I have several Friday 5s to catch up on. Here are two.
From April 27: Know When to Fold ‘Em
- What did you last place into a file folder?
I’m not usually very good about keeping things filed, but I’m trying to keep my space at work tidy, so I take a little bit of time each week for filing. The most recent thing was a couple of receipts for money orders. I pay my rent via money order. I keep the stubs for a year or so, just in case. - What do you know how to fold a piece of paper into?
Origami cranes, of course, but I can also do boats, the fortune-telling flip-flop thing, that triangle that makes WHAP! sounds, and a mobius strip. Why did the chicken cross the mobius strip? To get to the same side! - What’s your laundry-folding procedure like?
Okay. For reasons I don’t want to get into, I take my laundry with me when I visit my folks on Sundays. I can usually cram the whole week’s worth into my gym bag, but it works better if I fold the laundry. So all week, my dirty laundry piles up in my living room. Then Saturday night, I stack my work pants in a neat pile, fold the pile and put it in the bag. I next stack all my dress shirts, fold them neatly, and put them in the bag. Then my shorts and jeans similarly, then all my t-shirts the same way. Stack, then fold as one. Then my boxers. My socks just get shoved on top, then my bed linens if I decide to wash them.When I get to my parents’ house, I take each pile out, unfold it, shake the individual items loose, and start the machine. Yes, I do not separate my items because I just don’t have enough laundry for that.When it’s clean and dried, I put everything back the same way. Stack, then fold as one. When I get it home a couple of hours later, it comes out of the bag and then hung. I hang everything except my socks. Dresser drawers do not work for me; I’ve given up on them completely, at least for now. Instead everything is put on a hanger and hung on a rod in my living room. Socks go into a gift bag I keep next to my desk, since I sit at my desk to put my socks and shoes on each morning.
Yes. I live alone. Why do you ask?
- When do you next expect to invite someone into your fold?
The next Camp NaNoWriMo is in July, and we Honolulu writers usually welcome at least one new person to the evening Skype sessions. That’s probably the next time I expect to welcome anyone new to any of my folds. - When have you slept on a foldaway bed?
When we were kids, we had a foldaway bed for our friends’ use whenever someone slept over. It was such a novelty that we loved being allowed to sleep on it when visiting relatives took our beds. That was a very long time ago. I’ve slept on many folding futons as an adult while visiting friends. When i lived in Hilo, my regular bed was a nice folding mattress I put on the floor of my closet so the rest of my bedroom could be for desk space. After two years of sleeping on it, it was pretty flat and no longer comfy. I have a folding futon in my living room that I never use anymore. The futon has worn thin enough that I can feel the slats of the pallet right through the mattress. I plan to get a new one in the next year or so. The last time I slept on it was maybe ten years ago. Maybe longer.
This one from April 5: Aloon Again, Naturally
- With which Looney Tunes character do you have the most in common?
You know what? I hate Tweety. But I think it’s Tweety. Every optimistic. Passive but safe. Naive. How do I even stand myself? - Who or what are your metaphorical Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote?
My metaphorical Road Runner is literary success, on which I still haven’t given up hope. Of course, I’m not pursuing it as doggedly or as single-mindedly as Mr. Coyote (Genius). My Wile E. Coyote is death, at least for now. Can’t catch me, Mister Death! Oh wait, I’m changing my first answer. My Road Runner is a good night’s sleep! - What’s up, doc?
Attended my friend Momi’s doctoral dissertation defense today. She did a great job, and I was really proud. I’m suuuper tired right now (slept great Friday and Saturday nights, but terribly Sunday and Monday nights) but seeing if I have enough in me to have dinner with her and her (new) husband while they’re still in town. I’m not thrilled about the husband part, but for the sake of this friendship whatever. And now that she’s not still working on this doctorate, she doesn’t need to come to Manoa from Hilo anymore, which means who knows when I’ll get to see her again? Ugh. I think I just talked myself into it. - When did you last hear some opera music?
Man, that’s a good question. It’s been quite a while. Maybe when I saw Renee Fleming with the Honolulu Symphony, which was more than ten years ago. That can’t be right, but maybe it is. - What’s a good life lesson you learned from Looney Tunes?
Watch where you point that thing, and I shoulda made that left toin at Albakoykee.
It’s September 30, 1975 in a small Texas town not far from where James Dean once filmed Giant, and it’s the twenty-year anniversary of Dean’s death in a car accident. The all-female James Dean fan club in this town reunites in the old Woolworth’s store where they used to meet. Some have been in regular contact, while others haven’t been seen in a very long time.
The narrative switches between 1975 and 1955, with Altman using a mirror and some camera tricks to indicate the time segues. At first it’s a neat effect, but it becomes tiresome about midway through. The entire film does the same thing. What starts as a bunch of interesting characters and impressive acting becomes a your-turn-my-turn exchange of revelations and overwrought delivery that might have played well on stage but is exhausting on screen. After the first ninety minutes, I just wanted it to end already.
The Oakland Athletics beat the Baltimore Orioles Saturday, putting them one game over the .500 mark. I have a feeling that’s the way the season’s going to be. A few games over, a few games under, and hopefully a game or two over by season’s end. It’s a good team. It’s just not good enough, and I don’t think it’s for lack of talent. I think the team just needs to play together for a full season. The same guys next year, I think, will be a contending team.
Lava is fountaining out of the streets in a neighborhood in the southeast section of Hawaii island. This volcano has been erupting for 35 years, and it has wiped out entire communities, beloved landmarks, and historic buildings. But that’s been lava running down the slopes, creeping wherever it will, sometimes into the sea, sometimes over barren plains of hardened basalt, and sometimes right through neighborhoods.
On a budget of three million dollars, A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge made just shy of thirty million dollars at the box office. While that’s far from blockbuster status, its investors probably didn’t complain about that kind of return, which explains the nine films in this series. They don’t have to be gigantic: they just have to be big enough.
Except for Robert Englund in the title role, none of the actors returns for this one, which is set in the same house in the same town. Five years after Nancy Thompson defeated Freddy Krueger, Jesse Walsh and his family move into the Thompsons’ old house. Jesse has nightmares of being stalked, of course, and he discovers the diary where Nancy recorded her dreams.
About midway through the movie’s eighty-five minutes, I was struck with a weird sense that this movie was more thoughtful than it needed to be. I expected something slightly less than its predecessor, since that was written by Wes Craven, a person whose name I know, while this was written by David Caskin, whom I had never heard of.
I admired Destin Daniel Cretton’s Short Term 12, largely for its character-driven approach, realistic portrayal of life in a juvenile care home, and excellent acting by Brie Larson. Something about the director’s style appeals to me, and I’ve since become an even greater admirer of Larson, who won a Best Actress Oscar for her excellent performance in Room.
More than anything, Rex Walls (Woody Harrelson) cherishes his freedom. While he’s more than capable of earning an honest living, he and his wife Rose Mary (Naomi Watts) love being able to get into a car and go anywhere, whenever they want, and set up temporary homes wherever they can find some space. Sure, these moves are often spurred by mounting debts the family has no hope of repaying, but they do a good job of communicating to their kids that as long as they have the stars at night, each other all the time, and freedom from obligations, they’re pretty wealthy.
This is really the story of how Jeannette—clearly her father’s favorite, at least as this story is told—grows through stages of relating to and understanding her father. I find it a satisfying arc, although whether you will find it satisfying probably depends on how strongly you condemn Rex. Many critics seem to believe that Rex’s offenses are too great for any kind of redemption, let alone the weakly granted redemption he’s given. Since the film is told through Jeannette’s eyes, I say there’s a place where maybe we don’t feel at all satisfied for Jeannette and her siblings but can accept that they’re satisfied themselves. This is their father, and what good will it do any of them not to forgive?
Nim is an eleven-year-old girl living alone with her father on a tiny, remote island in the Pacific. Her father Jack is a marine biologist searching for a new species of protozoa. Jack’s boat is hit by a huge storm while on a short expedition, and Nim is left to wonder what’s happened to him. With help from her pets on the island (a bearded dragon and a sea lion), she fends off an Australian tour company looking to turn her island into a resort, but when things get rough, she reaches out to her favorite author, an adventurer named Alex Rover, for help.
This kids movie is too cutesy by about half, but this can be forgiven because of the filmmakers’ creativity and conscience in telling an interesting story about a tweener who’s neither a helpless baby nor a grownup in a kid’s body. Yes, she’s smart because she has been raised by a smart father, and yes she’s tough because she’s lived her whole life doing things for herself. But she’s also scared, not because she can’t take care of herself, but because where the heck is her father?
Where it falls short for me are where Levin and Flackett go to moviemaking shorthand in places where it’s senseless and unnecessary. I’m no vulcanologist, but I suspect the volcano on Nim’s island behaves in a decidely unrealistic way, which perhaps I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t a movie about a girl whose parents are scientists. And there is a scene at what is supposed to be the airport on Rarotonga that is straight out of movies from a less enlightened time, including chickens in bamboo cages and a gate attendant with a heavy Asian accent.
One neat trick the directors employ is to let us see what the world looks and feels like to Alexandra, then to show us what it’s like to everyone else. Why not frame the silly exaggerated primitiveness of the Rarotonga airport as Alexandra’s perception, then show us what it really looks like?
They took some vitals. I was fine, cold-wise, but my BP was off the chart. We’re talking in the 210s. The doctor asked me a bunch of questions. Do I drink? Yes, but not more than a couple of beers per week; usually a couple of beers every other week. Do I exercise? Yes, but not very strenuously. I walk about 40 miles per week (81,500 steps per week back then). History of high BP in my family? Yes. But no history myself. I’ve never hit numbers above normal.
How well do you sleep? my doctor asked. I’ve had sleep issues all my life. How many hours do you usually get? Um. Five and a half to six? Why so few? Because I’m immature and irresponsible. Do you snore? Like a madman, although that wasn’t always the case. Do you wake up gasping for air? Yes, pretty often. Do you wake up with headaches? Frequently.
A few days later, I had a machine, a small thing you plug into the wall, about the size and shape of a loaf of pumpernickel. Connecting the device to a mask covering my face and mouth, a long plastic tube. There’s a reservoir for water, so the air going into my lungs is humid enough not to dry me out.
As part of Camp NaNoWriMo I’m finally reading Stephen King’s On Writing. I don’t read many books about writing because I don’t want to be one of those people who reads about writing and talks about writing more than he actually writes. But I do need a spark lately, and this has been good for it.