Wednesday, January 25, 2017

Two movies, computing, computers computed, both true stories.

One movie on streaming TV:  "The Imitation Game" about Alan Turing, a mathematical genius who, with a small crew, set out to break the German "Enigma" coded machine. It's a good movie, solid actors, but there wasn't any heart and soul in it for me. Yes, Alan Turing was gay, and that comes out but it seemed at times an afterthought and then at other times a focus. In the end, the movie was satisfying enough but not good enough, for me, for two thumbs up. One thumb up because of the insightful depiction of code breakers and their huge task, and for the good performances of the actors. 

Second movie, seen in the theater today was "Hidden Figures" about the crew of more than 30 African-American women who worked for NASA on the space mission in the 1960's.  Now, I have to admit that I wasn't pressing buttons to go see this movie but Steve called and said "let's go, meet me there at 2:10" and so I did. I think my judgement was partly clouded by the above movie, which I started watching last night and found a bit dull.  OK, another movie about mathematicians and all their brain power, whatever. 

But this movie is 100% different and so much better.  Go see it. These women are amazing, and not just because they have amazing math brains. They are amazing because in the middle of segregation, they stand up for themselves. They know they are very smart and they know they are needed because of their minds and they stand up even though they know they will be slapped down. They keep standing up, they defy the norm because they know their value. 

The historical notes in this film are shocking, the "Colored" signs on bathrooms, entrances to buildings, lunch rooms, water fountains, buses, on and on.  We know that happened but to see it over and over to women who are instrumental to NASA, well, it's a tough thing to watch. But there are a couple of scenes that take that segregation to task, and those scenes are well done. 

The three women they focus on are not just brains, they are real people with families and all the problems that go along with that.  Then add the problems of working in a White Man's World when you are black and a woman in 1961; it's amazing they kept on toughing it out. But their minds, the drive they had, it's a testament to the determination black women had to have then to even hold a job.  

For those of us who remember John Glenn, the Space Race, the 1960's, the music and the cars and the clothes, it's even more salient because of all that. The race to put a man on the moon was real. These women were instrumental in making that happen. It is an amazing story. 

Two thumbs up, highly.  Check it out. You will love it.

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Thursday, January 19, 2017

A book, some rain and ennui, and a really good dinner. What more could a person want?

The good dinner first:  last night I sauteed some chopped up boneless chicken thighs with garlic, a huge leek (I love leeks), mushrooms, white wine, added some spinach at the end and ate half of it in a bowl. It was quite tasty, but on the way home today I thought "why not some pasta?" So tonight I added the rest of the spinach, some more white wine, heated it all up, tossed it with some linguine, added a  good dusting of ground pepper and some grated Parmesan cheese and it was so, so good. I roasted some broccoli chunks with olive oil, salt and red pepper flakes in a hot oven for about 15-20 minutes and that was the accompanying vegetable and I felt healthy and righteous.  YUM.

The ennui: my thoughtful and intelligent daughter pointed out to me, after asking her to read an email addressed to my employers, that this time of year makes me dissatisfied with my job, my wages, my fellow workers, everything. She's correct, of course, I always get this almost overwhelming sense of futility this time of year, after the holidays. Some people make New Year resolutions. I just get the New Year depression that makes me want to flee my life. This year is worse for all the obvious reasons but it still makes me want to flee my life, my job, my dog, my house, my country, my kids and mostly, just flee me. 


It will pass. It always does.  The rain helps. I open my front door and stand there and watch the rain. At work I do the same. I just watch it fall and that momentarily makes me feel better. Some people, at this time of the year, get that Seasonal Affect Disorder. SAD.  I get WWH. Pronounced "whew!"  Wet Weather Happiness. (Yes, I will come up with a better acronym, but it's all I can give you right now.) So the ennui, the restlessness, the boredom with my job etc will pass.  But my delight in the rain will not wane.


Book:  my brother Joe and his lovely wife Donna both work at the SF Public Library, Main Branch. Libraries get dozens (or hundreds) of pre-release books, uncorrected proofs, from publishers trying to sell their books.  Joe and Donna get many of those books and they give them to ME!  In brown paper bags, discreetly.  (They cannot be sold, they cannot be given to libraries, they cannot be traded at used bookstores, so there is a protocol about moving them along once they are read.) But I have in my possession amazing books: "Swing Time"  by Zadie Smith.  "Underground Railroad" by Colson Whitehead. "Hag-Seed" by Margaret Atwood.  "Commonwealth" by Ann Patchett.  "Nix" by Nathan Hill.  And many more amazing books.


I just finished "The Animators" by Kayla Rae Whitaker, a first novel by this author and it totally won me over. It's about two women who meet in college and carry on for more than ten years, making animated shorts, movies, books, and changing with the time and not changing at all. It's a book about friendship, work, love, the world. The writing is amazing, clear and true: At the top of the hill, my mother watches, legs spread apart, hands on the backs of her hips. Her tennis shoes are puffy and pink. Through her T-shirt, one of those designed for older ladies, with ribbed stripes and a small bow on the collar's center, I see a new roll of fat above where her jeans button. New wings of gray around the crown of her head, streaks of it in her ponytail, her more prominent jowls. ... Here in the sun, I see myself in her face.  She sees me and her hand goes to her face.


Or this: I work until the night dies and the morning is born at the waterfront, that familiar itching at the base of my spine ramping, the adrenaline peaking at the unspooling of images. The hunt for that hot and nameless thing is on and I am certain that the old impulses are not dead, that the voodoo does not die.


 And yes, some of it is over-written, overly dramatic, but it is eclipsed by the soul the author puts out there.  There is life, death, injury, recovery, reconciliation and recrimination in this novel, and so much more. Hurt, betrayal, joy and discovery and much about love and caring and leaving oneself behind in order to let the other get stronger.  The two main characters, Sharon and Mel, are intense and hungry for their craft of animation and for themselves. If you find a copy, pick it up. I think the release date is this month. If you want to borrow my copy, just ask. It's a really good book. Well, in my opinion, at least.  


Alrighty, on to the next free book. Brown paper bags of books. How can that be anything but good? And at this very moment, at 10:13 pm, I hear the rain hammering on the roof, making me smile for this minute.


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Sunday, January 15, 2017

Do you feel like growling? Snarling? Claws out?

Does anyone else feel like that? Just off centered, sort of mean, nasty spirited, but not wanting to be? Is it the fool moon?  (Or I guess that would be full moon, but 'fool' is what came out of my fingers on these keys and I am leaving that alone.)  All this crap from Washington, the tweets, the slamming of incredible people like John Lewis, the dissing of any remarks that are contrary to what the new POTUS believes, and I think the acronym is now Person Of The Utmost Stupidity.  I don't want to think of him as Pres of the US, so to me he will be that other POTUS, the one I just invented.

If there was something else on my mind I would share it with you but everything else on my mind is equally as puzzling. Puzzling in that way of "what the fuck?" because it's simply stupid and there is no way of making sense of it all. Work is lame and the guests right now are either really nice and fun or really dickheads and too much work. Books bore me unless they drag me in to where I want to do nothing but read and not sleep or eat. (More about one of those tomorrow.)  Movies, the same. Either they suck or they are awesome, and few are awesome and many suck. Food, the same. Wine, the same.  It's a time of very good vs very bad and my attitude is that it doesn't much matter which one I get, I am not happy with either. But right now, in this week, maybe in this month, everything seems gray. Or grey. Nothing stands out, nothing is captivating, nothing seems to matter.

I am not depressed or sad or melancholy. (Well, OK, a bit melancholy.) It is less of a mental state than more of an entire body funk. Like a huge moment of let-down, but no reason for that let-down to even exist. It can't be the weather since the weather has been so perfect:  a lot of rain and wind and drama and then some sun and then, today, major fog and cold and then a bit of sun and some more rain coming up. Winter!  YAY! 

But the malaise still hangs there, like a stained bathroom curtain, not really important but ugly to look at and impossible to tear down. It's almost better to turn one's head, not acknowledge its existence and step away.

Ah, we will see what the week brings. I will report  back. Soon. 

Sunday, January 8, 2017

The Hotel, of which I have not written in a while

Oh, the Hotel. The place where I work, the place that provides a paycheck, the place that garnered Sunset Magazine's award for the "Best Hotel in Wine Country for 2016."  The Hotel that I could not afford, if I so wanted to stay there. Yes, I know that writing about the Hotel is ..... perhaps sketchy since I don't always say nice things.  But I haven't spoken about it in months, or years, perhaps. It is time.  I will refer to it as the Hotel because it deserves that capital letter H.  Or does it?

The Hotel is small, it is quiet, it is not in town. It has few amenities. Amenities seem to be the new Buzz Word in the younger crowd, and by that I mean the rich youngsters, in that 24-34 age group. They actually call and say "I am thinking about staying at your hotel (and right there I am thinking "who cares?") and I want to know what your amenities are."  My response: And what do you mean and what sort of things are you looking for? (Because I am not always sure they know what 'amenities' means and I want them to spell out what they think they want and need.) 


Then when they list the amenities they want, it's easy to tell them that we don't have any of them: no pool, no bar, no room service, no porter, no discounts, no lobby where they and their 6 friends can hang out and drink. That drives a lot of them to other larger places, which is totally fine and appropriate. 


But some persist. Some want to create in their own head the illusion of perfection and they want our Hotel to make that happen. Massages, yes, we can do that.  Room service, no (see above.) Packages for ..... whatever, no we don't . Early check in, late check out, a special breakfast menu just for them, it goes on and on and on and I delight in saying "no and no and no."  I almost delight in saying No to almost everything but I stop myself when it comes to simple things like "is there parking?"  I want to say NO but I do not say that. I smile and nod. They can't see that on the phone but by then I have made them grateful just to get a room, so if they are not able to park their car, it will be OK. Fairies will deal with that. (Yes, we have parking, and I do tell them that. Eventually. And at that point they are So Happy! Parking! YES!)


Oh, and then today we had the small family with two VERY LOUD CHILDREN and a dog. Oh, please, Universe, do not send us children. EVER.  But of course, they come.  And they are always (95% of the time) loud and unbehaved and the parents think they are cute and charming. Since I work most mornings, I have to tell the parents "It is not a good idea for little Dickwad to run around the lobby  because we are carrying hot plates of hot food and trying to help other guests  because you are NOT the only people here at the Hotel."  That falls on deaf ears.


I sometimes resort to corralling the kid and saying, in a firm and scary voice "STOP RUNNING!" (but sotto voce so no one else can hear) and if I am lucky the kid is afraid and if I am really lucky the kid bursts into tears.  At that, I feel I have done my job as a front desk manager. But then the parent appears and I pretend to be on the phone and I can use odd sign language to point out to the parent that I have NO IDEA why their kid is crying, maybe he ate a fly or something, while I go back to my imaginary phone call. Those are my best mornings! Ate a fly! YAY!


Oh, it goes on and on. Today, the day of the Apocalyptic Rain Storm, it was a bunch of guests who had reservations for tonight but were too afraid of falling water to make the drive up from so far away. Like from San Francisco.  We are on a little hill, there is no flooding. But whatever, I told them all the pertinent information and then, because the owners said so, I let them off the hook, let them cancel their reservations for no penalty and that happened several times. 


Then I think: "Why do I care?  It isn't my hotel, who cares if the guests get to cancel because they are too lame to drive in rain? It ain't my circus."  And the answer to that is just this: it is because I am a stickler for the rules; I think that coming up with a lame-ass excuse to diss the rules means NO, you cannot diss those rules and I am a bitch.  It's all of those factors combined.  Rules, Dissing, Bitch.  That's my trifecta of Hotel world.


I could go on but hey, enough is enough. Bitchiness has run its course.  (Note, please, the use of its. Oh, there's that sorry Bitch of an English Teacher still roaming these halls, you better be on guard for that!)  Ok.   Enough about the Hotel, for right now.  


Be careful out there.  The falling water, although lovely, holds evil in its small cloud purse. (That's what the Native Americans taught me, I am totally not kidding.) But in reality, there is no evil unless you are standing under a tree that falls on you. Water is good. Rain is lovely. The tree that falls on you is evil. Those are facts. Trust me. The cloud purse sings.  Hmm.....


LTBT (an old Indian saying.) 

Saturday, January 7, 2017

The Florida Airport shooting, up close

Here is how random and thus how frightening this kind of shooting is:  at the hotel where I work the chef, Khambay, said today that a friend of hers was in the airport when this shooting occurred.  He had just retrieved his bag, was walking out of the baggage area with a backpack on his back and bullets whizzed past him.  One hit his backpack. Some shrapnel from a ricocheted bullet hit his hand. He stopped and fell to the ground for no reason other than instinct.

Had it not been for the laptop in his backpack, which stopped a bullet, he could have been killed. He went to the hospital but just had some fragments removed from his hand and he was fine.

This is how close we all are.  Six degrees from friendship, from separation, sometimes from the knowledge of death. Nightclubs, bistros, sports arenas, walks along the beach, airports, schools, a city street. All and more are targets. Sometimes, most times, those who are killed or injured were just in the wrong place at that specific time.

It's one more reason to be at peace with yourself and make sure others know you love them.  Just saying.

Peace. Please. Pay attention.

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