Charlie Brown and Snoopy go to the moon

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, May 18, 2011 10:13 PM

May seems to have a lot of fun anniversaries. The other day I wrote about the 25th anniversary of Top Gun. I also saw recently that May, and May 18th in particular, is the 859th anniversary of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. They married in 1152 in what was, by all accounts, an elaborate celebration. Their nasty union however, especially the latter years, was chronicled in the fabulous 1968 film starring Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn, The Lion in Winter.

May 18 is also the anniversary of the 1969 launch of the fourth manned mission of the Apollo space program, Apollo 10. Classified as an F type mission, it was to provide a dry run for the famed Apollo 11 moon landing, but without actually landing on the moon. The lunar module actually came within 8.4 nautical miles of the moon’s surface. The commander was Thomas Stafford, the pilot was John Young and the lunar module pilot was Eugene Cernan.

Many incredible things happened during this mission, including Apollo 10 setting the record for the highest speed ever attained (at the time) for a manned vehicle. It was also famous for the call signs given to the service and lunar modules. Ladies and gentleman, say hello to Charlie Brown and Snoopy respectively.

As unofficial mascots, the two inseparable comic strip pals blasted into space at 16:49:00 on 5/18/1969, Charlie Brown in space coveralls and Snoopy in his Flying Ace scarf. When they returned to Earth on May 26, the recovery team from the USS Princeton painted “Hello ‘der Charlie Brown” on the underside of the helicopter.

The relationship between NASA and Charles Schultz, the creator of Peanuts in 1950, began when the space agency asked Schultz to join the mission in hopes of cheering up the country, still saddened by the tragedy of Apollo 1 and the loss of three astronauts in a launch pad fire. Schultz was convinced that the men would one day walk on the moon so he kicked off a week-long series of comics where Snoopy made it his personal mission to be the first beagle on the moon.

He succeeded.

As did the Snoopy lunar module. Abandoned in space it likely crashed onto the moon’s surface. The Charlie Brown service module landed in the Pacific Ocean and is currently on loan at the Science Museum in London where it is proudly displayed.

No word on Snoopy’s famous scarf.

Good grief.

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live out loud

The kid

by Lorin Michel Tuesday, May 17, 2011 5:14 PM

At 11:27 this morning US Airways Flight 796 lifted from the wet runways of LAX into the rain. It disappeared quickly as it flew through the heavy gray clouds and all that was left was the roar of the next jet, the countless cars jockeying for position, people calling out to loved ones as TSA members shouted instructions and a recorded voice telling us over and over again that the white zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers.

Just that fast, Justin was safely on his way to his summer-stock internship at Gateway Playhouse in Bellport, New York on the south shore of Long Island by way of a brief layover in Philadelphia.

We pulled away from the terminal and started our journey home, proud of him, sad to see him go, and excited for the possibilities that await him. It was a true myriad of emotions.

I can only imagine what he must be feeling: anxious to start something new, to learn something new, but apprehensive because he’s never done this before. Never flown off to a job, never worked in a professional theatre, never been paid to do so. He doesn’t know anyone, doesn’t know the area. I’m sure he’s excited as well because of all that he’ll be learning. For two years at the University of Arizona, he has studied the ways of the theatre world. He has worked on productions as a tech, and this year as an electrician and assistant lighting designer. His internship will also be in electricity and lighting.

The playhouse is Long Island’s oldest summer theatre and one of the most respected in the United States. Many careers in theatre, television and film have been launched from their stages. This year they’re building on their 62-year history with plays like Legally Blonde, Spamalot, Sunset Boulevard and Sweeney Todd. The actors are mostly from Broadway, and all professionals, though there is also a school on the premises.

There are seven acres with a Mainstage theatre, Barn theatre, scene shop, two rehearsal studios, three dorm-style housing units (one of which is where Justin will live), a full kitchen, costume shop, design office, paint shop, box office, business office, storage, rec room and even a swimming pool (the first in-ground swimming pool put in on Long Island). The beach isn’t far away and Fire Island is just across the bay via ferry. It’s going to be quite a summer for him, and for us.

So today, we’re celebrating the kid and his future. It’s something to behold.

Live it out loud!

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relative celebrations

In which I celebrate one of my least favorite movies

by Lorin Michel Monday, May 16, 2011 10:29 PM

Twenty-five years ago today a movie was released and it became an instant success. Men loved it because it was about men doing manly things, bucking danger, putting themselves in harm’s way and coming out heroes. With hot women in tow. Women liked it because the movie was littered with very hot looking young men, in uniform and out, doing manly things but showing their sensitive side by crying.

I’m speaking of Top Gun, released on May 16, 1986. I saw it when it first came out and can honestly say that I enjoyed it. Of course, I was pretty young myself and was enamored with Tom Cruise. My first husband was doing a lot of traveling at the time and he would go to the theater every night while he was out of town and watch the movie again.

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Come to find out, most men are like that. When Kevin and I got together, our third date was watching Top Gun in his apartment, with ribs and fries delivered by Pizza Man. It was referred to as “Dad’s Airplane Movie” because that’s what Justin called it. Even though I wasn’t a big fan of the film, I was already a big fan of the man who would become my second husband and so we sat and watched. We quoted all of the famous lines. And munched on some of the best bad ribs around.

Top Gun has a very simple premise. A hot shot navy pilot with a chip on his shoulder named Maverick and his Radar Intercept Office (RIO) Goose are given the chance to train at the Navy’s Fighter Weapons School; to be the best of the best. The inspiration for the film was an article by Ehud Yonay in a May 1983 issue of California magazine entitled “Top Guns,” and it profiled actual pilots at the Miramar Naval Air Station in northern San Diego, nicknamed “Fightertown USA.” A former instructor named Randy “Duke” Cunningham was supposedly the inspiration for Pete “Maverick” Mitchell.

The movie, directed by Tony Scott and written by Jim Cash and Jack Epps, Jr., opened on 1,028 theaters and was the highest grossing film of 1986, bringing in $176,786,701 domestically and $177,030,000 internationally for a total of $353,816,701. Enrollment in the Navy went up 500 percent.

It starred Tom Cruise, who was a hot young thing. I loved him in The Firm; in other things I’ve tolerated him. Val Kilmer (“Iceman”) was one of my favorite parts of Tombstone when he played Doc Holiday. Tom Skerritt was a great sheriff in Picket Fences. Anthony Edwards went on to fame as Dr. Greene in E.R. At one point, he, Rick Rossovich and Michael Ironside were all on E.R. at the same time, in either the first or second season. Tim Robbins who had a very minor role is now a fairly big star (loved Bull Durham) as is Meg Ryan, or at least she used to be. Kelly McGillis. Never cared much for her.

The movie itself is trite and clichéd but has great action sequences, and nice bodies. As Roger Ebert said “movies like Top Gun are hard to review because the good parts are so good and the bad parts are so relentless.”

Regardless, Dad’s Airplane Movie continues to be a big hit in this house. I don’t tend to watch it because it really is bad, but every time we find it on cable, Kevin can’t help but pause and watch. I think he feels the need, the need for speed.

Happy Anniversary, Top Gun

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live out loud

The wheel deal

by Lorin Michel Sunday, May 15, 2011 10:33 PM

There were equal numbers of boys and girls standing in the shade, patches of sun slipping through to warm an otherwise cold Sunday morning. The wind was blowing but none of the kids seemed to mind. They were completely focused on their small, home-made wooden vehicles at the top of the drive. These cars ranged from the sparse flat floor panel with a seat, a steering column, attached wheel and a foot brake to wedge-shaped enclosed boxes with bucket-seats, handlebars and sponsors. The parents hovered. As the kids got into their cars, some crouched down to whisper last minute words of wisdom; others continued to tinker with the wheels, for torque. It was Derby day here in the OP.

Photo: Kevin Michel

The Soap Box Derby has been called The Greatest Amateur Racing Event in the World, and the Gravity Grand Prix. But it received its official name back in 1933 when a Dayton Ohio newspaper photographer named Myron Scott came upon three boys racing their engine-less cars down an inclined street. Scott had an idea: Why not hold a coasting race and award a prize to the winner? He took the idea to his bosses who promoted it and several weeks later, nineteen boys showed up for a race on the same street. One of the cars was handcrafted and painted black with a big white “7” on the side. Built by Robert Gravett, the son of a metal stamping plant employee, the car – which didn’t win – became the unofficial symbol for the Derby for nearly 35 years.

The first major Derby event was held that same year, on August 19, 1933, when 362 kids showed up with hand-made cars built from orange crates, sheet tin, lots of junk, and all sporting either wagon or baby-buggy wheels. At least one was made from a soap box, and 40,000 people watched the race from the hill.

By 1936, the event moved to Akron, Ohio and Derby Downs was born. At its peak, the Soap Box Derby was one of the top 5 sporting events in the country in terms of attendance with an average of 70,000 at each race. In 1947, actor James Stewart cancelled a week’s worth of appearances on Broadway in order to attend the Soap Box Derby.

In races around the world, modern gravity-powered racers reach speeds up to 35 mph. Drivers compete one on one, with the winner advancing to the next round or heat. Each heat lasts about 30 seconds. The maximum height of a car is 36 inches, max width is 42 inches with a maximum weight of 250 pounds not including the driver. Wheels can’t be more than 20 inches in diameter and all cars must have brakes. Today’s event in Oak Park was sponsored by the local YMCA. Several hundred people gathered in the parking lot of the Farmer’s Insurance building (they have a great asphalt incline driveway that’s off the main road), lining the pavement, sipping coffee, snapping pictures and rooting for their favorite cars.

Photo: Kevin Michel

We didn’t have a kid racing today. Our kid is too old and too big and this morning, was home in bed sleeping. But we went out to celebrate the Derby because Kevin has always been fascinated, because it was a beautiful morning after a night of drenching rain, and because events like this are the wheel deal.

Indeed.

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The brain as mood ring

by Lorin Michel Saturday, May 14, 2011 11:59 PM

It has long been accepted that the heart is the center of our emotions but I have always wondered about that. Maybe it’s because I tend to be more cerebral than emotional. But still, does the brain have something to do with the way we feel, as well as the way we think? I think I think so. Thinking is as much a way of emoting as emoting is a way of thinking. They’re forever intertwined in the same way that the brain and the heart are entwined by arteries and blood. Emotions feed the brain and the brain feeds emotions.

It’s a theory that’s actually supported by a number of neurosurgeons including Antonio Damasio, a neuroscientist and director of the Brain and Creativity Institute at the University of Southern California. He’s written several books about how the brain generates emotion and how emotion then helps people think. His research has shown that emotions and the conscious mind are both involved in all decision making processes. He has written several books, including Looking for Spinoza: Joy, Sorrow, and the Feeling Brain which foreshadowed discoveries in biology and neuroscience on the mind-body problem. His latest book, Self Comes to Mind: Constructing the Conscious Brain suggests that conscious minds and feelings are the two elements of your idea of self and your actual self. The think works with the feel and vice versa.

The brain is all about influencing our decisions, and our decisions are what make us us. The brain is about thoughts and behaviors. The heart is about feelings and desires. The emotional brain is a combination of both. It tells us how to think about how we feel.

I feel hungry, so I eat. I feel thirsty and I drink. I think that someone is interesting and I feel like I’d like to get to know them better. I’m considering a new job, and I’d love to work at that company. I want to go to dinner, and I’m anxious to try the new Italian place on the corner. I wonder about going to that city for a weekend, but I’m so excited to try it. I think I’m in love and I feel my heart beating faster.

I think therefore I feel and I feel therefore I think.

When two people fall in love, their irrational unconscious brains dominate their conscious logical brain. We overlook the flaws that a logical thinking brain would have noticed, so love becomes blind. Then, after a few years of wearing glasses, love is no longer blind. Suddenly we can see because our brain takes over. And yet our heart continues to beat.

The brain involves love, lust and even sex. The heart does, too. They are hand in hand, though they function differently. The brain thinks and feels, the heart feels and thinks. We think about all of it and we feel all of it as well.

The emotion centers of the brain.

This is my brain. This is my brain on emotions. Any questions?

Well, since you ask, I feel really good about tonight so I think I’m going to go to bed happy.

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live out loud

Things I'm celebrating right now

by Lorin Michel Friday, May 13, 2011 11:54 PM

Every day I find something to celebrate, something that’s good and joyful. Sometimes those things are fun, sometimes they’re introspective, sometimes they’re playful, and sometimes they’re serious. Sometimes they’re about a person, somedays about a place, often about a dog. 

Right now I’m celebrating the return of Justin who’s on his way home, driving across the desert into the setting sun. He should be home around 10. We haven’t seen him since January and he’s only home for three days before he jets off to New York for the summer. We’re celebrating his NY internship, too.

I’m celebrating Friday and the end of a fairly successful week; a haircut and color; pasta sauce simmering on the stove; wine swirling in a glass. The air is clear, hedging toward crisp after a warm and humid day. Saturday is only hours away, my favorite day, a day that always brings a smile to my face and a sigh of contentment.

I’m celebrating my vintage puppy, here next to me chewing on one of his toys. Kevin and I were looking at pictures earlier, laughing. Every inside picture we have of Maguire has at least one if not three toys on the floor around him.

I’m celebrating the quiet neighborhood and the flag dancing lazily across the street. I’m loving my husband, who’s in the kitchen chilling glasses and readying for martinis. Friends will be arriving soon. So I’m celebrating friendships, near and far, past and present. The smell of fresh cut lemon is wafting my way.

I’m celebrating a hot shower, and my favorite cargo pants, fresh out of the dryer, a black sleeveless mock turtleneck and black flip-flops.

I’m celebrating my book projects, two of which are simmering as we await publisher instructions, one that is moving forward even as we wait to hear from an interested publisher. And I'm celebrating the start of a new project with someone I worked with a while ago. She found me on the internet. She wants to write a book about her family and specifically her grandparents, and she’s hired me to do it. It’s going to be a special project, one that allows for both historical fact and fiction as we create scenarios about what the train from Chicago to Los Angeles might have been like in 1944; about the route across the country and the sights; about her grandmother seeing her grandfather, before they were even married, after he had sent a telegraph, proposing. She took the train to meet him, and their lives and the lives of their children and their children’s children would never, could never be the same.

The song that the grandmother loved so dearly, Live till I die, is a celebration unto itself. It was originally sung by Old Blue Eyes, Frank Sinatra, as well as Eileen Barton, a 1950s singer best known for the song If I knew you were comin’ I’d’ve Baked a Cake.

Live till I die begins: “I’m gonna live till I die, I’m gonna laugh ‘stead of cry,/I’m gonna take the town and turn it upside down,/I’m gonna live, live, live until I die."

Shout it out. Celebrate it right now. Live it out loud. I’m gonna. Everyday.

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live out loud

A totally un-PC love affair

by Lorin Michel Thursday, May 12, 2011 11:13 PM

I’m in love. I have been for about eight years or so, ever since we met one warm July evening. I remember it well. It was the Vons parking lot in Calabasas. Kevin and I had decided to make a change, and so he had done some research. Among all the things he’s good at, research is one of the best, especially when it involves something that is near and dear to our hearts. Like a new used car.

We don’t buy brand new vehicles anymore. The prices are ridiculous, and since both of us essentially work out of the house, we don’t drive much. A new car with its shiny new car payment makes no sense. There are weeks that we don’t drive at all. So we have our classic Porsche, and it’s fun, but not a great commuter or traveling car. We wanted something bigger.

Correction: I wanted something bigger. With lots of bells and whistles. Gadgets. A bitchin’ sound system. 4-wheel drive. A smooth ride. A great look. A classic. Or at least, a variation on a classic.

The classic Range Rover. That’s not us.

The Range Rover was introduced by British car company Land Rover in 1970. The Brits had been making the quintessential touring vehicle for the desert for decades, since its 4 X 4 introduction in 1948. It was built for tough terrain and was ideal for safari in Africa with its canvas roof and fancy extras like passenger seats and doors. For the next twenty plus years, it was the go-to vehicle for off-road travel. And then came the more luxurious touring car, the original sport utility vehicle, the Range Rover Classic, with a smoother ride, disc breaks, power steering and a hefty weight. When it was redesigned in 1995 as the P38, it became even heavier. A 4.6 liter engine, four-wheel drive, a 25-gallon gas tank and more made it quite the gas-guzzler. It also has air shocks so it can get real high to go through water, or real low for loading. It has independent suspension, so it can almost literally walk down a mountain, slowly, carefully, intricately. I read a review recently that categorized the Range Rover as a “limousine that can climb a tree.”

On that day in July, we saw our new baby. Deep red metallic exterior with a tan interior. Comfortable, gorgeous, and able to leap tall mountains in a single bound. We bought it. Our sport utility vehicle is very sporty, does some utility hauling when necessary, and is our go-to vehicle for travel. We’ve had it in 4-wheel drive a grand total of once. But we’ve taken it up to Napa Valley several times. We load up the CD changer, and stock it with bottled water and healthy snacks for the 8-hour drive north. We always come back heavier than when we left, usually because we’re carrying several cases of wine.

We’ve also driven across the Sonora desert several times, through blazing heat, air conditioning making us comfortable, on our way to Tucson. It gets a whopping 13 – 15 mph city, 17 – 18 mph highway. It’s a terrible guzzler, totally un-PC these days, especially with gas prices around $4.50. And I love it anyway.

Our baby. That’s us in the front seat.

Tonight we put its new headliner in place, secured all of the lights, grab-bars, alarm sensors and more. And everything works! Tomorrow we’ll go for a ride.

Maybe we’ll even climb a tree.

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God bless the child

by Lorin Michel Wednesday, May 11, 2011 11:13 PM

It’s been in my head all day and I have no idea why. I suspect I heard it somewhere, a version of it at least, though not the original. The original, I would remember hearing. It was recorded on May 9, 1941 by Eleanora Fagan during session #44 for Okeh (pronounced okay) Records, a division of Columbia. Sitting in a studio on Seventh Avenue in New York City, and backed up by Eddie Heywood and his orchestra, the song was two minutes, 57 seconds long. It was released on 78 rpm vinyl in July of that same year, with a B-side titled Solitude. She had written the song with her writing partner Arthur Herzog, Jr in 1939.

By then, of course, Eleanora Fagan had become Billie Holiday, one of my favorite jazz singers of all time, who penned and sang one of my favorite songs, God Bless the Child. It’s truly a masterpiece of soul, passion, anger, want and sultry desire. Billie Holiday had a voice like no other. Smoky, warm, guttural and raw, yet completely soothing, much like jazz itself. I can imagine the clubs where she would have sang. Dark, mysterious and moody, with a slight danger lurking in the cigarette haze. Ice clinking into glasses, whiskey splashing inside and burning the throat.

“Them that’s got shall get; Them that’s not shall lose; So the bible said and it still is news; Mama may have, Papa may have; But God bless the child that’s got his own; That’s got his own.”

Many have wondered the meaning of the lyrics she penned. She herself said that they came to her after an argument with her mother over money. I always thought it was about counting on yourself even if you have successful parents; it’s about understanding that if you have good character, you’ll be fine.  But it’s also about how people can use you if you’re successful, and then abandon you when you fall.

“Money, you’ve got lots of friends; Crowding round the door; When you’re gone, spending ends; They don’t come no more.”

It’s a fabulous song, an introspective one, sung by a woman who had numerous problems, including drug and alcohol addiction. She was a prostitute at the age of 14, but she found strength in music, especially the music of Bessie Smith and Louis Armstrong. In 1929, she began to sing. She took her stage name from her favorite actress, Billie Dove, and her father, Clarence Holiday, a guitarist. Born in April 1915, she died on July 17, 1959 from alcohol and drug-related complications. She was 44.

Billie Holiday recorded a number of popular songs but God Bless the Child remains the one for which she is most known. It was even inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1976. It’s been recorded by over 40 artists including Blood, Sweat & Tears in 1968, Yeardley Smith as Lisa Simpson in 1990 on The Simpsons Sing the Blues, and Moby in 2007. It inspired a television movie, and several books including an award-winning children’s book all by the same name.

It’s a melancholy song but so hauntingly beautiful. Maybe that’s why it’s in my head. Maybe it’s in my head because I love it, just as I love the music of Billie Holiday.

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live out loud

These are the hops

by Lorin Michel Tuesday, May 10, 2011 11:04 PM

The walk today wound up through several neighborhoods. The streets were narrow and dotted with pick-up trucks, workers doing everything from landscaping to remodeling. Several garage doors were open; an older man was on his stationary bike. Two beautiful Australian shepherds sat behind their wrought iron fence, backed by chicken wire, quietly, watching. The one with the brown, black and white fur raised a paw and hooked it into the fence. Hello.

On the road, chalked onto the blacktop, was a hopscotch board. I can’t remember the last time I saw one; I can’t remember the last time I played. I also couldn’t quite remember how it worked. I seemed to recall something dropped that you had to hop toward, without touching something, pick up whatever had been dropped, then turning around to do it all again, in reverse.

Hopscotch began in England centuries ago, in 1677, during the Roman Empire, when a hopscotch course was over 100 feet long. It was supposedly marked out on the Great North Road, a 400-mile stretch from Glasgow to London. Foot-soldiers played in full armor to improve their footwork, endurance and general fitness. It was a military training exercise.

Its name is derived from the word hop and eschocher, an old French word meaning to cut or scratch. To play, a series of linear squares interspersed with blocks of two lateral squares is sketched out on the ground. It consists of single squares and double squares, all leading to the safe or home domed square. A stone or coin or something similar is tossed into the first square and the player must hop through without touching the square containing the coin or whatever. Once they get to the safe or home square, they can rest before turning around, hopping back through and retrieving the marker before getting out safely. Then it begins again. No lines can be touched.

The French have a version called escargot, played on a round course. In Germany, Austria and Switzerland, it’s called Himmel and Hölle (heaven and hell), and in India it’s called kith-kith, Stapu or Ekhat-Dukhat. Brazil calls it Amarelinha; the kids in New York refer to it as Potsy.

Whatever it’s called, it made me want to play. I didn’t, but it looked fun. It looked like a memory, like something to celebrate.

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A vintage pod-puppy story

by Lorin Michel Monday, May 9, 2011 6:53 PM

A couple of weeks ago, we trimmed the palm trees on the side of the house, cutting down the dead fronds. There was a tree-trimming crew in the neighborhood and we had hoped to pay them to either feed everything through their wood chipper or to throw the branches on top of the load they were taking to the dump. But because the limbs were dead they were no longer “green,” which means they can't be "dumped" in the environmental section.

Who knew?

So we stacked everything on the back patio, right outside of our bedroom slider, and we’re slowly making use of our trash pickup every Friday morning. Last week, we managed to get all of the dead fronds into one can. But the hard pods are taking longer. They’re inflexible so we can only stuff a few into each barrel at a time. We still have quite the little pile on the patio.

Maguire didn’t seem to care much about the pile when it was bigger but now that it’s smaller and more manageable, he has decided that he must don his Super Dog cape and protect us from whatever it is that is obviously hell-bent on invading the house. These pods could lead to our destruction. Worse, they could lead to us being replaced by pod-people and pod-dog. I suspect his biggest concern is that should these pod-people materialize, his access to cookies and treats might be restricted. And what if they’re here, what if they’re already here! Mom! Dad!

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Each evening he decides to venture out around the time we’re sitting down to dinner, which is usually around 9 pm. Standing at the back slider, gazing into the darkness, his head tilted slightly to the left in order to see the pods lying to his right, he stares first, then growls. He then looks to Kevin. Dad? I need to get out there. NOW! Kevin, good vintage-puppy dad that he is, rises from the couch, leaving his food to cool, and slides open the door. Maguire pushes his head out, keeping his body safely in the house. Then, after some prodding, he quietly eases into the inky blue of night, straight out into the yard his eyes never leaving the threatening palm pods.

Barking ensues. Eventually he gets up the nerve to walk right up to that nasty, mean pile of dead palm parts, sticks his nose inside and barks some more. Muffled, like a mute muffling a trombone or tuba. He paws at it, then decides that it’s good and scared and probably most definitely dead. Crisis averted.

Back to the door, and one bark for re-entry. This one’s for me. It says: Mom? I need to get in there. NOW!

And so we celebrate being safe from the palm pods until the same time tomorrow.

Maguire. The vintage pod-puppy. 

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live out loud

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