The Thing Called Loss

There is no reason for me to be thinking of River Phoenix today, except that I had a dream about him last night. Maybe the reason, convoluted as this may seem, is that the release date of the fourth Indiana Jones movie is approaching and something seems to be missing. I always figured River would inherit the Indy role, as his tryout for it in The Last Crusade was spectacular. But fate intervened.

I spoke to someone recently who is an author escort on the day she took Chris Farley's brother around to Chicago media outlets to promote his book on the comedian, and maybe this, too, prompted the dream. As far as I know, no one this close to River has written a similar book. I think that's just fine. Silence is in keeping with the singluarity of River's presence on this earth. I know he was human and complex. I'd rather only his family and close friends know the details.

Sometimes I marvel at just how talented some people are. I was listening the other day to a live Rolling Stones album from the mid-1970s and was amazed at a version of Tumbling Dice that included both Keith's guitar and Billy Preston's organ, and I once again thanked God that these men met and were paid to play music. Once in a while, a David Bowie song will just shake me up with its genius -- the lyrics, the chords, the musical and literary influences he has harnessed. And then I think of River's performances in Running on Empty or The Thing Called Love and mourn for a career cut short and thank God that we have what we do from him. Every person's death diminishes me, especially those who touched me in some way. Today I am feeling that space where this actor was.

So what was my dream? It involved some sort of action movie set on a cruise ship. I was mostly watching it, but as the movie ended, I jumped in to shake River's hand and kiss him on the cheek, because I knew he would be gone soon.

Je Me Souviens Iran

Finally saw Persepolis, which is not at all about religion (then again, with "polis" in the title, it wouldn't be). Marjane Satrapi's film version of her graphic novel is in some ways the other side of my story. A little girl in the late 1970s/early 1980s reacts to the uphevals in Iran. Except Satrapi did not just hear about these events in fourth grade. She lived them in Teheran. So let's talk about her story first, then I will briefly mention mine.

Little Marji watched as her country went from a dictatorship to war with Iraq to rule by Islamic revolutionaries. Two things seemed never to change: people getting executed and her family's loyalty to their country (rather than their country's politics). The idea of leaving Iran did not seem to be an option for her parents, although in the end they urged Marjane to move to France. Marjane's family was free-thinking and even included men who went to prison for their beliefs. Remaining in their country was not only an act of defiance but also a statement that they were as Iranian as those who demanded that women wear the veil and that martyrs die for the cause.

Marjane's bawdy grandmother chastized her for turning someone in to the police. Marjane argues that she had no choice. You always have a choice, her grandmother tells her. Even under opressive political situations, an individual's actions matter.

The movie was interesting to me because in 1980, when the Ayatollah Khomeini took power in Iran, my ten-year old self and my kiddie friends all were egged on to "hate" Iran and its leader. This was prompted, of course, by the hostage crisis, which was exhaustively (justifyably so) covered on American television. But Satrapi's work shows me what was going on in that despised country during this time. Little Marji, who was about my age, switches political beliefs hourly, and tries to get her friends to beat up on a kid with family connections to the Shah. I joined my classmates in making a pinata of the Ayatollah (we were involved in a study of Mexico). Unfortunately, it seems that the world is full of people whose political outlook has not progressed beyond that of a ten-year-old.

"Heroes"

Two of my favorite men, together at last.

Thanks to marabou2005 (whoever you are..)

If It's A Clever Marketing Ploy, It Just Might Be Working

Yikes. I might have, well, feelings for the Catholic Church. They've just updated the list of deadly sins, and I'm on board with most of them. Accumulating unnecessary wealth, pollution, human rights violations -- who runs the church, a bunch of socialist liberals?? And who do they think they are, bringing their theology into the modern world?

The only one I have a slight question on is genetic manipulation. Does this rule out any gene fix we discover that could end cancer? Or is that perched precariously on the famous slippery slope? I guess that's for Catholics to discuss, hopefully with other faiths.

Also, globalization -- good or bad? Good, if you're making more money than ever in a call center in India. Bad if your job used to be in a call center in Rapid City. But who is more worthy of that chance to make a living?

I think the answer on globalization is: it's here and that's that. How we deal with its effects? Perhaps the Catholic Church is offering some answers.

The International Museum of Me

I am the executive director of a museum with a world-class collection of art. The Art Institute of Chicago's website lets you build your own collection. So for those of you who lack an art degree (or the scads of money that would let you boss those who do have art degrees around), you can now show off your taste and sophistication online.

My collection is heavy on modernism with some contemporary thrown in. Right now, many of the works I have chosen are not on display (presumably because the AIC is in the process of updating their 20th century galleries).

This sure is a lot easier than hanging and insuring all this stuff myself!

Less Nice, More F*#&K You

Only current and former journalists may know or care that ubercapitalist Sam Zell now owns the Chicago Tribune. He's been making news lately not only because of the creativity/rapaciousness of the deal by which he acquired the plodding paper beastie, but also because of his, uh, unconventional corporate behavior. Like murmuring obscenities at a pesky photographer who asked one too many questions at a staff meeting. Zell has been keeping journo-bloggers panting from the exhastion of chronicling his many zany antics.

Well, to this I say it's fucking about time that we in corporate America (especially newspapers, for Christ's sake,) stop being such shitheads and start letting people be people, not workerbots. Swear a bit, tell a nasty joke, have a hot girl/boy/he-she on your desktop. Let a fish curry sandwich fester on your desk for three days. Don't think out everything you say before you say it. Dare to offend someone in the process of telling the truth.

Or, just take your meds, like a good girl.

Most Peculiar, Mama

Sometimes, when I am bored, I try to come up with a hierarchy of Religious Figures on Earth. This usually ends with David Bowie somewhere near the top, but not at the top (for many reasons, one of which is the fact that I don't think he'd approve). George Harrison ends up somewhere there, too, as more of a sacred poet than prophet. I see Mick Jagger as Gabriel (he's the fallen one, right?) and Robert Plant as some sort of Methuselah tree-type thing growing in the California desert.

And then I feel I have to include John Lennon, although I am not historically a fan. We just watched The US vs John Lennon, which was very thought-provoking. First of all, did the goverment feel they really had to work that hard to discredit this guy? After all, the conservative right has taught us that all you have to do to make us suspicious of anyone or anything is play on our prejudices and fears. It's a lot easier than having J. Edgar work overtime.

Also, I really have more respect for John Lennon, the man and the artist. He seems like a smart, sweet, if naive, guy who had an eye and ear for the Next. And he could talk so intelligently off the top of his head! But we seem to have developed a strange blind spot about his relationship with Yoko Ono.

Soon to be released is a book of photographs by May Pang, who is described in the blurb I read as "the woman (Lennon) lived with while he was taking time off from Yoko Ono in the 1970s."

Taking time off? From your spouse? Can we do that?

If you change the world, I guess you can.