It seems to me that Lenny Bruce’s comedy/social commentary is just as relevant today as it was nearly 50 years ago. To me he was a martyr. He wasn’t a perfect man by any means but, ultimately, he paid the price for busting through the reigns of convention and blazing a trail of his own — a trail that would be followed by the likes of Richard Pryor, George Carlin. I’ve been a Lenny Bruce fan since college and even though I’ve heard his bits numerous times, I never tire of listening. I think it’s because I always seem to come away more enlightened in one way or another. Certain bits I heard fifteen years ago carry a different meaning for me today.

Tonight I was listening and was for some odd reason stricken by Bruce’s bit on Adolph Eichmann. Bruce ended many of his shows with a reading of a poem by Thomas Merton which was about Eichmann and the apparent hypocrisy of the countries that wanted to prosecute him. Perhaps the events of the last few years regarding the U.S. and its foreign counterparts are what cause this bit to carry a particularly vivid sting these days. I don’t know. But it resonated within me, more so than it has before.

I just want to say goodbye and thank you to the great jazz pianist Oscar Peterson. The announcement of his death was today. He was 82.

I must admit that upon first hearing Oscar Peterson I was not all that impressed. Then, a few years ago, I came across his version of ‘I Loves You, Porgy’ and I was instantly sold and began to seek out even more of his music. I’m not even that big fan of the tune, at least I wasn’t until I heard Peterson’s version. Such a light and intimate touch. It gives me such a shivering joy each time I listen to this song. In Peterson’s touch you can definitely hear the influences of Nat Cole and Art Tatum, a couple of great musicians to admire. But Peterson developed his own style and has been a huge influence over other jazz musicians over the years.

Nicolas Sarkazy, the President of France, stated that

one of the bright lights of jazz has gone out. He was a regular on the French stage, where the public adored his luminous style. It is a great loss for us.”

I wonder if our president would ever express such warm, adoring words for an American jazz musician. If Sonny Rollins were to pass tomorrow, knowing that he held sway over people all over the globe, would he be acknowledged by someone as powerful as the American president? I sort of doubt it. Jazz has always been a kind of redheaded stepchild of the United States, respected by some, abhorred by others, misunderstood by many.

Time continues to pass and the great men and women of the illustrious age of great jazz music continue to quietly dissolve into the ether. In the case of Mr. Oscar Peterson, the song has ended, but the melody will forever linger on.

I think he is the greatest at playing characters I would never want to spend
any time with. That sounds like a backhanded compliment, but after walking away from Charlie Wilson’s War, a very nice film, I realized that, once again, the guy who stuck to my ribs the most, the meatiest parts of the film all contained Hoffman. He’s the best at playing the scuzzy, putrid, consummate asshole.

Kudos to you, Mr. Hoffman.

So, last night a friend and I attended a showing of It’s A Wonderful Life at the old Belcourt theater here in Nashville. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t expecting the same sentimental shivers that I got last year when I went to see the film. But I have to tell you, the feelings I got this year may have been even more profound than what I felt the last time around. My life has changed a bit in the last year and I guess I have learned to appreciate certain things that I may have taken for granted before. Namely…friends.

The theater was even more crowded last night than last December and just like last year, there were people there who had never seen the film before. In fact, a gentleman stood before the movie started to introduce the picture and to tell the audience about the benefits of becoming Belcourt members. And his statement before leaving the podium was that this would be the first time he had ever seen It’s A Wonderful Life. That amazed me. He had to have been in his late twenties if not older and somehow he made it all that time without seeing the picture. What a lucky bastard.

This year certain things stood out to me that I don’t think I really focused on before. Most notably was the time after George Bailey was allowed to see what would have become of his town if he had never been born. Without even knowing it, he had affected so many people in so many positive ways. All I could think of was the fact that we have to be aware of the things we say and do to people. The smallest gesture, the most truncated phrase can change the way a person thinks. It can change the way they act or respond to others. The night before I had been at a company Christmas party and I recall being somewhat short and rude to a woman that has worked for the company for years, a woman I can’t trust or like no matter how hard I tried. After I made the curt statement to her, I saw a bit of shock in her face and watched as she walked away. After watching the movie last night, I almost felt compelled to email my coworker and apologize. There is a part of me that still wonders if I should.

The other part of the film that struck me last night were the words George Bailey reads in the Tom Sawyer book at the end of the film: Remember, George: no man is a failure who has friends. No truer words —

As the film began to reach it’s end, I glanced about the darkened theater to see if the movie’s perennial warmth touched others as it had me. The woman to the right and in front of me was gently wiping her left eye with her fingertips. A man several rows up removed his glasses and brought a handkerchief to the corners of his eyes. You can’t escape it. Schmaltzy, saccharin. I don’t see it. It’s just a great film. And unlike last year, when the film ended and the lights came up, I applauded with the rest of the theater goers, and I knew that without even realizing it, a new holiday tradition had begun. For I know that come next December, I will be in line once again to purchase my tickets and see good old George Bailey remind everyone what the holiday season is really all about.

Sidenote:

At one point during the movie, the film broke and for about ten minutes we sat in the theater waiting for the film to continue. As we sat and waited, I had the opportunity to listen to the people who were seated behind me. I noticed during the movie that one person from their party kept getting up and leaving the theater. When he returned, his arms were full of what I thought was food. Turns out it wasn’t food. With each return, he was bringing back alcohol and by the time the film had broken (about two thirds into the film), he and his party were…well…happy. Following are some of my favorite quotes from their dialogue before the film resumed.

When the film first broke:
Quite audibly,

“You gotta be shittin’ me!”

Discussing the film (part 1):

“When the narrator was talking about VE day –”

“Yeah…that celebrated the victory in Europe. And VJ day was — ”

“Yeah?”

“Japan.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. That makes more sense to me now. I thought he said VE day and BJ day. I was like, ‘What the hell is BJ day?” It made me feel a little awkward.”

Discussing the film (part 2 — my favorite)

“You know that uncle? Uncle, uh…what’s his — ”

“Uncle Billy?”

“Yeah, yeah, uncle Billy. You know, I was sitting here thinking, ‘I wish someone would just shoot Uncle Billy in the face.”

Lately, I’ve been questioning whether or not my TiVO really knew me at all. Or maybe TIVO was trying to tell me something. Some of the suggestions it has taped for me were so off base, I began to wonder if my TIVO felt like a spurned lover. I didn’t use it as much as I used to. Days would go by where I wouldn’t even glance at it. TIVO had been shunned for other things like outings with friends, movies and books.

I believe the relationship between TIVO and I reached its nadir when I turned it on one day and found that it had taped the Toby Keith Christmas Special. “TIVO,” I said, “what have I ever watched to make you think I would want to waste hard drive space with the Toby Keith Christmas Special?” TIVO just shrugged and said it figured maybe I wanted to broaden my horizons. Yeah…no.

So, TIVO and I have been on the outs lately. That is…until last night. Flicking through my suggestions I saw that TIVO had taped something called Icarus of Pittsburgh. I’m a big documentary fan. Give me a nice two hour documentary and I am in heaven. Funny things is Icarus of Pittsburgh was only ten minutes long, but it had a more profound effect on me than some documentaries that are ten times its length.

The story is basically this: A man named Archie McNally concocted this idea in his head that he would fill a wet suit with helium and during the 1979 AFC championship game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Houston Oilers, he and his suit would fly to the heavens so that he could see his departed father. The McNally family goes back generations in the city of Pittsburgh and Archie’s father loved the Steelers. Unfortunately, Archie’s father passed before he had a chance to see the Steelers during their heyday. And it was Archie’s love of his father and his love of the Steelers that made him want to soar high above the stadium that cold January Sunday and visit his old man.

In ten minutes I found myself baffled, amused and saddened by this character. And even after the film was over I was still unsure if the story was fact or fiction. But after looking around on the web, I found that it is a true story. The fact that a man would concoct such a crazy idea and have it work for a short time is astounding and hilarious. The fact that the man is obviously mentally ill and that he and others had to suffer because of this is not so amusing.

Nonetheless, if you have ten minutes to spare, you may find his story interesting.