Pirate Radio is a perfect example of why I don’t take critics’ comments at face value. The three reviews I read this morning were lukewarm with a small degree of trashing, but when I looked at the trailer, I knew it would be fun. Sure, the movie has its flaws–male humor; some sloppiness with chronological accuracy–but like most movies that celebrate rock ‘n’ roll, the music was great, and the whole thing gave me the warm fuzzies. Philip Seymour Hoffman is fantastic, and so is the ensemble acting.

I know I risk branding myself as superficial, but for the past several years I’ve developed a preference for comedies over drama. I’ve sworn off slavery and holocaust movies completely. I almost went to see A Serious Man today, and I’m so glad I did not. Who needs angst and depression when real life has so much of it already?

But Pirate Radio literally rocks. So what if they used the phrase “out of the box” and called young girls “women” — linguistic quirks unheard of in 1966. They even played a few songs that weren’t out until ‘69. These errors are more than made up for by the hippie, peace-and-love atmosphere and a devotion to music that borders on religious worship. Actually, the biggest error is one of omission: there’s no pot smoking or other drug use in the film. I imagine this was about the rating;  it’s a serious lack given the movie’s time and context.

Beautiful visuals of records floating around, sometimes literally; not CDs of course, but gorgeous LP album covers in all their antique glory. Pirate Radio: 4 stars.

Rock n’ Roll Lives!

I knew if I just hung on long enough, the world would eventually come round. After all these years of being abused and shamed for my so-called negativity, it’s suddenly becoming chic.

The first time I recall being chided for negativity was by a friend on a snowy mountain in Vermont during a high school senior ski trip. We were standing—or trying to stand–on a fairly steep hill while the instructor demonstrated how to walk sideways uphill on skis. Despite 20 layers of wool, I was shivering in the below-ten degree cold. When I grumbled, my friend called me  a “complainer.”

“Complainer?” I thought. “Complainer? I’m fighting not to fall on my head onto ice and snow in zero degrees—what else would I do?” Complaining seemed a perfectly logical response to the circumstances. It’s been like that ever since. What I think is a normal response to circumstances others take for negativity, hopelessness–a psychologial problem requiring intensive therapy. Actually, the criticisms weren’t all that frequent—I did, after all, live in New York (the aforementioned ‘friend’ was from Ohio) for the first forty years of my life, where grumpiness is next to godliness.

Then I moved to California.

Through the eyes of Californians I learned new things about myself:  I’m extremely honest and direct. I have a pronounced accent. I’m more visibly Jewish than I knew. And I am horribly, terribly, hopelessly negative–a major obstacle to success or friendship, considering that in California being positive is a religion. It really is: whole cults and therapeutic systems out here revolve around the idea of having a good day. Just as I suddenly longed for Jewish people, Jewish food, the whole Jewish NY vibe, I also became more negative. I’m a natural rebel—if everyone’s doing something, I’m bound to do the opposite. Why else would I still be smoking cigarettes?

The New Trend

Ah, but suddenly things are changing. In the past few months several books have appeared whose basic premise is that being positive can be harmful to your health. Bright-Sided: How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking HasUndermined America, by Barbara Ehrenreich, is a response to the cheerful pink cult surrounding breast cancer. You know: all those pink ribbons and pink boxes of candy and pink cards with happy faces—pink is as ubiquitous around breast cancer as any character from whatever kids’ movie is popular at the moment; right now it’s The Wild Things. Just as you can find wild things on every notebook and lunchbox, so too can you buy anything female done up in pink or festooned with pink ribbons for your favorite breast cancer survivor (not victim or even patient, but survivor, dammit!).

Ehrenreich, who’s written gritty exposés of women’s lives and labor, and other takes on reality, isn’t the type to wear rose-colored glasses. “In the most extreme characterization,” she writes, “breast cancer is not a problem at all, not even an annoyance—it is a ‘gift,’ deserving of the most heartfelt gratitude.” Unlike me, Ehrenreich isn’t exactly “negative,” but a realist who insists we look at life as it is. In fact, I think that’s how I started out, becoming more and more grumpy over the years out of frustration with the taboo on expressing reality. All those “have a nice day”s and the bestowal of kind blessings, not to mention being told it was my own fault my life sucked, and that it would continue to suck if I kept being negative…well, it all pissed me off, and I went overboard in the opposite direction.

Other indications that negativity is becoming more acceptable is a recent study, yes, an honest to god scientific study on grumpiness. In Part II of this rant I’ll talk about it, and also about Bluebird: Women and the New Psychology of Happiness, another remarkable reality-based book by Ariel Gore. Tune in next week…or the week after (I can’t promise when I’ll write it; is that more negativity?).

From Judith Warner’s excellent op-ed in the New York Times today:

“Stupak-Pitts passed not just because a group of Catholic bishops bore down on Democratic lawmakers. It passed because it could. Maybe because our cultural memory is short; because our fantasyland nostalgia for a world of stay-at-home moms and gray flannel dads is too great, because when push comes to shove, in tough times, there’s still a willingness to throw women under the bus.”

Grrrr! My blood pressure is going sky high. To read the whole story, click on the first phrase below.

WASHINGTON – Catholic bishops have emerged as a formidable force in the health care overhaul fight, using their clout with millions of Catholics and working behind the scenes in Congress to get strong abortion restrictions into the House bill.

And now you can go do something about it, thanks to NARAL :

I’m pretty angry that the House passed an anti-choice measure that would essentially eliminate insurance coverage for abortion in the new system. Health reform is important, but no one should lose coverage in the new system.

I just signed a petition to Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid asking him to stand strong against a similar attack in the Senate. Will you add your name? The deadline is 12 noon (EST) on  Friday, November 13.

Stand up for women!

How irresponsible is it for an American Senator to pronounce the attacks at Fort Hood an act of terrorism before anyone’s even spoken to the attacker? Lieberman seems to want to whip everyone into a post 9-11 frenzy over this unfortunate, and probably much more complex, incident. This is not to defend the shooter, or deny the horrifying nature of his indefensible actions—but what I thought when I heard the first sketchy details had to do with the irony of the guy’s occupation: psychiatrist.

I’m not saying it’s impossible that the guy was a terrorist; but the nature of the event strongly suggests that personal issues were involved–personal issues such as insanity. And then there’s the tiny little factor that he was about to be sent to war after months of listening to horrifying war stories from returning soldiers. Still, I’ll concede that he might be a terrorist; I  just think it’s premature to begin weaving paranoid plots.

Are things too quiet for Lieberman lately? Does he miss the fear-mongering team of Bush/Cheney? Nostalgic for some good old-fashioned Muslim-hating? What he’s doing is absolutely unconscionable, and if someone in that esteemed body of legislators he hangs out with doesn’t shove a rubber ball into his big ugly mouth, I vote we send in a terrorizing dominatrix to do the job.

A few Dave Letterman jokes about you-know-who, taken from the MLB site:

“Long season, brutal season, 162 games, 40 or 50 playoff games, and then the best of 30 in the World Series. Finally, now, they get a well-deserved rest, and then on Monday they report to Spring Training.“

“The Yankees, your world champion Yankees, they have to make a big decision in the offseason — are they going to keep Kate Hudson or sign Drew Barrymore?”

Letterman described the span from 2004-06 when {Andy} Pettitte interrupted his Yankees career to play with the Astros by saying he “left for three years to go run a Dairy Queen or something.”

Jeter, Pettite and Posada were on the show, and at the end, Letterman brought out World Series Most Valuable Player Hideki Matsui, who carried with him the World Series trophy.

That, of course, is because Matsui doesn’t speak enough English to fully participate.This allows me another opportunity to point out what’s rapidly becoming one of my pet peeves about the way Major League Baseball operates: I think every non-English speaking player should, from the moment they arrive, be given vigorous English lessons by a private tutor. It’s ridiculous that Matsui couldn’t talk on the Letterman show. It’s a deprivation to the fans that we had to hear his speech, upon being named MVP, from an interpreter (who knows what he’s saying?–only half kidding).

Lest this sound like an English-only conservative rant, I’m also in favor of all non-Spanish speaking members of the League, from owners to players all the way down to the ball dudes, learning Spanish. It would enrich their lives–and perhaps even ours– immeasurably.

To end on a humorous note, though, here’s another Letterman zinger:

“I’m going to be hosting for eight commercials, and then we bring in Mariano Rivera.”