danajohnhill.org | Hard Times Come Again No More

On Sunday night I watched the season premiere of The Simpsons – the first episode of the show’s twenty-first season.  It was a weak episode, actually.  Comic Book Guy writes a comic about a super hero with the power of all super heroes, and Homer stars in the film adaptation, which ends in disaster.  Fans of the show, of course, will find the plot a bit too much like the time they made a Radioactive Man movie starring Milhouse.

Nevertheless, The Simpsons is important to me.  I remember watching the first episode, and every one thereafter.  Its glory days are long behind it, but it still offers up one or two good episodes each season, and, for familiarity’s sake, I’d just assume it go on forever.

Filed under: Television on September 29th, 2009 | No Comments »

On January 31, 1988, I watched the pilot episode of a television program called The Wonder Years.  Though the show was set in the late 1960s, I related to it because I was about the same age as the main character.  As the series began, Kevin Arnold was starting junior high; so was I -  in real life.  Through subsequent seasons, the show dealt with many topics relevant to my (or any young man’s) life.  But one theme of The Wonder Years was always outside the realm of my experience: Kevin Arnold’s difficult relationship with his father.  Many episodes dealt with this topic, and it always made me simultaneously uncomfortable and grateful.  I felt uncomfortable because the tension seemed so real, and I knew that many fathers and sons had strained relations.  I felt grateful because I did not.  And though my life has certainly not been free of regret, and though “I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought / And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste”, I have never had to regret any aspect of my relationship with my father.  We have always got along well.

So, as I sat with my father on a blanket under the open sky last Saturday night, watching Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band play “Racing in the Street”, I felt like things couldn’t get better.

Sure, it looked like the sky might open up any time and unleash a raging storm.   But aside from a few sprinkles here and there, the weather held out.  And, sure, I was a little worried about how bad our view would be way back on the lawn, but that actually turned out great, too.  And, if $56 per ticket seems expensive, we did get three solid hours–twenty-seven songs–of rock.

Miriam and I met my dad at my Uncle Tom’s apartment in Tampa.  It could not have been more conveniently located.  We ate an early dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse, which was enjoyable and new to me.  We made it to the Florida State Fairgrounds before six o’clock, but they didn’t open the gate for a little while after that.  We weren’t too far back in the line at the gate, but there were still enough people that I was slightly nervous about getting a decent spot on the lawn.  Plus, while were were standing there, the sky, which had spent the earlier part of the day raining, then the afternoon threatening more, began doing just that.  It didn’t last, though, and by the time we reached the grass we were hopeful.  Though there was a mad dash for the closest seats on the lawn, we managed to find a great spot.

As I expected, “Badlands” opened the show, but for the next two songs I was nervous.  Springsteen’s voice was shot.  It wasn’t that he couldn’t sing in tune; he couldn’t sing.  I honestly expected him to call the show off.  But he drank some sort of hot beverage, saying, “I’ll be better in a few songs”. Sure enough, he was.  By the time he got to “Seeds” his voice was strong.  In the request portion of the show, which has become a fixture of the last couple tours, Bruce grabbed just about every sign from the pit.  I saw some fools asking for “Ramrod” and “I’m a Rocker”.  Fools.  I did see someone after my own heart requesting “Drive All Night”, though, of course, we didn’t get it.  What we did get was “Growing Up”, requested by a child in the front row, “All or Nothing at All” which has only been played six times ever, and “Jole Blon” which hasn’t been played since 1981.  So, we did okay, especially considering that a few nights later he played “Ramrod”.

I was hoping to hear some classic songs I had not yet heard live, and I got them, including, in the encore, “Rosalita”.  After “American Land”, I figured the show was over.  But the crowd was so frantic that he busted out “Bobby Jean” and “Dancing in the Dark”, then, finally, “Hungry Heart”.  The place was out of control, and I didn’t think he would try and top it, so we grabbed our blanket and were making our way out when the noise got even louder.  Something was happening on stage that we couldn’t see.  Then we heard Bruce grab the mic and say, “I guess we forgot one”, before the opening strains of “Thunder Road”.  It was incredible.

Still, in a show which included so many highlights (including an enthusiastic version of–of all things–Stephen Foster’s “Hard Times Come Again No More”, which, as you know, is my personal anthem), perhaps the best single performance of the night was an astonishing version of “Johnny 99″.  It turned into a rollicking railroad reel with dueling guitar solos and showboating.  It was thrilling.

Nevertheless, ages and ages hence, when I think back on that night, I’ll most fondly remember hearing “Racing in the Street” while seated on a blanket with my father under the open sky.

Filed under: Family, Musings, Nostalgia, Popular Music, Television on September 20th, 2009 | 3 Comments »

“Samuel Johnson was born at Lichfield, in Staffordshire, on the 18th of September, N.S., 1709; and his initiation into the Christian Church was not delayed; for his baptism is recorded, in the register of St. Mary’s parish in that city, to have been performed on the day of his birth”.

So begins James Boswell’s Life of Johnson, perhaps the most significant biography written in English.  Its significance is generally thought to arise from Boswell’s skills as a writer, his attention to detail, and his honest portrayal of a man with whom he was an intimate acquaintance.  Boswell is justly credited on all those counts.  But it doesn’t hurt that James Boswell’s closest friend–and the subject of his great biography–was Samuel Johnson, the most brilliant and interesting man to ever write in our language.

Samuel Johnson was a large, awkward man.  His face and body were scarred, and he suffered frequent tics and convulsions.  He was awful to look upon, but everyone wanted to be in his company.  In her diary, Frances Burney wrote about a dinner party she attended on “the most consequential day” of her life – when she was introduced to Johnson:

Soon after we were seated, this great man entered.  I have so true a veneration for him, that the very sight of him inspires me with delight and reverence, notwithstanding the cruel infirmities to which he is subject; for he has almost perpetual convulsive movements, either of his hands, lips, feet, or knees, and sometimes all together.

Samuel Johnson wasn’t guaranteed success by right of birth.  His family wasn’t rich or titled.  His father was a downwardly-mobile bookseller.  Had Michael Johnson been a cobbler or a wheelwright, things might have turned out very differently.  But Samuel Johnson had access to books, and that made all the difference.  He attended college for a while, but when his family could no longer afford it, he withdrew without receiving his degree.  He suffered bouts of illness in the years that followed, and several of his friends and loved ones died.  He found no profitable employment.  Then, in his late twenties, he moved to London, which in those days was the center of the world.  Johnson made it on the street there as a writer, selling whatever he could.  He made connections, published some poetry, composed a play, and wrote regularly for The Gentleman’s Magazine, where his work drew notice.  Then he wrote a dictionary.

Today, it is hard for us to imagine a world without a dictionary.  In Johnson’s day there were several books of words vaguely resembling dictionaries, but they were laughably inadequate, seldom provided definitions, and often included only a small number of entries.  There was a real and obvious need for a true dictionary that would attempt to describe the English language as it was actually used.  Johnson took up the task of making one, claiming he could do it in three years.  It took him three times that, but in 1755, his Dictionary of the English Language was published.  It is an amazing thing to behold, and an astonishing achievement for one man.  The book cost more to print than Johnson was paid to write it.

In the years to come Johnson would write a series of periodical essays called The Rambler, then The Adventurer, then The Idler.  In these essays, Johnson discusses almost every topic imaginable, in language that is brilliant and touching.  Consider The Rambler, No. 47, in which he distinguishes between “passions of the mind” like fear, desire, or ambition–which he claims have their own cures–and sorrow, for which

there is no remedy provided by nature; it is often occasioned by accidents irreparable, and dwells upon objects that have lost or changed their existence; it requires what it cannot hope, that the laws of the universe should be repealed; that the dead should return, or the past should be recalled. [...]

Sorrow is properly that state of the mind in which our desires are fixed upon the past, without looking forward to the future, an incessant wish that something were otherwise than it has been, a tormenting and harassing want of some enjoyment or possession which we have lost, which no endeavours can possibly regain.

“Sorrow”, writes Johnson, “is a kind of rust of the soul”.

Johnson wrote during a period in which new forms of literature were coming into prominence, when the number of literate people was growing exponentially, and when the meaning of literacy itself was changing.  No longer would a knowledge of the classics–of Homer and Virgil–be required, nor would an understanding of Greek and Latin.  Johnson knew all the classical writers, and he understood their languages.  But, as we see from his praise of Burney’s Evelina, he knew that the audience was changing.  His Dictionary, his Lives of the Poets, his Rasselas, his Rambler, are all works for a new age.

Samuel Johnson was born three hundred years ago today.  Making his acquaintance changed my life.

Filed under: Literature and Books, Musings, Special Occasions on September 18th, 2009 | No Comments »

On two different days during our trip to Puerto Rico, we made our way to the narrow peninsula of Old San Juan.  Built in the early 1500s, the streets and sidewalks are hilariously narrow, but the architecture is extraordinarily charming.  The two and three story flats are all painted bright colors and pastels.  Pink, baby blue, lemon, green, tangerine – all with white trim, and wonderful old wood doors.

It’s basically impossible to park on the street in Old San Juan.  People do it–and do it very well–but finding an empty spot that isn’t a loading zone or reserved for a particular person or residence would require hours of searching, and some good luck to boot.  Once, when we thought we had gotten lucky, a policeman told us that the space, though unmarked, actually belonged to a bank across the street.  So, we opted instead to park in a municipal lot.  It was only a couple dollars for the whole day.

Our first stop was La Bombonera.  It’s a legendary bakery and restaurant on Calle San Francisco.  Miriam’s grandparents ate there, and La Bombonera made her parents’ wedding cake.  I’ve heard about the place for years, and was looking forward to seeing it in person.  There is a window out front with a variety of pastries and desserts on display.  Inside, people can sit at the long counter, or in booths.  Both were completely full when we arrived, but after a few minutes we took a seat.  Our waiter was a jovial old man.  He had no teeth, but that didn’t stop him from smiling.  He told us he had worked there for fifty years.  It is likely, therefore, that he served Miriam’s mother when she ate there as a small girl.  I wrote already about the mallorcas, but let me state again for the record that they are delicious beyond description.  Behind the counter is an ancient coffee maker, and a modern juicer.  The juicer required no human effort at all.  Rather, the machine grabbed an orange from a pile placed on top of it, dropped it into a hopper, sliced it in half, then crushed it.  It took a few seconds.  We ate at La Bombonera twice during our stay.

Just down the street from La Bombonera is Plaza de Armas.  It’s small for being so well known, and has a charming fountain.  Facing the square is an old municipal building where the mayor of San Juan once held a wedding reception for Miriam’s parents.  On a wall inside, the text to “En mi Viejo San Juan” is inscribed near the stairs.

Around the corner is the Cathedral of San Juan Bautista.  It’s fairly simple visually.  In fact, some of the architectural details inside are illusions, merely painted on.  But the church has a rich history.  Beneath a marble sculpture along a wall in the transept lay the mortal remains of Juan Ponce de León.  It was in this cathedral that Miriam’s parents were married.

From there we walked down to the old city gate, and saw the back of La Fortaleza.  On our second day in Old San Juan we were able to tour the castle.  Along with the two forts and the old city wall, La Fortaleza is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  It has been the official residence and office of governors of Puerto Rico for hundreds of years.  We had what amounted to a private tour, accompanied by an official guide and a very large plainclothes guard who always walked about twenty feet behind us.  The garden was wonderful, and the eighteenth century facade–built to make it look less like a fort, which it was built to be–is handsome, indeed.  The view from the west side is splendid, and the east side faces a long street closed to traffic.

The other UNESCO World Heritage Sites we visited were the two great forts: the massive San Felipe del Morro (which everyone calls El Morro), and the huge, but not quite as huge, San Cristobal.  El Morro lies at the tip of Old San Juan, jutting out into the water.  It was the first thing I spied from the airplane as we were about to land, and it’s impossible to miss.  Before it is an open field where people fly kites and picnic.  Through the gate is the ticket counter, of course.  The major historic sites in San Juan are managed by the National Park Service, but, like almost everything in Puerto Rico, the tickets were cheap.  The compound is almost too big to see in one visit if, like me, you have been already fatigued by walking around the city.  Plus, there are an almost unlimited number of steps and ramps.  There is an almost comical lack of safety apparatus at El Morro: no bars or railings prevent one from tumbling a hundred feet from the gun deck to the rocky shore of the Atlantic Ocean.  People are free to climb out onto the high walls, even though the wind blows hard and steady.  Elsewhere, deep troughs–probably originally intended for sanitation–are open and unguarded, so that someone (let’s say me) not paying close attention might easily stumble into one.  Up near the nineteenth century lighthouse built atop the fort, Miriam overheard a funny conversation.  A family was exploring the site, when the teenage daughter began to climb on the rampart.  “Be careful you don’t fall”, the dad said, before casually walking away to take photos.  The mom, who was with the daughter, responding to something innocuous, like the camera malfunctioning, exclaimed loudly, “oh no!”  With little hesitation, but no enthusiasm whatsoever, the father asked the mom, “what, did she fall?”

Deep under San Cristobal, a maze of tunnels lead to different areas of the fort.  In one room, a former dungeon, ancient art is still visible on the wall.  Modern–but still old–graffiti lines other tunnels.

Between El Morro and San Cristobal are two of San Juan’s most intriguing and intimidating locales: Cemetaria Maria Magdalena and La Perla.  The former is just what it sounds like; the latter is the city’s famously colorful slum.  La Perla sits on a sliver of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the old city wall.  Because of the danger, tourists are advised to steer well clear, which, given the limited access, is easy.

The Museo Pablo Casals sits on Plaza de San Jose.  It’s a modest two story building that holds images, documents, and artifacts related to the cellist.  They have, in fact, his piano and cello.  The young man working there must surely be the world’s foremost Casals authority.  All the brochures were in Spanish, so when we asked if he could just give us a little information in English, he proceeded to give us an hour-long lecture about Casals’ life and career.  This guy knew everything, and was incredibly nice, too.  Admission to the museum was something laughable, like a dollar.

San Juan is an amazing old town, and if you ever get the chance, you should go.  Just hire a taxi.

Filed under: Travel on September 13th, 2009 | No Comments »

Much ado is being made today about the simultaneous release of the newly-remastered Beatles catalog, and the interactive video game, Beatles Rock Band.  I am intrigued by the former, and ambivalent about the latter.

One one hand, Rock Band strikes me as the height of poserdom – another example of the artificial replacing the real in our society.  We don’t play tennis or go bowling anymore; we play Wii Fit.  We don’t play guitar; we play Guitar Hero.  John Lennon and Paul McCartney were introduced to one another on the afternoon of July 6, 1957.  Had the two merely played guitar-shaped pieces of plastic in their bedrooms instead of real guitars, popular music would be quite different today.  When the Beatles played the Ed Sullivan Show seven years later, an army of American boys were inspired to pick up their own guitars, start rock bands, and write the rock songs that defined an era.  What if today’s kids are picking up game controllers instead of real instruments?  Wither music?

On the other hand, a segment I heard on the radio last night raised a point I might have otherwise never considered.  A caller to On Point said that he treasures the quality time he has spent playing Rock Band with his children, and that it has helped him feel more connected with them.  They get to know his music, and he gets to know their music.  This got me thinking: what if the millions of parents who felt so upset by rock music in 1964 had instead been able to share the experience with their children?  After all, shaggy hair and suggestive hand-holding talk wasn’t really what bothered parents about the Beatles.  The Beatles were the physical embodiment of the growing divide separating the World War II generation from their kids.

The Beatles are popular enough, and certainly not at risk of being forgotten, even by kids today.  So I don’t think all this hoopla is about introducing a new generation to Lennon-McCartney.  I think, rather, that it might actually be about bonding.  Video games have divided parents and children for more than twenty years.  If Beatles Rock Band can bring them together, things really will have come full circle.

Filed under: Musings, Popular Music, Technology on September 9th, 2009 | No Comments »