Initially, I, as other reviewers have found, felt that the title of the movie “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” had little connection, with the goings on as this  story  unfolded.  And , this may be very  true for the average viewer.  However, while others may have been in awe, at so much that was going on with our lead character, and thinking it so…. eclectic; Oskar’s seemingly random thoughts and utterances may actually help explain the thought blurbs, “extremely loud & incredibly close.”  These sensory excitations are probably part of his internal experiences during any number of situations during the movie; nay during a typical “day in the life of Oskar Shell”

Moreover, I pondered how many of the viewers of this movie wondered, just how unique or common  school kids like  “Oskar Shell”, with his sensibilities -  an amalgamation of hyper-sensory, autistic tendencies and just plain “quirkyness”, mixed with extreme intelligence – are?  I wonder whether viewers that are not immersed in an educational environment would think Oskar anything but, odd.  Then I wondered whether most educators working in mainstream, overpopulated public schools would think they had seen a child like Oskar Shell once in a year, or once in a career, or everyday.

I know what my experience is.  I work in a small progressive school with a charter for community learning and teaching the whole child.  And well, over the last 8 years we have attracted large numbers of families that have kids that are on a scale with the Oskar Shell’s of the world.  In fact I would say I see an “Oskar Shell” on an average of 2 or 3 per grade; kids with smarts off the charts but whose day to day existence is a challenge for them, their teachers and their families, given their “special” way of seeing, perceiving, hearing and just knowing the world.

Yep.  There are many more Oskar Shell’s out there – who feel that things are too close, and incredibly loud – than many people know.

Keys, it is my hypothesis, are almost never where they need to be – when they need to be there.  For example: when one is climbing 3 flights of stairs with 8 bags of “super light”, “super strong”, plastic grocery bags (yes, it is 2 more than you should!), schlepping and huffing and puffing as you finally get to the door – instinctively you know that the last thing you want to do is to set them down momentarily, in order to search for your keys! Because, no matter how quickly you find said keys, you enter into the realm of pure frustration, trying to re-finagle all 16 bag handles, (something known in my family as “Idiot’s Delight”) so that you can swoop up all the bags, only to walk them the remaining 5 paces to a kitchen counter top.

However, when you reach your door – carrying 4 more bags than you should be (did I say 2 before, it’s really 4), “but the bags are so light, and so strong!…”, the key ring, seemingly carrying every key known to mankind; the ignition key, the car door key, the apt. key and  the mailbox key (in duplicate for your ex-wife, in case of emergency), door to your ex-wife’s house (child transport logistics), the unknown key, the school building key, the school bus keys 5 in all, are on three illogically joined rings with of course the plastic discount supermarket scan ‘do-hickey”, and the rubbery, plastic advertisement for some realtor or someone – that holds it all together!, is slid all the way down on to the base of your hand on the most useless of all fingers, for the divorced male, the left hand ring finger.  I am a “righty”, thank you very much, and this set of keys is all but mercilessly tangled on this useless finger, crying out for me to somehow, not only untangle the gagle of bag handles (8 I count, …yeah, I do Math too!), but to find the slightly odd shaped, almost brass colored ring and somehow get it between my pointer and thumb of the opposite hand, so that i might have enough leverage to actually insert into the lock and turn to open the “flippin’”door.

Now (long pause), this ritual has been performed dozens of times over the last several years.  However it has only recently exposed itself as the “brain stumping”, quasi paranormal phenomenon of “Key Displacement” that it is. Yes, well getting back to my hypothesis.  All sets of keys held by adults -will do their best (yes the “keys” have become a pronoun for my purposes), to be in the worst possible position for one to locate, manipulate and – all in all- efficiently utilize for daily activities -whenever possible!.  There are any number of activities in which I have anecdotally witnessed or participated in such frustration, as commonly takes place (mostly among adults) because of this phenomenon.

You doubt in this phenomenon!?… Why did someone invent the “key clapper” for key location for mature people (adults)? I got one in my stocking one Christmas.

Yes, this phenomenom exists alright and can be described best by “Something that transports, most assuredly against your will, your “clutch” of keys, from your best planned location for them, at any point in time – but usually right before you will want them -to their most inconvenient position within your immediate universe.”

Here are a couple of examples.  You have exited the car with a friend to do some shopping, and very carefully laid your keys in the little zipper insert pocket within your purse, only to find an hour and a half later as you approach your car door, and the rain is transforming from a drizzle into a “typhoon”, your keys are almost pasted to the bottom of your purse below years of facial tools, receipts, and general debris! – “Key Displacement!”

On another occassion you are riding back from the beach, commensurately sunburned, fatigued, with sand in all the wrong places, and your eyelids trying to glue closed from the salt residue of the day.  You have your windbreaker on as you exit the car (the airconditioning gave you a chill) it is still 92 in the sun, with 93% humidity, you open the trunk and lug out the towels, beach chair, the mini-flexible cooler with shoulder strap, the carry-all beach bag, with books, sunscreen, frisbee, balls etc…In your free hand you carefully place the car keys in your right windbreaker pocket.   You make a last ditch effort to leave the car as it was before your trip and scoop up two soda cans and a water bottle with what was your free – right -hand.  You make the walk away from the car, up the curb – realizing the towels and the beach chair are beginning to slip.  Instead of sticking to the walk-way you cut across the lawn, only to have your flip-flop toe…get caught in the long grass.  You almost sprawl, but catch yourself, the sweat now trickling down your sunburned shoulder blades and your windbreaker beginning to stick to your upper arms.  You feel that you can just make it, as the bathroom calls….and, up one, two, all three steps. You’re at comfort’s door, and you’re able to wedge the two cans and one bottle under your left arm-pit, so that you can get your right hand in your right windbreaker pocket – - where you so carefully put them, planning for this moment – from years of experience.  This is not the act of an 18 year old… But, alas they keys are in your left windbreaker pocket…..and you know how it goes from there.

“Key Displacement”

Ok, let me just say that for a Single Father of a 15 year old girl, this was a bit disturbing.  However, there were a few positive things I got out of this.  All the characerizations were great;Daniel Craig, the girl, the uncle, Harriet’s brother etc.  Howver, as a divorced father watching this alone I was struck by the description of the missing girl, Harriet.  Thank goodness she turns out “looking” well adjusted…normal, and it doesn’t hurt that she is attractive. But, about midway through the movie (darn I want to say film…shhhh, pase, pase)  Harriet is interviewed about her self and is matter-of-fact as she describes a 14-15 year old girl in Sweden, in the most F*****-** family I’ve ever heard of; and apparently if you look at the nearly – “Royal”, (and often more powerful), in any society over the course of civilization, one story can be more bizarre than the next!  

So, I’m drawn to the confusion that my daughter is going through at this very age.  And, I’m thinking that  Harriet “nails it”!    She says, “…a little withdrawn one day, wearing dark eye make-up and the tightest sweaters she can –  the next, and her head burried in the bible the next day.  She was very bright.  Some thought she would take over the family business one day.” -Whew! there’s a lot in there, I thought…

The words don’t exactly describe what I am witnessing with my own.  However, the spirit does.  The inconsistency, the unknowing, the seemingly out-of-character.  And, then to know, however, not until the end of the movie, that Harriet did turn out “normal”, was kind of my happy ending, Relief.

But how does one know how that person is going to turn out…when they’re still trying all this out.  When their body’s are changing faster than the time lapse photography of a budding Crocus, they showed us in school (circa 1970′s if you don’t remember); When they are bleaching their soft, baby fine, straight hair -into oblivion (Hiroshima of the hair comes to mind), only to add rainbow hilighting to the bangs; When they are telling mom, that they don’t know whether they are straight or not;When they are seemingly unable to pick-up their room, no let’s rephrase that – keep from trashing their room!; When they are taking school notes on paper ripped out of a spiral notebook, with no hope of ever finding an organized way of keeping them; When they are confused about their sexuality to the extent they don’t know whether they are gay or  straight; When they admit that their idol in the school is the only girl who’s tried it all – by age 16 mind you! (Rebel without a cause, sexually active, talented musician song-writer, piercings where they don’t belong, language fit for a sailor).

I just remembered that I have one of those parenting a  teenager books around here, that my older sister sent me a while back.  I thought I had read enough last year (a chapter or two…yeah, I get it, I’m hip…I got this, no problema, man) – - Not!…I gotta find that book, today.

Do you step back and loosely guide, like I a couple 2-by-4′s bracketing a “match-box-car” rambling down a hill, moving much faster than it was meant to?  Or – do you get as close as you can commenting on every nuance, asking questions with each metamorphasis that makes the catipillar butterfly thing, look like color by numbers? It’s hard to know.

I know only one thing.  You only get one chance at this thing, especially with only one kid.  And, if it doesn’t turn out “right” (whatever that is!?) it’ll be a burden, a source of anguish for the rest of my life. Oh, man it’s a lot to comprehend.

In the immortal words of Dory… “Keep on swimming, keep on swimming.”

Narrator:

When you are lonely, you have time on your hands….

When you have time on your hands, you look for things to do that you ordinarily would not do…

When you do things you ordinarily would not do, you kill time in a pub, waiting for your daughter to finish babysitting, on a Thursday afternoon.

When you are Sitting in a pub on a Thursday afternoon, you talk to anyone because you are friendly….

When you talk to anyone in a pub on a Thursday afternoon because you’re friendly,  they are friendly in return….

When you are friendly in a pub on a Thursday afternoon, sometimes you have a “neon sign on your forehead that says – “Sucker”.

When you have a sign that says “Sucker” on your forehead, you get invited to meet with someone to talk about a business opportunity.

When you get invited to talk about a business opportunity by someone you haven’t seen in a year, you say yes.

When you say yes to,  hear about a business opportunity, you get up on a Saturday morning feeling productive.

When you go to  a “business opportunity” meeting  on a Saturday morning… you inadvertently pick a meeting place, where lots of people who may know you are walking buy…

When people you may know are walking buy, and you are at a business opportunity, the meeting turns out to be a “cheesy” Network Marketing opportunity.

When you realize the opportunity is a “cheesy” Network Marketing opportunity…it’s too late…

When it is too late, the presenter is in his Spiel and –  you don’t want to stop him…

When you don’t want to  stop him in the middle of his Spiel, he is speaking inappropriately loud!…

When the “cheesy”, inappropriately loud, Network Marketing presenter  is speaking , a line builds right next to the outside table you’re sitting at…

When the Spiel is too loud, and the opportunity is inappropriate, and the line builds- you are chagrinned.

When you are chagrinned, you are embarrased but you let the spiel go on, out of courtesy….. and the line gets larger and people are now looking and listening.

When all is said and done, you have wasted your time, humbled yourself, perhaps embarrassed yourself… taken a step backwards  instead of forwards, relived all the network marketing spiels you’ve been to…Amway, Arbonne, Juice Plus, ACN …..(actually only been to 2, but approached by many more…)

When you have wasted your time, been chagrinned, humbled, and perhaps embarrassed – you walk away shaking your head…. Oh, well

Let me start by saying that I don’t believe I am your average “Marilyn” afficianado. Or in that case, your average anything. It would be kind of horrible to think that you were an average, something or other.  It would be somehow more satisfying to be known as a “stinking” something or other than, the average as an alternative. In any case, I state this because I can trace my interest in Ms. Monroe, back some 35 years to my freshman english class with Jocelyn Edelston.

Jocelyn Edelston was pretty “average looking” (I guess someone has to be), and as I recall reminded me more of what I thought Sylvia Plath must have looked like. Yes, The Bell Jar was required reading for freshman english at Boston College in 1976. But, I digress. In freshman english that year, I first realized that I kind of liked to write. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t go on to write anything of substance in the encompassing 4 years; mostly because I rarely got to write about anything that interested me! – - But, I did research and write about Marilyn Monroe.

There were already many books and twice as many articles written about Marilyn Monroe, at that time. And, I think, looking back on it, my impression was that this legend must have been from some ancient, romantic era decades ago. It’s only now that I realize she died a mere 14 years before my research. You see, I had a thing for the romantic hero or heroin; Monroe, Mantle, Dimaggio, JFK.  At one time I also read everything I could get my hands on regarding the Kennedy’s and their clan.  I still stop flipping the channel’s anytime I come across a retrospective on Bogart, Garbo, Dietrich, Howard Hughes, Earhardt (sp?) etc.  They all enthrall me – the pure romance of their lives, and the decisions they made.  So in the words of Crooner – Sir Elton John…”I would have liked to know you, but I was just a kid…” and the song goes on (“Candle in the Wind”: also sung at Princess Diana’s memorial service, with revised lyrics), “who saw you as something more than sexual, more than just our “Marilyn Monroe”.  Yes, I derived more from her story, from her fatherless upbringing, to her unbalanced mother, who was committed to an insane asylum, so that Marilyn – - Norma Jean Baker (Mortenson apparently the absent father’s name) spent years in two orphanages, and a dozen foster homes!, to her mixing it up with the Apex celebrities, Sinatra, Giancana, both Kennedy’s John and Robert; and finally her apparent suicide, accidental or not.  So I wrote my 3- 5 page paper on the available “stuff” in Babst Library on the campus of Boston College for english 101 freshman year.

I really don’t remember much about it, but I do remember rooting for the side of her story that told that she had some critical acting ability.  I remember wanting that to be true, for there was so much more of the sensationalist, nay, factual accounts of her substance abuse, and late arrival to sets and upsetting of directors and co-stars.

But years went by and I would purchase something from an antique shop or something or other – if the feeling moved me.  And, it did… a few times.  But, I hadn’t thought much about Marilyn Monroe recently.  One might say I was “over it”. I no longer own any reminders of  the legend.  And then I heard about this movie “My Week with Marilyn” and it sparked an interest.  I read and heard that the portrayal by actress Michelle Williams was exceptional.  I finally decided to rent it, and watch it on my own; and couldn’t have been more moved.  First of all I don’t know why any female would want to see the movie.  And, I’m not sure on what level they may appreciate it.   Having said that, for me, this was the most real, realistically portrayed, biographical insight and depiction into the escence of what this woman must have been like, that I can imagine.  I hope I’m being clear.  The movie was terrific.  However, I was really taken in by Michelle William’s portrayal of – this broken, fractured person that surely was – the screen legend – Marilyn Monroe.  This reality had not come to me in the research I had done as a freshman in 1976!  And, I’m not sure that one could understand why, she was this shell of a complete, stable person, if you hadn’t done some of the research I had in 1976.  Of course! Now it was clear to me!   She didn’t just take a few to many Barbituates while drinking too much one August night in 1962 – - Outta’ the Blue!  From what I saw in “My Week with Marilyn”, she was probably lucky! to live the additional 6 years until her death, that she did.  She must have been depressed and border line paranoid dillusional most of her adult life…. And yet somehow at some point, once she got in front of the camera, and ”the stars were aligned”, she exuded magic. And even the great Sir Lawrence Olivier had to admit it.

In addition, a moral that I took from this marvelous “film” was that, people can indeed reach the heights of their gifts and talents,  even in spite of the deficits   or weaknesses in other areas of their lives.  We need not be perfect in order to be perfectly successful!

“You can’t make this stuff up!”.

This is a real supply vehicle, docking with a real Space Station, with real booster rockets aglow, and the real earth, with real city lights below….

Instead of writing about something, today.  I think I am just going to go out and do something.

First of all thanks to the friend, who posted this on my FB wall early this morning.  I don’t think you knew how “spiritual” this image could be for me (tongue in cheek, of course).

And, Oh, btw… it has nothing to do with Recycling, for me.

However, there is something about being a single adult male, that still isn’t sure what they want to be when they grow up.  Especially at mid-life.  I mean all the people around you, are  where they are and are either “happy” or “unhappy”.  Though, most seemed resigned to where they are.  The image of this little guy in the photo, makes me say to myself “OK” … if that’s the way it is right now, it’s ok.  Resourceful!? you can’t get anymore resourceful than this Herit Crab – - let’s call him   “ Crabby“.

Of course he’s a little crabby.  He’s carrying his life around with him, and it doesn’t quite fit.    All the other crabs have nice, or less nice… but appropriate looking shells!  They fit into that wide band or berth that is acceptable.  Not only is his not the sporty new model of shell, it chafes (notice the sharp edges).  But, he is shlepping along, doing what he needs to do, and doing what it takes to get by – day by day.  Crabby can be encouraged (and metaphorically me too) by the image of Albert Einstein sitting in his Patent Office, whiling away the time, before arising with his important works, which are so important, even today.  Crabby will find just the right shell, and it will “shine” more, because of his perseverance, and perhaps his choice, at one time in his crustacean life, to take a risk – and take “the path less traveled”.  And he will do something important.  It will show on his face – and he will be nice to all crab-kind, and treat prince and pauper alike.  And, his off-spring will benefit from his modeling.

Oh, to be at mid-life and not have it all figured out.  I don’t know if it’s opportunity or torture…

Let me preface by saying I don’t want to minimize the tragedy of the Trayvon Martin incident at all.  His parents have real grief, and their son is gone forever.

I am simply picking up on a cultural or societal topic that was touched on by Geraldo Rivera, once young news caster on the biggest stage, turned sensationalist media personality turned, I guess …just older and less relevant:)

The idea expressed, was that the victim Trayvon, attracted unwanted attention while wearing his “hoodie”; that comfortable heavy cotton, hooded sweatshirt with center pockets, that has had conjured up different images, has had different uses, and let’s say has become somewhat iconic over the years.

Recently I purchased one while browsing through shops in the mountains of North Carolina.  In my eyes, it was a throw back to a simpler and comfortable time.  It was that sweatshirt you grabbed to go out on the beach on a slightly stormy or overcast day.  You could wear almost anything under it and it kept you warm.  It was the choice of many jocks, growing up; due to its flexibility, heavy cotton feel (it really is most comfortable), and absorbtion  attributes.  I have images of males (primarily) with light grey “Hoodies” with iconic names like, Navy, Army, Dartmouth, Maine etc… across the chest.  It meant you were actually apart of those communities, I guessed.  Every kid had owned one – hadn’t they?, and they lasted for years.  No shrinkage (don’t get excited guys, can’t take’em in cold water), except very gradually.  You seemingly could pull them out year after year, early Fall, preferably after you were done with your growth spurt years were. Diary of a white, suburban, middle class male.

Now a single adult male (very adult I guess ), I have my throw back hoodie.  It is navy blue, a very good color.  One of my reader’s, and shopping partner on the day I made the purchase, can even attest to my sincere disappointment upon misplacing it for a couple of weeks.  However, don’t worry I do have a point in here, although it does seem I’m going a bit “around Robin Hood’s barn” (love that saying).  I’ve taken to wearing my dark blue hoody, on rather dimly lit if not dark mornings on my way to workout (5am)… and, for a couple of days, the air had a chill to it, or moisture was abound, so I thought I’d actually toss the hood up. And, it worked! It kept me warm.  The good ‘ole hoody did it!  But, as I noticed the lady going into the gym ahead of me, or the lone dog walker – at that time of morning; gave me “a look”.  It was a glance of disapproval, the look of “you’ve thrown me to pause, or quicken my pace”, it was the look that said – “What more is there to this guy wearing the hoody- why is he wearing the hood up? What is he  concealing? What is he up to?   This was a rather off putting social experience ( I also wore dark sweat pants).  It was not comfortable for me.   These people were saying, non-verbally but quite judgementally, that I concerned them, worried them, and therefor they were fearful and critical of me; all without speaking a word.  This btw, is how High Schoolers know where they fit in and where they don’t, it is how there world works.  I think the words of spoken language actually get in their way!

Now Geraldo Rivera allegedly said that Trayvon Martin would not have been shot by the overzealous neighborhood security guard (who btw does not need to be carrying a guy – 911 “Hello!”), were he not wearing his hoodie, with the hood up, on a drizzly dimly lit day .

I have already characterized my cultural experiences.   And, no doubt those of the 2 people involved in this shooting death have experiences that were drastically different in many respects.  However, the manufacturers of clothing that create fashion statements, that foment certain urban looks, the “gangsta” look is the one I hear most often about from my daughter (15), are riding the age of something that the kids themselves don’t realize . I’m not a sociology “major” so some of my labels may go astray, but bare with me.

The clothes makers and therefor marketers are taking advantage (in a business sense) of the trend of lower middle to upper income kids (educated guess –  demographics of 12 – 24 yrs of age)  emulating what they perceive as real in the “ghetto” – - a place whether real or imagined, that these kids will, largely because of there sheltered upbringings, never have to experience.

Because said population of kids will never experience the real thing, it is fun to try on this characture, try to belong, try to emulate, try to pretend, try, try, try… Fine. No harm no foul.

Well, let’s see here.  Someone is being emulated, and so the marketing of certain clothing becomes symbolic, hip and therefor desireable to kids and young adults.  You know though, the legend lives on, so to speak – because there are whites, blacks, hispanics, and asians, in the country who are living the “dream” (excuse the sarcasm) – the one none of us want to be living in!   And it is the real “cowboys with the Black Hats” that cause the fear in more mature adults.  My personal opinion, is that mature adults – being past this age of “army ant like non-verbal communication, that school kids use ” can’t distinguish between the real and the simply posturing  messages being sent out anymore from youngsters.  We aren’t (probably from about the age of 30) able to relate to the fashion statements made by the younger demographics, and probably can’t distinguish – in certain situations – those that are living a life of abuse, poverty, violence and lack of education (and let’s face it, are very scary in the eyes of the shrinking middle, upper middle, and wealthy socioeconomic tiers), from those that are in affect, just playing dress up, while they get through their influential years!

This blurred, hazy area where harmless kids emulate more “dangerous” characters, partially through the symbols made available by clothing manufacturers; is where these tragedies may sometimes occur.  Do I believe the “Hoody” caused the shooting of Tayvon Martin?  I don’t know.  Do I think it may very well have led to a confrontation that didn’t need to happen – you bet.

If I am the parent of an mixed race boy, that likes to dress with what I call “droopy drawers” and wears his hoody up – among other things, and I’m sending him out to run an errand or he tells me he is going out to get a Soda, in a largely “establishment” settled neighborhood;   I emplore him to take the “gangsta” hat off, and do not pull the hood up to conceal his face; only… because I know others are afraid.

We all no what can happen, when people have fear, whether reasonable or perceived, and the ability to bring force is available.