Books: One Last Thing Before I Go by Jonathan Tropper (2012)

Back in 2009, I read Jonathan Tropper’s fifth novel This Is Where I Leave You. I enjoyed that enough to go out and read his four previous novels. But as I read the last one sometime in 2010, I realized that Tropper could be categorized under “Lad Lit,” a sort derivative take on the popular female authors who get called “Chick Lit” writers. Both, in a way, are insulting, yet both styles cover somewhat the same ground, with dysfunctional families and main characters that have sitcom wit when it comes to zingers.

This is not bad, because not every book you read (or I read) has to have some literary weight behind them. After all, I love Stephen King and most, if not all his novels, are considered pop-fiction. And only on occasion, do I veer off into the literary fiction of say Michael Chabon (and while I own a copy of highly acclaimed 2001 novel The Corrections, I’ve still yet to crack it open).

I do believe that This Is Where I Leave You to be his best comedic book, so I was hoping that what he started in that novel would continue into One Last Thing Before I Go. While I liked it, I found myself irritated by it as well. The main character, Drew Silver (who apparently only goes by the name of Silver –even his family calls him that. Who does this?) is so unappealing, so depressed and so irritating, I cannot understand why anyone –even his own father, a rabbi, wants to spend time with him.

The plot has Silver being a divorcee, a former one-hit-wonder rock star, a bad father, a bad husband, a bad friend, yet somehow makes everyone love him all the more. As if his life wasn’t complicated and messed up enough, he develops a tear in his aorta that is life-threatening unless surgically repaired. But Silver, being the life-long screw up that he is, isn’t sure that he wants to have the surgery that will save his life. His daughter, who is eighteen and off to Yale at the end of summer, gets pregnant by the neighbors’ son. He is in love with a girl with whom he has never spoken and who plays acoustic sets at the local bookstore café. The highlight of his day is when he ogles college-aged girls lounging around the pool near his apartment, The Versailles, a place where divorced men go to become fat and depressed.

Part of my problem with the book, beyond the whole sitcom-ish aspect where people have unbelievable banter, is I saw myself in Silver. Being unemployed for a year sort of makes you look at life in a very depressive way, and Silver (as in silver lining the tear offers) now has a choice, either to continue on with his troubled life that seems not to be getting better, or let nature take its course. Maybe if one is depressive, they should avoid this book?

Tropper was working on a new drama for Cinemax called Banshee, and maybe trying to write a book and launch a series divided his time too much. Somewhere during the writing process of this book and getting a series commitment, the book fell between his earliest work, because while it does have some moments, it nowhere near where he landed with This Is Where I Leave You.

Books: The Shining by Stephen King (1977)

In the summer of 1980, when I was 17 and finished my junior year of high school, I stumbled upon Stephen King. I was not sure then or even now, if I was aware of him. Much of the early parts of the 1970s remain stored away in my brain. It’s funny, in some ways, how much I don’t remember my childhood, versus King, who is obsessed with his time as child, growing up in post-World War II 1950s where everything seemed full of possibilities. 

 

Of course King’s life was never easy, being brought up by single mother after his father abandon the family. Still, it seems, those halcyon days spark a lot of his fiction.

Anyways, I picked up a paperback copy of The Stand (that was, at the right, the original mass market version) at the Eagle Grocery Store my mom shopped at. After the break-up of her second marriage, money was tight and mom –always a frugal shopper learned during the time after the death of my father in 1968- needed to shop economically, as three of her four children were still living at home. Sure, Jewel and Dominick’s were well shopped, but Eagle (and Butera) offered food cheaper.  

Since I earned an allowance, I decided to buy the King book (it was probable all of 3.95 or 4.95 back then, but I also think Eagle discounted the books maybe 10%). As I’ve mentioned before, the mass market version of The Stand was something like 817 pages (why this memory stays planted in my head, while others don’t, is odd, don’t you think?), which would be the longest book I had ever read since I graduated to novels in middle 1970’s – I do remember reading Jaws and some of the Bantam Star Trek novels that came out then –mostly because I wanted to emulate my older brother. So that would have been around 1975 and making me about 12 then; not sure I understood some the whole meanings of those books.  

I remember loving that book, and have since then read it a few more times and at least twice when King released the expanded version in 1990. But after I read The Stand, I went back and got ‘Salem’s Lot, which I read next and then The Shining –which I wanted to finish before the movie version came out at Christmas 1980 (which was and still is a huge disappointment for me. Still, just recently, I was reading an article on Kubrick's film version and got a better understanding of why he did what he did by deviating from the novel so much). Funny part, it was well a year or two later before I got around to King’s first book, Carrie. 

So why did I pick-up The Shining thirty-two years later and re-read it again? I’ll admit part of the reason is that King will be releasing a sequel this January. I wanted to re-familiarize myself with the Torrnace family, even though I still remember the basic structure of the book.  And part of me is curious if the forth coming Doctor Sleep will revisit some of the hopes and dreams his mother Wendy had for Danny 35 years ago when The Shining hit the bookstores. 

I mean, when King and Peter Straub released Black House in 2001, which was the sequel to their 1984 novel The Talisman, it was designed to be very stand-alone-ish. The readers of Black House did not have to read the first book to understand the sequel –even though, in many ways, Black House seemed more of a continuation of his King's own Dark Tower series (events in that book effected the later series).

I still think The Shining represented some the clearest understand of psychology of terror that King became enamored with during that period – much like ‘Salem’s Lot and The Stand, were as well. It’s some of his best writing he did before the 1980’s where alcoholism and drugs tempered his abilities. Yes, he’s a pop-fiction writer, but he knows pacing, has a way with words and languages and understands the human condition better than most writers of the last 40 years. 

Long before I finished this book, I began to wonder who King would bring back for Doctor Sleep. The novel is set 35 years later, meaning Danny is 41. His mom Wendy could be, theoretically, still alive. Dick Hallorann could be too. He’s 61 in The Shining, so he would be 96 in this sequel. I wonder, like Paul Edgecombe in King’s The Green Mile (who got something from John Coffee), can people with this shining live longer? But it’s possible that Dick is long dead, and so, maybe his mother.

The plot, however, may seem to indicate that Dan is all alone:

The sequel has Dan Torrance as a middle-aged man who drifted for decades in an attempt to escape his father's legacy, and who has eventually settled in a New Hampshire town, working in a nursing home, where his remnant mental abilities provide comfort to the dying. With the aid of a cat that can foresee the future, Dan becomes "Doctor Sleep." But he encountered Abra Stone, who has the shining even more powerful than Dan’s, he must protect her from the vampire-like people known as The True Knot.

Question of the Day

Why does this

Remind me of this??

 

Asleep

Seven years later

I left my apartment at about 3:15 am -early Sunday morning on August 28th 2005. I was moving to California from Forest Park, a suburb of Chicago. I was trying to start over, even though I was going to continue working for Borders and would be farther into the 'burbs of LA than I was from Chicago. Of course, at the time, beyond knowing my house mate Bill, I knew no one. But I had hoped that my time at Borders and living in La Verne would be short. Of course, I ignored my own history, but that's the way I operate.

My parents wanted to come with me, share the driving. But I said no, this was something I needed and wanted to do. Even though I had been standing pretty much on my own for a long time, to me this move was designed to really show people -because some suspected that I was spoiled by my mother- I can live and be on my own, cut-off from family.

I drove and drove. That was one of the other reasons it I wanted to do it alone. I wanted to get to California as quickly as the U-Haul pulling my car could get there. So I chugged on Interstate 55 south towards St. Louis. I passed the Illinois state capital of Springfield about 3 hours later. A few hours after that, I passed onto Interstate 44 through St. Louis, waving at the giant arch there, and then into Missouri. I continued on and on, the road passing beneath my wheels, kicking up stones and debris.

I had music, but it was on a boombox, so it was just CD's. Still, I was bored. The weather outside was warm as I drove south, but keeping the windows open on caused drag, which would bring my mileage down. Running the air conditioning did this as well. So I drove shirtless -which turned out to be a mistake, as the windshield of the van reflected the sun onto my stomach and lower half of my chest. So I ended up with a bit of sunburn. 

Anyways, my relentless desire to get to my new home drove me to continue driving. So as I said goodbye to Missouri, and wandered into Oklahoma, I began wondering where I should stop and when. My older brother mentioned to me that I could sleep in a Walmart parking lot, as this was apparently allowed. And as I drove -stopping only for gas, food and peeing- I saw a many Walmart's along Interstate 44. 

But I plowed on. But as I drove through Oklahoma City and onto I40, I realized I was exhausted and had been on the road for nearly 17 hours. As I passed the city limits, I saw a Walmart and finally pulled over into it. I got out the van, achy, tired and hungry. After eating some Mickey D's, I wandered through the huge store for about a half hour, before retreating back to my van. 

As I tried to get some sleep, I faced a conundrum. It was still very warm in Oklahoma, so I had to keep the windows open a bit, but I feared leaving them wide open could lead to problems. So as darkness settled in, at about 8.30 that night, I began to snooze. It would be a restless, warm sleep (though I had earplugs, so I was able to block out the noise of the parking lot plus the traffic noise coming from the 40) but I would be able to get a few hours of much needed rest.

I slept for a about 4 hours straight before I began catnapping. And after trying to get a more deeper sleep, and failing at that, I finally decided at 3am on August 29th to continue my journey.

Trudging back onto interstate 40, I looked to the Western sky knowing a few more states and a 1,000 plus miles still laid ahead. As the dawn chased me, I eventually left Oklahoma behind me and entered into northern Texas. The only thing of note in that state, was Amarillo, otherwise this part of Texas was a wasteland of farmlands. Like driving through Nebraska on I80, this part of I40 was dull, boring and reminded me of a post-apocalyptic world. Thankfully, unlike Nebraska, my time in Texas was short and I crossed into New Mexico and entered into Mountain Time.

From there, I40 took me through many small towns that resembled the many small towns I passed through when I began my journey. Luckily, when I needed gas and food, I generally stopped at truck stops, as it was less creepy for me (I brought a nice club with me, just in case, and kept it in the cab of the van). As I began to rise up and up as the Rocky Mountains were near in my future, I passed through Albuquerque and eventually onto Gallup, where lack of sleep and hunger made me stop for the night at around 6pm. It was also there, I saw footage of what Hurricane Katrina did to New Orleans. Life went on, as I traveled, I realized, and because I was listening to CD's, never turning on the van's radio, I did not know how damaging the storm became. 

Once again, though, I camped out at a Walmart parking lot. 

While I did get some more sleep that night, I still ended up waking again and again. Sadly, this was rather typical of me even at home. I would zonk out, falling into a deep, REM sleep, only to wake up thinking its hours later only to realize that I've been asleep for 3 hours. But I had five more hours to go!

Anyways, once again, at about 3am on August 30, I left Gallup, New Mexico and headed west towards Arizona. I arrived in Flagstaff just as the sun was rising. I stopped and fueled up -it was a brisk morning as I was in the mountains now. I had also worried, with me pulling my car, this would be the most difficult passage to California. But fortune favored me, and while it was slow, I passed through with no trouble. 

I rolled on, determined to reach La Verne today. But the worse part of any trip, maybe, is usually the last league. I mean, I was tired and began to notice I was retaining water, as my feet and ankles were swollen. I had been driving barefoot anyways, and wore flip-flops when refueling and eating, so I noticed it rather early. But knowing I was close to my new home, I just wanted to finally get there.

I knew this most difficult part of the trip was now at hand. As I entered California, I also met the Mojave Desert. It's looks nice at first, but you begin to remember stories -mostly from old western movies and TV shows- where this desert played a major part in the death of many folks heading out west to start a new life and I prayed to whatever God I believed in, that nothing major would happen here. Then, of course, you realize that its nothing but scrub and sand for hundreds and hundreds of dull miles. I would think most people died of boredom than the elements, honestly. Thankfully, nothing did happen to the moving van -it was running perfectly. But as I noted,  I was retaining a lot of water (I brought a gallon jug with me, but I had only consumed about half of it after three days), and with my constant foot on the gas pedal (no cruise control) my right leg began to bounce and vibrate. It became so uncomfortable, so distracting, I eventually pulled off the road and got out of the van. 

It was strange feeling, my right leg. While driving I felt it might detach itself like some booster rocket on the space shuttle, but as I got out -I literally jumped out of the U-Haul once I safely on the side of the road- I paced around the moving van like a caged lion, back and forth, around and around.

So for 15 to 20 minutes I stood or moved around the gravel on the side of I40 in the desert of California. I took note of how empty it was, wondering about the men who had to build the road to begin with -how did they deal with the emptiness and unrelenting heat, not to mention what ever insect and animal life lived here.

Eventually, feeling the blood moving through my right leg, I climbed back into the moving van and headed further west, towards Barstow, where I would pick up I15. As I approached the junction, I remembered back to late 1990 when I decided to move from Chicago to San Francisco. While it was only a brief stay there -I moved back in November of 1992- I reflected on the last thirteen years living back in Illinois, and how much I hated living there and wanted so much to return to California. Here was I15, which I could take north and would take me directly to the Bay Area. As I passed onto the south bound 15, I remember smiling. Mostly, because I knew I was never going back to Chicago to live. I was -and still am- determined to stay here.

So as the morning of the 30th gave way to the afternoon, I continued to drive south on the 15 freeway towards Los Angeles. The 210, just barely completed when I arrived, awaited me (as a matter of fact, some parts of the 210 past the 15 were still incomplete, and that's where some of the first Transformer movie was filmed in late 2005 and early 2006). That was good, as the 10 freeway can be busy and difficult. 

It was around 4 pm when I arrived on the 210 westbound. I was in the homestretch and I could not wait to arrive. Then I exited the freeway on Fruit Street and a few minutes after that was at my new home in La Verne. I traveled 2,084 miles in about 63 hours. I was exhausted, bloated like a whale, but happy. 

The only thing I unpacked was my bed, and quickly set that up. Took a much needed shower, and went out to dinner with Bill. Despite my problems sleeping in strange places, I slept fairly well the first night.

So here I sit seven years later. While I'm still happy I moved, my life is in the same position it was in 2005. And as I turn 50 in a little over 2 weeks from now, I hope the next chapter in my life turns out to be better than this last year alone.

Random Judas Kiss pics taken by me

 Timo Descamps

Richard Harmon

Director JT Tepnapa, Sean Lockhart, Timo Descamps and Genevieve Buechner

Jeans

Basic Rocket Science

Farewell Neil Armstrong

I'm not sure I remembered the actual moon landing on July 20, 1969. But I know what was wrought that day.

Sadly, that July 20th was remember as the year anniversary of my dad's death. I had a lot of emotional issues dealing with that passing. Most, if not all, is buried somewhere in my brain, hidden away to be forgotten. I was 6, that July (two months shy of good old number 7). And while most kids can remember some their years before their first decade, mine is lost. I have bits, some flashes of those years, yet most of the time I consider them unreliable. Much of my dad's life before my birth and up to the time he died have been recounted to me many times by my Mom and my Uncle Harold (who is not my real uncle, but I've known him all my life). I'm not sure what is mine and what is their stories.

So is with Apollo 11 and Neil Armstrong's steps on the moon. My older brother was obsessed with the Apollo stuff and kept a scrap book of newspaper clippings. I remember that because he kept it for such a long time, well into his teens. I'm not sure if he took it when he moved out, or whether it's still somewhere in my Mom's attic. Still, that scrap book was a great reminder of time, sadly, now long gone.

History shows that the moon landing was -mostly- a race to beat the Russians to that celestial place. And after the murder of President Kennedy, who supported the notion of going there, it became the goal of keeping a dream alive. Sure, all those people who strapped rockets to their backs in preparation for it were adrenaline junkies, but they were also smart. They had the sense of adventure and knew what they were doing could kill them. It was that fear, in many ways, was why they did it.

And for the generations of boys and girls who watched Armstrong step on the moon and proclaim that this was "One small step for man; one giant leap for mankind" he help ignite the fire of science, discovery and wonder that helped land the Rover Curiosity on Mars on August 5.

But Armstrong, despite his place in history, was until his death today at the age of 82, an intensely private man. “I am, and ever will be, a white socks, pocket protector, nerdy engineer,” he said in February 2000 in one of his rare public appearances. “And I take a substantial amount of pride in the accomplishments of my profession.”

Whether he was comfortable with his legacy or not Armstrong, and the others that went to the stars on the idea that this final frontier was worth it, will be longed remember for that historic landing on July 20, 1969.

I remember what the hopes of nation were some fifty years ago when President Kennedy proposed the moon mission: "We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the others, too"

We've lost a lot of that spirit since then. And even today, with no planned manned missions in the near future, we seem now more than ever land locked to this blue ball. But some 43 years ago, we came together as nation to watch Neil Armstrong step on the Moon. He'll never be forgotten, even a 100 years from now, he'll be remembered as the man who set us on the path to stars.

And when the space missions come back -as they are  bound to do- we'll sit here watching -maybe on a starship called the Armstrong, and asking course directions. And the astronaut shall say:

"Out there. Thataway."

Redux: Judas Kiss 5

 On location at the University of Washington, day

 On location at the University of Washington, night

 On location at a private home in Seattle

Set Photographer Shawn Anderson, who took all the photos I've posted this week. Click the link on his name for more of his work.

Books: Last Night in Twisted River by John Irving (2009)

I have no doubt that John Irving is a brilliant writer. Some have compared him to a modern day Charles Dickens. His ability with words, his way of dealing with a nonlinear plot extraordinary, and while I’ve not read every book he’s published –this will be the sixth out of the thirteen he’s published that I’ve read- Last Night in Twisted River reflects how maddeningly difficult he can be as well. 

It’s a story within a story that shows the development of a novelist and the writing process. It begins in 1954, in the cookhouse of a logging and sawmills settlement in northern New Hampshire. Danny is an anxious twelve-year-old, who lives with his widowed farther. One night he is awoken to odd sounds coming from his father’s room. Still not fully awake, he sees his father having sex with the local constable’s girlfriend, but in his still sleepy eyed state, he thinks a bear is attacking his father; with a large skillet, he accidentally kills the woman. Now both the twelve-year-old and his father become fugitives, forced to run from Coos County–to Boston, to southern Vermont, to Toronto–pursued by the implacable constable. They do have one friend, a lone protector who is a fiercely libertarian logger named Ketchum. Once river driver, Ketchum keeps Danny and his Dad, Dominic, up to date on the goings on in Twisted River. 

In the early part of the book, Irving does capture the turbulent times, with its mixture of violence and camaraderie that marks the lives of these tough men and a few even tougher women, French Canadian immigrants and Indians, anyone who wants or needs to work miles from civilization. Life, and death, is a way of life in Twisted River, as the book opens with the tragic loss of a 15 year-old boy, who slips on the wet logs and drowns (this sets up a mystery that's pursued much later).

Still, the book takes forever to get going –and I might be even tempted to say it never gets above five miles an hour. Part of the problem is the focus of the novel; Danny, who becomes this weary kid who grows up to be a successful writer (which brought to mind what teachers of writing tell their students: write what you know. Stephen King is another writer who has a tendency to create characters who just happen to be writers). I know Irving has said many times that his novels are not autobiographical, yet you can’t help but think that Danny seems to have the same arc as author did. In this book, Danny went to Exeter College, he worked as an art model and he studied with Kurt Vonnegut at the University of Iowa Writers' Workshop, just like John Irving. Danny also publishes a couple of moderately successful novels in his 20s, just like John Irving. His fourth book is an international bestseller that's made into a popular movie, much like what happened to Irving with his World According to Garp novel. Also, Irving –via through Danny it seems- takes swipes at reviewers who take notes that Danny (and Irving) reuses the same themes again and again.

It’s very Meta at times.

This is perhaps the dullest of the six novels I’ve read by him, but there still are some great parts in the book –the first half especially. Once the novel moves out of Twisted River, it wanders too much and that slows the book down to crawl. The villain, if can call him that, is the Sheriff (also known as the Cowboy) who still peruses Dominic for the death of girlfriend, is sort of gut-less and hateful bigot. Yet not hateful enough where the reader feels any dislike for him or his eventual fate. The book is somewhat redeemed later, but it’s still better than a lot of other stuff that gets released these days.

Redux: Judas Kiss 4

 Sean Paul Lockhart rests between shots on JUDAS KISS

 Timo Descamps reads between shots with a Voss Water -a sponsor for JUDAS KISS

Richard Harmon and Genevieve Buechner hide from the hot Seattle sun between shots and enjoy some coffee from Seattle's Best, another sponsor for JUDAS KISS

Naked Prince

Redux: Judas Kiss 3

To save time, JUDAS KISS crew members become stand-ins as shots are lined up. On the left is Visual Effects designer Joël Bellucci, to his left is PA Alex Sylvester; in the middle is 2nd Camera Cynthia Lin (who marks the floor so the cast know where to stand) and to the right is Sound Operator/Boom Alexander Ibrahim

Costume Designer Anthony Tran finalizing actress Laura Kenny's outfit for JUDAS KISS.

Days are long when making films. On JUDAS KISS we shot 6 out of 7 days during the three weeks of principle photography, which where 12 hours days. Cast members Richard Harmon and Genevieve Buechner relax between shots while talking to Richard's long-time friend (and background actor & additional CGI work) Rhys Cooper.

Redux: Judas Kiss 2

Make-up Artist Tonya Carlson-Jolly working on actress Jessica Hendrickson for a scene eventually cut from JUDAS KISS.

 Actress Sharon Savene had dialogue in the party sequence at the start of the film; this scene was eventually cut for timing.

 Another sequence in JUDAS KISS cut -this time after two preview audience showings- was an epilogue scene with Danny's father, played by Seattle actor/comedian Vince Valenzuela

Rhys Cooper, childhood friend of star Richard Harmon, helped as a PA on the film, as well as being part of Timo Descamps Shane Lyons character's posse. He also provided some additional CGI effects for JUDAS KISS.