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Valentine’s Day in the Rear View Mirror

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Valentine Exhibits at the Grier-Musser Museum

I know that Valentine’s Day was three days ago, but Martine and I decided to commemorate it anew with a visit to Susan and Rey Tejada’s Grier-Musser Museum. There we saw the elegant collection of figurines, greeting cards, and other antiques honoring the holiday.

There is an elegance, even a sense of formality, to the way our forefathers saw the rites of love-making in the 19th cntury. One could see a change in the way the subject was treated after the First World War. The flappers of the 1920s appeared to be more in charge, an impression that was underlined by the newfound power of Hollywood.

The Grier-Musser Museum brings us almost up to the present day. Sue and Rey are big-time movie junkies and spend a lot of time with their fingers on the pulse of popular culture. Their holiday exhibits, particularly around Halloween and Christmas, are a great way to see how the culture has changed and continues changing.

Selfie With Barbie

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Yours Truly with Barbie

Who is that skeptical-looking muckenfuss with lovely Barbie? Oh, that’s me. I must have been making that sour face because both Margot Robbie and director Greta Gerwig were unfairly denied Oscars for their part in making what, to my mind, is the best film of 2023. Why should I be surprised? Awards, particularly in show biz, reflect the petty hatreds of professionals. Rarely have I agreed wholeheartedly with the Academy’s choices.

Now that I am on my way with Barbie to the Real World, I’d better check my bright yellow inline roller blades and my rad duds for making the scene on Venice Beach.

I guess I loved Barbie because it was so refreshing to see a purely feminine viewpoint unmarred by crass mansplaining. Mattel actively participated in the film even though its 100& white male Board of Directors in the film is actually pretty evenly split between six men and five women.

Barbie and Ken on Venice Beach

What struck me is that both Barbie and Ken were totally naive and un-selfconscious about their roles. It was like the story of Pinocchio, with both characters striving to become real people, or at least contented to be themselves. I felt for Ken and his attempt to set up the patriarchy in Barbieland, to be renamed Kenland. The Barbies ultimately win, but then the Kens accept their second-string status.

In a way, it was a pity to see the Mojo Dojo Casa House disinfected and returned to Barbie. Some, like Bill Maher, see the film as ultimately a man-hating product. I did not.

Punished for His Bad Attitude

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Bobby Fischer (1943-2008), Former World Chess Champion

To be sure, Bobby Fischer was no exemplar for anyone’s behavior. His was the classical example of what can happen when you achieve your fondest wish, in his case to become the world chess champion after the Russians controlled the number one spot from 1937 to 1972.

I just finished reading a pamphlet Fischer published after he was picked up by the Pasadena, California police in May 1981 and horrendously mistreated because of his “bad attitude.” He was kept without clothes in an icy cell, deprived of the right to make a phone call, robbed of the cash in his wallet, and denied sufficient food and water during his incarceration. Below is a photo of his pamphlet’s cover:

Why do I appear to be so obsessed with Bobby Fischer? The main reason is that I love chess, and Bobby was one of two American world champions—both of whom went off the rails after their moment of glory. I will post a blog about Paul Morphy (1837-1884) within the next day or so.

Also, I am appalled because this would not have happened to Fischer had he been Russian. Unless for some reason he defied the powers that be in the Soviet Union, he would have lived well with a generous pension from Mother Russia. America doesn’t always know how to treat its heroes. And Fischer was a real hero, possibly the best chess player who ever lived.

Another reason: Fischer’s birth father was NOT Hans-Gerhardt Fischer, whose name appeared on Bobby’s birth certificate, but Paul Neményi, a distinguished Hungarian mathematician whom whom his mother Regina had an affair during the war. See for yourself:

Left: Bobby Fischer, Right: Paul Neményi.

It warms my Magyar heart to know that Bobby was one of my countrymen, both as a Hungarian and as an American.

Sea Lions

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Sea Lion (Notice the Ear Flaps)

Whenever the mercury climbs to the high eighties or low nineties (30-35° Celsius), I head to Chace Park in Marina del Rey, find a shady spot, eat my lunch, and begin to read. In the background there is a lot of barking by the sea lions (Zalophus californianus); and dozens of little brown squirrels are climbing trees, descending from trees, and sometimes standing still staring at the tourists. It’s a friendly place, but one that definitely smells of the sea. More to the point, it is usually the coolest, breeziest place I know of to escape the heat.

Today, the sea lions were mostly youngsters. If one of them lolled on one of the wharves, he or she would bark loudly if joined by another sea lion. Maybe it was just their way of greeting one another. Maybe they just didn’t want to share their place in the sun.

The California sea lion can be found from the Alaska panhandle to the Pacific coast of Central Mexico. They are a good example of a non-endangered form of sea life. That makes me happy, because I love to hear them barking at one another.

A Wild Day

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A Tropical Storm in August—Followed by an Earthquake?

My friend Bill Korn had it right: “So. Floods. Tempests of wind. Even an earthquake. It seems like Someone is having an Old Testament-y kind of day.” Today, for the first time in eighty-four years, Los Angeles was hit by a summer hurricane that snaked its way north from Baja California. Just as a kind of bonus, we also had a Richter 5.1 earthquake around 2:40 this afternoon. (Fortunately, it was centered in Ojai, which is more than fifty miles northwest of here.)

Typically, L.A. has a short rainy season that lasts roughly from December to March. In the sixty-odd years I have lived in Southern California, we have not had any intense tropical summer storm events like this one. The rain started twelve hours ago and bids fair to continue for another whole day.

Thankfully, we are on the western edge of the storm, so we have not had any gale-force winds, just a whole lot of rain.

Martine and I went out for a Thai lunch early this afternoon, but otherwise we just stayed put, hoping with our fingers crossed that we would not have another power outage.

Summer Reading

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Not Just for the Beach

Years ago, I used to take the bus to the beach, arriving in the late morning before the sun and sand got too hot, and bringing a book along. In the summer of 1968, I read all four novels of Lawrence Durrell’s Alexandria Quartet on Santa Monica Beach, near Lifeguard Station 12.

Now that I am retired, I don’t get up as early as I used to; but I still don’t like the heat of late afternoon on the sand. So I opt to read in the comfort of my apartment.

What do I like reading in the summer that I usually don’t read at other times of the year? Here is a quick summary, in no particular order:

  • The mystery novels of John D. MacDonald (especially his Travis McGee novels), Carl Hiaasen, and Elmore Leonard set in Florida. There is something about the state that produces interesting villains.
  • The 19th century travel books of Sir Richard F. Burton (no relation to the actor), which may be a little stiff and Victorian in their style, but, Lord, the man saw a lot. I used finished Goa and the Blue Mountains.
  • I don’t know why, but I enjoy re-reading the novels of William Faulkner when the weather is most hot and sticky in Southern California. I just re-read Sanctuary.
  • Science fiction and fantasy seem to be more fun during the summer. This year, I am re-reading Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and re-seeing all the Sir Peter Jackson films.
  • While I am at it, let me put in a good word for my favorite sci-fi authors from Eastern Europe: Stanislaw Lem of Poland and Boris and Arkady Strugatsky of Russia. The Strugatsky Brothers’ Roadside Picnic is a super-great.
  • I love to read books about India when it’s hot outside. Particularly interesting are the histories of William Dalrymple.
  • Noir novels are always good, but have you ever tried reading French noir? Pascal Garnier, Boris Vian, and Jean-Patrick Manchette are excellent.

That’s all for now. I’m about to start re-reading some of Honoré de Balzac’s great fiction.

Sea Breeze

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Whenever it gets too beastly hot, I frequently head to Burton W. Chace Park in Marina del Rey. On most days—the sole exception being times when there is a Santa Ana wind, bringing hot desert air from the Mohave Desert—it is always more comfortable there. Not only is the temperature at least five degrees cooler, but if one finds a spot to sit within a couple hundred feet of the shore, there is always a cooling sea breeze.

Today, I tested this as I walked inland to my parked car. By the time I was 300-500 feet from the shore, the breeze started breaking up. By the time I reached my car, it was nonexistent. Yet while I sat reading in the shade in Picnic Shelter A (the one closest to the shore), the cooling breeze was steady.

I don’t understand why this is so. The beaches to the north and south of the Marina aren’t all that comfortable, perhaps because of the heat radiated by the sun beating on the sand.

The park was full of small squirrels who were constantly chasing one another. I guess there was too much competition for the scarce food resources. At any given time, I could see as many as ten squirrels.

Gradually Becoming Attenuated

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Prayer garden at Saint Katherine’s Greek Orthodox Church

It was Greek Festival time in Redondo Beach this weekend at Saint Katherine’s Greek Orthodox Church. Martine and I love attending Greek festivals, even though we realize that they are becoming less and less ethnic each year, as the families of Greek-Americans drift farther and farther away from the authenticity of the older generation.

We enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. Martine particularly loves spanakopita (Greek spinach pie with feta cheese), while I had pastitsio (a lasagna-like dish of baked pasta with béchamel sauce) and fasolakia (Greek green beans). The food was good, but not up to the level of previous years.

Missing were Akrevoe Emmanouilides and Pitsa Captain, whose cooking classes at the festival were a tasty highlight. Alas, Akrevoe is no more; and there are no more cooking classes at the festival..

One thing which did not change were the tours of the church, with a discussion with the priest about some particulars of the Greek Orthodox faith, toward which I have long had some leanings. I was raised in the Roman Catholic faith, but have drifted away due to some disagreements with dogma.

Although the Greek Festivals are becoming less authentically Greek, there were hundreds of people in attendance. The heavy crowds made it difficult to move about the grounds, and led to Martine and I leaving soon after we ate lunch and visited the church.

The Hollywood Sign

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The Famous Hollywood Sign on Mount Lee

Originally, the sign was spelled “Hollywoodland,” named after a housing development that was being advertised around 1923. The developers lauded it as a “superb environment without excessive cost on the Hollywood side of the hills.” In 1932, a wannabe actress named Peg Entwistle committed suicide by jumping off the top of the “H.” This was commemorated in a 1972 song by Dory Previn which she called “Mary C. Brown and the Hollywood Sign.” Here is a video of it:

Eventually the sign started looking ratty and falling apart. By the 1940s, it was an eyesore. It was around then that the “land” in “Hollywoodland” was removed and the city took responsibility for it.

There was a major campaign in 1978 to bring the sign up to date, as it had become part of the myth of Hollywood. The campaign was led by none other than Hugh Hefner of Playboy fame. Other donors included Gene Autry, Alice Cooper, Andy Williams, and Warner Brothers Records.

It’s interesting that the sign, which has come to be a major tourist draw, was originally an advertisement. Curiously, you can’t walk up to the sign: There is no convenient trail up Mount Lee, and local residents have done their best to make it difficult to see the sign from up close.

Summer Is Icumen In

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It was bound to happen eventually. We had an unusually cold winter, but now the pendulum has swung to the other extreme. It wasn’t so bad near the ocean, where we live; but Martine spent most of the day downtown, where the temperature was several degrees of Fahrenheit warmer. It was no surprise to me that she took the earlier bus back.

The title of this post is the diametric opposite of the first line of an Ezra Pound satirical poem on the subject of winter, written, of course, in Middle English:

Winter is icumen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.
Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damm you; Sing: Goddamm. 

Goddamm, Goddamm, ’tis why I am, Goddamm,
So ’gainst the winter’s balm.
Sing goddamm, damm, sing goddamm,
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

Typically during this time of year, I turn into a lizard-like reader of books set in warm climates, like India, South and Central America, or the Deep South. I started by re-reading William Faulkner’s Sanctuary (1932) and have started in on Edouard Glissant’s Faulkner, Mississippi (1999).

I will probably try to get up earlier so I can take my walks in the cooler mornings. Once noon has passed, it is no fun to exercise.