Today at work, I had a bevy of computer work to do. I was going to listen to an audio book I have loaded onto iTunes, but, instead, I decided to have on the Star Tribune’s live streaming of the state capitol events today.

Back on Thursday, the Minnesota House of Representatives voted to allow same-sex marriage beginning August 1st. Today, the Senate was set to vote. In a way, this was the easy one. I wan’st sure if the bill would pass the House, but with a comfortable majority of Senators having already expressed support, today seemed mostly proceedural.

Still, it’s a big deal. Minnesota – which should have been among the first five states to legalize gay marriage, is now set to become #12. Not exactly trail-blazing, but still ahead of other progressive-minded states, like Nevada, Hawaii, Oregon, and Illinois. And still ahead of those fighting-to-stay-in-the-19th-century states that we oddly fought a war to keep…Mississippi, Alabama, South Carolina, and that one with Stone Mountain.

It’s also a big leap forward from last year, when Minnesotans were presented with enshiring anti-gay marriage text into the State Constitution.

Anyway. Here are some stills I grabbed from the streaming. And, to the Star Tribune, thanks for the coverage. If you don’t like that I am posting these images, let me know, and I’ll take them down.

I was watching a live stream of the events at the State Capitol, and the camera zoomed in on this group. Notice the guy on the left: his sign is informing us that 1 woman plus 1 man equals one (levitating) infant. Presumably he’s there to show his support for banning the marriages of infertile people.

Here’s another image from events at the Capitol this morning. God’s plan is simple? Um…having read the “good book” a few times, I can tell you that’s false. His plan involved arranged marriage, rape, incest, polygamy and (for women), no chance of divorce. Abraham, Jacob, Samson, David, Solomon, and others didn’t think marriage = 1 man and woman, either. Maybe the sign refers to a different god.

They’re singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Seems like an appropriate song on, like, just about every level.

Do you remember this photo, which I first published here back in February?

Back then, I said I might write more about these books later. Well, now seems an appropriate time. There are only two more class periods this semester, so I’m almost done with Introduction to African American Studies. I have class on Tuesday, then again on Thursday, and my final, 12-page paper is due by 5:00 on the 15th. So, yeah, 95% finished.

Here’s a review of the books, in the order I was assigned to read them, to help my loyal reader[s] decide what to read while they’re at the beach this summer…

The Making of African America (Ira Berlin)

An enjoyable kick-off to the semester. This book appealed to my love of history; it’s an account of the four “great” migrations of persons of African descent in America. Berlin’s comparisons between the four migrations are a bit strained at times, and he insists on offering four examples every god-damned time he needs an example. For example (ha!), at one point he was discussing music, and then he offered four examples of music that came out of each migration. That’s not so bad, but when it happens eight times in ten pages, it gets old. Also, he repeats himself a lot. In class I mentioned how he said nearly the same sentence three times within two pages. That got a chuckle out of my classmates. The ones who were awake.

A Mercy (Toni Morrison)

Some lower-class white guy in the 1600s mail-orders a bride, stumbles ass-backwards into owning a black, female slave, and somehow has a Native American woman tagging along with him. One of them was pregnant, too. Then he dies. Then there’s, like, 100 pages left in the book where this United-Nations-of-women have to try to make a life for themselves in an extremely patriarchal society. Or, at least I think that’s what the novel was about. I couldn’t figure it out. It had this stream-of-consciousness feel to it, a gimmick authors use to get readers to think it’s a cool book. I, on the other hand, don’t think it’s a cool book/film/TV show unless I can at least figure out what the heck is going on. We had to write an in-class paper on this novel, and I got an A-, so maybe there isn’t anything to get. Skip it. 

Twelve Years a Slave (Solomon Northup)

I wrote about this book back in March, so go read that AT THIS LINK. It’s not exactly well-written; Northup isn’t a master of English by any means, and he has that ubiquitous 19th-century habit of spoiling his story before he gets to it. Still, it was an engaging telling of an important story. If you read only one book from the above pile, make it this one.

Women, Race, & Class (Angela Davis)

Davis provides a compelling glance at the struggle of rights in America, particularly how women’s rights and civil rights intersected. The book told about, for instance, how not all abolitionists believed in equal rights for women, and not all women believed black people should be allowed to vote. Davis is also a Marxist, so she paints pretty much every historical figure in a negative light. Unless they’re a communist. Then she loves them. She later conflates reproductive rights to mean “the right to prevent or end pregnancy.” Then she moans about the for-profit structure of our marketplace. I’m sure Davis gives all the profits from this book to charity. Or Cuba.

Brothers and Keepers (John Edgar Wideman)

Well, this could have been an awesome book. A true-life account of two brothers: one is a college professor, the other is serving life in prison. It’s written by the brother who’s the professor. Unfortunately, Wideman turns the book into a self-indulgent diary. He spends 12 consecutive pages, for example, detailing his drive to the prison to visit his brother. His brother, who has the more interesting tale, gets about 15-20% of the book. In between, Wideman uses every literary device he can conjure, and spends big chunks of the book telling readers about minutiae that is probably interesting to no one. Like when he whines about the day he took a shortcut to the prison once, and how that really messed up his day. When we discussed this in class, I said, “He’s trying to tell us how tough life is with a sibling behind bars, but all I could think was: how awesome is your life that taking a shortcut is the worst thing that happened to you all day?” Wideman is an award-winning novelist, and it shows in two ways. One, the book’s structure is akin to a novel, which isn’t such a bad thing and, two, it’s obvious Wideman has the clout to circumvent the editorial process, which is a bad thing. If he’d been a first-time author, and an editor had trimmed this tome down to, say, 150 pages, with Wideman’s brother doing closer to 50% of the talking, then it would be endorsable.

From Black Power to Hip Hop (Patricia Hill Collins)

It’s not about black power or hip hop. And I’m not just saying that: Hill Collins comes right out and says that in her bloated introduction, which uses ten pages to tell readers what the subsequent six chapters will include. I skipped most of those ten pages, figuring they were redundant spoilers, then I read the first four chapters. Then I skimmed the last two. I think Hill Collins is trying to say some interesting things here, but every sentence is so dense, I just didn’t have time to pause after each period and digest what I’d read. Needless to say, I didn’t finish it. I therefore neither endorse nor denounce it.

This weekend, our family went on our first bike ride of the season. Of course, Owen has gotten on his bike a few times and went around the block, but Saturday was the first day the four of us (with Isla in the trailer) took off for a substantial ride.

We biked about two miles, probably a little more. We followed the road down to the Mississippi River, then stayed on a bike trail under the High Bridge and toward downtown. We stopped and gawked at the water, then biked a little further, then made U-turns and cycled back home.
Coupling this with a lot of work around the house, and I sure felt beat Saturday night.

Back in December, we obtained a Wii for Xmas, and the three of us (Isla doesn’t really participate) have been quite regular at exercising using the Wii fit. I’ve tried to log a half hour on it each time I fire it up: sometimes I run, bike, or box; those are the high-calroie burners. Sometimes I’m a bit easier on myself, such as when I try my hand at juggling or soccer. All in all, it was a great way to move our bodies during those bitter cold months of December, January, February, March, and, evidently, April. More importantly, it helped Owen tire out. I’m all for having kids get tired out.

Jennifer felt pretty worn out from our bike ride this weekend, too, and she said it was evidence that the Wii doesn’t serve as an adequate substitute for “real” physical activity. So, I don’t know. Is it pointless? I feel like I work out when I use it, and it’s gotta be better than just sitting around whining about how dark and cold it is outside. Maybe it’s just not intense enough. I don’t know. I’m just glad we’ve had a few days here to get outside. This weekend was one of the best springs I can remember.

A few years ago, I had some email exchanges with one of my uncles. One of my dad’s brothers. It largely concerned religion. In fact, once I divulged to him that I no longer believed the Jehovah’s Witnesses were “the truth,” the correspondence completely concerned religion.

In one of his final emails to me, he said…

I can’t believe that this system will go on for more than two to three years. 

He wrote that on April 23, 2007; so, six years ago this week. Already, the world has lasted twice as long as his outside guess, and his hoped-for paradise hasn’t arrived.

Every year around this time, I think about this sentence he wrote. Witnesses think the end is coming any day now, a belief they’ve had since before they were even called “Witnesses.” Back in the early 1900s, for example, they believed the end was coming in 1914. When that didn’t happen, they moved their predicted end date further and further into the future. For a time, they held on to 1925, then the Watchtower Society hinted that 1975 would be the momentous year of Armageddon. By the time I was a little kid, most Witnesses were convinced the end would arrive sometime in the 1990s; the year 2000 at the latest. I was repeatedly told I would never graduate from high school, never get a job, never need to worry about a college education and certainly never have to plan for retirement.

In fact, in the mid-1990s, I was in a car with several other Witnesses, and one of them asked us how long we all thought this world would continue. Everyone else in the car was sure the end would arrive within a year’s time. I guessed five years, and everyone gasped at the audacity I had to make such a long-term guess. They said I wasn’t thinking right, and that if I thought the end was five years away, I might lose my sense of urgency.

Turned out, I was right: Five years came and went, and the Witnesses still weren’t in paradise. Five years came and went again. And again.

Anyway, I’m not trying to rip on the Witnesses here. I just think it’s sad. My uncle is nearing his 50th birthday and yet, through all those decades, he’s been convinced that the end was right around the corner – that it would be here in two or three more years, tops.

As a dutiful Witness, he, of course, shuns me, so I haven’t spoken to him since we corresponded via email six years ago this week. Still, I wonder about him and the other Witnesses every April 23rd – does he remember saying that the world would end in three years? Does he recall how often he’s had to revise his belief of when God would destroy the world? And what about now; if I asked him, would he say he thinks the end is coming in six months, or three years, or ten years? How does he feel now that he’s lived long enough to graduate from high school, see his nephew graduate from high school, gotten married, outlived his brother, and now has to think about his impending retirement?

Like the “good” book says, expectation postponed is making the heart sick.

Last December, I whined about missed out on a couple of opportunities to see the new film Hitchcock. This weekend, I finally was able to view it. It’s out on DVD now, so there’s no need to get a baby-sitter and spend a fortune at a “movie” theater where you watch a dozen commercials. 

The film certainly kept my interest. It’s only about an hour-and-a-half long, so I suppose that’s not saying too much. But really, I’m probably biased. Having read several books about Alfred Hitchcock and his films, and having seen every feature film he directed, it stands to reason that I’m gonna be intrigued by any film about the man if, for no other reason, than to see how it sits with what I already know.

Actually, though, the film was too short. The story tries to squeeze too much in: the making of Psycho, Hitchcock’s waning persona, and his faltering marriage. Despite covering a period of only about one year (late 1959-late 1960), I think the film left out too much.

The most obvious omission here is regarding Psycho. The shower scene and the music are given token screen time, leading viewers to suspect these were slapshot efforts that just happened to work, rather than the carefully constructed works of art that they are. Was the shower scene really filmed in ten minutes? From everything I read, it took over a week – several hours, sometimes, just to set up the perfect shot that would last, on screen, for all of about one second.

Also lost in the shuffle is Paramount Pictures’ anger with Hitch. He lost money for them on his most recent films and when they loaned him out to MGM, he created North by Northwest, and managed to make money…for MGM. There was also this pervasive view in the movie industry that Hitch had sold out by directing television shows and could not longer make the quality crafts he once had. This is quite funny since, during the time Hitch was overseeing his TV show, he directed Vertigo, North by Northwest, Psycho, and The Birds – which might be the greatest succession of four films by any director ever.

The film actually loses steam as it goes – it begins brilliantly. Knowing so much about Hitch, I had several ideas of how the film would begin, but Wisconsin in the early 1950s was not one of them. The Alfred Hitchcock Presents style that then kicks-off (and subsequently concludes) the film is likewise inspired. Hitch’s dark humor, wrangling with the censors and the studio, and his frequent daydreams are all on parade here, and Anthony Hopkins nails the difficult part…which is more than I can say for James D’Arcy, who’s evidently trying to portray Anthony Perkins. Scarlett Johansson and Helen Mirren are quite good in their roles, too.

But once we reach the one-third mark, the movie spins off in too many directions, unsure what to cover next: Alma’s affair? Hitch’s obesity? Tricking the sensors? An irate Vera Miles? In all this, too, the Hitchcocks’ daughter, Patricia, is not even mentioned (all the more surprising since she not only lived near her parents, but was actually in the film Psycho, and should have at least been in the “swearing the oath” scene).

Somehow, though, Psycho gets made, and Hitch finagles his way past the censors, and comes up with another one of his legendary stunts to increase interest in the film. Then, with the time running out on this too-short flick, The Hitchcocks’ marriage woes are tidied up in a nice little bow, and we fade out on Hitchcock narrating to us that he’s not sure what to do for his next film. And in case we haven’t picked up on any of the twenty subtle hints sprinkled throughout the film, inspiration literally swoops in and mugs for the camera. Cute, if too obvious.

My wife said watching this film made her want to see Psycho again. I agree. And maybe that’s the biggest thing this flick has going for it.

Hitchcock: 7/10