Down in the 'hood

Just as I'm always a few years behind in my reading, I'm behind the rest of the country on television viewing. Some time ago my friend Mary out in California mentioned that she and her husband enjoyed watching The Wire. I had to admit that I'd never even heard of the show. This isn't quite so outrageous as it might seem, since there was only a brief period, after I moved to Maine, when I had cable T.V. (The Wire appeared on HBO, 2002-2008.) Except for that brief period my television viewing has been limited to what the rabbit ears on my T.V. can pick up, i.e., the local area PBS station, and (as I discovered only recently) the FOX station.

Someone donated to the library the first season of The Wire on DVD, so I decided to check it out. Despite the fact that I almost ODed on the F word during the first episode (no doubt there to emphasize how realistic the show was...I did notice that in later episodes while the word hardly disappeared, it was used a little more discriminately); and despite the fact that occasionally I could not understand either what the drug dealers or the police were saying, thanks to their respective jargons, there was no denying that the show was inter-esting. And gradually I had to admit it was damn good. Great characterizations, totally believable acting (were those real kids from the projects that they'd hired for the show?), intriguing, complex story line, sly, ironic humor.

But hey. Such a distressing, depressing world it illuminates. The world of the drug culture in inner city America. It is, indeed, a hideous picture of America; and you know, as you watch, that it is only too true. What especially breaks my heart is seeing all the kids, I mean little kids, caught up in this. It's bad enough, the 16 and 17-year olds, sitting on the couch out in the middle of the courtyard of the "low-rises" (which are right next door to the "towers", or high-rises), overseeing the nonstop trafficking of heroine, every direction you look. I think to myself, what a waste of human potential. But in one scene "D," the top overseer, breaks all the eggs a little girl who couldn't be more than ten just bought at the store, because he's figured out she's been "thievin,'" i.e. keeping some of the money that should have been turned over to him. That little girl, like too many real-life little girls, and boys, is involved in the drug trade. Damn.

In another scene, Wallace, one of the more appealing dealers, gets waked up by his...sister? cousin? he's taking care of about six little kids in a three-room apartment with electricity filched from a neighboring building...gets waked up because the girl needs help with her math problem, which involves the number of people getting on and off a bus. When she is unable to do the problem in her head, as he reads it to her, he gives her another example using a drug transaction, and she is able to do the calculating immediately. He demands to know how come she can do that, but can't keep track of the people getting on and off a bus, and she says, "You mess up on the stuff, they fuck you up."

Actually, this scene represents one of the strengths of the program: it shows the human side of all the characters. Wallace getting up when the clock radio goes on, walking around brushing his teeth while rousting the kids from their beds (mattresses on the floor), "Come on, get up, you're gonna be late for school -- what, you wanna go into foster care? You wanna go into foster care, you leave your black asses right where they are." One of the drug king's major shooters, a basically hang-loose guy who just does what he's told, having a roomful of gorgeous tropical fish that he dotes on. One of the girls who works in the "titty bar" run by the drug king, not being able to see much at all without her big glasses that she (naturally) rarely wears. Among the police, the complete jerk of a Deputy Commis-sioner for Operations at one point telling the major "hero," after a fellow police officer has been shot, that he is not responsible. Telling him in a rough, tough way, but telling him. And on and on. Life. For real.

So now I have to get hold of season 2.

Odds and ends

One of the reasons I like living in Maine:

Between 1998 and 2008 the number of homicides averaged 24 a year, ranging between 11 and 40. Can you imagine living in a state where there are only eleven homicides for the whole state in the whole year? Even 40 is pretty dang low. And almost all homicides are domestic, so if you can just avoid being married to a guy who's been out of work for too long and was a jerk to begin with you're probably o.k.

Literary pet peeves:

Characters clutching the steering wheel, the gun, the whatever so tightly their knuckles turn white. Excuse me, folks, but when you clutch something your knuckles do not turn white, although they may get a little pinker. And whatever color they turn, anybody standing there with you is not likely to notice the color of your knuckles. Face, other body language, yes, color of knuckles, no. Even the best writers use this literary cliche, and it drives me crazy.

The best writers are also forever having their characters turn pale -- not just their knuckles, but their whole faces. This is something else that simply doesn't happen. When people get a terrible shock they may look stricken, they may freeze in place with horror, they do not, instantly, turn pale. This evening one of my staff came in to work even though she was feeling unwell. She was noticeably pale, but you can bet that condition did not come upon her in the blink of an eye.

I find it fascinating that the following people were almost exact contemporaries, both as to birth dates, and death dates. Besides the fact that they all became famous, and successful, what did they have in common? They got rich and famous by writing words...

Cole Porter 1891-1964
Ben Hecht 1893-1964
Dorothy Parker 1893-1967
Oscar Hammerstein II 1895-1960
Ernest Hemingway 1899-1961

And moving from words to music: first composer John Williams lifts Darth Vader's leit motif directly from Shostakovich's 5th Symphony, now he's "borrowed" the Aquarium piece from Saint-Saens' Carnival of the Animals for the haunting background music in the Harry Potter movies. (Can this get me sued? But all one has to do is compare the pieces...)

Some rock lyrics to make you wince:

"He will be like she and me" (from Danny's Song, by Loggins & Messina)
"The heat was hot..." (A Horse with No Name, by the Eagles)
"Open up your morning light and say a little prayer for I" (I Don't Wanna Wait, by Paula Cole -- this may be my all-time favorite most horrible rock lyric)

On the other hand, a rock lyric I really like:

"Sometimes I think/ life is like a rodeo/
the trick is to ride/ and make it to the bell." (Rock and Roll Girls, by John Fogerty)

A license plate on a Massachusetts car that made me smile:

WORF
(non-trekkies won't get that at all)

A bumper sticker on a Maine pickup that made me laugh:

Kill your television.

And I'll close with a bumper sticker that I second:

God bless the whole world
No exceptions