Wish you were here

Happy birthday, Mom.

I miss you.

This is what makes it all worthwhile...

I'm breaking with my "no posts about work" policy simply to say this -- if you are in DC and have the time, I hope you will go visit the exhibition "Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul" at the National Gallery. It opens this weekend, but I had the pleasure of seeing it this morning at a press event. These priceless, millennia-old items on display - gold, ivory, bronze, glass, stone - represent the cultural wealth of a country that once thrived at the heart of the Silk Road. The pieces of gold you may have heard of before, referred to as the "Bactrian Hoard." Equally as remarkable are the Begram ivories (featuring some curvaceous babes of Bactria) and delicate glass bottles and goblets that somehow have not shattered to dust over the course of 2,000 years. (I love the fish-shaped bottles!) Honestly, it's all quite magnificent.

My friend and colleague, Dr. Fredrik Hiebert, National Geographic Explorer and Archaeology Fellow, is the curator and driving force behind the exhibition. His work to inventory the rediscovered artifacts - hidden by heroic Afghans who put their lives on the line to protect these precious pieces of history from the Taliban - led us down the path to the exhibition that now graces the National Gallery for a few short months this year before heading to San Francisco, Houston, and NYC and then back overseas.

A tremendous amount of work went into making this exhibition happen. I can guarantee you - a lot of weekends, late nights, and vacation days were lost to securing the funding, negotiating relationships, handling logistics. So many people, both here and abroad, have worked so hard to bring the project to fruition. And today, seeing Fred and his Afghan colleagues so warmly received and applauded for all their efforts was so cool.

It's at moments like that when you realize you are part of something much bigger, much better... it makes it all worthwhile... the endless paperwork, revisions, budgets, careful diplomacy - everything needed to actually get this stuff funded and off the ground... suddenly, you're not a paperpushing scribe - for a fleeting moment, you're part of history, peering out from behind the curtains as the main players take the stage. At one point in my life, I wanted to be one of those players, but now, I am happy to make things happen behind the scenes. (The dress code is more casual backstage.)

One of the great things about Fred is that he doesn't forget the people who help make things happen. He takes the time to thank you and recognize you. Along with being a scholar, he's a real gentleman and a fine human being. When I opened up a copy of the exhibition catalog, I was really touched to see my name among those he personally thanked. How neat!

Thank you, Fred. And thanks to the people of Afghanistan for sharing these remarkable pieces of the past with us.

Kinch (or, this week's celebrity death trifecta)

"Open the Pearly Gates, HAL."

Arthur C. Clarke, noted science fiction author, futurist, and ironic air-travel-phobe died this past week. He was in his 90s, so that's not a bad run at all. Hopefully HAL 9000 wasn't controlling access to Heaven when Clarke arrived. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I'm afraid I can't let you in..." Of course, Clarke wasn't really sure what he believed in, so there may have been no Pearly Gates for him at all. Hey - whatever was waiting for him out there - as long as it wasn't that creepy Kubrick "Star Child" - it's cool. Adios to one of the grand daddies of science fiction.

Run away! Run awaaaaaay!
(This movie scared the shit out of me as a kid...)

Oscar-winning director Anthony Minghella died, too. Unlike Clarke, Minghella was in the "way too young to die" club. Cancer of the tonsils and neck sounds horrific, and it's an ugly irony that he died from a freak hemorrhage after successful surgery to remove the diseased masses. This goes a little bit beyond rain on your wedding day and a fly in your chardonnay. It's a stinking shame when anyone dies pretty young, and when that young person had creative vision, it leaves you wondering what other masterpieces he should have had the time to leave behind as his legacy.

For the record, I did not enjoy the story of "The English Patient" because I really didn't have sympathy for the Ralph Fiennes character (based on a fairly unpleasant real-life Hungarian guy who spied for the Nazis) or his lover, who spent much of her time banging Fiennes behind her loving husband's back (or up against a wall...) I appreciated the film, though. It was beautiful and lush - a canvas of a film, painstakingly painted in cinematic oils. It was old school movie art, like a David Lean film. "The Talented Mr. Ripley", another Minghella-directed film, had that same feel to me. Wonderful, layered, graceful.

If you want to see a really delightful (and sad) love story, do yourself a favor and rent Minghella's 1990 directorial debut, "Truly, Madly, Deeply". If you have a heart at all, it will make you laugh and cry. It stars the lovely Juliet Stevenson (I got to see her on stage with John Malkovich in "Burn This" in London back in 1990-something - she rocked) and one of the screen guys who makes me swoon, Alan Rickman. Ah loves me some Alan Rickman, yes ah do.

But I have, as usual, digressed.

Clarke and Minghella were not the only celebrities to die this week. There was one more. And this one I saw just about every day growing up in a TV-watching household: Ivan Dixon. Don't know him? He directed hundreds of episodes of TV from 1970 into the 1990s, including gems like "The Rockford Files", "Bionic Woman", "The A-Team"... But from 1965 to 1970, he was an actor. On "Hogan's Heroes".

He played a black POW on "Hogan's Heroes" - the only black POW on "Hogan's Heroes", Sgt. Kinchloe, or, simply "Kinch." Kinch was the communications specialist in Stalag 13, sending out messages to the Allies from the tunnel under the prisoners' barracks, while Hogan and the others undertook secret missions outside the camp, sometimes pretending to be German. Every once in a while, Kinch would say that he wanted to go out on one of these missions, and the whole group would just turn and look at him. No one ever actually said, "But dude, you're black. Aaaaand this is Nazi Germany..." Nope, they'd just stare at him, and then, Kinch would say something like, "Riiight. I'll go contact that submarine now..."


It was an interesting - and frankly, somewhat sad - fellowship on the Stalag 13 set:

The German Kommandant, often shown reading Mein Kampf , was played by the "Halbjude" son of one of the great European orchestra conductors. An Austrian Jew (who lost his whole family in the Holocaust) portrayed the jolly dummkopf, Sgt. Schultz. The French prisoner was played by a survivor of Buchenwald. And the dashing American hero? He was, in real life, a troubled man with a sex addiction, into homemade porn, and murdered by one of his skin flick buddies. And who could possibly forget Richard "Family Feud" Dawson? (BTW, would you believe, Dawson is married to a chick who was a contestant on "Family Feud"? Guess she actually found his trademark spit-swapping attractive. Go figure.) The ensemble was rounded out with the seemingly remarkably normal Larry Hovis. And the equally normal - and clearly talented - Ivan Dixon. The role of Kinch was sometimes a pretty thankless job, but I read a quote from one of his children saying that he appreciated that the sitcom gig opened doors for his directing career. Smart guy. Pretty dang savvy.


When he died this week at age 76 - just a couple of weeks shy of his 77th birthday, Dixon had been married to his wife for 58 years.

58 years. Pretty damn cool. That means, he was 19 when they married. Try to imagine the average modern Hollywood 19-year-old staying married to anyone for 58 years. (Yeah, right. - most of them will have longer-lasting and more intimate relationships with their Crackberries.)

I haven't seen an episode of "Hogan's Heroes" in a gazillion years now. It was part of my afterschool, syndicated TV ritual in grade school and junior high. I wonder how the humor has aged? I'll have to see if Nick at Night or TV Land runs it. Believe it or not, the show is a huge hit on German TV now. Strange little world we live in, no?

RIP, Ivan Dixon. No longer in the tunnel, calling that damn submarine.

Survey says...

Ralph Nader IS still a douche!

I just watched him announce his candidacy for president on "Meet the Press." Tim Russert pretty much told him he'll be reviled by Democrats from coast to coast, and then showed the Florida vote numbers from the Bush/Gore fiasco, where Nader's foolishness cost Gore the election.

Grrrrrr.

This just in...

...Ralph Nader still considering being a vote-splitting douchebag.

Gahhhhh!

Back in the Dark Ages, I had a blog on another service. To be honest, I'm not even sure if that particular purveyor of blogging space is still active. It was cheesy and limited, and I paid for the pleasure of their cheesy, limited service. (Of course, I have to admit, I wrote a lot of cheesy, limited posts back then. Ahem.) I haven't had that account for years, now. Regardless, since nothing ever dies on "teh Internets", I was able to drudge up this entry for you, which I wrote precisely four years ago today. As in, almost to the hour, precisely four years ago today. I was a bit sharper-tongued back then, as you'll see. Come with me, then, if you will, on a trip courtesy of the Wayback Machine.

Sherman? Mr. Peabody? Let's go!

"2004-02-22 - 4:52 p.m.

What if Eleanor Roosevelt could have flown like a B-25?

Or, what if Spartacus had a Piper Cub?

Bonus points to you, if you remember that sketch.

Back in 2000, something almost happened to me, just as the curtain was coming down on a most contentious presidential election. While driving through the Dupont Circle area, a pedestrian bolted out into the street in front of my car. He was jaywalking and clearly not watching what he was doing. I had just achieved "urban cruising speed" - plenty high enough to be lethal, especially if the pedestrian is a skinny, aging fart.

I had to slam on my brakes, and I left a nice line of rubber down the block - I could smell my tires and see a nice bit of smoke. I was really shaken up, and I remember rolling down the window and yelling, "What the hell is wrong with you?!?! I almost killed you!!!" The pedestrian barely turned back to look me, the driver who almost smeared him across 18th Street. But it was then that I saw it was Ralph Nader.

Yep. I was within seconds of squishing Ralph Nader just as the election was finishing up. In the weeks that followed, in the middle of the whole Florida hanging frigging chad crap, and throughout the mess we're mired in today, I have stopped to wonder, every once in a while, where would we be today had I actually creamed Nader?

And now, this stupid putz is running again.

Thanks, f*cker. Split the vote again, a-hole.

If we end up with four more years of Monkey Boy in power because you snarfed up valuable Democratic votes, I will hold you responsible.

Loser. And to think - I'd just had those brakes replaced a week before the near miss. America came this close to a Gore presidency...

Ralph Nader, you suck."

Guess what? Four years later, he still sucks. People, if Nader decides to run again this time, DON'T WASTE YOUR VOTE ON HIM!!

Okay? Okay.

Thus endeth the rant.

When Hell Freezes Over

There's a ice storm wreaking havoc on the metropolitan DC area this evening. I'm glad I packed my "Get a Grip" treads in my bag today, as I wouldn't have made it down the hill from my car and back into my apartment without them. A friend and I saw a guy take a header on the sidewalk on M Street this afternoon - he was rescued from his painful-looking face-plant by a man campaigning for Obama just outside the "no electioneering zone" for the local polling place. On a slow, freaky drive through Georgetown, I saw a guy on a bike slide off into the ice - and into a car - just ahead of me. As we crept forward across an icy overpass, I saw him swearing and trying to uncrumple his back fender on a slick sidewalk. I heard there was a 20-car pile-up somewhere, but I haven't seen the details yet, and now, we have an ice storm warning until 7 a.m. tomorrow. It's a good night for cocoa, a hot shower, and fuzzy jammies, frankly. I'll worry about my hobble to work tomorrow when I have to. Mañana, baby. Mañana.

Tonight, I'm watching the local primary news and starting to get organized for a personal project I'm about to undertake. (More on that later.) The polls had indicated Barack Obama would sweep the region, and it sure looks like the polls were right this time. By the way, Obama made a stop at my favorite coffee joint, Mayorga, last night. I would have loved to grab a cuppa joe with the Big B.O.

Wait. That just didn't sound right. So not a good candidate nickname...

Speaking of the candidates...

As a child of the North, it was somewhat unsettling for me when I realized that my move to Maryland put me south of the Mason-Dixon Line. I know some of my southern friends will roll their eyes or hiss at me for that bit of of leftover snobbery. We're a few generations removed from the Civil War, yet it echoes for us still. Maryland was a state torn between the Union and the Confederacy, but if you have any doubts about lingering feelings after combat ended, just sneak a peek at the lyrics to the charming lied that is *still* our state song. Here's one of my favorite lines: "Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum!" Ahhh, heartwarming!! Speaking as Northern Scum myself, I'd like to thank the Union Army for winning the war.

Nota bene: my mother's Civil War-era peeps were from the South, and they fought and died for the Confederacy. Some are even buried in the Union Army's prison camp cemetery at the Rock Island Arsenal, which adjoins the National Cemetery where my parents are. Imagine my amazement one morning when I saw an African-American children's choir from Georgia on the Fox Morning News, with an African-American choir director whose surname matched the unusual, distinctly Hessian-deserter family name of my mother's kin. I had a brief, horrific moment of realization that some of my ancestors were slaveholdin' suthuhn gentlemuhn. Lovely.

So, here I am today, in my home, south of that bloody line, marveling at the fact that my choices today for the Democratic Party's candidate for president of the United States are a black man and a white woman. Sure, black men and white women have run for president before, but it's never before really been a serious possibility that one of them could - and probably will - occupy the Oval Office. That's amazing to me. And maybe it shouldn't feel so amazing to me, considering the diversity of this nation. Yet, it is still a marvel.

Hillary has never been my candidate of choice. A loooong time ago - well before anyone had declared their plans to run - I actually wrote a blog entry as an open letter to Hillary, asking her to not run. I catalogued all my reasons why I felt she wasn't the right candidate, why she was beatable by a solid Republican... but I never posted it. I think she lacks the charisma required of the leader of the free world. (If there is such a thing as the "free world" after the Bush regime. Stupid bastard.) I think she lacks the personality and power to inspire people, inspire confidence, inspire our allies... And, though god knows I liked Bill Clinton as our president, I think I would have more respect for Hillary if she'd dumped his cheatin' ass.

So, my vote goes to Barack Obama. He's got the charisma. He's smart. He's polished. He doesn't bring the baggage along that Hillary does. (Yes, Hillary, Bill is a double-edged sword.) And there's something intangible that gives him the edge.

I wonder what the Marylander who wrote that charming state song would think of a black man as the frontrunner for president of the United States. I have a feeling he who railed at the "Northern scum" back in 1861 might have suggested that Hell would freeze over before that would happen.

Well, kids, I'm looking out my window at an ice-covered hill and a skating rink of a street. Bethesda may not be the very center of Hades, but we're close enough to the White House to count, I reckon. If what I see tonight is any indication, seems like the Devil needs to wrap up in a few layers. I think we're gonna have a black president.

Bring. It. On.

Yeah, I cry over the Military History channel

Flipping channels tonight, I stopped on Military History when I saw they were running a doc on women pilots in combat. These women are the successors to my mother and her friends and colleagues - women flying B1 bombers, women flying off carriers, facing the same dangers the male combat pilots face. Earnest women - I see the same straightforward, common sense determination on their faces, in their voices, that I recall from my mother and from her fellow WASP when I met them at reunions.

The documentary ran a fairly lengthy segment on the WASP. I'm always squinting and scouring footage to see if I catch a glimpse of my mom. But, she was shy and not likely to make herself available for film. I got angry when the narrator spoke of the lousy Rush Limbaughs and Sean Hannity-types of the day who castigated the WASP as a joke, unworthy of military status, and even suggested they weren't "real" pilots. They even showed political cartoons of the era that mocked these amazing, brave women. I hadn't seen those before - they infuriated me.

But it was when the documentary returned to our day that I fell to pieces - as those earnest women, combat pilots, heirs to my mother's true estate, spoke of how much they owe the WASP for paving the way to the lives they lead, the careers they cherish.

That was cool. And a little heartbreaking. Wish Mom was here to have heard that.

Yep. I roll my eyes at most chick flicks and don't own a single pair of heels. But you catch me at the right moment, and I weep like a baby over the Military History channel.

And I watched football tonight.

Do I get an honorary "guy" card?

History rising from the ice

This is so cool. I think one of the best parts of the story is that the last surviving pilot from the mission will fly alongside for the first 100 miles or so. The Lost Squadron flies again!

Just really neat.

Elizabeth: The Golden Age

Oooooh, I was not aware until just now that Cate Blanchett had reprised her role as Elizabeth I (and Geoffrey Rush as Walsingham) in a new film! I don't see a release date yet, but production is complete, and you can watch the trailer here.

And Clive Owen is Raleigh.

Nice.

This will be on my must see list.