Cantara’s (Social) Notebook

Let us discuss this bright and beautiful life of mine... Violent obsessions sometimes lay hold of a man—he may, for instance, think day and night of nothing but the moon. I have such a moon. Day and night I am held in the grip of one besetting thought—I must write, I must write, I must write! Hardly have I finished one book than something urges me to write another, and then a third, and then a fourth—I write ceaselessly. I am, as it were, on a treadmill. I hurry for ever from one story to another, and can’t help myself. Do you see anything bright and beautiful in that? Oh, it’s a wild life! Even now, thrilled as I am by talking to you, I don’t forget for an instant that an unfinished story is awaiting me. My eye falls on that cloud there, which has the shape of a grand piano—I instantly make a mental note that I must remember to mention in my story a cloud floating by that looked like a grand piano. I smell heliotrope, I mutter to myself: a sickly smell, the color worn by widow...

To recap "My Old Kentucky Home", episode three of the season : There were three parties, the biggest being the lawn soiree at Roger Sterling's country club to celebrate Kentucky Derby day, but was in actuality a sort of coming-out party for his new young wife, the pitiable Jane. Faithful fans will come away from this episode with two scenes indelibly imprinted on their memories: Roger in blackface singing "My Old Kentucky Home" to an appreciative audience of well-heeled whiteys (well, almost — Pete scowled a bit at first, and Don refused to watch after a few bars); and, of all couples, Pete and Trudy taking the dance floor with a really polished Charleston. To enjoy the sheer exuberance of those ninety seconds I backed up On Demand over and over again. Don retreated to the unattended country club bar, where he had a moment with a distinguished old fellow who called himself "Connie" and might well have been (according to savvy MM forum posters) Conrad...

I knew Spain Rodriguez about 17 years ago back when the Mission District of San Francisco was a vibrant arts scene. He was teaching comic book drawing at the Mission Cultural Center and my son and I were in his class. By then this was long past his wild man underground days—he’d settled down with a wife and young daughter by this time—but there was still the fire of the rebel motorcyclist in him then, especially in his clashes with the Center’s dunderhead administrators. And that fire is still there. Spain’s latest book, Che: A Graphic Biography , is about another rebel on a motorcycle, the Argentinian-born revolutionary Ernesto “Che” Guevara, and may be the most thrilling story in author-editor-radical historian Paul Buhle’s People's History Series. Here’s Spain, looking very much like he did back in the early 90s, talking about why the legacy of Che is more important than ever. SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

Now that I’ve got your attention, let me ask you: Was that said sarcastically or complimentarily? Sarcasm is a linguistic disguise—words said perfectly straightforwardly but deliberately meant to incite negative emotions, to hurt or belittle. Usually this is done by meaning the opposite of what is being said, although the oppositeness of the meaning is conveyed in what scientists call a paralinguistic way, through vocal inflection and body language. If you’re learning a new language, “reading” a person's true thoughts and intentions rather than what they’re saying—once again, what scientists call second-order interpretation—can be a tricky business, and sarcasm in a comment can often be missed. (Except from the French. It’s very easy to tell when the French are being sarcastic.) The element of sarcasm can be missed in people with neurological damage as well. But for those of us who haven’t taken one in the head, what’s our excuse? Is it the rapid decline of face-to-face commun...

Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles, Miles and miles On the solitary pastures where our sheep Half-asleep Tinkle homeward thro’ the twilight, stray or stop As they crop— Was the site once of a city great and gay, (So they say) Of our country’s very capital, its prince Ages since Held his court in, gathered councils, wielding far Peace or war. Now the country does not even boast a tree, As you see, To distinguish slopes of verdure, certain rills From the hills Intersect and give a name to, (else they run Into one) Where the domed and daring palace shot its spires Up like fires O’er the hundred-gated circuit of a wall Bounding all Made of marble, men might march on nor be prest Twelve abreast. And such plenty and perfection, see, of grass Never was! Such a carpet as, this summer-time, o’er-spreads And embeds Every vestige of the city, guessed alone, Stock or stone— Where a multitude of men breathed joy and woe Long ago; Lust of glory pricked t...

I can’t believe it—the idiot actually did something right. For one of those tedious videos he’s been embedding in his blog he shaved, showered, put on a clean shirt, kept his introduction to a coherent minimum, and simply recited from Claptrap . The one he chose, “The Enron in My Face”, is short and snappy and shows you—do you hear this, you scumbags at Gawker?—that he is a pretty damn good poet. (Only, Steve, you didn’t write it a year and half ago. You wrote it four years ago. The Enron scandal was over eight years ago.) And you know what? One of his blog followers actually went online and bought a copy of Claptrap . So there you have it. Effective video marketing works. SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

This probably has a lot to do with the strong feelings I have about the Japanese military occupation of the Philippines (which as a teenager my mother suffered through) as much as my humble adoration of the City of Light, but one of my favorite war films is Rene Clement's almost-jaunty 1966 epic, Paris Brule-t-il? ( Is Paris Burning? ), based on the 1961 book by Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins about the breakneck effort to get the Allies to Paris before the occupying Germans burned it to the ground in their retreat. I remember when the making of this picture was in the news. Ed Sullivan traveled to Europe to interview the cast, and it was a tremendous cast: Orson Welles, Yves Montand, Leslie Caron (who I once met a few years ago), Boyer, Belmondo, Signoret, Kirk Douglas—the list of French, American, English and German actors went on and on. When Michael and I lived in Paris we used to visit a friend, Georges Heymann, who had been a bookseller in Paris during the Occupation un...

Need more cheering up. And what could be better than a great loud Yes I will yes? I. Cord of Life (Anderson/Bruford/Howe/Squire) A man conceived a moment’s answers to the dream, Staying the flowers daily, sensing all the themes. As a foundation left to create the spiral aim, A movement regained and regarded both the same, All complete in the sight of seeds of life with you. Changed only for a sight of sound, the space agreed. Between the picture of time behind the face of need, Coming quickly to terms of all expression laid, Emotion revealed as the ocean maid, All complete in the sight of seeds of life with you. Oh turn round tailor, coins and Assaulting all the mornings of the crosses Interest shown, never know Presenting one another to the cord, their fruitless worth; All left dying, rediscovered cords are broken, Of the door that turned round, locked inside To close the cover, the mother earth. All the interest shown, they won’t To turn one another, to the ...

Must wash off the stickiness of another Stephen Gyllenhaal blog posting with a moment with A Real Artist—in this case, the transcendent Dylan Thomas: In My Craft or Sullen Art [Dylan Thomas by Alfred Janes] In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms, I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of their most secret heart. Not for the proud man apart From the raging moon I write On these spindrift pages Nor for the towering dead With their nightingales and psalms But for the lovers, their arms Round the griefs of the ages, Who pay no praise or wages Nor heed my craft or art. SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

The movies of John Hughes, who died today of a heart attack at the age of 59, were not my kind of movies, but that a “major Hollywood player” could take the time to inspire such affection and loyalty in a young fan shows you what kind of man he was. Johnny, you’re now a teenager forever. SUBSCRIBE TO MY OCCASIONAL NEWSLETTER. CLICK HERE. _____

Surprise—today I’m gonna sing the praises of the only Gyllenhaal in the world actually, you know, qualified to discuss Guantánamo Bay Detention Center, and that is Executive Editor of the Miami Herald Anders Gyllenhaal, great-grandson of the esteemed Swedish-American newspaperman of the same name and, oh yeah, Stephen “ Mister-President-You-Must-Not-Close-Gitmo ” Gyllenhaal’s younger brother. [Reporter Carol Rosenberg] Through the daring and unflagging coverage of reporters like Carol Rosenberg, the Herald has been the go-to newspaper for breaking stories from America’s worst prisoner camp since Andersonville . For four years, despite threats, physical danger and the upper military echelon’s attempts to bar her from Guantánamo, Rosenberg has managed to regularly file stories of mistreatment, corruption, dissention, and worse. So what was the military’s latest tactic to have Rosenberg removed? Get this: Sexual harassment. No, not that Rosenberg was harassed, but that she w...

And for you, Cory, God rest you, here’s none other than the king of hearts, Nat “King” Cole, singing the national anthem of the Filipino heart, Dahil Sa Yo”. Sa buhay ko’y labis Ang hirap at pasakit Ng pusong umiibig Mandi’y wala ng langit At ng lumigaya Hinango mo sa dusa Tanging ikaw, sinta Ang aking pag-asa Dahil sa yo nais kong mabuhay Dahil sa yo hanggang mamatay Dapat mong tanungin Wala ng ibang giliw Puso ko’y tanungin Ikaw at ikaw rin Dahil sa yo ako’y lumigaya Pagmamahal ay alayan ka Kung tunay man ako Ay alipinin mo Ang lahat sa buhay ko’y Dahil sa yo Dahil sa yo nais kong mabuhay Dahil sa yo hanggang mamatay Dapat mong tanungin Wala ng ibang giliw Puso ko’y tanungin Ikaw at ikaw rin Dahil sa yo ako’y lumigaya Pagmamahal ay alayan ka Kung tunay man ako Ay alipinin mo Ang lahat sa buhay ko’y Dahil sa yo [ Dahil Sayo, Sung by Nat King Cole ]