Left to my own devices

An annual tradition since the inception of this blog, here again are my Top 10 favorite songs of the year. While 2020's list was the latest on record, 2021's list is coming in at the earliest. It's been a solid enough year -- musically, at least -- that I feel confident in what my top ten songs are. I've enjoyed these tracks a lot, and listen to them regularly when I go on walks. One thing of note: The top three are definitely ranked accordingly. Beyond that, numbers 4 through 8 are somewhat interchangeable, depending on the mood and depending on the day. Right. Now that's been established, let's take a look at the best songs of the year.

We are born into a world and a universe that have existed for billions of years. While we don't yet know -- and may never know -- all the secrets of our aged celestial home, what we have uncovered so far is staggering. In the age of the Internet, especially, knowledge is at our fingertips. And, if trusting potentially sketchy online sources isn't your thing, then places like libraries have been around for some time. As we grow, and learn how to talk and read and communicate and learn, the history of the world is there for the taking. It is with a mild amount of perplexity that I admit to having taken all of this for granted for many years. I just... knew things, you know? Anyone with access to books, television and the Internet can know things. The entirety of our known existence is available, should we care to research it. And that's why, starting just a few years ago, I began to realize there will come a time when I won't know everything. That time will, of course, ar

Barry Rowe has died. For some of you, that may mean something. For others, you may be asking, "Who?" He was different things to different people (as most of us are). To me, he was, first and foremost, a teacher. Multimedia class. Centennial High School. 1991. That's where our journey began. Happily, it continued -- off and on -- over the next three decades, and his recent passing is deeply felt. Mr. Rowe -- he preferred that I call him "Barry," and was sometimes rather tetchy about it, but old habits die hard -- was a fan of old British cars and TV shows, MG automobiles and The Prisoner , respectively. He liked more than just those things, of course, but they are the ones that stand out to me.

This blog would seem to be the suitable place to officially announce my new book. I say that because it is culled from the writings here over the past ten years. It is titled,  Decade: Selected Writings (2011-2021) . Call it a greatest hits, if you will.

I've never been much of a fan of edgy humor. Wait -- that's not entirely true. When I was a kid, it did appeal to me. Isn't that kind of how it goes when you're younger? You don't fully appreciate being shielded and protected from the more harsh realities of the world, so when you're flipping through the channels, land on HBO, and hear people like George Carlin, Eddie Murphy and Andrew Dice Clay sound angry, using profanity and talking about sex, it feels like that good-sort-of-dangerous that, the kind your mind reacts to when faced with a forbidden fruit. Speaking of Eddie Murphy, it was his 1983 stand-up special, Delirious, and his 1987 follow-up, Raw , that caught my attention during the late '80s. They were both funny in their own way, and both specials were definitely homophobic . And there was the internal dichotomy for yours truly: On the one hand, it was titillating watching what amounted to adult verbal content when I wasn't supposed to. On the

* NOTE: There are some minor SPOILERS for Eternals that follow. _____________ Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund. Westley and Buttercup. Rose Dewitt Bukater and Jack Dawson. Elio and Oliver. Elisa Esposito and... Amphibian Man? For over a century, movies have featured some of the greatest love stories ever told. Sometimes, they're the core of a film, other times they're a side-plot. Regardless, when done right, a romance in a movie can be sweeping in its ability to lift -- or even deflate -- our emotions. I'd like to add another set of names of to the aforementioned couples: Thena and Gilgamesh.

This year marks the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wes Craven's Scream . It is often credited with rejuvenating horror movies. That is true, though I sometimes wince at the thought of how it was done (by basically laughing at the genre a bit too much). I like my horror movies somewhere in the middle of not-too-serious/not too campy. This is one reason I've never warmed to films such as the 2018 Halloween or, say, Dracula: Dead and Loving It . Anyhow -- because it's October, and we're but ten short days away from Halloween, I thought it would be a good time to revisit my memories of the original  Scream .

       T hey met, by happenstance, in one of the most mundane ways possible. There they stood one day, in a line at the local post office. It had been several minutes since their separate arrivals. Folks who had been patiently waiting began to shift their body weight from side to side. Much sighing could be heard. There was one, lone clerk to deal with everyone coming through. It wasn't their fault the office was understaffed, but that was of little comfort to the people who wanted to get in, get out, and get on with their lives. George contemplated his youngest son -- now twenty-seven -- and his tedious, parting words before the father had left to run his errand. "You know you can do this online, right, dad? You don't have to actually go to the post office." George knew -- or did he? Now sixty-six-years-old, he'd grown accustomed to doing things in-person. He could use the computer if necessary, but preferred face-to-face contact. Alas, he lamented that such int

A long time ago, back when I was in grade school, I wrote a story. It was an assignment, probably in Mrs. Sims’s second or third grade class (I had her as a teacher for both years, and the memory is a little foggy on the exact date when the story was written).  Regardless, we're talking 1982 or 1983. Bar and His Car was a simple tale, about a man named Bar, and his automobile. It was a short tome, probably no more than 5 pages, complete with some pencil drawings by yours truly, to illustrate the title character and his mode of transport. The story ended up getting bound for some reason — it was in a deep blue cloth with white circles to break-up the monotony — and ended up in one of the revolving bookcases at our elementary school library. It was, for a time, a source of pride. On every occasion when our class would visit the library, I’d touch the book, caressing its soft cloth cover and think, ‘I wrote this.’

So, the California Recall Election is over , and the effort to remove Governor Gavin Newsom from office was soundly defeated . Good. Perhaps it's the politician in me, but I think that the recall option is terrible. One aspect of assuming elected office is the ability to get your feet wet, learn the ropes, and then try and put forward your agenda. Most terms of office are for four years, and there's something that comes with the assurance that, hey, at least you have that long to try and get some stuff done. The threat of a recall hanging over one's head is counter-productive to the confidence needed in order to push forward an agenda. I'm not saying that politicians should be free to do as they wish, without fear of reprimand or even removal, but 1) voters have the opportunity to dramatically weigh-in once someone's term of office is up, 2) recalls are, in my opinion, in danger of being abused, and 3) there are other options available to remove, say, a governor.

I was recently watching a video about queer baiting in cinema , and it got me to thinking about movies I watched while growing up -- specifically, as a teenager -- that I felt contained gay subtext, but could've been interpreted as heterosexual (and often were) by others. The video touches upon this, noting that it happened frequently in post-code Hollywood, and is known as queer coding. One such movie that stands out in memory is 1955's Rebel Without a Cause .

Beginning in 1998, I started my own movie awards show. I'd just turned 22, and was deep into my Leonardo DiCaprio phase. Disappointed that he wasn't even nominated for his star-level turn in Titanic , I decided to do my own alternative to the Oscars -- The Matt Awards. Initially used as a pressure valve (and kind of a joke), I've ended up doing the Matt Awards every year since. The latest edition is very, very late (I try and do it during the first half of the year), but, better late than never? Here, then, are my personal selections for the best in cinema for the preceding year:

On a blog post from earlier this month, Kevin Drum gets at something I've been thinking about off-and-on for awhile. It's the contemplation of whether there are truly more "extremist nutballs" today than there used to be, or if it only seems that way because now they have the megaphone of the internet -- specifically, social media -- with which to share their ideas. Without conducting a special sort of census, there's no true way to get numbers for the aforementioned notion, however, after careful thought on the matter, I tend to think the number of political and societal cranks has remained fairly steady over the years. Granted, there's probably more extremists now than there were in, say, 1985, but that's because there's 3 billion additional people on the planet. As a percentage of the population, we're probably looking at approximately the same number now as compared to the past few decades. Such a conclusion will probably cause some people

 A lot of people who aren't into Star Trek are aware of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home . Mention it to someone, and you'll likely get a mild look of recognition, followed by a nod of the head and, "Oh yeah, the one with the whales, right?" It was a pretty popular film in its day -- its total box office was $139 million, which comes to $331 million in 2021 dollars. Tonight, I'm going to watch it again, at theater, for a special 35th anniversary screening. I am shivering with anticipation. The premise of Star Trek IV is pretty engaging: a mysterious probe has arrived at Earth. It is sending a signal, directed at Earth's oceans, which is disrupting both the power and eco-systems of the planet. Kirk, Spock and crew are away while this is happening, and deduce that the sounds emanating from the probe are directed at humpback whales. Apparently, this alien life form used to communicate with those mammals, centuries ago, across the stars, but humans eventually hunte

"I'm of a mind to make some mooky. Phonebook."                                                          -- The Joker Tim Burton's Batman opened at the North American box office 32 years ago today. It remains one of the most viviv movie-going experiences I've ever had, or will have. Paradoxically, that day, now over three decades ago, seems like ancient history and also as if it had happened. yesterday. In those seemingly halcyon days of the late nineteen-eighties, superhero movies were not as commonplace as they are today. Getting something like the 1989 Batman movie was a real treat. It arrived at a time when I was an avid comic book reader. Marvel was my brand of choice, with Thor, Captain America, Spider-Man, and The Avengers as my monthly stalwarts. Batman is a DC comic, yet I was still very much stoked for this modernized version of his silver screen arrival.

Did I ever tell you about the time I pretended to be sick, so I wouldn't have to go to school, and my mom didn't believe me? It was during the mid-eighties -- maybe 1984, or '85? We were still living in the modest house on Draper Sr. that I'd called home since birth, and I was attending Westview elementary. One morning, I didn't want to go to school, and told mom that I wasn't feeling well. She wasn't buying it. In addition to that, she mentioned (in a rather frustrated tone) that she had some errands to run, and couldn't do so if I was going to be home. She stared at me for a few moments, waiting for me to admit it was all a ruse, but I held firm.

We're late - later than we've ever been - in putting out a 'top 10 songs of the year' list. Of course, that's usage of the royal we. It's me - I'm late. Music has been an important part of my life for nearly four decades. As long as I've had this blog, I've shared what my favorite songs of each year have been. So why am I dragging my feet on doing it now? I dunno, reader. It's been a weird year, hasn't it? Sometimes, not even the music can help. But, I don't want to lose a tradition, so, here goes... 

  "There's a headstone right in front of you And everyone I know" - Vampire Weekend, 'Don't Lie' The passage of time is something that has long-fascinated me. It is deceptive in its simplicity. Some argue that "time" is a human construct. Perhaps how the concept of how we measure it is, but not time, itself. "Feet" and "inches" are simply contrivances of measurement, but there's no getting around that Person A, at what we term 6' 1" is taller than Person B at 5' 10". So it goes with time. "2021" is an identifier we created, but its placement in the continuum of time is certain. I've mentioned before how time is like a book -- all of it is there, the difference is what page we happen to be on. If the entirety of time is equivalent to a 1,000 page book, the fact that we, in 2021, are on page 300 doesn't mean that page 990 doesn't exist, just like someone in 1944 being on page 275 doesn

"You can't be in love with someone if they don't love you back." My friend Jake said those words to me one night in the late '90s. I was at his house and we were, for whatever reason, waxing poetic about love and relationships. Actually, I do know the reason. I was besotted with a guy at the time, and mentioned, in brief passing, that I was in love with him. Jake caught the turn of phrase and felt the need to correct it. He knew the person in question, and knew that the feelings I held were not reciprocated. Jake didn't explain his comment too deeply (he wasn't really one for such conversations in the first place), but I'll always remember his remark because it stopped me in my tracks. For a time, I'd bristle at the memory of those words but, as the years have gone on, I've come to realize he may have been right. There is, after all, a difference between loving someone, and being in love with them. And love, in and of itself, has many meanings.

It's been almost thirteen months since I last saw a movie at a theater. What was once a weekly ritual has, over the course a year, become an almost distant memory. The Covid-19 pandemic has wreaked havoc on everyone's lives, to both a greater and lesser extent. I'm pretty fortunate to be able to wax nostalgic about the lack of movie-going and, to be fair, theaters have been opened for some time now. However, even as theaters re-opened, I didn't feel comfortable going back. I have some underlying health issues that could result in a potentially serious time of it, should I be infected with the coronavirus. But now, Ashley & I are fully-vaccinated. So are several of our friends. We're going to see a movie tonight, at a theater, for the first time in over a year. I'm a little overwhelmed at the thought.

"It's been so long Doing all I can do To get back to you California Blue"    -- California Blue , by Roy Orbison I've only ever flown on an airplane for one occasion in my life. This fact has actually startled people, and I can maybe understand why. We live in a fast-paced, global society. Air travel is commonplace. I, however, have always been deathly afraid of it. "But you're more likely to die in automobile than in an airplane," people always say. True, the statistics bear this out. But, once I'm crammed into that cylinder, along with who knows how many other people, high up in the sky, and something goes down, then the chances aren't good. My claustrophobia doesn't help matters, either. March of 1991, however, saw the necessity for air travel for yours truly. I was 15, and my mom's hometown friend, Mary (and her husband, Emory) were living in Fresno, California. Mom wanted to visit them. I liked Mary & Emory though, if we're

This little blog is ten-years-old today. I wanted to mark the occasion, but wasn't sure how. New posts have been a little sparse of late, as I'm not always sure what to say, or how to say it. There's mental energy involved in writing, and sometimes it just isn't there. Life, and all its idiosyncrasies, can get in the way. There's close to five started posts sitting here, in draft mode, that may or may never see the light of day. So it goes. Regardless of how frequently I write a new post, this blog has already lasted longer than my previous one. That was a very political endeavor -- almost exclusively so. I was a lot more righteous back in the early-to-mid aughts. Life, experiences, a bout with cancer, and simply aging conspired to mellow me somewhat, at least in what I choose to (figuratively) put to pen to paper about. Also, I owe a debt of gratitude to the late, great Roger Ebert.

Recently I watched the movie Driveways , about a woman and her young son who travel to her sister's house in upstate New York. The sister has passed away, and the woman must sort through the belongings in her house and get it ready to go on the market. An old man lives next door, a Korean War vet (Brian Dennehy, in one of his last roles), and he and the boy befriend each other. That is much of the heart of the movie, and it reminded me of me when I was a kid. My knee-jerk recollection of childhood is that it was friendless, though that isn't accurate. There were Derrick, and Kyle (more than one), and a handful of others who I hung out with, rode bikes around town with, played outside with until the streetlights came on, etc. We had our fun. Those relationships weren't constant, however. I'm not sure if childhood friendships ever really are? The long stretches of loneliness in between friends, filled with self-doubt and the uncertainty of whether there would be another c

Her name was Dorothy Shirley, but to me she will always be Shirley Shirley. It can be argued that she had two first names and, for a kid no older than ten, it's easy to see how one could get confused. I remember my mom exasperatedly trying to explain to me how her name was Dorothy, not "Shirley Shirley," as I was prone to (innocently) calling her. We went round and round about this, like some unintentional Abbott & Costello routine. "Who the hell is named Shirley Shirley?!" mom exclaimed at one point. I still didn't understand, but decided to back down, not wanting the back & forth to continue. Dorothy Shirley lived across the street and slightly to the south from us, at the corner of the street. We knew everyone on our little block of Draper St. when I was growing up, save one. That's just the way it was. Directly across from us were the Tuchels, Bob and Wanda. Bob died in 2019, aged 98. Wanda is still living. Next door, to the north, were th