FL, Gov Rick Scott draft, 2015 05 24

/ NJ / FL / pk /

a couple of drafts and this alert to Governor Rick Scott is still not quite to my liking, stay posted.
2015 05 29 No, I reject this draft entirely. But now I got an appointment with a Sebring tax office, MV director. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll implore the governor, accuse the governor, maybe it won’t be necessary.

Office of Governor Rick Scott
State of Florida, The Capitol
400 S. Monroe St.
Tallahassee, FL 32399-0001
(850) 488-7146

Dear Governor Rick Scott:

I forward my most recent letter to a supervisor, Paula, in the Highlands MVD, Sebring. You are welcome to examine any of my correspondence of the issue of my drivers license: with Florida, with New Jersey, dating back to 1985. Copies of all are online at https://pknatz.wordpress.com/2014/12/13/nj-fl-pk-menu/

This past September FL declined to renew my license, citing information posted by NJ going back to 1985. The information is misinformation. False. Some details are true: the more misleading.

NJ has shown itself unable to understand what I’ve said since 1985, they just keep repeating the errors, and asking for fines I don’t owe, and escalate the penalties.

Paula, in Sebring, told me I’d have to deal with NJ. I’ve tried: September to May, communication impossible so far. But I’m her giving up, outloud hoping to be heard as far away as Nj, and the White House … and the United Nations Human Rights, not to mention the Vatican, heaven, etc.

It’s very wrong of Florida not to help me here. One bully is bad enough, how can I deal with two? NJ should help protect its citizens from extortion: but I tried what she said. That was September 2014. New Jersey has proved incapable of any response but repeating the falsehoods and insisting on the fines, plus penalties.

NJ shouldn’t persecute me. If it does, Florida should help: not gang up against me

I’m 76, I try to scrape by with $500 a month SSI & food stamps. I can’t afford a lawyer for this or anythings else. I need to drive but refuse to yield to extortion. The bureaucracy in both NJ & FL has thus far proved incapable of demonstrating facts of understanding testimonies. I told Paul I was finished, I give up. But I alert you, Governor Scott, to what’s gone on.

scrap: (in my next draft I’ll emphasize who I am and what my history has been with government in the PS)

I need help. Are we really going to wait till Judgment to find our who was right?

(although a little extra digging would show that I’ve been victimized by state and federal governments since childhood: and understand, my Free Learning Exchange, NYC, 1970, was the worlds first public offer of an internet: everything since is theft.)

NJ FL pk Menu

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Swivel Switch

Conjoined with
Legal Protest

I posted scribble on the latter 2015 06 22: the former got scribble this 2015 05 24. Happy Memorial Day. I develop them here. Time will tell how much they remain joined. I leave them in their nascent Monthly post till I’m satisfied I’m doing a half-way comprehensible job, then I’ll delete the first drafts, letting them face the world here.

Gotta force a quick word on an important concept: swivel-switch. Everyone not a 100% fool knows that the magician entertains us by his dexterity (and dishonesty) in switching loaded dice for real dice, trick decks of cards for real decks of cards …

thanx kidzone

The crook does the same thing. Watch out, cause so does the rabbi, so does the senator, so does the professor. We start with one ethical standard, then switch to another. Start with one definition, then switch, without warning, to another.

Relevant is the following, scribbled yesterday: Legal Protest: The government bends over backwards to pretend to rationality, then gullet-slits its critics in the dark: if the media know what’s good for them, no one will notice: not out loud.

The particular swivel-switch I found myself waking-dreaming about this morning is cosmo-theo-logical. First let me try to establish a three-tiered vocabulary:

Members of the Pagan1 cosmology believe that if you pray to the god, you’ll benefit. Further, if you sacrifice to the god, you’ll benefit.
Members of the Jew2 cosmology believe the same thing except that the god must be the right god and the sacrifice must be the right legal.
Note before I proceed, believers are so certain of the basic tenet that that faith is almost bankable currency.
But things go totally bonkers if you take another step to Christ3. In Christ3 the authorities are false. Taxes paid to Rome do not get you what you want. Everything is backwards: the god isn’t the god, the messenger isn’t the messenger, the immortality isn’t immortal …

One thing is guaranteed: if a true messenger in Christ3 speaks, she’ll be arrested, just like Jesus, and she’ll be tried, just like Jesus, and, just like Jesus, the authority will swivel-switch Jew2 logic for Christ3 logic and further will swivel-switch all Jew2 logic into Pagan1. Note especially: all Pagan1 members, nearly the total population, won’t notice the switch: they’ll bow to authority, and believe, in the face of all, that their sacrifice has worked: they’ve gotten the prize.

So: the state can take Oxford and replace it with Harvard, take Harvard and replace it with Rice, take Rice and replace it with South Florida Community College: and those on the verge of extinction will believe, will believe so ardently that they see it, that now that they’ve sacrificed everything, heaven is one short step away.

2015 05 26 Just thought of an example: People invented money: people; not governments. Then banks invented paper currency: backed by real gold, or silver, or whatever: currency symbolizes the gold in the vault. Then the government takes all the gold, promises to repay, then makes it illegal to repay.
Once you had your pig, then you had a gold coin, then you had a promse; now you have identity theft, swivel-switched you out of everything.

Legal Protest
pk & bk have been emailing about Oliver Stone. I like some things about him, especially his shots against criminal behavior among Republicans, war crimes; bk hates everything “left”. Anyway, bk just sent me an article on Oliver Stone among various stripes of libertarians. I cite:

Stone said. “I am fine with all of the political opposition to Chavez, so long as it’s done legally.

bk liked my retort that I’d snorted at the idea of endorsing only legal protest.
In theory I’ll accept that position: provided that the state insisting on legality is itself a legal entity: and I don’t mean in its own mind, in the paper of record of its own propaganda machine. But there’s no such thing. It can’t be up to the Nazis what the Jews can do by way of protest; but it always is up to the Nazis: and only the Nazis. Except when, randomly, the Nazis lose.
But then it’s still other Nazis doing the legalizing.


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Mutilation, Display

/ Culture /

The Bible reports King David castrating Philistine soldiers and displaying the trophies in a heap: thousands of severed genitals. The Bible had already reported God as a circumcision fetishist. At least the Jews aren’t the Muslims, with their female circumcision horrors.

Search Knatz.com, pKnatz blog: I’ve written lots about circumcision. Some things I’ve already broached

See Mutilations
and Mutilation Martyr Mother: news item

I reemphasize here.

First, I distinguish between a mutilation and a display of the mutilation. A murder is bad; a staged murder is quantumly worse. (And distinguish staging from exposing: The Nazis hid their Holocaust: the allied soldiers found the death camps, ripped them open, displayed what they found before the world. The genocides hid their murders; journalists (and enemy propagandists) exposed it.)
(Don’t imagine that because something is exposed that now therefore everything is exposed!) (Aquinas, God … could be right on point A but wrong on points B, C, D …)

My Mutilations piece objects to the movie Buffalo Gals showing Crazy Horse’s Lakota taking scalps from downed “whites” without also showing General Custer’s Yahoos severing the genitals of Lakota females: cut off the nether lips, and wear them as a hat! (While they’re still alive? Sure. Why not?) (You won’t read about that behavior in too many American histories, but you can read liberally about it in Was’i Chu.)

Now: here’s what I wanna know: and I want it from God, or fossilized in a star; not dithered in the NYT:
(First, concede that this is ancient behavior: King David wasn’t the first or only war criminal, Hitler’s Nazis weren’t the last.)
We have evidence, just mentioned, that US soldiers, practiced and displayed genital mutilations on the battlefield: fine, that was in the 1860s thru 1876: ie. past. (I didn’t do it. I wasn’t there.) (There, color me innocent.) (Don’t let God throw us in hell: tell him we’re innocent.)

OK. How many US soldiers have practiced (and displayed) genital mutilation, on or off the battlefield, since the genocides of the plains? (I bet Conrad’s Mr. Kurtz wore a couple of sets of balls.)

Any information? (Don’t look in the NYT, dig for fossils on Aldeberan.)

How many universities have such evidence and conceal it? Does the NYT have basements full of information which it conceals?

I tell you what: obviously this isn’t a matter that human societies can be trusted on. And there’s plenty of reason to be skeptical of God or the Bible’s testimony. What we need is to pray to the Truth.

Dear Truth:
If we’ve been less than honest, less than good, smite us! Bury us. Let loose the brimstone.
Ungrip our fingers from the balls of the earth.
Cut off our vulva. Sew us up.
Take paradise, and parch it.

I Want It from God
You know, if there is no God, some things might still be provable: imagine Judgment comes: no God! but there is, right there in heaven, for all to see, an Answer Sheet: answers to physics, a map of fractals, and the originals for uncorrupt gospels: what Jesus actually said what Lincoln actually said!)


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Motorcycle Scrapbook

Chat / Favorites /

My immunity to the appeal of motorcycles dwindled in the mid-1960s. I was driving Hilary’s VW bug in Central Park, great curves, especially in the park’s north east. A guy, a black guy, way-laying his little motorcycle over in the curves, gets held at the next light: green! vrooms away, laying into the curves, laying way over in the curves.
Humans without adult two-wheel experience simply cannot imagine getting safe traction from the side of the tire! I caught him at a light. I said, “That’s a cool machine!” He basked in the admiration, said out of the side of his face, “Break your leg soon as look attcha”. Green: zroom! I couldn’t believe the underparts weren’t bottoming out, scrapping the pavement.
I bought a little Yamaha 100 twin, world’s first 100 cc twin. I heeled it so hard through those same curves, imagining other people admiring foolhardy me the way I’d admired that black guy … I swear, sparks flew: I did bottom out! More miraculously, I kept riding!

thanx cyclechaos

I was talking bikes to a guy in a leather motorcycle jacket in the West End. A bike, parkable perpendicular to the sidewalk, can nearly always find a space right by your destination. We went out, there it was: at the nearest possible point to the door. The guy told me he had a Vincent Black Shadow at home in his bedroom that he was rebuilding. The guy rebuilt my carburator for me, took me to the Bronx to see his Vincent.

Vincent Black Shadow mc
Vincent Black Shadow
thanx motorcycleclassics

My new buddy explained to me — reading every word of every issue of Cycle World further explained to me: In the 1940s Vincent came out with the Black Shadow. 1000 ccs. no frame, so it was light, for a big bike. One was shipped in a crate to the Bonneville Salt Flats. The Vincent was assembled straight of the crate, not tuned, just assembled, and immediately broke the land speed record, by way way.

The Brough Superior, the 1000 cc bike Lawrence of Arabia killed himself on, a gift from Mrs. GBS, would have been fast, but that was two decades earlier: the world had never seen anything like the Vincent.

Well, a year or two further into the 1960s I’m visiting my mother. She’s sold the house I grew up in and moved to an apartment, the upper floor, of a house on the Freeport River. I loved it: the stock car races were across the water. So was land fill. So was a military reserve facility. Next door to the south was a marine storage yard: next door to the north was a commercial clam fleet. I saw the clam guy riding BSA dirt bikes. I saw that he stored them in a shed back of the clam boats. I said Hi, told him I’d seen a Black Shadow once. He told me he’d bought a Black Shadow, just recently. “Oh! Can I see it?” Nah, they guy tells me he got rid of it: fast: thing scared the shit out of him.
And here’s the story he told me:
He bought the Vincent. This was in Freeport, Nassau County, Long Island, New York. He wanted to try it out, but away from traffic. So he trucked the bike, a clammer, he had lots of trucks, to Suffok County, found a long, straight, flat, empty road, parked the truck, rolled down the Vincent …
So the guy’s tooling along, feels nice, he’s proud of himself, when, oh shit, he sees in his mirror, here comes a goddam Cadillac. He’ll ignore it, just let it go by.
But the Caddy doesn’t go by, it rides right next to him, giving little demonstration bursts of power: vroom, vroom. Caddy vroom.
So my clammer says that he says to himself: This is my maiden voyage on this beast, I want to be careful, I’m not ready to fool with some fool Caddy. I’m now doing a sane 70, that’s fast enough for starters. I see my options as: 1) continue to ignore him maybe he’ll go away. 2) pull over to the side, decline to be so much as on the same road with him. 3) Crank the Shodow, win the race instantly: then: if the Vincent doesn’t win instantly, pull over, dismount, refuse to be an idiot for another single second.
So the guy, my clamming neighbor on his just discovered Black Shadow, cranks the accelerator: right hand grip, hand still on the handlebars, feels it accelerate. My buddy counts a tick, glances in the rear view mirror to his left. Where’s the Caddy? !!!
There’s only an empty road behind him! What? Am I hallucinating? Guy looks down at the speedometer. The gauge tells him he’s doing 150 mph! And he’s accelerated it only a crack. Most of the power is still there! in reserve!
And the craziest thing, the guy told me, the bike felt smoother, more stable, at 150 than it had felt at 70!
So, he said, in simple, it scared him. He brought it home, and sold it. He didn’t own it for twenty four hours.

OK. That’s a monster, world famous. My little 100 was so adorable. Its two stroked engine had a very narrow power band toward the top of hight revs. It would scream, then leap! There was a delicious moment when it was really really fast.


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Neo-Real Commie L’Avventura

/ Movies /

Jan and I watched Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura last night. L’Avventura has been one of the most important movies to me since the dawn of my adulthood. I want to discuss, comment on, the movie and my relation to it, and also to its relation to European and American culture in and around 1960.

thanx nyfcc

  1. L’Avventura, the Film
    Girl and a Gun

    Godard said that to make a movie all you needed was “a girl and a gun”. Well, that’s all Godard needed. Antonioni got away with almost as little. But if you ever want to see a movie where pulcritude is its own justification, see L’Avventura! I can easily imagine Antonioni directing Monica Vitti:
    Imagine your water just burst!
    Imagine you’re Mary and Jesus just aborted!
    Imagine you just realized you really hate your lover.

    Antonioni got the most dynamic, mysterious, inscrutable expressions from his cast, the actresses especially: the rich, bored, beautiful, non-too-moral, fashionable, privileged female characters. What do these expressions “mean”? I don’t know. I don’t care to know. Just absorb them! While noticing: a lot of garments get tried on, then discarded. While meantime husbands, friends, jobs get discarded. Some opportunity for an affair intrudes everwhere.

    But, isolated as these affluent manqué souls are, church bells get rung, and get answered.

    One publicity surfer whore, when not attracting mobs of Sicilian men onthe street, stands by a painting of a bearded classical man sucking on the left breast of a nude woman. Men stare at her starring at it: she stares at the starring men.
    Sandro thrown money between her ankles. Her movement fetching the bills northward toward her crotch immediately takes first place in the erotic squirming department.

    i’ll edit

    What a range of facial expressions! What a diapason of pulchritudes! of psychological depths.
    What do they mean?
    It doesn’t matter! It’s about character, not a particular character.
    It’s about culture: misunderstood by the culture’s participants: few revolutionaries understand that they’re revolutionaries: though Antonioni did!

    But L’Avventura doesn’t begin with Monica Vitti; it begins with Lea Massari as Anna: and Antonioni has just said to Lea Massari, “Imagine your water just broke!” or “Imagine you’re about to be raped by Somali pirates.” Every woman in the film, every affluent, leisured woman that is, is almost the lead.

    There’s a great deal I’ll want to say about this film. I’m likely to scribble for a while, months, years, before I’m ready to sort my comments as a proper essay. But so much of what I want to blurt first has to do with not the film so much as reactions to and against the film, to and against what this or that person said about it.
    Never forget, schools train us, corporations train us, to pretend to objectivity; but experience is personal: JFK getting shot, the end of WWII, gas prices climbing past $3 … are always experienced as Where Was I When … JFK was shot?
    Where was I when I first realized that nations were no holier than churches?

  2. L’Avventura and pk
    I saw L’Avventura in its first run at the Beekman, NYC, 1960. All I had known going in was that it was making a stir, stirred debate, disagreement. My respected classmate, trusted movie buff, Sam Rifler, was crazy about it.

    I was thunder struck. Man, here’s “movies” changing, right under our nose!
    My memory of my exit from the Beekman is vivid. I was so wrapped up in the after-experience I couldn’t do anything practical: I failed to wait at the #4 bus stop, I didn’t walk to the subway. I wandered out of the theater, 56th-or-so near 5th, and wandered all the way home: Morningside Heights, Columbia: around 116th. I remember pausing at the Guggenheim, 5th in the 80s, and staring at my favorite building, using it to make my mind blank, like medittaion, so I could concentrate on still receiving L’Avventura, broad-band.

  3. L’Avventura, pk, and the world:
    Then and Since
    L’Avventura was a big hit at Columbia that year.
    Sam Rifler iterated, “Oh, Monica Vitti is so beautiful.”

    Jim Zito was my favorite teacher at Columbia. A year after our class graduated I till sat in on his classes, would run into him around the quad. One day Jim saw me, approached, blushed, and said, “I’m so embarrassed: the New York Times published my letter in which I explained L’Avventura to Bosley Crowther.” (I’ve still never seen Zito’s letter: did Crowther get it? even with Zito’s verbal genius? I doubt it: Bosley was an institution that couldn’t be budged, seemed beyond learning.
    Wow: I just found, and read, the Crowther review online. I found Zito’s obit, but not his op-ed letter. I’ll look further.

    Left-Over Ethics

    OK: but now I have to explain my title: why Neo-Commie-Ism?
    Because right around then my great friend Alan, whose hosting of me free in his Claremont Avenue apartment allowed me to hang around the old campus, took up with a new girl, Maria Theresa: Italian, did’t speak a word of English. I heard Alan was with someone new, then I met her at a party: love at first sight! We stood in the middle of the crowded room. I said “Fellini!” She beamed, and nodded, with enthusiasm. I said “Antonioni!” and she practically broke her neck with her bobbing. I was ready to proclaim her a genius. But a week passed, I saw her at another party. But in that week Maria Theresa had picked up a little English. Now I said, “Rosselinni!” or “Olmi!” But now Maria Theresa rocked her neck No-No! Said, “Oh, no: he’s a fascist!” or “Oh, no, he’s so bourgeouis.” Gradually I realized that when looking at Fellini’s I Vitelloni, and the Franciscan-ish simpleton places the wooden angel in the sand on the beach, Maria Theresa wasn’t resonating with a basic universal spirituality that surpassed dogma; she thought the scenario radiated pure Marxist propaganda. That is to say, Maria Theresa liked it! It was right.
    Marxist propaganda: good. Marxist propaganda: very good; all else: bad!

    (Maria Theresa note) (I think Alan was using Maria Theresa to commit social suicide. Maybe at first he just wanted to get laid, but to stay with her long enough to get married and adopt a black son had to be something else. I haven’t spoken six kind words to Alan since, reflecting mutuality I’m sure, but our mutual friend, the guy who introduced us, back in 1956, visited Alan and Maria Theresa in Rome. Maria Theresa worked as a film editor, worked for some of those guys we’d been raving about. Anyway, trucked along is a black PhD candidate from UW, Madison. This guy says to Maria Theresa, “You excoriate the US for its treatment of blacks, but look how you Italians treat Sicilians!” Maria Theresa screams “No, no: it’s not the same thing at all. You see, in America blacks being called stupid, filthy, syphilitic thieves is social and economic oppression; but Sicilians really are stupid, filthy, syphilitic thieves!”)

    Well, by 1961 I knew a little social context for Italian neoRealism, and for lots of other European film culture contexts. As mad as Joe McCarthy may have been when I was in the seventh or eighth grade, there really were Communists in the world. And as dishonest and naive as Americans were with talk of freedom being bandied about, by a Bush, and another Bush, for example, some kleptocracies really did honor some degrees of freedom in some contexts, while other kleptocracies didn’t. Stalin was always too busy breaking eggs to ever actually make an edible omelet.

More L’Avventura and pk

Lots of movies had and would continue to affect me. But L’Avventura is one of two, both seen around 1960, 1961, both Italian, that affected me way off normal scales. Above I tell of wandering home on foot, taking a long time to get there, L’Avventura eclipsing all else in my mind. A bit later, probably just a couple of months, Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria almost put me into a coma. I had heard of it but ever seen it. I was biased against it for the nitwit reason that I’d heard it was as good as Fellini’s La Strada. Well, that violated one of my deepest faiths, that La Strada was unique: nothing could possibly be “as” good. Well, Alan and Judy and I took the bus down to the New Yorker theater on Broadway at 88th Street.
I was totally blown away. I couldn’t adjust to being so wrong: Nights of Cabiria was (almost) as good as La Strada. But never mind that: I had to inscribe every detail of this movie under my skin, and every macro vision. I had to inject it into my DNA. I had to mate with, to become, this movie: while it was fresh in my mind. I stumbled out of the theater. I trudged past the bus stop. Alan and Judy allowed it, they followed. But before long Alan started to speak. “Wow”, or some such, he began. No, no: I clenched myself, input blocked, censored. No talk, please, don’t anyone say anything. Judy squeezed my hand, asked if I were all right. No, no, please, don’t anyone say anything. Judy would want to go with me into the bed room, she’d want me to make love to her first thing on arriving. No, no: I have to concentrate. I’m receiving a tattoo on my soul: and it’s very painful.

One incidental word about Judy: Judy was Alan’s friend from high school. But she was much younger. When inviting me to share his apartment Alan took the room in back for his bedroom, leaving me the room in front, the room with the great shoji screen divider he’d designed and built. I had more beauty, he had more privacy. Judy came to visit him now and again. One day she comes to visit me, says hi from the doorway, May I come in?
Judy paused two ticks, then told me that her shrink had suggested that she’d benefit from an affair. Oh? I’m still listening. Am I interested, she asks, then clarifies, “I mean”, she said, “Are you available?”

Nice. Convenient. But intrusive. It would be months more before I’d meet a woman where I got the chance to open the flirtation. Hell, I’m supposed to be the male!

I begged Judy to leave me be while I tried to digest something. She was very resentful. Hurt, whining. But we’d had no future anyway. Wasn’t Fellini’s fault.

Btw, I remind one and all: told elsewhere at K: I saw Fellini: at the Casa Italiana, Columbia, when Satyricon was just coming out. He stood by the lectern, serenely scanning the sea of faces in the audience. His eyes crossed mine. His were sweeping, mine were fixed: on him. He paused, took me in, nodded, and resumed scanning.

Was communication total? Instantaneous? Electric? Franciscan spiritual? Or did he think I was a terrorist?

I haven’t started to talk about the film as film, as new, as original yet, thought I’m laying foundation as well as enjoying digression, but there’s something autobiographical here I have to mention while I’m thinking of it:

When I saw L’Avventura, shortly before Jim Zito came up to me and confided his public triumph, the Times publishing his letter, putting him on the op-ed page, I, Zito’s junior, was never-the-less a young buck. I was at the height of my lifetime of arrogance. I hadn’t done anything to speak of yet, but I could feel it coming: soon, any time now. But take film, specifically. Several friends knew a lot more film than I knew; but I knew a lot more film than any amateur I’d ever heard of: except for those guys first mentioned. And I was learning day by week by month. Did I understand L’Avventura? the way Zito proclaimed for himself? condescending to “explain” it to the NYT most famous film critic? its veteran? its first chair? I don’t know. I didn’t know then. I don’t know now. But: one thing was clear to me: I was at the age of ripeness, ready for innovation, ready to innovate. If Antonioni had done something to humiliate the old bucks, we young bucks were ready to take over. We didn’t have to know what we were doing. All we needed was that divine arrogance. The idea! God making the world, looking at it, declaring it “good.” Young buck!
If I didn’t understand L’Avventura today, I’d understand it tomorrow. I’d match it tomorrow, I’d surpass it tomorrow!
It was mine! By right of generation! By right of enthusiasm, of ignorance.
I don’t want to write something worthy of the Bible; I want to write something better than the Bible. With me on the cross I’ll take it all a step further than Jesus did.
It was my right! Did I sit in the repertoire theaters? inthe first run international theaters? Wasn’t I paying my dues?
Didn’t I get drunk in the Whitehorse Tavern and yack and yack about Truffaut? about La Dolce Vita? Didn’t the other drunks say I was an artist?

more comin, and more

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Movie Scrapbook

/ Movies /
first a “monthly”, now a scrapbook (plus archives), in any case a holding bin for notes that may become modules with their own URL

Casting MisGovernment
2015 05 19 I’ve known better than to confuse the actor with the part for a long time. But human psychology just keeps on operating some of the time no matter how smart or wise you are: by the time we’re old we’re back to committing childish fallacies. I so hated Nixon that I also hated poor Mrs. Nixon: and then I hated Joan Allen for acting so appropriately Mrs. Nixon on the screen. I knew better. (And I didn’t do it altogether) but I also didn’t censor myself from doing it at least a little bit. (Hating the actress was cathartic!)
So now I’m watching W. Spread out over months, I’m delectating on morsel after morsel: the movie is amazing, Oliver Stone understands his own ironies! But it’s also promulgating old confusions: forinstance: Elizabeth Banks is so gorgious, so female, so attractive, I go Gah!, and half forgive George W. Bush on behalf of his movie-dopelganger wife. (Oliver Stone is setting the table, doing the casting, in all of these cases.) Meantime, Ellen Burstyn’s Barbara Bush is so near perfect, that in my case it hardly does any good: I hate her anyway.
Caesar Gets the Girl
Elizabeth Banks’ beauty may serve to remind us that Caesar got the girl: and so did the gladiator. Caesars and gladiators got lots of girls: much of human behavior tracks to adultery: hypocritical monogamy. Wilt Chamberlin build himself a basketball-court-sized bed and filled it with beauties. Magic Johnson did the same: and got AIDS, for all the world to see! Tiger Woods gets the world’s most beautiful bride, and mother for his legit kids, but shacks with the other world’s-most-beautiful girl in every port, embarrassing a famous blond beauty in the international press, the idiot. I was just watching a David Attenborough nature doc: the female elephant goes into heat, a big bull elephant courts her, mounts her, rams his eight-foot-long schlong into her: the female elephant bellows for all the world to hear — “Jeez, what a loud girl”, a roommate once remarked from several rooms away from the bedroom in which my partner was having public orgasms while blowing me. But this elephant, like all rutting female elephants, was not just announcing her ecstasy, she was broadcasting her fertility: any other bull elephant was welcome to come and pry the present bull elephant off her back and try taking his place. Will Wilt Chamberlin survive Magic Johnson getting into the sack with him and his troop of females? And when Tiger Woods joins them all? I’m glald my roommate didn’t try getting into my waterbed with me and Linda! PS, if she was loud when giving me head, she was likewise loud when I was giving her head too! She was loud, loud, loud.
Btw after the bull had climaxed and while the cow was bellowing the whole elephant clan formed something Attenborough called a mating pandemonium! All the elephants including the babies had a kind of communal orgasm.

I remember watching a spectacular beauty sit in Ivan Lendl’s box at his tennis matches. I found him ugly however dominant on the court; I found her world-class. TV coverage broadcast her bellows for her, reaching Wilt the Stilt, Magic, LeBron … The other day Ricky Fowler won a golf tournament: a spectacular cat-walker positioned herself where Fowler could insert his tongue into her abdomen as the world watched. A minute later he was paddling her pussy with his finger tips. Yes: Caesar gets the girl, so does this and that gladiator.
And so did JFK, and his damn brother, and Nixon, and Bush … except that even Elizabeth Banks isn’t quite as beautiful as Tiger’s Elin!
Anyway, the Caesars don’t lack for bellowing females. But notice: you can monitor a stack of presidents and find Martha … and Eleanor Roosevelt, and Mamie Eisenhower … while waiting and wondering for Elizabeth Banks, or Marilyn Monroe! How come?
Clinton kept a fat girl under his desk: how come it wasn’t Emma Watson? or Emma Stone?

Caesar & Cleopatra
2015 04 29 It’s some time now that I’ve had Caesar & Cleopatra on my streaming list. That GBS play was filmed in 1945. I first saw it approximately ten years after that. I first read the play along around in there: 1955, 1956: then read it carefully and officially (in Hilary’s company) (for the 6-points-on-GBS-class of Prof. Dan Laurence) in 1963. I was getting peeved that Jan wasn’t requesting it, the months slid by, I put it under her nose several times a week. Finally, last evening, I pushed it on her. I could feel her sulk. What’s with Jan and the Roman Empire? She bailed oout of HBO’s Rome, wouldn’t let me turn her head back that way. She knows that GBS is of the first importance in my life: what’s she putting it all off for?
I’ll come back to that, as I’ll return to a series of points on the subject. First: 1955 or so I was so impressed by Claude Reins’ Caesar. I love “Hollywood”s cadrre of British gentlemen. Just last week we saw again how fabulous James Mason was in that class of character: his Gustave Flaubert was masterful in Mme Bovary! In that context I commended Reins: he’s so good at “intelligent” dialogue. The trouble with GBS’s Caesar is that by 2015, after sixty years of it, I’m thoroughly fed up with Shaw’s idea of how clever Caesar was: I no longer agree that Caesar was very clever by the time he met Cleopatra. I like the idea that he developed her as a competent kleptocrat ruler/executive, that sounds accurate; but I’ll be damned if at 76 I can swallow Caesar as a Christian Buddhist Marxist wise bureaucrat. I gag at the idea of “good” coercion.
Reins did not impress me much this time around. And I’m reminded of how fed up I am with most British gentlemen: I never want to see David Niven again.
From high school I adored Shaw’s wit, his sense of play, or irony: I loved his strong women, I loved his perverse aphorisms; but I never altogether swallowed his acceptance of law, of authority, his genuflections toward Stalin, Marx … Hitler, concentration camps …
So much of C&C is filler: the same joke repeated over and over. C&C has good moments, some of the scenes play well, but …
On the other hand we ought to be able to cut GBS some slack: he was born in the same culture that Marx and Stalin and Churchill and Hitler were born in.

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Movie Notes

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I’ve been writing online about movies since 1995, dozens and dozens of posts, maybe hundreds. Before Knatz.com got censored by the fed I could update in a variety of ways, domain publishing is very powerful, but now as a blog pKnatz posts thing chronologically; except: you can change dates! I mix real chronologies with fictional chronologies, now everything is a mess: let me try to sort.

This post is automatically dated with today’s actual date: 2015 05 20.
Next I make a new post, today, same date, and call it Movie Scrapbook. I read in material from the file formerly called Movie Monthly, dated, fictitiously, 1995.
Over-stuffings get archived. Temporarily some material may duplicate. I’ll try not to lose anything: preservation is what this reorganization is about.

Older entries get moved to Movie Scrapbook archives: Movie Scrapbook
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