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Archive for July, 2023

Love Hurts

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on July 25, 2023| 2 Comments »

Good Morning! The rain has stopped and brought us clean air (really, much cleaner air), sunshine and low humidity. So far, the “heat dome” hasn’t hit Nashville, let’s knock on wood. Also my glamorous, big sister, Kay, has flown into town from New York City. I’ve figured out that as we age our bodies don’t regulate temperature quite so well; as the globe heats up, we ‘senior’ humans are cooling down. So Kay is perfectly happy sitting on our shady, front porch in 80+ weather waving at all the neighbors passing by – young couples with a baby stroller and a dog or two, our friends Kristi and Jay, and an older woman with a cane and an outrageously big sun hat.

Kay is an artist and a southerner-in-training. She attended the Art Students’ League in NYC and had a side hustle drawing meticulous medical illustrations for Mt Sinai Medical School. She is one of the reasons I never even tried painting. Even her clothes are artistically curated. She’s not exactly Iris Apfel, but at 88 she will still turn a head on the street. https://www.advanced.style/

So of course, we had to take a trip to the Frist Art Museum this past weekend. “Storied Strings: the Guitar in American Art” was the main exhibition and we borrowed a wheelchair to make everything easier. Don’t forget, Kay is only six months post-op on her second hip fracture. She uses a cane for mobility, and/or a rollator for stability when she’s outside. We enjoyed looking at each painting and reading the accompanying descriptions. Women historically were not taught to play the guitar, but artists always loved painting the female form; so lush paintings of women posing with the instrument were common.

If you were to walk into any room in our house, you’d encounter one of Kay’s drawings, paintings or needlepoint pillows: a beautiful watercolor of our Rumson home with two Corgis in the yard; a pen and ink portrait of the Flapper; a still life of flowers in a Delft pitcher. Almost every soft surface in our house is adorned with a gorgeous Kay needlepoint. I have fond memories of the Bride learning to look at life through an artist’s lens in Aunt Kay’s apartment. I remember roaming around the Metropolitan Museum of Art as a girl with my big sister; it was just a few blocks walk down Fifth Avenue.

After the “Storied Strings” exhibit, we strolled through an installation about Beatrix Potter at the Frist. Potter was born into a wealthy English family, but because she was a girl in Victorian England her future was limited. Writing stories came naturally and roaming around the Lake District, today we might say “forest bathing,” lead to her career of illustrating and writing children’s books. She called herself a “country mouse” living in the city. Eventually she became interested in fungi, drawing some of the most tiny, intricate mushrooms known at the time…

I feel like a country mouse living in this southern city with my city mouse sister. We walk across the street to swim in the mornings; we drive to Thistle Farms like ladies who lunch; we Zoom with my big and her little brother Dr Jim. Last night I made a salad from summer squash, whole wheat orzo, lemon and feta cheese with fresh herbs. Only the rabbits had eaten all my dill, so we had to improvise. https://www.washingtonpost.com/recipes/grilled-chicken-zucchini-orzo-salad/

We’ve also been enjoying Bad Sisters on Apple TV. So when we walked into Thistle Farms gift shop, a safe place for abused and trafficked women that sells tee shirts proclaiming “LOVE HEALS,” I was only slightly surprised when Kay asked if they had a shirt that said “LOVE HURTS.” They didn’t. I explained to the young salesgirl that my big sister was visiting from New York City.

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LA in Limbo

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , , , on July 18, 2023| Leave a Comment »

“What began as an inconvenience has become a crisis.” NYTimes

The Rocker told us it takes only twenty minutes to get across town. We called him to see how things were going when we heard about the SAG action this past weekend. The Hollywood writer’s strike, at first an “inconvenience,” quickly became a crisis when actors also walked out. Our son explained the situation, putting the labor issue into exquisite focus. It seems the big studios have an infinite amount of patience and cash to pour into marketing the films that have already wrapped. In other words, we will be bombarded with blockbuster ads for films scheduled to be released in December.

However, actors will not be promoting those films, so don’t expect to see them on TV or YouTube chatting with Kelly Clarkson or Jimmy Fallon. And of course writing rooms will remain empty, so do expect lots of reruns of your favorite shows. The last strike in Hollywood happened in 1980, before the Rocker was born. It’s crazy to think that strike was about residuals; something most of us had never heard of, but there are plenty of actors doing bit parts and still making a living. Why? Because of residuals!

This strike is about so much more. It’s an existential crisis for most actors.

Think about it, Meryl Streep is the exception. Roughly 70-80% of working actors are just getting by – playing a person at a cafe, or a corpse on a cop show, or a doctor in the background of a drama. Extra extra, they fade into the background. They might get lucky and have a few lines, or a pilot may get picked up and their ancillary character may come back for a series like Julianna Margulies in ER. Her performance as a nurse was so remarkable that fans clamored for more and she was signed immediately. I wouldn’t mind being George Clooney’s love interest. Margulies went on to play The Good Wife. Now she is streaming on The Morning Show with our Nashville sensation, Reese Witherspoon. But that is Kismet, most actors find work one audition at a time.

Artificial Intelligence is the reason this time is different. Imagine that young “exotic” looking Margulies is cast for the pilot of ER. She’s been turned down for so many parts because they are looking for a more “traditional” (ie blonde WASPy looking) actor, so she’s elated to play a nurse. And her contract states that the studio, or production company, can put electrodes all over her face and scan it for a digital image. She gets paid for working in the pilot of ER of course, not knowing if the network will pick it up for a season. But now the studio can use her image IN PERPETUITY!!!

In other words, she would never get another paycheck for the life of ER from that studio. Her face would belong to them, and if that doesn’t scare you, it should. I recommend watching the “Joan is Awful” episode on Black Mirror. You can find it on Netflix – with Selma Hayek and Annie Murphy. https://collider.com/black-mirror-episode-sag-aftra-strike/

Of course the writers are in a similar pickle. They may get paid for adapting a novel, or writing a screenplay but that would be it. Any changes or course corrections, any pilot that becomes a series, will be filled in with with ChatAI. But does a computer know what love and loss actually feel like? Can human emotions be deduced from an algorithm?

As for the Rocker, it seems that composers are not currently unionized.

“Worse still, some streamers, most notably Netflix, are defaulting to work agreements that cut out royalties entirely. Such agreements are known as buyouts—work-for-hire deals that offer a lump payment and no back end—and they deprive the composer of any share in the ongoing success of a hit series or movie… There’s rising disenchantment with a system in which paying dues has come to resemble abasement, with aspiring composers working on the cheap without benefits, security, or the leverage of a composer’s union—if only one existed. (Once upon a time it did. The Composers and Lyricists Guild of America, founded in the 1950s, disbanded after a 1971 strike.)”

https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2022/02/the-ugly-truth-of-how-movie-scores-are-made

Let’s keep our fingers crossed until the New Year.

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Knit One

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on July 11, 2023| 2 Comments »

When was the last time you went to school? Granted, I embarked on a Masters degree in my 40s, but that was awhile ago. In order to flex my fingers, and make something beautiful at the same time, I decided to sign up for a knitting course at our local yarn shop.

I’ve picked up my knitting again after a long lapse of stringing pearls. Knitting is like riding a bike; you can almost always remember how, and today we have YouTube in case we’ve forgotten. Ten years ago I started to make a blanket in columns of patchwork patterns in the most delicious yellow and grey cashmere blend of wool. Today I’m beginning the process to block and finish!

But of course it’s not just the hands-on help you get at a knitting circle, it’s the camaraderie of a small group of women. There is the instructor, regal in bearing and bountiful in her knowledge. There is the know-it-all who knows everything and likes talking about her children. There is the sweet, old grannie with a face like Betty White. There is the younger woman who is determined to save us from climate change. And then there is the Republican, who has picked an incredibly complex project to knit with mohair.

When we introduced ourselves at the beginning, I said I am the slowest knitter alive! My Nana had taught me to knit and now I’m teaching my grandchildren to knit. I said I’m dyslexic when it comes to reading and comprehending knitting patterns, and I’m certainly NOT a Type A tight knitter. If I make a mistake, and who doesn’t, I try to fradreidel my way around it. I can point out the exact spot in my knitting when a certain Frenchie saw a rabbit!

I was knitting for awhile with only two fingers of my right hand sticking out of my splint. The play must gon on.

Yesterday I arrived early for class and met the mom of a 15 year old softball player who makes it her mission to explore yarn shops in every city where her daughter’s games are played. She told me her girl was a gymnast until she broke a few large bones and switched to softball. The mom likes to collect local skeins and I found out she has alpacas back home that her husband and son are caring for while she travels. I asked if she spins their wool, and she said she brings it to a business that will spin and dye it for her.

I thought about how much I wanted to keep alpacas in Virginia, and/or chickens. Bob wasn’t interested, plus it was a very expensive hobby. He was still working and had just taken on the task of ER Director again so I knew he wouldn’t be able to help very much. We were busy defining our new chapter – would we be gentlemen/women animal farmers, or would we be raised bed vegetable farmers? The raised beds won out except when the deer stepped in to clear us out.

But back to class. The conversation around the table is like a roller coaster, one minute everyone’s talking about how to keep critters out of chimneys, then we drift into the practical and ethical implications of making meat out of a chicken cell. And I mastered the mattress stitch after much hair pulling and thread ripping. And so soon, I will send this blanket on its way to become an heirloom. Like the blanker I have stored in my closet that my Nana made around the turn of the last century.

Or the lilac sweater the Flapper made for the Bride with pink bunny rabbits and big fluffy tails. It was an Easter sweater that made me think my Mother thought my Judaism was a passing phase. I cherished that sweater and sent it to my niece in California for her girls, with instructions to pass it down in the family.

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A Note From the Tropics

Posted in Books, Journaling, Wedding, Country, tagged , , , , on July 4, 2023| 1 Comment »

Happy Fourth People! I was wondering why I haven’t heard any fireworks this weekend, but it’s probably because Mother Nature has provided her own entertainment.

Saturday afternoon Bob and I were busy enjoying the peace and quiet. The children had left town for a lake vacation, while weather forecasters said “Dangerous” heat and air quality levels were expected. Thank you Canada! A neighborhood friend was also heading off for a cooler climate and she kindly asked if we’d like to use their pool while they were gone – “Yes, thank you!” So our mornings have been spent listening to Jason Isbell’s new album and walking across the street to do laps along with my aqua exercise. Delightful right?

But three days ago, after a delicious Farmer’s Market lunch I was about to pick up my knitting when we heard “POP POP POP.” Cue the lights!

Darkness in the middle of the day, OK, but everything stopped. It was eerily quiet; no AC humming along, no plunks of big round ice cubes resonating in the freezer. My sister Kay had called earlier because she was worried about our heat wave. I assured her that all of Bob’s work last year insulating the attic and sealing up our windows was paying off so that even at a sweltering 96 degrees outside it was still 74 inside. But not for long.

First, I must say that like Elsa and Snow, summer storms don’t bother me. Pop up afternoon showers are part and parcel of southern living. As veteran Jersey Shore types, we know to head into a movie theatre or a shopping mall when dark skies descend. And unless there is a tornado warning, all the hype about baseball-sized hail, wind, lightening and thunder fly under my stress radar. Bob actually loves to sit on the porch and watch a storm roll in. Except this time, the loud, unusual popping noise meant a transformer was blown out in our alley.

Long story shorter, it took all of 12 hours – between noon and midnight – for half of the power to return. Bob regretted not putting in a whole house generator, and I was thankful that our house stayed fairly cool on Saturday because of the aforementioned insulating. But Sunday wasn’t a fun day either because we only had 70 volts running into the house, and yes Bob has a meter?! Meaning the AC still wasn’t working and what was working was hot hit or miss. So Bob found an NES guy on a pole to let him know about the transformer, then we went out to lunch and a movie.

By the time we returned from the BEST Indiana Jones movie, and not just because the Rocker did the trailer, our full power was ON! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eQfMbSe7F2g&t=1s

So last night we invited a few neighbors over for hodge podge dinner of defrosted things – a small turkey breast, eggplant parmigiana, pasta salad. And we laughed and learned more about each other and I remembered what it was like to throw a dinner party.

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