An afternoon

He emerged from a refrigerator into an oven.

"Now this," he said out loud, "is hot."

Looking at the weather app on his phone, the temperature read 102 in red. Funnily enough, he enjoyed the blistering heat nearly as much as the blissfully cold environs of the coffee house.

It had been a cleansing afternoon.

Words exchanged, steam released.

He provided a sounding board, his pal equally amenable ... he hoped.

"The scary thing is everything that was left out," he thought wearily as he got into his stifling car, reflecting on the biting tome that he had just written -- so heavy with angst. "To be continued, I guess."

He fired up the ol' reliable, the AC immediately kicking in. Wincing while alternating hands on the sizzling steering wheel and making a three-point turn -- with a wave of acknowledgment to the patient biker, who nodded amicably in courteous reciprocation -- he powered the car forward and steered toward home.

Buzzing from the pair of 20 oz. iced lattes now unobstructively coursing their way, he turned the volume up on the classic rock radio station as he weaved in, out and around the late-afternoon rush hour traffic.

Van Halen's "Jump."

Right song. Right time.

He turned the volume up, mouthing the lyrics under his breath while merging effortlessly onto the jam-packed interstate.

As he drove, he felt as if it might be getting darker. Removing his sunglasses, he saw that it was.

"Oh my God!" She had written earlier. "All of a sudden, like tornado force winds and rain! Breaking things off the trees and stuff. Yikes."

He was amusingly envious then. Now realizing the possibility of his own biggin' comin', he felt a little adrenaline take over. As if to oblige the darkening skies, "Jump" faded out.

Fade In: "Carry On Wayward Son."

As the skies darkened, his spirits lightened, with the piano doing its job unfailingly. It wasn't yet cold enough in the car for the goosebumps.

Having pulled to a stop at a light, a minivan pulled alongside. As he glanced over, he noticed her.

She in her 40's or so. 

He, not quite. 

As he mouthed the words to Kansas, he realized she was doing the same, with the force of her AC blowing her dark blonde hair back.

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

Though my mind could think I still was a mad man

I hear the voices when I'm dreaming

I can hear them say!

Laughing to himself as he watched her, they both continued:

Carry on my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

She looked over, met his eyes and her own recognition set in. Smiling brilliantly and bobbing her head, she patted the steering wheel in rhythm, and they capped it off to each other:

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more!

The light changed. They turned in opposite directions without a wave. 

Two paths that fleetingly crossed.

Two paths that will never cross again.

His path took him headlong into a sky that thrillingly began to reveal a deep, dark blue as he approached home. The wind kicked up several notches, the traffic signals blowing threateningly back and forth. A tornado of leaves and twigs circulating with force as heavy gray-black clouds coiled and recoiled with menace.

"I'll be damned," he thought as he turned into his parking lot. He dodged a number of flying branches and fought to keep his balance in the gusting wind as he rescued his mail and opened the door to his apartment.

He put his bag and mail down and went to the refrigerator. 

Grabbed a cold Summer Shandy.

Popped the top.

And made a beeline for his patio out back.

He sat outside, watching the dark clouds swirl and the canopy of trees over his head bow and sway, while the lights flickered inside as the power fought to stay on.

The weather app on his phone showed that he was on the fringe of a bloated, deep red mass that drifted east, large enough to connect him to those he knows up north.

Enough to be out of danger.

Enough to enjoy.

He sat and let his weary head rest, feeling the temperature drop refreshingly by the second, the scent of rain in the air.

And as a bolt of lightning flashed and the ominous rumble of approaching thunder followed, he closed his eyes and drifted with the wind.

"Don't you cry no more," he thought acquiescently, as he took a pull of his brew and the first ice-cold raindrops began to fall.

Review: Which Way Home

Trailer

A while back, I saw a very good movie that documents the lives and plight of migrants who attempt to ride Mexican trains to aid in their cause to cross the border into the United States. The movie was called "Sin Nombre" and was a work of fiction based on real events.

Tonight, I saw the perfect companion piece to this movie. "Which Way Home" is a documentary -- nominated for an Academy Award in 2010 and directed by Rebecca Cammisa -- that follows a group of children ranging from 17 years old to as young as 9, if you can imagine, who face these unbelievable hardships and dangers of riding the trains to find a better life in America.

Whatever your politics are regarding immigration, they can and should be left at the door here, as there is no refuting the courageous and emotional journey these kids set out on -- nearly all of them either trying to reunite with their families already in the country, or to find jobs to help their families back home.

They leave notes for their mothers before they leave, and talk to them on borrowed cell phones on the tracks -- forced laughter keeping them from crying, as their mothers pray for them on the other end of the line. They light up when they are asked how they imagine the United States to be, and their answers are heartbreaking in their simpleness and naivete.

The most poignant of these comes from 9-year-olds Olga and Kenny, who come from Honduras. Olga, who hasn't seen her mother in three years, happily describes reuniting with her family in Minnesota and playing in the snow with her sisters -- before breaking into tears. They want to be doctors. We last see them walking away along the rails, dwarfed and enveloped as they merge with hundreds of their fellow travelers.

One aspect documented here that I was not aware of is the existence of Grupos Beta -- an organization formed by Mexican Immigration, which, rather than enforcing the law, provides water, medical aid and educates the migrants about the dangers they will face. In light of the illegalities and polarizing politics that frame this heinous underground world these people have chosen to travail, I found this example of genuine humanity to be impressive.

Young migrants ride 'The Beast.' (HBO)

Through all of this, I was -- and still am -- unable to comprehend that these are children, who are facing thirst and starvation, corrupt cops, being raped and left for dead by their own smugglers, some of whom are even hired by their parents ... and the train itself -- referred to as "The Beast" -- which regularly and viciously takes their lives.

"It tore him into three pieces," one kid says, remarking on a graphic newspaper photo showing the remains of a recent victim. "That's what happens when you fall on the rails."

Someone asks him, "So you're going back to Honduras then?"

"Nah, you're crazy man," he responds, laughing and without hesitation. "No, I'm not going back to Honduras."

Their parents are left to wonder where they are, if they're still alive, and to sign death certificates when they're not -- sometimes having to endure the wait of DNA releases because the bodies of their children are too decomposed to identify.

Earlier I mentioned the politics of immigration. This is a film that does not tread in that area but rather addresses the situations that may lead to the immigration problem in the first place. Are there things that can be done before illegal immigration becomes a last resort for these desperate people?

A director of a rest area, set up along the rails to allow traveling migrants a place to sleep, makes an empassioned speech, bordering on a plea, about the harsh realities that face every one of these travelers.

As he speaks, perhaps it is most important to reflect on how awful their lives must be back home that they are willing to risk all of these horrors -- to hear these words, and still have the unwavering determination to venture on ...

Mexico is the passage of death for you.

The freight train can be your best friend

because it will help you travel.

But it can also be your worst enemy.

It can kill you.

The United States is not the passage of death,

the United States is 'Death itself.'

At the border during the day, temperatures go from 120

up to 140 degrees.

And this jug (holding up a drum-sized container)

will not even last you for 3 days of traveling.

It is proven that at the border

out of every 100 migrants,

between 10 and 20, or more, will die.

Maybe many of you here will die.

Many of you will never see your families again.

Many of you here will never return to your countries.

Because you will die on the way.

Now brothers

who really wants to get to the United States?

Raise your hand.

Everyone ... (he acknowledges)

Review: The Sunset Limited

Trailer

There's nothing quite like the feeling when a movie comes along at exactly the right time to knock you over the head with its magnitude. I've had this one queued in the DVR for nearly a month, but I just got around to watching it tonight -- and I find it very interesting that I may very well have not been as receptive to it then as I am now.

I don't know if there's anything I can write that would do it justice, because I don't know if the movie is that good or if I just had a personal connection to it. Is this a recommendation? A tired, old so-called review? Some clumsy way to communicate something, but uncertain as to what that something is? I don't know. Some things don't really fit into a category.

The movie is "The Sunset Limited" and is an HBO adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's two-character play. The characters, named only "Black" and "White," are played by Samuel L. Jackson and Tommy Lee Jones (who also directed) -- I'll assume you can figure out who is playing who.

The entire play/movie is a conversation between the two and takes place in Black's dingy apartment in the New York ghetto, near a train station where White has just attempted to jump in front of a train (The Sunset Limited line specifically), and Black happened to be there to save his life.

Was it by chance that Black happened to be there? Was it divine intervention? Like the movie in its entirety, this is not clear, but the two begin an extraordinary and powerful discussion about humanity, the meaning behind our existence, faith, God and the afterlife.

Black is an ex-convict, who apparently has quite the personal relationship with Jesus -- and some pretty intense "jailhouse" stories -- while White is a college professor, hopelessly lost despite -- or perhaps more likely, because of -- his extensive education and finds the majority of Black's life-affirming, Bible-thumping diatribes to be exasperatingly nonsensical. But to casually label him as depressed or an atheist is to callously rob this character of the extraordinary depths of the anguish, darkness and emptiness that have driven him to this point.

Tommy Lee Jones and Samuel L. Jackson (HBO)

Here we must discuss the acting. Both are terrific, but Jones really stands out for me in this. Countering Jackson's upbeat, kind-hearted and optimistic outlook as his character remains nobly determined to help his guest see the light, Jones brings a tangible heaviness to his portrayal, a quiet and exhausted approach to the conversation behind dark eyes that are sunk deep into their bags. You know he hasn't slept for days. You know he's carried the burden he's carrying for years.

What clinched this movie for me is the shocking and unmistakable shift in both tone and power. For most of the film, Black is the dominant character. He's determined to save his guest's life, he's making him coffee, he's making him soup, he's initiating the entire discussion and he never wavers in his belief that he is right, he has God on his side, he is doing God's will and White will see the light.

But very quietly, darkness begins to take over, and the complete and utter despair that is inside White begins to emerge as he spews a chilling monologue that reveals his perception of the world and the futility of humanity. The use of lighting here is perfection and the words are frightening, the weight of which carries us to the end of the conversation, where we feel a palpable sense of transference, and we're witness to a poignant plea from one character that is undeniably relatable.

I found this movie to be a perfect adaptation of a dialogue-driven play -- where the theological conversation is truly compelling  and the end is of the satisfyingly unsatisfying variety that I'm so fond of.

Most importantly, it's a movie where you need to hit the bar immediately after to discuss, because there are a myriad of questions, interpretations and feelings that can be derived from its content. Who is the one really being tested here? What if White is already dead? What does the apartment signify? Who's better off, the believer or the non-believer? Why is faith a good thing? Or perhaps most chilling, the thought that at first lurks in the background before slowly and deliberately enveloping you no matter how hard you try to suppress it:

How disconcerted are you that you relate most closely to White? ...

The Dude abides!

Surfacing in my DVR queue last night was PBS' season premiere of their American Masters series -- "Jeff Bridges: The Dude Abides."

We'll get to Jeff in a second, but I first have to say that this series does an amazing job. With this specific film directed by Gail Levin, the use of photography, behind-the-scenes material, clips from past movies, interviews with family, friends and colleagues and the way it is all seamlessly woven together with Jeff's own words makes for a highly enthralling 90 minutes.

Now, to Mr. Bridges ...

If ever there was someone who embodies the word "eclectic," it's Bridges. We can obviously see this in his body of filmwork -- the fact that he played the President of the United States in "The Contender" two years after playing The Dude in "The Big Lebowski" is all that needs to be said about this. And on that topic, one of the "grooviest" parts of this film, for me, is when he makes a surprise visit to a Big Lebowski tribute shop in Greenwich Village.



But the film also showcases his considerable talents off-screen, as a musician, photographer and painter. A few examples:

• Bridges thought he would take the music route as a kid -- not wanting to go into his father's business right away -- and even wrote a song for the soundtrack of one of his brother Beau's early movies. Lately, Jeff said his role in "Crazy Heart" whetted his musical appetite, so he got a band together, had his agent set up some gigs, and he played at Niagara Falls for a couple of nights, thoroughly enjoying it.

• He takes behind-the-scenes photos of virtually every movie he works on with a vintage Widelux camera, and makes albums as gifts for the people he works with on the movie. I happened to watch "Seabiscuit" a few nights ago, and there's a very poignant DVD extra featuring Bridges' camera shots that artistically illustrate the collaborative aspect of movie-making.

• Bridges' talents as a painter and potter are also examined, as he's filmed intensively going to work with paints -- at one point spontaneously representing his family rising from white on a glass background -- and clay -- making a variety of pots and quirky resemblances of heads and faces -- all yet another outlet for his all-encompassing creativity.

Jeff Bridges and his vintage Widelux camera (PBS)

The film also examines Bridges' tendency to be hesitant or reticent in accepting virtually every movie or project that comes his way. He's one "who has to be dragged to the party," and confesses to having a bit of The Dude in him, an admitted laziness at times -- but once he's in, he's all in. It also brushes on his individual relationships with his family, which I found to be quite compelling and moving.

For me, when faced with immensely gifted people like this, who seem to be able to cram so much positive and beneficial work in their lives, it's incredibly inspiring to see all these gifts being used to their maximum potential. It also serves as a pretty jarring wakeup call -- an example of the way we should all get off our asses and live, to get as much as we can out of life by giving as much as we can.

One other thing I realized is how shameful it is that so many of his older films have escaped me. Not "King Kong," though! That flop earns the distinction of likely being the first Jeff Bridges movie I ever saw (and saw again and again for that matter), and -- more importantly -- very well could have led to his ability to explore more offbeat roles as his star appeal was briefly tarnished. Perhaps it is precisely his unassuming nature and propensity for unconventional roles that took me so long to get into his stuff, even though he was nominated for an Academy Award four times before winning with "Crazy Heart."

Consider a line spoken in this film by director Taylor Hackford: "We grew up thinking 'The Actors Studio.' You've got DeNiro, Pacino, Dustin, Brando ... you have all the method people in New York, and they really have the tap on great acting. Here's this guy in California who's this surfer dude. He's absolutely as good as any one of them."

So, yes, while I've seen many of his films by this point, I still have several on the must-see list to right this wrong. And with "Starman," "Cutter's Way," "Against All Odds" and "American Heart" all currently streaming live on Netflix, I'm envisioning a Jeff Bridges winter-day marathon in my near future.

********** 
Note: If you missed the program on TV, you can watch it in its entirety online here. Also, for an even more in-depth and intriguing look at his on- and off-screen endeavors, check out Jeff Bridges' official website.

Book review: Bloodroot

It certainly appears I'm about to write up my first so-called book review -- or more likely a glorified recommendation, since I plan to keep this one short.

I just finished "Bloodroot," by Amy Greene -- blowing through it in two sittings (admittedly during a couple of slow work shifts!) -- and I was very surprised at how good this is, considering it's apparently her debut novel. I heard some glowing things about it popping up here and there, but it's so unlike anything I ever read, it took me a while to get to it. But I'm glad I did.

I'm not going to waste a whole lot of time telling what the story's about, because you can find it in detail virtually anywhere, but it's an engaging family saga set in Tennessee's Smoky Mountains and centers around Myra Lamb, who has this mysterious effect on everyone around her. Growing in this mountain range is the bloodroot, a flower that produces a blood-red sap that has the power to both heal and destroy. Yes, there is much symbolism here, but some startling realism as well, amid the pain, poverty and primitive lives that are examined.

What I most like about this story is that it's one of those I've always been drawn to, where an intertwining group of characters progresses over decades -- and it is seamlessly woven through the years by the first-person accounts of these characters, which provides an authentic voice of an area and a people I know virtually nothing about. Although if you've seen "Winter's Bone," (which I really should have written up here at some point) even though that was set in the Ozarks, I found the two stories to have a similar tone.

One personal note: From my experience with this book, I'd recommend not reading ahead to see who helps tell this story, because I found it very cool to see who picks it up as I turn the pages -- this includes a perfectly written epilogue from a surprising character that emotionally and poignantly ties the story off with a, yes, satisfyingly unsatisfying bow ... if you will.

So maybe I'll add some book entries in the future, maybe not, but I felt this is worth a recommendation. It's really a mesmerizing story that tells of the power of home and the ability to rise above some of life's true horrors with love and strength of spirit -- while the lush, earthy descriptions and the haunting (or haunted?) fully developed characters give the story a tangible quality that is very much cinematic in scope and very much comes to life as you turn the pages.

Review: The King's Speech

Trailer 

"What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?" -- George Eliot (via Monica E. Smith)

It's a terrible thing to live in fear. But it's an entirely different thing to not only be unable to keep it private, but to have to face it on the global stage at a critical time in human history -- at which you are being looked to for leadership ... or weakness by your enemies.

This is the unenviable position Prince Albert (or "Bertie" and ultimately King George VI of England) finds himself in at the spectacular climax of "The King's Speech," and while we await what we know is coming, the journey to that point is incredible to watch.

Portrayed to perfection by Colin Firth, Bertie has been afflicted with a seemingly unconquerable stammer virtually all his life -- and after the death of his father, George V (Michael Gambon) and the abdication of his older brother, Edward VIII (Guy Pearce), the agonizingly reluctant Bertie accepts the crown, and does so when England is on the verge of declaring war on Germany, marking the dawn of WWII.

Let me just stop here to recognize Firth's performance, and to say that I can't imagine him not winning the Oscar for this role. From the opening minutes, when Bertie makes his heart-wrenching first speech at Wembley Stadium, Firth conveys every bit the fear, the embarrassment and the horror of being a regal figure with such an impediment, only to hear the mocking reverberations of his own stammer echoing throughout the stadium. Throughout the film, he displays a fully developed character, rich with emotions that also include humor, wit and charm, and we, too, are aware of the hours of preparation that were needed to master the evident technique that succeeds in portraying a realistic and not a hokey or exaggerated stutter.

Colin Firth and Helena Bonham Carter

But no great movie relies solely on one great character, and we have two outstanding supporting actors to ensure that this is also the case here. Helena Bonham Carter plays Bertie's supporting wife, Elizabeth, who is delightfully peculiar while demonstrating unequivocal love and sympathy for her husband's plight. She has seeked out specialists of all kinds to help her husband, and when none have panned out, she finds another.

This man is Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush), an Australian-born speech therapist who is also quite eccentric and offers his own unique brand of therapy to the short-tempered Bertie. What's critical here is that he's a "commoner," later we find him to be uncredentialed -- gasp! -- yet he's enlisted to help one who would be king. Lionel proves to Bertie early on that he may indeed be able to help, so the two proceed to have several very good scenes together, laying the foundation for what clearly is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. They work primarily, and colorfully, in Logue's drab home office, but proceed to a memorable sequence at Westminster Abbey as they rehearse for Bertie's coronation -- and Logue is with him to the end, when he delivers his speech that declares war and rallies his people behind him.

And what a flawless scene this is. I don't want to describe it fully, because the true experience lies in watching it play out, but with Elizabeth and Lionel by his side, Bertie's walk to the microphone is akin to one walking to his own execution; the microphone seemingly unveiled as an instrument of torture. And as he prepares to speak, and finally does, we're so emotionally invested in his journey to this point, the courage he's had to show, the myriad of agonizing challenges he's had to overcome -- combined with the support of his wife and the calming, silent coaching of Logue during this historic speech -- that I defy you to hold back your own emotion.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush

This qualifies as one of the most inspiring films I've seen, and what continues to astonish me, is that it's another in a countless number of stories based on real life in which some of us seem to be chosen to live lives fraught with hardship, turmoil and quiet desperation. And it never ceases to amaze me that these people rise above it, when others (me!) would have given up ages ago, even as problem after problem mounts and countless setbacks are endured. Here, as prime minister Stanley Baldwin informs Bertie upon his coronation that he's resigning because of the impending war and then stoically tells him that "your greatest test ... is yet to come ..." you wonder how much more the guy can take as he stares blankly ahead, breathing deeply as he contemplates what he's going to have to go through, and that there's no way out.

What I like about this story specifically, is that it acknowledges that we all feel utterly alone at times with our own crosses to bear, our own unique hand that is dealt and our specific role to play. Yet, we are all human beings, equal in that aspect, trying to make our way in this world -- and how often the solutions to our problems seem to be in each other.

Here, a commoner uses his gifts to help a king, so that he, in turn, can fulfill his role. It provides the unmistakable sense that we are all connected, no matter the class system of the day, and that we are meant to freely ask our fellow man for a hand in our lives even as much as we are meant to offer our own.

Review: The Indian Runner

Trailer

Every new child born brings the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. ~Tagore

I'm not sure if I should be more baffled by missing this film from the standpoint of being a Bruce Springsteen fan or a fan of movies in general, but somehow, "The Indian Runner" -- which came out in 1991 -- completely escaped my radar until recently.

For one thing, it marks the directorial debut of Sean Penn, who also wrote the script, but perhaps more glaring, it is inspired by Springsteen's "Highway Patrolman," which is one of those tunes I can never skip in the iPod when it comes on.

One of the primary reasons I like Springsteen's music so much is because of the cinematic qualities that so many of them convey. And every time I listen to "Highway Patrolman," there are scenes so vivid I've actually thought that it would make a great movie someday.

And so it did ... or has! Like the song, "The Indian Runner" involves two brothers: Joe Roberts (David Morse), who is the deputy sheriff of a small town, and his brother Franky (Viggo Mortensen). The two are close, but have completely different personalities. Joe has the ability to enjoy the simple things in life: his wife, his child, his job, his garden. Franky has been a lost cause all his life, consistently in trouble with the law before fighting in Vietnam. Upon returning home he is still unable to shake his perplexing anger at the world that fuels his violent tendencies and troublesome nature.

The movie is identical to the song at the beginning and the end, but takes liberties with what the story may have been in the middle. For me, the plot isn't as important here as the characters, and this is what makes the movie work.

Morse and Mortensen are both excellent, inhabit their characters perfectly, and are -- very satisfyingly, I might add -- the epitome of the characters I picture when I hear the song. Surrounding them is their quietly suffering father, who is played to subtle perfection by Charles Bronson, and Franky's girlfriend Dorothy (Patrica Arquette), who is wide-eyed, innocent and possibly led astray by her own romantic perceptions while seeing something in Franky others do not. Joe's wife Maria (Valeria Golino) and a surprising, yet ultimately critical, cameo of sorts by Dennis Hopper also lend rich support to the story.

The movie bears similarities to two of my favorites. Like "The Deer Hunter," it is set in the gritty, blue collar, small town that only those who call it home can love, and it bears a strong resemblance to "A River Runs Through It," where the older brother, who appears to have his life together, battles his own insecurities while being forced to watch his younger brother destroy his life because he doesn't know how to help.

This is not a perfect movie, and is not quite up to par with these examples, primarily because of its pacing. At a run time of over two hours, it easily could have lost a half hour or so in the middle. It tends to meander a bit and, at points, uses a hammer to deliver its message instead of a nudge. And from a selfish standpoint, there is a line in the chorus of the song where the two brothers are out at a bar "taking turns dancing with Maria" that I really wish would have made it into the film!

But there are few perfect movies out there, and these are but a few minor issues I have with it. It's not an easy movie to watch -- it's bleak, it's sad, it's depressing, it's tragic -- but it perfectly captures the tone of this song that I like so much, sometimes with affecting poignancy, and that in itself makes it a worthy tribute and a commendable filmmaking effort.

Highway Patrolman
By Bruce Springsteen

My name is Joe Roberts I work for the state

I'm a sergeant out of Perrineville barracks number 8

I always done an honest job as honest as I could

I got a brother named Franky and Franky ain't no good

Now ever since we was young kids it's been the same come down

I get a call over the radio Franky's in trouble downtown

Well if it was any other man, I'd put him straight away

But when it's your brother sometimes you look the other way

Me and Franky laughin' and drinkin' nothin' feels better than blood on blood

Takin' turns dancin' with Maria as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood"

I catch him when he's strayin' like any brother would

Man turns his back on his family well he just ain't no good

Well Franky went in the army back in 1965 I got a farm deferment, settled down, took Maria for my wife

But them wheat prices kept on droppin' till it was like we were gettin' robbed

Franky came home in '68, and me, I took this job

Yea we're laughin' and drinkin' nothin' feels better than blood on blood

Takin' turns dancin' with Maria as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood"

I catch him when he's strayin', teach him how to walk that line

Man turns his back on his family he ain't no friend of mine

Well the night was like any other, I got a call 'bout quarter to nine

There was trouble in a roadhouse out on the Michigan line

There was a kid lyin' on the floor lookin' bad bleedin' hard from his head there was a girl cryin' at a table and it was Frank, they said

Well I went out and I jumped in my car and I hit the lights

Well I must of done one hundred and ten through Michigan county that night

It was out at the crossroads, down round Willow bank

Seen a Buick with Ohio plates behind the wheel was Frank

Well I chased him through them county roads till a sign said Canadian border five miles from here

I pulled over the side of the highway and watched his taillights disappear

Me and Franky laughin' and drinkin'

Nothin' feels better than blood on blood

Takin' turns dancin' with Maria as the band played "Night of the Johnstown Flood"

I catch him when he's strayin' like any brother would

Man turns his back on his family well he just ain't no good

Review: The Woman in the Window

Trailer

"The Woman in the Window" has been on my list for a while, and I finally got around to watching it after having recorded it on TCM. And it did not disappoint!

Let me set the stage here.

Gotham College professor Richard Wanley (Edward G. Robinson) just kissed the wifey and kiddos goodbye as they left for a lengthy summer vacation, and he meets up with his buddies to kick off his freedom with dinner at the men's club.

Let me just stop right here and say these 1940's men's clubs are outstanding, and you can bet heavily that I'd be a regular. It's all so classy: Eating dinner and then adjourning to the lounge area for cigars, coffee and brandy in tall overstuffed chairs, surrounded by a library of books and hearths with roaring fires. I need to find these places.

But I digress ...

As Richard approaches the club, he notices an exquisitely painted portrait of a beautiful woman ... yes ... in a window, and is transfixed by it. His friends -- district attorney Frank Lalor (Raymond Massey) and Dr. Michael Barkstane (Edmund Breon) -- watch and chuckle as he stares at the portrait, and then give him some good-natured ribbing.

Later, after his friends have gone, Richard is awakened in one of those overstuffed chairs, as he was reading a book, with a glass of brandy (yes!) and makes his way out of the club. However, he's drawn to the painting once more, and as he's gazing at it, he sees the reflection of the very same woman in the glass. She is Alice Reed (Joan Bennett), and she's standing beside him on the sidewalk.

Having had a bit too much to drink, and fueled by conversations of being middle-aged and no longer being able to find the fun in adventure, Richard seizes the moment during the quite suggestive convo and agrees to accompany this captivating woman for more cocktails in the city and then a rendezvous at her apartment, where they are certainly enjoying themselves -- even though Richard knows better.

Alice:(Offering him a drink) Let's have another.
Richard: I should say no, I know, but I haven't the slightest intention of saying it.

Inevitably, things go horribly awry. Alice's apparent boyfriend comes storming in, fights with Richard and, well, ends up dead. The two cook up a plan to cover it up, and it's here this thing shifts into another gear and becomes unrelenting suspense.

Joan Bennett and Edward G. Robinson

There are parts where it feels very Hitchcockian -- like a great scene in which Richard is driving and nearly runs an old-fashioned red light, and he looks out the window to see a cop smiling at his close call ... only Richard knows how close a call it was. There are lines spoken here or pieces of information dropped there that, when they occur, you know they will come into play again later. The whole movie and its complexities are structured so well, it's just a prime example of flawless storytelling.

The film is a perfect companion piece to "Double Indemnity," which Robinson is also in but has the pleasure of playing a character with considerably less stress and anxiety -- the friend who unsuspectingly closes in on his buddy who is trying to get away with murder.

Here, that part is played by Massey's agonizingly analytical district attorney, who expertly begins to put his theories and the case together right in front of his squirming friend.

Massey: Now these two people, this man and this woman, sit ... hating and fearing each other. Each wondering how long it'll be before the other is caught and blabs out the whole story.

It's fascinating to watch this old-school deductive reasoning and logic at play here, without the CSI-style, DNA-gathering techniques we're used to seeing today. And it's equally fascinating to watch Richard -- who, I have to say, for a college professor makes some colossal blunders -- marvel at the police's expertise, get stuck in these hilariously distressing situations, screw up, try to cover up again and continue to plot and scheme his way out of this mess.

And just when you think things can't get worse for Richard and Alice, a blackmailer is introduced in the sleazy form of Heidt (Dan Duryea), who makes things even more miserable -- in some intense scenes with Alice -- but he also thrusts this story into overdrive toward the riveting conclusion.

Now, the ending ... I'm sure for its time it was quite a riot, and yes I got a kick out of it. But watching it today, I would have gone another way with it -- bending toward the tragically ironic and more befitting of the elegant Hitchcockian track it was on.

But overall, this is an absolutely entertaining film, and if you sit back -- maybe with some frosty Guinnesses as I did -- and let it all play out, you'll enjoy this movie immensely whilst leaning forward on the edge of your seat throughout ... guaranteed.

Review: The Secret in Their Eyes

Trailer

If you keep going over the past, you're going to end up with a thousand pasts and no future.

At its surface, "The Secret In Their Eyes," which won Best Foreign Language Film (Argentina) at the 2010 Academy Awards, appears to be a police drama, but as the story evolves it becomes a mesmerizing film that spans two decades, with emotional intertwining themes and rich, fully developed characters.

The film begins in 1999, 25 years after the brutal rape and homicide of 23-year-old newlywed Liliana Coloto (Carla Quevedo) went unsolved, due mainly to a corrupt legal system. The criminal investigator, Benjamin Esposito (Ricardo Darin), now retired, is still haunted by the case and the events surrounding it and, to cope, is attempting to write a novel about it.

He reunites with Irene Hastings (Soledad Villamil), his former supervisor on the case and with whom he was (is?) in love, to present to her his idea and notes for the novel. She is affected by the case as well, and neither has talked about it until now.

From here, the movie follows a two-themed track as it flashes back to the mid-70's and the characters involved attempting to solve the case, and flashes forward as they attempt to live in its aftermath.

For one, it's a detective story that primarily involves Hastings, Esposito and his alcoholic assistant, Pablo Sandoval (Guillermo Francella), an affliction rendered even more tragic by revelations of his keen mind, along with his sense of humor and genuine affection for Esposito. For such a heavy drama, the two share some very good comedic and lighthearted moments.

The detective track also introduces us to Ricardo Morales, Liliana's grieving husband, who is played thoughtfully by Pablo Rago. He is devastated by Liliana's death, conveyed through some heartwrenching scenes, and goes to obsessive lengths to find the killer and avenge his wife.

When we are introduced to the primary suspect, Isidoro Gomez (Javier Godino), it is done in a breathtaking scene that takes place during a soccer game and is filmed in a fashion I've never seen before. Forget the fact that they find the guy in a jam-packed stadium, it is so uniquely shot and suspenseful that it is quite memorable.

Soledad Villamil and Ricardo Darin (Sony Pictures Classics)

Intertwined with the police story, the film is also a story of unspoken love between Irene and Benjamin, and how the inability to acknowledge their feelings for each other dooms them to lives they may not have been meant to live. As a result, they seem forever caught in the past, and their only future is to live with the notion of how things should have been.

What I really like about this film is how the two different tracks reflect the same themes. As the case is reopened, also reawakened are the unspoken feelings between Benjamin and Irene; as the case -- chillingly I might add -- addresses the issue of "How do you live a life full of nothing," Irene is forced to answer this question based on her life choices ... to mention just a couple.

The two tracks are also full of subtle parallels that I love: A typewriter with a missing "A" key, an "irresistible smile" that is initially unforthcoming, doors that are strategically left open or decidedly shut, photographs with eerie similarities ... each of these, and more, neatly apply to and are revisited in both the detective story and the love story at precise points.

The movie is graphic, but not gratuitously so, and at times, some plotlines are a stretch. But it's a movie, and thanks to some well-crafted scenes, including one of perceived self-sacrifice, and the actors' intricate performances set against a gorgeous soundtrack, the ride up to the film's climax is both riveting and dreamlike.

And what a thrill the climax is, as the story is peeled back layer by layer in a series of enthralling revelations, including a bone-chilling twist that is both jolting and, on a deeper level, a resounding sentiment of the perils in making the past the present and, subsequently, wiping out any chance at a future.

Review: That Evening Sun

Trailer

"That Evening Sun" is based on William Gay's story "I Hate to See That Evening Sun Go Down," and the screenplay was written by Scott Teems.

I want to get that front and center, because the writing in this movie is outstanding.

What was written? A story about Abner Meecham (Hal Holbrook), an elderly Tennessee farmer who begins the movie in a nursing home, talked into staying there by his attorney son, Paul (Walton Goggins). Clearly he's miserable, and clearly he won't be staying because he walks out and begins to trek back to his farm in the steamy southern heat, before an opportunistic taxi driver takes him the rest of the way.

Upon his arrival, Meecham finds that his son has rented the farm to the Choats -- Lonzo (Ray McKinnon), Ludie (Carrie Preston) and their 16-year-old daughter Pamela (Mia Wasikowska).

Meecham's not pleased.

So Meecham stays.

If we couldn't tell by the start of this film, we know now that Meecham is as stubborn as they come, and he simply refuses to give up his property that he spent a lifetime building -- especially to the Choats. He squats in an old tenant shack and plans to stay until they leave or are driven out.

Holbrook is exceptionally good here. His brief Oscar-nominated performance in "Into The Wild" was vivid, raw and memorable, and he certainly has accomplished the same with this character.

Meantime, Lonzo's none too happy about the old man making himself at home on his new property. He's introduced to us as a proper redneck -- showing up in a pickup truck that barely runs, long hair and beard in full force ... a six-pack in tow. He reminds me of Dwight Yoakam's Doyle in "Sling Blade."

Some of the greatest dialogue in this movie comes when these two get to childishly jawing at each other.

Meecham: (Watching Lonzo approach him from the house) You even walk like it.
Lonzo: What's that?
Meecham: White trash -- you even walk like it (laughs to himself). It amuses me.
Lonzo: Must be great to be so funny.
Meecham: Helps pass the time.

Then ...

Meecham: How do you expect to keep a farm this size when you can't even keep the lawn mowed? You're in over your head, son.
Lonzo: Yeah, well we'll see about that ... stupid ol' coot. Hell, I'll just sit right here and outlive you, how bout that? (Takes a swig of beer). You're older than Moses anyhow, can't walk for sheeit, fallin' apart before my very eyes.

Hal Holbrook and Barry Corbin (Cooper Dunn/Dogwood Entertainment)

Clearly these guys need a voice of reason, and I found that to be in Meecham's neighbor, Thurl (Barry Corbin), who is excellent. We get some always appreciated old-man conversations between the two longtime friends, but they are interspersed with strategic glints of common sense Thurl throws at Meecham, who tends to be blind to it. Ludie also plays this part, if not moreso, having to talk sense into both Meecham and her husband, who are incapable of seeing what's coming down the road.

The fundamental problem here is that these guys are fighting over something that neither one of them can have. One thinks he can be a farmer, and the other thinks he can still be a farmer.

"That struggle gives them both purpose and also a distraction from the reality of their situation," says McKinnon.

As the movie progresses, however, a funny thing begins to happen -- we find ourselves thinking differently about these two guys than we did when we met them.

Initially, we root for the poor, helpless old man whose property was wrongfully taken away from him by the lazy, good-for-nothing, beer-swilling redneck. But curiously, we start to see that Meecham isn't all that good and Lonzo, while being terribly flawed and does some unspeakable things, is ruled by his own insecurities, anger and fear and is worthy of our sympathy.

This is subtly revealed to us in some very well-crafted scenes: An intimate talk between Lonzo and Ludie by the glow of the TV at night, and Meecham talking only to his dog -- who he adopted because it barked constantly and annoyed Lonzo -- about what put him in the nursing home and, more importantly, what made him leave.

And there's the scene where Meecham walks through his house alone again, playing an old familiar tune on the record player, reflecting on his late wife, seeing the haunting residue of pictures that once hung on the walls. We get the feeling he's not only mourning the loss of his house, but of his life overall ... getting a chilling glimpse of the way things are after we're gone and knowing that life goes on without you.

It sets the stage for a revealing conversation with his son, including:

Paul: There's nothing out there for you anymore, Dad. Things change. Life goes on. And you gotta go on with it.
Meecham: Life goes on, huh?
Paul: For those who let it.
Meecham: I'm an 80-year-old man with a bum hip and a weak heart. How much life you think I got left to go on with? I'm no fool, Paul. The road ahead ain't long and it ain't winding. It's short and straight like a goddamn poisoned arrow! But it's all I got. And I deserve to do with it as I please.

Things inevitably escalate to some pretty grim proportions, including a grisly retaliation by Lonzo, on whom Meecham called the cops because of a drunken rage against his wife and daughter. We see Lonzo's retaliation coming a mile away, but we don't anticipate Meecham's response, which is sickly hilarious.

The ending I thought to be a bit ambiguous, especially after what we see silhouetted in a raging fire that nicely turns this story on its ear. From there, the film somewhat dissolves into a series of images, while I was expecting a little more closure.

But if we let them simmer, it's in those images that we can piece together the rest of the story, and reflect on the decidedly unambiguous messages the film itself may convey.

Review: Harry Brown

"Harry Brown" is a revenge story starring Michael Caine. It's gritty, it's disturbing and it's violent ... but there's a lot to like here.

The movie is set in the London projects -- or an estate, as it's referenced in the film. Drug gangs run the property, dealing in the open and terrorizing the tenants -- the opening scene is particularly terrifying and brutal. I wondered how a guy like Caine's character would be living in a place like this to begin with. The setting provides a perpetual state of loneliness, despair and the grim realities of life ... the sky is always overcast. Perhaps that tells us something about Harry.

Things are not going well for Harry. His wife is dying, his only friend, Leonard (David Bradley) -- with whom he plays chess over pints of ale in a dingy bar, a drafty old place where it seems like you always have to leave your coat on -- is being terrorized by the gangs at the estate, and he's revealed to Harry that he plans to do something about it.

He does, and it's not really spoiling anything to say that he fails, because this is the impetus for Harry's descent into vigilantism. There's a remarkable, and quiet, scene that involves Len's funeral. A procession of black cars with a hearse at the front, the word "Grandpa" painted on the window, approaches the place Len is to be buried ... and passes by, revealing only Harry standing at Len's grave, with a priest who is administering Len's final blessings. Heartbreaking.

From here, I found similarities to "Gran Torino" and "Get Carter," which Caine also starred in. Like Clint Eastwood in the former, Caine plays an elderly castoff who believes in the old-school way of doing things, and he has a fierce pride about him that conveys the fact that he can still do those things. The latter is also a revenge story, where Caine plays a contract killer taking revenge for the slaughter of his brother (Great trailer here!). But in "Harry Brown," Caine plays a character with more redemptive qualities and as a victim of his situation throughout, even though he calls on his experience from his younger days in the marines to take his bloody revenge.

There are some very good scenes here, including an unbelievably tense sequence where Harry goes to buy a gun from some despicable dealers. As he goes deeper into the bowels of this property, you feel as if he's creeping closer and closer to the bowels of hell. But as the scene unfolds, you can see Harry's character changing from being a helpless, tired old man to using his skills and tactical thinking forged in the military to handle this situation with viciousness ("You failed to maintain your weapon, son ..."), and then grace.

Emily Mortimer and Michael Caine (Dean Rogers/Samuel Goldwyn Films)

Along the way, Caine makes the acquaintance of a couple of inspectors, particularly the lead inspector, Alice Frampton (Emily Mortimer -- Very nice to see her again!). She's inquisitive and intelligent, but conveys tenderness and sympathy as she investigates Len's death and, subsequently, the relentless crime at the estate.

Ultimately, Harry's actions merge with the detectives' investigation and the rising violence of the estate, and everything escalates to frightening proportions. I felt the movie meandered a bit near the end, pulling away from Harry's story in favor of more of a commentary on the crime situation overall, but there's an interesting twist, a tense standoff, and a sufficient payoff to close things out.

What really makes this movie is Caine's performance. You can just put him in a scene, alone, with virtually nothing to do but put jam on his toast and get dressed for the day, and it will be enthralling. You never worry that he's going to wander too far on the dark side, because he conveys a strong sense of morality -- even if only on his face -- throughout.

The only thing I find worrisome is the immense satisfaction I get as Harry tears through this animalistic and subhuman culture, wielding his own brand of cold, hard justice.

Late October Drive

Ran a few errands today and afterward ended up on a meandering afternoon drive.

Somehow the iPod knew we were cruising the country roads of rural Ohio, which provided some nice fall scenery under a heavy gray sky, because this random grab-bag of tunes that happened to come up (and when you see the list, you'll understand what I mean by random!) really fit the bill. Here's a playlist, in the order of the shuffle:

You're a Wolf -- Sea Wolf

'74-'75 -- The Connells

503 -- Angels and Demons Soundtrack

Black Dirt -- Sea Wolf

21 Guns -- Green Day

The Weary Kind -- Ryan Bingham

Thank You, Lord -- Roy Buchanan

Mansion on the Hill -- Bruce Springsteen

End of the Road -- Eddie Vedder

Highway 20 Ride -- Zac Brown Band

The Kiss -- Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack

Run -- Snow Patrol

Consolation No. 3  -- Franz Liszt

Prologue -- Lady in the Water Soundtrack 

Poisoned Chalice -- Da Vinci Code Soundtrack

Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean -- Explosions in the Sky

Help Yourself -- Sad Brad Smith

Miss Sarajevo -- U2 and Luciano Pavarotti

The End -- Pearl Jam

Dangerous -- Joshua James 

My Father's House -- Bruce Springsteen

Geese -- Joshua James

Goin' Home -- Dan Auerbach

Leaves in the River -- Sea Wolf

Soul and the Sea -- Joshua James

The Funeral -- Band of Horses 

The photos are just a couple scene-setters from around Springfield, John Bryan State Park and Yellow Springs, taken with the Blackberry Torch, which I have to say did a decent job.

Review: The Promise: The Making of 'Darkness on the Edge of Town'

I probably didn't need the opening notes of "The Promise" to let me know I'd like this documentary, but as it kicks off with the bare-bones chords of "The Promised Land" while a studio-fatigued Bruce Springsteen meticulously goes over each note, I undoubtedly knew I would.

This is an un-narrated documentary about the making of the album that followed up the smash hit "Born To Run," using both present and past interviews, studio footage and even some home movies thrown in. At its heart, it conveys the massive challenge it is to follow a hit album, along with Springsteen's obsessiveness and perfectionism that at times seems like a curse as well as a gift.

Like the album itself, the documentary is kind of an enigma. It's not disclosed whether the album was a success or not -- there were really no hit singles, although Rolling Stone ranked it #151 on its list of the 500 greatest albums of all time -- and it tends to deliver a sense of what this record MIGHT have sounded like, since it discusses the songs that didn't make it onto the record as much as, if not more than, the ones that did.

At its core, "Darkness" is about the heartland of America and the tough lives that are forged within it. It's clearly grittier, more stripped down and angrier compared to "Born To Run," but like that album, there's still that sense of hope lurking underneath.

"One of the elements that was so striking between 'Born to Run' and 'Darkness,' on 'Born to Run' you had the character saying, 'Baby we were born to run, we're gonna get out,'" says E Street Band drummer Max Weinberg. "In the ensuing three years between 'Born To Run' and 'Darkness' it was made painfully clear you can't just run away."

And so the documentary conveys the change in writing that this album brought about in Springsteen. He moved away from writing a pure rock and roll record and evolved into writing themes that are very cinematic in scope, dealing with loneliness, the hardened lives of blue-collar America and, as he puts it, "deep despair and resiliency." I always think of "Taxi Driver" or similar '70s movies when listening to the songs from this album, and guitarist/songwriter Steve Van Zandt makes a comparison to John Wayne in "The Searchers."

"It's a reckoning with the adult world, with a life of limitations and compromises," Springsteen says. "But also a life of resilience and commitment TO life, to the breath in your lungs -- how do I keep faith with those things, how do I honor those things?"

He goes on to say that "after 'Born to Run,' I wanted to write about life in the close confines of the small towns I grew up in. The success brought me an audience, but it also separated me from all the things I've been trying to make my connections to my whole life. And it frightened me because I understood what I had of value was at my core, and that core was rooted into the place I'd grown up, the people I'd known, the experiences I'd had."

This success was one "dark cloud" that was hanging over "Darkness." The other was a lawsuit between Springsteen and his former manager Mike Appel. Having signed himself over to Appel early in his career, he was essentially Appel's property and thus had to abide by certain requirements that prevented him from making his own decisions. It was a painful period, it cost him his friendship with Appel and significantly delayed the production of this album, leaving the fate of his band members in limbo.

"It was a lawsuit about control, who was going to be in control of my work and my work life," Springsteen explains. "Early on I decided that that was going to be me."

This very well could have been the impetus of this obsessive-compulsive nature we see from Springsteen. Throughout we are witness to his relentless writing and rewriting of songs with alternate verses/endings, and in one painful instance, spending weeks trying to capture the correct drum sound. What he heard in his head was unable to be accommodated by the studios of the day, which provided unnatural sound -- frustrating for a band that was trying to capture the sound of performing live.

But these painstaking processes also lead to some fascinating revelations. One involves the efforts to try to integrate the urban-sounding saxophone into an album with a rural focus. "Badlands," for example, initially didn't have that sax solo until they worked it out. Yikes ...

There's also a great segment regarding the song "Because the Night," the melody of which was written by Springsteen, who in turn gave it to Patty Smith because, being a love song, he says he was too "reticent" and "cowardly" at the time to finish it. Ultimately, it didn't mesh with the lone-wolf, unattached quality of the album, so Smith took it, made it her own, and it became her only hit song. (Cool to see Bruce "cover" his own song).

But we begin to see Springsteen's affinity for scrapping songs because they didn't fit the album start to take its toll. At one point we're told that with "Born to Run," roughly nine songs were written and eight made it to the album. On "Darkness," Springsteen had written, in various forms, an astounding 70 songs that were pared down to the 10 on the album. One of these was "The Promise," which to me sounds like it could be the flagship song of this album, but it was never finished because Springsteen "felt too close to it."

For a guy who says early in this documentary that he felt the need to "get everything you want to say out right now because you don't know if this will be the last record," this all feels very peculiar.

"It's really hard to write a good song," says Van Zandt. "For him to write good songs, possibly could've been hit songs, and to not put them out, put 'em aside, took an enormous amount of discipline and willpower. It's a bit tragic, in a way, cuz he would've been one of the greatest pop song writers of all time."

These words feel poignant when we see an absolutely outstanding rendition of Stevie and Bruce improvising the early stages of "Sherry Darling," which eventually made it to "The River." And I'm happy to say it resides on YouTube, so I encourage you to check this out here.




But what we clearly begin to see is that Springsteen had a vision for this record, and he didn't give in to the temptation to sacrifice that for something that may have brought immediate success but very well could have ultimately rung hollow in hindsight. And we take this to heart when the documentary finally gets to the point where Springsteen ruminates about the lyrics of a few of these tunes.

Darkness on the Edge of Town: Tonight I'll be on that hill 'cause I can't stop/I'll be on that hill with everything I got/Lives on the line where dreams are found and lost/I'll be there on time and I'll pay the cost.

These are the exulting words near the end of this song, obviously proclaiming the resiliency of the character in the face of despair, and Springsteen expands on it.

"It's not forsaking your inner life force, how do you hold onto those things, how do we keep those things, how do we do justice and honor those things?"

Factory: The paradox of earning a living that takes the life out of you. I always found this to be very compelling and haunting in a way, but never knew that it was inspired by his father, who lost his hearing at his factory job.

Racing in the Street: Another poignant ballad that asks how we carry our sins through life, but with a very cool anecdote here -- there was an early version that had no girl. If you listen to the lyrics, you'll wonder how that could ever have been the case. Springsteen shopped both around, including to Stevie, who advised, "Go with the one with the girl. That's what happens in life, two guys are pals, and the girl comes along, and that's it!" Classic.

As the film closes as it began, with the chords of "The Promised Land" being hammered out, Springsteen begins to discuss the lyrics behind this anthem as well. And as he does, he seamlessly evolves into discussing the theme of the album as a whole, a testament to his vision of including only the songs that perfectly fit within his desired framework.

"[It's a song about] your illusions of adult life and a life without limitation, which I think everyone dreams of and imagines at a certain point. The song that needs to be sung is the song about how do you deal with those things and how do you move on to a creative life, a spiritual life, a satisfying life and a life where you can just make your way through the day and sleep at night.

"That's what most of those songs were about."

**********

Rather than run the risk of feeling incomplete, it's important to note that this film should be regarded as part of the massive re-issuing of the "Darkness on the Edge of Town" album, coming out Nov. 16. It's a box set that includes the remastered album, never-before-seen studio footage and 21 unreleased songs, and much more. You can get all the details here.

Meeting Katz ... and dog! (Sort of ...)

I really hate missed opportunities, especially when they're out of your control. And no matter the measures you take to try to make something happen, and the signs you read that make you believe you can make it happen, the odds are so stacked against you that you still fall frustratingly short.

An incident such as this occurred a few days ago, and it's been nagging at me, so rather than stew about it, maybe I'll do a write-up on it and see if that proves to be more beneficial.

Our tale begins in October 2008, when I was still living in Chicago. Mom gave me a heads up about a book she was reading along with the author's blog that she was very inspired by. The book was "Dog Days," the author was Jon Katz and the blog was bedlamfarm.com.

Now, I have to say I was going through a rough patch at the time. I was massively in debt and unhappy with the way nine glorious years in that city somehow dwindled to a sense of aimlessness and monotony. A lot of factors were at play there, really, but I was basically in a miserable rut.

So when I took a look at bedlamfarm.com, I immediately connected with it. This was the first group of entries I read -- http://www.bedlamfarm.com/blog/2008/10/05/.

I've always been a dog person, so when I saw these photos of the border collies (Izzy and Rose) and the young black lab (Lenore) lounging in the fields of upstate New York, there was an undeniable sense of peace that emanated from these pages. Combined with some of the words and a very appropriate poem for my mindset at the time, I became intrigued about the blog and Mr. Katz in general.

I went back to the very first entry and, over time, began to read each one, and it started to feel like a good novel as you learn how he ended up on the farm and the adventures that preceded and followed that decision. What particularly hooked me are the entries that document the hospice work Katz was involved in, because they are some of the most profound and contemplative pieces you'll ever read.

It is here that I developed an affection for the charming and mysterious Izzy, who accompanied Katz on these hospice visits. Katz, who along with writing memoirs has delved into the nature of dogs to write some introspective books, has many times referred to dogs as being our sentinels or helpers, introducing us to people we may never have met otherwise, leading us through doors we may have never walked through.

And Izzy certainly backs this sentiment up, serving as nothing less than an angel for these people who are living their final moments on earth. The combination of Izzy's interaction with them and the amount of joy he brings, the relationships Katz forms and his thoughts on the subject of dying and dying with dignity is truly powerful stuff.

At its most basic level, this blog communicates that everyone faces indecision or pain or unfulfillment but it's how we respond that gives us life. I respect Katz's honest writing, his courage to write it, and his unwavering search for fulfillment in a world that at times seems to do everything it can to keep this unattainable. I don't really want to say the blog is a challenge, but maybe it's an example, to go out and claim the life you want and are entitled to amid all the nonsense.

A couple of months later, I moved back to Ohio to take care of the student-loan issues, reconnect with family and kind of reboot in a sense, and two years later I'm still happy with the decision, as hard as it was to leave Chicago.

------------

So when Mom and I heard that Katz was promoting his new book, "Rose in a Storm," on a tour that wound through Ohio and that he was bringing Izzy, of course we had to go. But as it drew closer, the realities of life interfered, rendering Mom too sick to travel, and my excuse, naturally, was a work schedule that conflicted with literally every stop he was going to make.

Oh well, we thought ... maybe next time. But like I said, I really hate missed opportunities.

Katz, his wife, Maria, and Izzy were scheduled to be at the Books & Co. at The Greene in Dayton at 7 p.m. on Monday for a reading, a discussion and a book signing. But I had to work at 7. Working in the baseball field (no pun intended), it's not an option to call off when the League Championship Series are being played! However, after we gave it up for Monday, my shift happened to be changed to 8 p.m.

Yes, I took that as a sign.

Living about 45 minutes away, I thought, I won't be able to stay for the discussion or the book signing afterward, but maybe they'll show up early and we can get a chat going, can hang with Izzy, maybe surprise Mom with a signed book, etc ... So, despite the 8 p.m. work shift, I jumped in the car around 5:30 and drove out there.

Unfortunately, the rigors of the book tour did not allow for an early arrival. They arrived precisely at 7, along with an autumn cold front that turned the sky a deep gray and brought with it an appropriately brisk and blustery wind.

I noticed Izzy first on the street below as they walked in from the parking lot, his bright white and shimmering black coat standing out against the rainy grayness outside, and as they came in downstairs, Izzy was immediately greeted by surprised customers. He truly is treated like a rock star, as Katz says on his blog, and people are really funny when they see him ... gushing and cooing and smiling as they try to pet him. And he accommodates them all.

As they made their way upstairs, I did at least have the chance to exchange pleasantries with Katz, who said he was happy to be here and genuinely looked it. He was energized, eager to chat and ready to roll, which immediately killed me because I knew it was going to be a great discussion to be a part of, and here I had to leave in 10 minutes to get back for work! Ugh ...

But Izzy then brushed past me, affording me the chance to kneel down and give him the ol' head pat/ear scratch combo, while Katz referred to him as "Mr. Popular." Izzy really is a special kind of animal, he looks you and everyone he meets right in the eye, despite appearing to be travel-weary -- it's kind of chilling in a way when you think of where he's been and the work he's done and the lives he's affected. There really is something mystical about him.

But sadly, the interaction ended there as the crew was whisked away into the back office to prepare. I lingered as long as possible, chatting with some nice people but already running the risk of being dreadfully late, and as they re-emerged and Katz and Izzy made their way to the podium and their fans, seated and happily waiting, I simultaneously had to back away and make my way down the stairs.

And as I proceeded to dejectedly walk toward the exits, I hear above me: "Well, we'd like to thank you for coming out on what's turned out to be a rather cold and rainy night ... but we have a very special guest tonight, actually two special guests! I think you all know who this guy is ..."

The sounds of delight from upstairs as Izzy was introduced were callously cut off as the door shut behind me ... and I made my way to my car in the cold and the dark.

Epilogue

For a couple days after that, I was mildly annoyed about the whole thing. I also lamented the fact that I didn't think to take proper photos, although I always feel like I'm invading someone's privacy when I do, but I really was bummed I missed out on what was apparently a lively and entertaining discussion. I wanted to talk about Katz's hospice work, I wanted to know how Warren is, I wanted to discuss the tour, the photography bug he's picked up and his writing processes ... I wanted to cap the night with drinks at The Pub.

And I started asking myself if I would have been better off if I hadn't made the effort at all, since the whole thing felt so unfulfilling as I drove home. But as the days go by, knowing that I at least created the opportunity to come away with a cool experience makes it feel worthwhile to an extent.

I really get frustrated when work interferes with life -- happens way too much -- or when things don't work out the way I want them to. But as is conveyed so often up there at Bedlam Farm, it really is up to us to be happy -- and if things don't exactly work out, then perhaps our joie de vivre can also reside in the noble efforts we make to obtain it.

-- Written at the Underdog Cafe in Yellow Springs, OH