Lift Up Your Hearts!

Les Triplettes de Belleville (2003, Sony Pictures, directed by Sylvain Chomet, PG-13)

Also known as The Triplets of Belleville, this is the quirky, sometimes funny, animated story of a bicycle racer, his grandmother, his dog, the French Mafia, and has-been singing trio.  The award-winning film is meant for adults, but were it not for a couple of brief scenes (a music hall show, and some in-passing shots of prostitutes in the hallway), I think our six-year-old grandson would love it.  (Hmmm, there is a funny part that might be tough for his frog-loving mother, however.)

We enjoyed it, too, though we found it a bit like a Presbyterian sermon:  they could have said the same thing better in a third the time.  Maybe that is just my American impatience.

I found it quite amusing that for such a very French film, the only language options available on the DVD Netflix sent were English and Spanish.  Not that it matters:  there's almost no dialog, and what there is, is inconsequential.

For some reason I haven't pinned down, the movie brought to mind the Asterix comics.  Perhaps it was the French setting, perhaps something about the drawings, maybe something in the humor.

You can get a taste from the trailer:  Les Triplettes de Belleville. (Link provided because some feedreaders don't pick up the embedded video.) The trailer is safe for granchild eyes, at least as far as Grandma can tell.

The good news is, there's a new orchestra in town:  The Orlando Baroque Orchestra.  Some area musicians observed Central Florida's lack of concerts featuring baroque music and stepped up to remedy the situation.  We attended the third area performance of their first concert.

The venue was a small church, and we sat in the third pew.  The experience of music in such an inimate setting is worlds different from that in a large concert hall, and to my mind significantly more enjoyable.  It is not as much fun as making music yourself in a group, but comes closer.  For this reason, I thoroughly enjoyed the concert, despite having numerous complaints, most of which had to do with disappointed expectations.  But when your experience of baroque orchestras is Boston's Handel and Haydn Society; of lutists is Paul O'Dette; of harpsichordists is Kristian Bezuidenhout; and of oboists is, well, a whole host of marvellous performers; it's difficult not to set yourself up for a fall. (More)

Nanosurf—the company that put an atomic force microscope on Mars and good Swiss bread on Janet's table—has a cool promotional video.

Most of you can stop reading right now.  The Pap smear is not a subject of general interest, but I spent five years working in a cytopathology automation research laboratory, part of an attempt to make the reading of Pap smears easier and more accurate.  Thus the following headline was sure to catch my eye:  Should HPV Test Replace the Pap Smear?

The primary purpose of the Pap smear is the early detection of cervical cancer, it is argued, but testing for human papillomavirus is easier and actually does a better job, although it generates more false positives, especially in younger women.

[This] recommendation is based on a study that found that the human papillomavirus (HPV) test prevented more cases of cervical cancer than the conventional Pap smear. Results of the study were published online Jan. 19 in The Lancet Oncology.

The HPV test should become the screening tool of choice for women 35 and older, the researchers said. It could be done less frequently than the Pap test, which could be used only in women who have tested positive for HPV, they said.

What I find most interesting is the unmentioned, but logical implication that those who are at no risk of contracting HPV, due to the simple expediencies of virginity or faithful monogamy, can dispense with both tests—surely a course of action the medical industry would not wish to endorse!  Gastroenterologists have adopted a once-every-ten-year colonoscopy recommendation for low-risk patients, perhaps gynecologists should follow their example.

The Merchant of Venice (2004, Sony Pictures, directed by Michael Radford, R)

Not since Kenneth Branagh's Henry V and Much Ado about Nothing have I seen a movie that brings Shakespeare to life as does this version of The Merchant of Venice.  I'm not familiar enough with the play to guess how much might have been left out, but as it stands, it is exceedingly well crafted and acted.  Unique to this performance is the empathy I felt with all the characters; all are portrayed with a depth of humanity that made me care about what happened to them.  The play is funny, tragic, poignant, and memorable.

The R rating is not as bad as might be:  sexual suggestiveness that would go over the head of anyone I'd worry about, and some brief nudity that wouldn't.  It's a pity movie makers don't think about children when they produce Shakespeare; the elements that keep me from recommending this to our grandchildren are not at all necessary for the film.  Children can get value from the rest of a book, play, or movie while remaining oblivious to descriptions that adults can fully understand and appreciate without explicit portrayal.

I have three further reflections on what I learned from It Happened in Italy, which didn't fit nicely into my review.

The first is some thoughts on why the story of Jews in Italy during World War II is so little known.  These are my speculations only, and not from the book.

"Relative comfort" is perhaps one key idea.  Holocaust survivors from Italy would most likely feel a bit uncomfortable in a gathering of Holocaust survivors from anywhere else.  Can one talk about lost homes and possessions to one who has seen his children murdered?  Of wasted days to slave laborers?  Of hiding in a neighbor's cramped shed to those whose neighbors betrayed them?  There is a fellowship of suffering:  Amongst those who survived German concentration camps, I'd imagine those from Italian camps might feel they had not suffered "enough."  (More)

Carl Maria von Weber:  Ruler of the Spirits, J.109, op. 26, E-flat major
Schubert:  Symphony No. 9 D.944 in C major, The Great C major
Beethoven:  Violin Concerto, op.61, D major 

I deplore much of the current "superstar" movement, be it in music, academia, sports, business, or elsewhere:  the astronomical pay scale and near-idolatrous attention given to the very few, to the detriment of the field as a whole.  That did not, however, stop me from enjoying Itzhak Perlman's performance of the Beethoven.  The OPO's own Aaron Goldman^* can put on a show at least as exciting and excellent as James Galway's, but much as I respect most of our string players, the difference in Perlman's playing was striking.  And there's no doubt he draws a crowd:  the concert was sold out.

Food, Inc. (2008, Magnolia Home Entertainment, directed by Robert Kenner, PG )

I first heard about Food, Inc. seven months ago, and at that time posted the trailer, a couple of links, and my determination to see the movie when it became available on Netflix.  Just before Christmas the disk arrived in our mailbox, so we packed it in our luggage and were able to enjoy it with my brother and his family, which was only fitting, as they are the ones who alerted us to the movie in the first place.

Everyone who eats should see this film.  Alas, it only touches the surface of the problems in our food industry and doesn't have time to say much about solutions—but it's quite enough to inspire further research.  The film's website might be a good place to begin.

It Happened in Italy:  Untold Stories of How the People of Italy Defied the Horrors of the Holocaust, by Elizabeth Bettina (Thomas Nelson, Nashville, 2009)

Imagine:  You are suddenly torn away from your home and possessions and are removed with others of your kind to a place where you must check in daily with the police and obey a strict curfew.  You can't leave, practice your profession, carry anything that might be used as a weapon, visit a bar, or attend any meeting or any form of entertainment.  You are imprisoned there for years, and yet for the rest of your life you will be passionately grateful to your captors and will remember your incarceration as pleasant.  You are a Jew during World War II, sent to a concentration camp—in Italy.

Elizabeth Bettina, a third-generation Italian Catholic from New York City couldn't get over the picture:  Taken in the 1940's of a gathering on the steps of the church where her grandparents were married, in the tiny, Catholic town of Campagna, the snapshot clearly included a priest, a police officer, and a rabbi. A rabbi?  Bettina's research into the unmentioned history of her grandmother's hometown reveals a surprising tale of ordinary goodness in a time of extraordinary evil.  (More)

Blame me, my parents, or my schools as you see fit, but after half a century as an American citizen, 13 years of public education, and a college degree, I couldn't name all of the presidents of the United States, much less in order.  The mystery is why no one ever tried to teach me, given how easily I learned them when I put my mind to it, and how handy it has been (and would have been in history class!) to have even a rough idea of who fits in where.

Actually, I did not even have to put my mind to the problem, only my ears.  I bought a copy of Sue Dickson's "Song of the U.S. Presidents," and after a few hearings it stuck.  It's not a great song, but as with many not-so-great songs, that seems to make it stick all the better.  (The link takes you to an updated version that I haven't tried yet (mine ends with Clinton), but the sample suggests it is basically the same.)  Of all the U.S. President songs, that one is my favorite, because it is short, simple, and easy to rattle off mentally when needed—such as when I'm playing the "put the pictures of the presidents in chronological order" game with my nephews.  However, it teaches only the order (no numbers) and gives last names but not first, so you have to know which Adams is which, and which Harrison, and that both Clevelands are the same person. (More)

The Occasional CEO is one of my favorite non-family blogs, not only because Eric Schultz is a good writer, but also because he is a good compiler:  He's great at weaving into a coherent essay the common threads from varied sources I'd never find on my own.  His most recent post, with the unassuming title of Odds and Ends, led me to Paul Campos's excellent Wall Street Journal article, "Undressing the Terror Threat."

Both essays are well worth reading in their entirety.  The first quote box below is from Mr. Schultz; the rest are Mr. Campos's words.

[W]e are buried by data, and are constantly searching for ways to separate signal from noise....Someone wants to take flying lessons: that’s noise.  Someone wants to take flying lessons but doesn’t want to know how to land the plane: that’s signal.  Similarly, someone gets on an international flight, pays cash, and checks no bags—that might be signal.  Someone sews explosive into his underwear: Signal.  Panic.

The question is, how much do we pay to find out?  What’s the real risk of dying at the hands of a terrorist in America?  And if 1,900 Americans [under age 65] die today from a variety of preventable causes, how much are we willing to invest to save those lives?

 (More)

Jennifer at Conversion Diary is turning 33, and asked her readers what they would say to their 33-year-old selves if they could.  That's the kind of challenge I can't resist, and neither can I resist recycling what I wrote as a blog post.  It's pretty much just off the top of my head, and in no particular order, but here are a few of the things I wish I could have told myself.

• Have more kids.  There were some good reasons why we didn't, but a very bad reason was buying into the "you can't afford it and neither can the world" mentality.  If you haven't lived through it, I don't think you can fathom how much pressure there was in those days to have no more than two children.
• Expect much more from your children than society does, on every level.  From the day they are born, your children can learn more, do more, and behave better than you will be told is possible.  Don't limit them with your low expectations.
• Homeschool.  Homeschool.  Homeschool.  From the beginning, and never look back.  This is one of the best decisions we ever made, and I wish we had never subjected our children to the "school mindset."  But when I was 33, school was "the way things are done," and I never questioned it till years later.
• "Bloom where you are planted."  Make the most of your present situation, because you never know when it will change. 
• Keep a journal, take pictures (and label them!), make recordings.  Concentrate on people and places dear to you—there are plenty of professionals documenting the rest of the scenery.
• When you videotape your children's performances, be sure to include their friends as well.  You may not care, but your children will!
• Talk with older family members about their childhoods and their life stories, and get everything you can from them about your ancestors and family history.  Make sure their pictures are labelled!
• Take care of yourself.  When you have young children at home, it's very easy (and seems virtuous) to shortchange yourself when it comes to sleep, exercise, education, and the care of your soul.  Make yourself make time for these things.   Enlist the aid of your spouse—I don't mean to tell you what to do, but to make sure you get the time to do it.  Your children will thank you later.
• If you are too busy to get organized, you are too busy not to get organized.  Make the time (and again, get your spouse to help).  There is no moment better than now; that mythical time "when I have time" will never come.  Never give up; experiment with different systems till you find one that works for you.  Be prepared to alter it as needed, however, when your circumstances alter.

I'm not that good at taking advice, so I'm not sure I would have listened.  But I wish I had.

If you haven't received a call from us lately, it's not only because I don't like to use the telephone.

Shortly before Thanksgiving, our previously excellent phone service started giving us trouble.  Callers could hear us fine, but what we heard from them was distorted.  Back in the good ol' days of monopoly telephone service (black, rented phones and impossibly expensive long distance), if something went wrong, you knew who to blame, and they knew it, too.  Now I can call Switzerland for three cents a minute, but problems invite an endless circle of finger-pointing.  Especially when the problems are intermittent.  Before—possible points of failure = 1:  the telephone company.  After—possible points of failure = many:  the cable Internet provider, the VoIP provider, the VoiP phone, the modem, the router, or some combination.  (More)

Apparently Florida has been having its longest streak of cold weather ever, worse than that in the mid-1980s, which (along with predatory developers) killed off the Central Florida citrus industry.  I was unaware of the records being set, as we returned after the cold spell was well underway, having spent nearly a month in the Northeast, where we experienced single-digit temperatures, played hockey on a local pond, and shovelled 2.5 feet of snow.

The neighbor who picked me up at the bus stop had kindly warned me that it was cold, but with a long-sleeved turtleneck shirt, my warm Westtown sweatshirt, and a heavy coat (with hat, gloves, and scarf if necessary), I figured I was prepared for anything Florida had to offer.  And I was.  (More)

One who makes a practice of passing written judgement on books would do well to reveal at least some of the background and prejudices that go into those judgements, so I will make a brief attempt at so doing.  Whether or not I like a book is determined by many factors, not all of which I know myself.

I'm a writer—if you can say that of one whose paid, professional writing experiences ended several decades ago—so I like well-written books.  I like good grammar, correct spelling, and well-organized paragraphs.  I like coherent ideas presented logically and accurately.

I'm reasonably intelligent and well-educated, so I do not like being talked down to.  I don't like books that assume I have the vocabulary and attention span of an average fourth grader.  I especially don't like folksy books that sound like conversation.  That's great for blogs, Facebook, and Twitter, but if an idea is worth putting ink to paper, it's worth a more serious, careful treatment.  (More)