Oscars 2022 (and a Guest Post)

I felt ambivalent, at best, about most of the Academy's choices this year, but I'm happy that Ariana DeBose won an Oscar.

The win made me think of the grand tradition of the supporting actress in musical films: winner Jennifer Hudson ("Dreamgirls"), winner Catherine Zeta-Jones ("Chicago"), winner Rita Moreno, winner Anne Hathaway, nominee Meryl Streep ("Into the Woods"), nominee Penelope Cruz ("Nine"), nominee Queen Latifah, nominee Peggy Wood ("The Sound of Music").

As a hat-tip to the Oscars, Marc and I watched "Dreamgirls" Saturday. What a treat to see Hudson and nominee Eddie Murphy. I also enjoy Anika Noni Rose and Jamie Foxx, at least in Act One; the story runs out of gas after Effie White's meltdown, and this means you have a full hour to sit through after "the peak."

I'd very much like to see more movie-musicals in the next few years; specifically, I'd nominate "Kiss of the Spider-Woman," a new version of "Night Music," and maybe "Spring Awakening." It's fun to dream.....

Now: for a guest post! If you have been following my little son, Joshua, you should take a look at Marc's guest story below. Marc was moved to write about Josh after a week on the beach; I liked seeing hints of Josh's emerging personality in the story, and I think you will, too. I also had a fun time seeing Josh, in nature, for many uninterrupted hours, with his Kansas City Dad.

Our little boy Joshua has been looking up pretty much his whole life. When he was just a few months old, he was captivated with the ceiling fan at his grandparents’ home. We don’t have any in our home, but whenever we enter a home with a ceiling fan, he is enthralled. Even at the Turtle Back Zoo near our home, when we go into the big old barn to look at the farm animals, Josh’s gaze is to the roof, where there are several dilapidated fans hanging from the ceiling. Josh’s complete attention is upward to the skies.

We’re just back from our vacation at the beach in Fort Lauderdale, and our rental house had ceiling fans in every room. Unfortunately the fan in our room didn’t work, so every time Josh came into our room, he’d insist that I push one of the ceiling fan blades to make it spin, and once I did, he’d get a great big grin on his face. And so would I. So I’d get up and push it again and again.

Josh has also become obsessed with airplanes. Our home in New Jersey is close enough to Newark Airport that we get planes flying over frequently. Until Josh started looking up, I barely noticed them. But Josh grunts and points to the sky whenever he sees one – and when he hears one, he stops what he’s doing, gazes to the sky to find it, and then points once he spots it with a big smile on his face.

On the beach in Fort Lauderdale, there were airplanes overhead everywhere. Small ones pulling advertisement signs, larger ones carrying vacationers in and out of the several south Florida commercial airports. Josh seems to be looking at the ocean, but he also gazes up and with pride says, “I do” when he spots a plane. He’s most excited not about the very noticeable ones, but about ones that are tiny, way up high in the sky – planes that I’d never notice if it weren’t for Joshie.

I love Josh’s enthusiasm about the sky, about flying devices, about airplanes. On a few occasions, I’ve taken him to Morristown Airport, an airport for private planes not far from where we live. He seems to enjoy looking at the planes, watching some take off and land. I sure enjoy showing them to him.

I look forward to taking Josh to airshows, to the Air and Space Museum, into a cockpit – that is if the interest sticks around. I love his wonder, and the gift of getting to rediscover the magic of airplanes.

One more thing: the last night of vacation, Josh came over and laid down on top of me, gave me a giant grin. And he said, “I love you, Daddy” for the first time. My heart melted.

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

The Death of Bergoglio

It's frustrating for me to hear Bergoglio described as "the less awful pope"--because awful is still awful. I think I get fixated on ideas of purity, which can be juvenile, but putting that aside, here are some things that Bergoglio could have done and did not. (I'm quoting from a survivor of sexual abuse at the hands of the Church.) He could levy the harshest penalty, excommunication, against a dozen or more of the most egregious abuse enabling church officials. (He's done this to no enablers, or predators for that matter.) He could insist that every diocese and religious order turn over every record they have about suspected and known abusers to law enforcement. Francis could order every prelate on the planet to post on his diocesan website the names of every proven, admitted and credibly accused child molesting cleric. (Imagine how much safer children would be if police, prosecutors, parents and the public knew the identities of these potentially dangerous me...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic. She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

Liars and Saints

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