Two that come quickly to mind are The Things I Miss the Most and Walk Through the Raindrops and my writing about them will tell you nothing of how lovely they are. Go listen to them and the rest of their work and realize that they are the equal of all of America's past composers of pop music, Johnny Mercer, Cole Porter and the rest. The form may be different, a lot of the views are very different, but the brilliance is the same.        

Speaking of brilliance, there is Bob Dylan. I will write little of Dylan because what is left to be said. He is a master lyricist, although by his own admission he is not much on writing melodies. In fact he has admitted that like his friend Woody Guthrie, he steals melodies from old blues, gospel and folk tunes that are in public domain, just like Woody learned to do from his buddy Leadbelly. But, Dylan has a way of putting those wonderful words to the melodies and performs them beautifully. True, his voice is an aquired taste, but it is always perfectly suited to what he is singing. I can think of nothing to say about him that has not been said so let me just recommend a few albums, his best. Blonde on Blonde: the one album that truly captrued to lunacy of the 60s. John Wesly Harding: in an era when everyone was trying to out weird everyone else, he upped the ante by making a musically simple album (stright folk sound, guitar, harmonica, bass, drums) and writing some of the oddest lyrics ever. Blood on the Tracks: an album of wonderfully told tales. World Gone Wrong and Good as I've Been to You: just guitar and voice and covers of old blues and folk songs and they are wonderful. Time out of Mind and Love and Theft: two albums that deal at the deepest level with aging, love lost and the hope of love found.     

As far as the fine old pop singers of the old fashioned pop standards go, we still have Tony Bennett and, thankfully he still performs. I once saw a taped performance, from the 90s of him doing one of my favorite, Kurt Weill's  Lost in the Stars and it was incredible, a difficult song, done to perfection.                                            

Regretfully, very regretfully, as far as I know, when BB King passed, we lost the last of the great bluesmen. If there are others, sorry, I didn't know you are still with us and I wish you would come out and play again. The same holds for jazz. Jazz has always been my favorite and I regret to say that it is gone. Note to Winton Marsallis: yes, you play well but you just lack that creative, mad spark that the greats have, Not your fault, of course.  

And, when it comes to rock, well, again, even though some of the old warhorses, Petty, Springstein and such are still kicking around and some of their predecessors, like Jerry Lee lewis and Little Richard are still drawing breath, their days are, or should be done. Rock, in its purest and best form is young folk's music. Guys like Jagger should be laughed at for getting on stage at 70 years old and strutting about singing I Can't Get No Satisfaction. I listen, here and there, to what now passes as rock and it simply is not that. Noise, heavy beats and screaming does not equal rock and insipid teeny pop tunes are best left unmentioned and unheard.                                          

Where will American Music go? I have no idea, but I do believe that we should, for at least a moment or two, remember the great living treasures we have, because when they are gone, well, musically things look a might bleak.  

American Music

With so much lunacy in the world, thank God we have music. Sometimes I wonder if our Creator tolerates us just because we can sing, Everyone has music they love and I love it all, with 3 exceptions. I cannot listen to the insipid pop music around now. The Katy Perrys and Justin Biebers of the world need to just go away and count their money, quietly. I cannot listen to much metal. Those guys can play, but they are a wee bit too aggressive for me. I feel like I am being assaulted when I listen to more than 30 seconds of hard metal. And, with no exceptions, I cannot abide even 3 seconds of hip hop. Heavy beat mixed with electronic squeals is not music, especially when topped with the vilest excuse for lyrics imaginable. If you can make a case for the musical value of any of these 3 forms, please, leave a comment.



American music has 2 roots, the blues and the old Appalachian folk music. From this came country, rock, and jazz. Add a bit of classical influence, a touch of European folk styles, and German Polkas, and you have completed the stew. I will say, with no hesitation, that American popular music is something that is unmatched in the world.


Just think, the Mississippi Delta gave us Robert Johnson and the strange world of sex, booze and the Devil he lived in. His high, haunting voice and the shivering of the strings as he worked the bottleneck up and down his guitar takes you from this world into the world of spirits, ghosts, and demons, violent men and Saturday nights and the crossroads at midnight.

If Johnson seems to paint a picture of a man chased by the Devil, go to the West Virginia hills and hear Dock Boggs, the Devil who was likely chasing him. Boggs was a wicked banjo player and sang in a voice from the Old Country, from the high hills of Scotland and he sang the ancient songs of love and betrayal, of loyalty and murder, of banshees and things that wait along the dark roads of the forest. His voice is cold, distant, as if guilty of horrible crimes or witness to nightmares .

Listen to Muddy Waters, who moved the blues north and electrified it or to the Carter Family, who stayed home and sang of the traditions of family and church and the traditions of booze and wanderlust. Listen to Miles, who smoothed things out and found the sensual soul of melancholy or to Johnny Cash who walked the line between his Baptist faith and amphetamine madness.
Original, one and all, and what other country could give us Elvis and Coltrane and  Willie Nelson and Sinatra?


Where else could full blown lunatics like Captain Beefheart find a space to create their earthy magic? Where else could .a strange genius like Frank Zappa find and audience or a kid from Memphis like Arthur Lee put together a find band like Love? And trust me, no where else could a self taught master like Jimi Hendrix appear.

If I seem a bit old school in my taste, it is because I am afraid that we will lose sight of where we came from, not just musically, but culturally. Also, I simply don't hear a whole lot of new music that I can even think of as music. Again, I am open to suggestions and would love comments but, in the meantime, give a listen to some of our older music and you will be pleasantly surprised.

Blood Meridian

I cannot think of a better living American writer than Cormac McCarthy. He is probably best known today for The Road and No Country For Old Men. Both of these are fine novels but both surprised me with their minimalist, bare bones style. His earlier writings, such as Sutree and The Border Trilogy were closer to the ornate, almost long winded style, of Faulkner. The contrast is startling.

Blood Meridian is somewhere between the 2 styles. The plot is very simple, but the writing is complex, complex but beautifully done.

In fact, the beautiful writing is, in itself, a bit disconcerting, given the brutality of the book. The story is set along the Texas-Mexico border in the late 1840s and deals with a real historical incident. There was a gang of ex-soldiers, a seedy, violent bunch, the Glanton Gang, who were scalp hunters. it seems that the towns in the area were tired of being harassed by the Apaches and agreed to pay a bounty to anyone who killed some of them off, the payment being dependent on the display of a scalp from each dead Apache. McCarthy deals with this in a natter of fact way that is very disturbing. The violence is intense, yet, to those involved, it seems no big deal, and in that regard, it is pretty much the way things are. Men involved in constant brutality come to see it as just a part of their life and that is terrible in its implications.

There are 2 main characters. The kid, a young guy who joins the bunch, is never called anything else, just 'the kid.' His namelessness is somehow appropriate as he seemingly is nothing but a killer, a one-dimensional being who just does what he feels it is his lot in life to do. There is nothing to him except what he does.

The second main character is Judge Holden. Holden is the most terrifying creation in American literature. Not even Steven King in his wildest nightmares has come up with a being like Holden. I will not say much about him here because I do not want to spoil anything for those who have not read the book and I hope you do read it. Holden is frightening not simply because of his violence, but also because of his brilliance and his complete competence and because, through it all, he maintains a remarkable sort of joy about his actions. Hitler once said that he had seen the man of the future and it frightened him, Well, Holden may be just that man.

The end of the book is downright disturbing because the exact events are left unnamed. They are hinted at and in horror the implied is always more frightening than anything explicit. That was why Alfred Hitchcock made such terrifying films; he left things to the imagination. There is a sort of afterwards to the book that is even more puzzling. Suddenly, you feel as if you have left the Old West and stumbled into someone's demented peyote trip.

Blood Meridian is a disturbing book, horribly violent, but really no more so than Homer's Iliad. Like the Iliad, the most disturbing thing is its matter of fact acceptance that war is just a part of human life, always has been and possibly always will be. It is a decent into madness, yet it continues and the most frightening thing is, some, many, love it.

The Watchmen and Dune

Saturday night, I saw The Watchmen. It was the third time I saw the movie and I am sure most of you have seen it. If not, give it a look. It is a long movie and can be a nit confusing, with its flashbacks and flash forwards, but it is worth the effort.

Years before, I read Alan Moore's brilliant graphic novel  and really didn't think it could be made into a movie, but they did a very good job of it. The acting is just fine and the special effects work well, impressive and surprisingly restrained. But, that is not the important thing, the message is.

Without giving away too much of the plot, all I can say is that Moore seemed to set out to destroy the 'superhero' myth. The superhero is one of humanity's constant archetypes, usually taking the form of a religious figure, a redeemer, messiah or world teacher, who leads mankind from the dark of their current era into an new age, a golden age. It is easy to forget that when Jung wrote about archetypes, he was stressing the dangers of identifying with them. Turning to a superhero, in whatever form the present themselves is dangerous and The Watchmen makes that danger very clear.

This brings to mind another film, Dune, a much better film than many originally thought it to be. In that film there is a superhero, Paul Atreides, who finds super powers through a psychedelic experience and then leads a revolt against evil, ruling powers. The movie is based on Frank Herbert's incredible novel and stops where the novel does. At that point, Paul is a great hero. However, Herbert wrote a series of sequels and, as things turn out, Paul's seemingly heroic actions turn into a disaster of monumental proportions.

I find The Watchmen to be a disturbing movie because we are currently in a time of global turmoil. Many of the plot lines that have been woven for long, long years seem to be on the edge of either fruition or of unravelling. The time is ripe for a demagogue, a seeming superman, Hitler's Ubermensch, to make an appearance. So far, would be pretenders to this position, such as Donald Trump, are showing themselves to be sorely lacking but, somewhere, soon, someone will raise their head and begin shouting 'follow me.' Don't do it.

Baseball - Maybe They're Remembering How to Play the Game

I used to watch a lot of baseball, but for the last several years I have stayed a way from the grand old game. It really is a wonderful game, a mix of athletic skills and strategy. That has not changed since the game began in the late 19th Century. Sure the game has changed, passing from a game of precision and speed to a game of power and that is okay but, even as the game evolved, the old skills were never forgotten. Not every at bat yields a home run or a strikeout, so players still had to know the basics.

What are those basics?  For the offense: How to advance a runner. When to steal and when to stay put When to try for an extra base. How to slide. How to bunt. How to hit to the opposite field.
For the defense: What base to throw to. When to cut off a throw and how to throw to the cut off man.. The necessity to back up the right base.
For pitchers: How to move the ball around the strike zone. How to back hitters off the plate. How to defend your position. How to summon up something extra when you need a strikeout. How to pitch more than 5 innings without getting exhausted. How to get hitters to chase a ball outside the strike zone. And, most importantly, how to throw a strike and avoid walks.

To play a baseball game you have to do more than swing for the fences and throw hard. For awhile, it seemed that players had forgotten the basics and had no interest in learning. As long as they got those huge salaries, they were content to play sloppy, bad baseball.

So it was with a little hesitancy that on Memorial Day I gave into a bit of nostalgia and put on a game, Oakland vs Kansas City and, much to my surprise and delight, it was a darn good game. The players actually knew what they were doing at the plate and in the field and the pitchers were sharp and efficient. I was amazed to see guys field their positions well, run the bases sensibly and actually bunt and hit and run. I thought such skills were gone and I am happy to say that I was wrong. Somewhere, somehow, someone must have got though to these guys and convinced them that, if they want to keep making good money, they need to learn the game. Keep up the nice work