Every now and then, I'd run a column of just random thoughts and wanderings. This one was one of my favorites, because it wasn't really that at all. It was more an illustration of my frustration with the election and my inability to do anything about it. I also included it, because it had an in-column follow up to "Geek Flag Ideologies" that I liked.
When it occurred to me that this column was going to run in our ‘election’ issue – regardless of the fact that Frank Melton has already been anointed emperor by some of our local TV stations; thank God the print media still believes in waiting until after the election to do so – I thought I’d write about why I thought one candidate was better than the other.
Oddly enough, the editors insisted that they wouldn’t print half a page of white space.
Honestly, the problem is that I just don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever not known whom I would vote for this close to an election. This is a problem for me, since it’s in my nature to talk, and write about it.
A week ago, I didn’t know. Four days ago, I decided to switch sides and cast my lot with Rick Whitlow. Two days ago, I’d given up and decided to insist on a paper ballot at the polls, just so I could write in “Incumbent Mayor Harvey Johnson.” Now, I’m back to not knowing. (Really, it goes without saying that I shan’t cast a vote for Frank Melton.)
I don’t believe either Melton or Whitlow are qualified for this type of office. I don’t believe that either has the ability to lead a city of this size. I do believe that Rick Whitlow is forthright, honest, and genuinely believes in what he is doing. He has a base of supporters that believe he is truly the right man for the job and they may be right; I just don’t know.
As for Melton…well, my opinions about him are already on record. Suffice it to say, I can’t say anything about him that I said about Whitlow.
A conservative chum of mine commented that he believes four years from now, people will be screaming at each other, “what did you do? Why did you elect Frank Melton?” I think he’s right. I also think it’ll be conservatives shrieking at liberals and liberals howling right back. What is for certain is that the next four years will be interesting.
And to quote Forest Gump (and it seems somewhat appropriate to do so, hm?), “that’s all I have to say about that.”
I’ve had a few random bits rattling around in my cluttered attic of a brain for weeks – none of them worthy of a column, but I thought I’d share them here and clear my head, leaving room for more useless clutter to appear.
I’ve been playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas for weeks now (insert your own silly Jackson crime comment here), and I’ve come to one definite conclusion: the Maytals’ “Pressure Drop” is one of the best songs ever recorded. I love the covers by the Clash and the Specials, but Toots’ original is one for the books.
Two weeks ago, my “Geek Flag Ideologies” column was posted online. Frankly, I didn’t expect any comments and I didn’t see them until the following Monday, when I discovered that many, many folks unleashed their inner geek and immediately began sharing anecdotes and terrible trivia questions (even ones by my Dr. Who homey, Trey Mangum). The reason this struck me as hard as it did is that these people, mostly bright folks and mostly regulars on our site, opened up so quickly to share their love of Red Dwarf, Lord of the Rings, the X-Men and X-Files. When I was a wee lad, being a geek was bad. Now it seems to have cachet – very cool.
Until a friend offered to take the Beast for a walk, I hadn’t actually realized how much I loved taking him out to wander the neighborhood. It has just been something we do. It suddenly hit me how much I actually look forward to going with him. This is remarkable; I’m a certified Idaho couch potato. I guess I have the woofbeastie to thank for my mighty thews and lowered blood pressure.
American Idol: proof that the R&B-loving blue staters and the country-lovin’ red staters can come together to celebrate tedium and mediocrity at its finest. God bless the U.S.A.
As of this morning (Tuesday), Deep Throat appears to be uncovered. W. Mark Felt, the former second-in-command of the FBI during the early ‘70s has claimed to be the long-anonymous source who leaked Nixon’s Watergate secretes to The Washington Post’s Woodward and Bernstein, and whose existence was announced in their book, All the President’s Men. Vanity Fair, which has the story, believes Felt. His family believes him. Woodward and Bernstein aren’t saying. I think it’s true and I feel more than a little disappointed that one of this country’s greatest political mysteries has now ended. Now all we need to know is who whacked Jimmy Hoffa.
And what the next four years in Jackson will look like.
--------------------------------------------------------
“I said a pressure drop, oh pressure, oh yeah, pressure’s gonna drop on you.” Favorite songs, geeks? Probably a lot of Rush. Comments, as always, are enjoyed at planetweekly.
Showing posts with label jackson opinion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jackson opinion. Show all posts
Sunday, June 7, 2009
"People Are Afraid"
Couple of things about this one: Kane Ditto was the mayor of Jackson during its gunfights-in-the-streets early '90s days; yes, it's stat-heavy; yes, my stats are correct; and yes, I supported Harvey Johnson. In fact, only Planet Weekly and the Jackson Free Press didn't support Frank Melton. The daily paper, the television stations, the radio stations, and the pundits all supported Frank Melton. Melton won in a landslide and is now considered one of the laughingstocks of the political world. Jacksonians got the mayor they deserved. Fear and stupidity are a powerful mix.
Four years after Melton was voted into office, he collapsed on the evening of the Democratic mayoral primary - where he ran against Harvey Johnson. He passed on sometime later. I managed to avoid most "God voted" jokes, but not all.
You hear it everywhere; a constant refrain from Frank Melton, from the Melton campaign, and from Melton’s followers – “people are afraid.” You hear it in conversations, you see it campaign material, you hear it on newscasts (particularly on WAPT, which long ago jettisoned any attempts to maintain non-biased reporting), and you hear it from the candidate himself – people are afraid. Do you know what you rarely hear?
“I’m afraid.”
It’s much, much harder to find someone who says this than it is to find someone who says, “people are afraid.” Certainly, there are those who are afraid to live in Jackson. WAPT manages to run useless segments on the topic frequently, even though they exist to do nothing except reinforce Melton’s assertion. I was a crime victim two years ago. I’m not afraid, and I think that most people are not afraid. What has happened, though, is that Melton supporters have taken up this chant, in an effort to fool people into thinking it’s true, even though it’s not. A repetitious spurious ideology does not become a fact; it is simply a spurious ideology shoved down the throats of voters. I suggest the next time someone says, “People are afraid,” we respond:
“No, they’re not.”
Another quote that has become a constant rallying point comes in the form of a question – “Do you feel safer now than you did 8 years ago?” Amazingly, the Melton folks think that most people will answer no. Even more amazingly, some of them believe it. Is crime a problem in Jackson? Yes. But crime is a problem in every city in the country, and Jackson is no longer a small town; it is a city, with all that entails – good and bad.
I’d like to answer the question, but I can’t. Eight years ago, I had relocated to New England, so I can’t answer that specifically. But I can tell you, ten years ago, in the mid-‘90s Kane Ditto heyday, I lived in Belhaven Heights – oddly enough, exactly one block from where I now live. My roommates and I would spend evenings on the back porch, listening to the frequent sound of gunfire in the neighborhood. That was unsafe. Jefferson Street had a fully staffed crack house, Christo’s (where Fenian’s was before Fenian’s, youngsters) front door was shot out, and it was not safe to walk the streets at night. Now, the same neighborhood is a place where people walk their dogs safely and happily, the crack house is no more, and I haven’t heard a gunshot in over a year. Do I feel safer now than I did 10 years ago? Absolutely.
Do you feel safer now than you did two years ago? You should. The statistics are there for all to see. From 2003 to 2004, every type of crime (except homicides) went down in number. In 2003, Jacksonians were victims of 17,203 different crimes. In 2004, there were only 13,600. That’s a drop of 21 percent; a remarkable number. In 1997, when Mayor Johnson took office, there were 20,176 crimes. 1998 saw the only growth in crime in Jackson under Johnson’s leadership – 20,674 crimes. So from 1997 to 2004, the number of crimes in Jackson fell by a total of 6,576. That is a drop of 32.6 percent.
Do you feel safer now than you did 8 years ago? Again, you should. Crime is down 32.6 percent since Harvey Johnson took over. In fact, 2004 had the lowest crime rate in 24 years. Whether you know it or not, and whether you feel safer or not, you actually are safer now.
But this, too, is an attempt by the Melton camp to obfuscate the facts with a repetitious rhetoric. They prefer that you don’t know these facts; they want to scare you with their lack of them. Melton knows these facts; he has the same statistics to which everyone else has access. With one hand, he dismisses them as “artificial” in his campaign platform; with the other, he uses the same ones to tout the fact that homicides are up. (In 2003, there were 45; in 2004, 52. That’s true. And 10 years ago, there were 97. You are safer.)
Personally, I’m concerned with what I see as an upcoming crime. I see it coming, and so should you. In Mississippi, you don’t have to register as a Republican or Democrat when you register to vote (or an Independent, which is my preference). As such, at primary election time, a person can vote for either. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Democrats would vote for Democrats, and Republicans would vote for Republicans. With Rick Whitlow running unopposed in the primary, it is a certainty that many of the city’s Republicans will instead vote Democrat and cast their votes for Frank Melton, one of their own, in an attempt to oust the mayor before the election proper.
I see this as something more than a callow action on their part; it’s an attempt to steal the election. Add this to the constant, repetitious flow of misinformation and you have a candidate not worth voting for.
I urge you to get out and cast your vote in the primary election for the man who has brought crime to a 24-year low and made the city safer: Mayor Harvey Johnson.
And remember, just because they say people are afraid, it doesn’t mean they are.
Four years after Melton was voted into office, he collapsed on the evening of the Democratic mayoral primary - where he ran against Harvey Johnson. He passed on sometime later. I managed to avoid most "God voted" jokes, but not all.
You hear it everywhere; a constant refrain from Frank Melton, from the Melton campaign, and from Melton’s followers – “people are afraid.” You hear it in conversations, you see it campaign material, you hear it on newscasts (particularly on WAPT, which long ago jettisoned any attempts to maintain non-biased reporting), and you hear it from the candidate himself – people are afraid. Do you know what you rarely hear?
“I’m afraid.”
It’s much, much harder to find someone who says this than it is to find someone who says, “people are afraid.” Certainly, there are those who are afraid to live in Jackson. WAPT manages to run useless segments on the topic frequently, even though they exist to do nothing except reinforce Melton’s assertion. I was a crime victim two years ago. I’m not afraid, and I think that most people are not afraid. What has happened, though, is that Melton supporters have taken up this chant, in an effort to fool people into thinking it’s true, even though it’s not. A repetitious spurious ideology does not become a fact; it is simply a spurious ideology shoved down the throats of voters. I suggest the next time someone says, “People are afraid,” we respond:
“No, they’re not.”
Another quote that has become a constant rallying point comes in the form of a question – “Do you feel safer now than you did 8 years ago?” Amazingly, the Melton folks think that most people will answer no. Even more amazingly, some of them believe it. Is crime a problem in Jackson? Yes. But crime is a problem in every city in the country, and Jackson is no longer a small town; it is a city, with all that entails – good and bad.
I’d like to answer the question, but I can’t. Eight years ago, I had relocated to New England, so I can’t answer that specifically. But I can tell you, ten years ago, in the mid-‘90s Kane Ditto heyday, I lived in Belhaven Heights – oddly enough, exactly one block from where I now live. My roommates and I would spend evenings on the back porch, listening to the frequent sound of gunfire in the neighborhood. That was unsafe. Jefferson Street had a fully staffed crack house, Christo’s (where Fenian’s was before Fenian’s, youngsters) front door was shot out, and it was not safe to walk the streets at night. Now, the same neighborhood is a place where people walk their dogs safely and happily, the crack house is no more, and I haven’t heard a gunshot in over a year. Do I feel safer now than I did 10 years ago? Absolutely.
Do you feel safer now than you did two years ago? You should. The statistics are there for all to see. From 2003 to 2004, every type of crime (except homicides) went down in number. In 2003, Jacksonians were victims of 17,203 different crimes. In 2004, there were only 13,600. That’s a drop of 21 percent; a remarkable number. In 1997, when Mayor Johnson took office, there were 20,176 crimes. 1998 saw the only growth in crime in Jackson under Johnson’s leadership – 20,674 crimes. So from 1997 to 2004, the number of crimes in Jackson fell by a total of 6,576. That is a drop of 32.6 percent.
Do you feel safer now than you did 8 years ago? Again, you should. Crime is down 32.6 percent since Harvey Johnson took over. In fact, 2004 had the lowest crime rate in 24 years. Whether you know it or not, and whether you feel safer or not, you actually are safer now.
But this, too, is an attempt by the Melton camp to obfuscate the facts with a repetitious rhetoric. They prefer that you don’t know these facts; they want to scare you with their lack of them. Melton knows these facts; he has the same statistics to which everyone else has access. With one hand, he dismisses them as “artificial” in his campaign platform; with the other, he uses the same ones to tout the fact that homicides are up. (In 2003, there were 45; in 2004, 52. That’s true. And 10 years ago, there were 97. You are safer.)
Personally, I’m concerned with what I see as an upcoming crime. I see it coming, and so should you. In Mississippi, you don’t have to register as a Republican or Democrat when you register to vote (or an Independent, which is my preference). As such, at primary election time, a person can vote for either. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Democrats would vote for Democrats, and Republicans would vote for Republicans. With Rick Whitlow running unopposed in the primary, it is a certainty that many of the city’s Republicans will instead vote Democrat and cast their votes for Frank Melton, one of their own, in an attempt to oust the mayor before the election proper.
I see this as something more than a callow action on their part; it’s an attempt to steal the election. Add this to the constant, repetitious flow of misinformation and you have a candidate not worth voting for.
I urge you to get out and cast your vote in the primary election for the man who has brought crime to a 24-year low and made the city safer: Mayor Harvey Johnson.
And remember, just because they say people are afraid, it doesn’t mean they are.
"The Healing Power of Violence"
This one led to a message online that read, "I guess all liberals aren't alike. I suppose I'd better leave that big stroller at home." I responded that I didn't mind the big strollers, so long as he left them in the street with the other SUV's. A few months later, at an art event, I met the woman who wrote the message. She was geniunely funny - and had a ginormous all-terrain stroller.
As much as I would like to see the idea of death handled with a bit more finesse, I have to admit that I have a warm place in my heart for a spot of fisticuffs. I believe in the healing power of violence, the soothing joy of a butt kicking; I buy my cans of Whoop-Ass® 24 at a time at Big Lots. I believe that planting a fist six inches deep through a person’s face really does solve certain situations best.
As I grow older the criteria I use to determine who deserves a box on the ears has gotten looser. Times past, I’d believe in giving a drubbing only to a select few, but now I’m getting older and crankier.
Cell phone shouters – those people who feel that they have to raise their voice in the most public places to be heard at the other end of the line – well, simply put, each of them deserves a quick smack to the back of the head. Winn-Dixie managers who keep four lines open during the day when there is no one inside except the four cashiers staring at other, and then close all but two lines at five o’clock when the crowds roll in? The tried and true swift kick in the ass seems apropos for this situation. Those yahoos who cut you off in traffic and then immediately slow down? I believe every citizen has the right to act as a police officer in this case: pull them over, tap on the glass, and bang them in the head with a Maglite.
But those are obvious ones. In recent years, new crops of annoying people have popped up, like weeds in need of pesticide. I have identified three such subgroups, each in need of a beating.
The first are those who congregate in high-traffic social settings, form large circles in the walkways or in front of doorways, and chat, expecting everyone to walk around them or to wait patiently until they finish talking. I call these people Hemorrhoids; they’re a bit constricting, they’re pains in the ass, and it’s considered rude to poke them in public.
At one recent ArtMix, a group of five people completely blocked the entrance to Brown’s Fine Art. When I tried to walk through them to get inside, one man said, “Excuse me, we’re talking here.” Well, cubby, I’m thinking about knocking your head into a vat of hummus here.
The second group is similar to the first, but even more clueless. I call these the Stroller People. These are the parents – invariably young – who are apparently too damn lazy to carry their own little cherub around. Instead, they pack said cherub into an SUV – a Stroller Utility Vehicle – and then wheel them through every small business in the city. No shop is too tiny, no aisles too narrow for these selfish, self-absorbed twits to shove, twist, drag, and haul their little angel’s off-road vehicle through. These people actually expect you to get out of their way so they can wedge themselves into a corner and admire the selection of scented candles. Put simply, the desire to slash their tires and beat them senseless with the aluminum frame of said vehicle is something I have to genuinely fight down every time I see them.
Lastly I’d like to address the Street Preachers – people who approach perfect strangers and ask if we know how much damage our tobacco smoke does to our lungs (or how many animals died to provide the meat for our dinner, or anything of the kind). Well, actually I do, and I don’t care. It’s one thing for someone to do this with somebody they know, but it is quite uncool to do this to strangers. Know that when you ask me a question like that, I am thinking seriously about riposting with: “Do you know how many PSIs a broken table leg would hit with, should I choose to rip the bottom of this table apart and lay into you? And do you know how many square feet I could pummel before you fall unconscious? And are you aware that no one around us cares whether I do this, because they all want you to shut the hell up and sit the hell down?”
I doubt very seriously that these groups of people are aware how much I want them to be quiet, or to stay out of the way, or to move aside. But maybe next time they think about being annoying, they’ll give just a moment’s thought to the man standing just behind them. It may not be me.
But it might.
As much as I would like to see the idea of death handled with a bit more finesse, I have to admit that I have a warm place in my heart for a spot of fisticuffs. I believe in the healing power of violence, the soothing joy of a butt kicking; I buy my cans of Whoop-Ass® 24 at a time at Big Lots. I believe that planting a fist six inches deep through a person’s face really does solve certain situations best.
As I grow older the criteria I use to determine who deserves a box on the ears has gotten looser. Times past, I’d believe in giving a drubbing only to a select few, but now I’m getting older and crankier.
Cell phone shouters – those people who feel that they have to raise their voice in the most public places to be heard at the other end of the line – well, simply put, each of them deserves a quick smack to the back of the head. Winn-Dixie managers who keep four lines open during the day when there is no one inside except the four cashiers staring at other, and then close all but two lines at five o’clock when the crowds roll in? The tried and true swift kick in the ass seems apropos for this situation. Those yahoos who cut you off in traffic and then immediately slow down? I believe every citizen has the right to act as a police officer in this case: pull them over, tap on the glass, and bang them in the head with a Maglite.
But those are obvious ones. In recent years, new crops of annoying people have popped up, like weeds in need of pesticide. I have identified three such subgroups, each in need of a beating.
The first are those who congregate in high-traffic social settings, form large circles in the walkways or in front of doorways, and chat, expecting everyone to walk around them or to wait patiently until they finish talking. I call these people Hemorrhoids; they’re a bit constricting, they’re pains in the ass, and it’s considered rude to poke them in public.
At one recent ArtMix, a group of five people completely blocked the entrance to Brown’s Fine Art. When I tried to walk through them to get inside, one man said, “Excuse me, we’re talking here.” Well, cubby, I’m thinking about knocking your head into a vat of hummus here.
The second group is similar to the first, but even more clueless. I call these the Stroller People. These are the parents – invariably young – who are apparently too damn lazy to carry their own little cherub around. Instead, they pack said cherub into an SUV – a Stroller Utility Vehicle – and then wheel them through every small business in the city. No shop is too tiny, no aisles too narrow for these selfish, self-absorbed twits to shove, twist, drag, and haul their little angel’s off-road vehicle through. These people actually expect you to get out of their way so they can wedge themselves into a corner and admire the selection of scented candles. Put simply, the desire to slash their tires and beat them senseless with the aluminum frame of said vehicle is something I have to genuinely fight down every time I see them.
Lastly I’d like to address the Street Preachers – people who approach perfect strangers and ask if we know how much damage our tobacco smoke does to our lungs (or how many animals died to provide the meat for our dinner, or anything of the kind). Well, actually I do, and I don’t care. It’s one thing for someone to do this with somebody they know, but it is quite uncool to do this to strangers. Know that when you ask me a question like that, I am thinking seriously about riposting with: “Do you know how many PSIs a broken table leg would hit with, should I choose to rip the bottom of this table apart and lay into you? And do you know how many square feet I could pummel before you fall unconscious? And are you aware that no one around us cares whether I do this, because they all want you to shut the hell up and sit the hell down?”
I doubt very seriously that these groups of people are aware how much I want them to be quiet, or to stay out of the way, or to move aside. But maybe next time they think about being annoying, they’ll give just a moment’s thought to the man standing just behind them. It may not be me.
But it might.
"Crossroads Film Festival Post-Game Report"
This was the first column I ever wrote where I threw the rules away. It's about 95% true. I just don't remember what's untrue now.
I’m a dedicated film nut, so I spent most of last weekend at the Crossroads Film Festival. I had planned to write a coherent account of it, but since the first three nights ended at Hal and Mal’s, I’ve discovered that most notes I have are illegible. I’ve decided to write down what I remember. If you were there, some of this will seem familiar. If you weren’t, maybe you’ll want to give it a go next year.
Thursday night, Parkway theater. Saw “Leo.” Had the guy from “Shakespeare in Love” in it, with Elisabeth Shue, the one from the babysitting in Las Vegas movie. Not so good. Too long. “Up, Up, and Away,” a short film, two minutes long. Much better. Not too long.
Went to Hal and Mal’s for a pale ale. Had more than that. Had political discussion with folks from another free newspaper. Fell in love with a bartender.
Friday night at New Stage: “The Blues.” Five selections from really cool directors, like Wim Wenders and Mike Figgis, and some guys I haven’t heard of. The bit with Bobby Rush and B.B. King was great, and I loved Wim’s piece. Martin Scorsese is going to be doing one of these. Which means he won’t get an Oscar for it.
To Hal and Mal’s for a few beers. Had a few more than that. Had non-political discussion with people I don’t really know, got interviewed by NPR, ate many tamales, and fell in love with a waitress.
Saturday was New Stage for a bunch of short films. “Transit” is about the lack of public transportation in Hattiesburg. “The Uncle Tom Sho’ Featuring Negro-Rigged Jeopardy” is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Yassuh!
“Last of the Mississippi Jukes” was standing room only. I got an early seat down front. The crowd applauded the performances in the movie. Almost all musicians in movie were in the theater. When they were introduced, the audience gave a deserving standing O. Morgan Freeman was there, trying to deflect a microphone: “I actor, not speaker.” The blues musicians were celebrated like gods.
Back to Hal and Mal’s for blues jam and several Jack-and-Cokes. Had several more than that. Watched fantastic jam with several great acts, David Hughes, who made the movie, and Chris Thomas King, who played bluesman Tommy Johnson in “O Brother.”
Got to shake Morgan Freeman’s hand and talk with Chris Thomas King. Had no food, fell back in love with the first bartender. Swore I’d go to the Subway Lounge afterward. Got lost and went home.
Sunday, woke with hangover, went back to bed. Woke with hangover again, went back to bed. Got up, went to the 5:00 show, the “Screener’s Choice.” Loved “Mboutoukou,” a student film set in Africa and “People in the City,” a music video set to Air. Talked with Ken Stiggers, who made “Uncle Tom Sho’.” Watched the first movie of the last block, but it was too French. Went home. Got rained on.
I’m a dedicated film nut, so I spent most of last weekend at the Crossroads Film Festival. I had planned to write a coherent account of it, but since the first three nights ended at Hal and Mal’s, I’ve discovered that most notes I have are illegible. I’ve decided to write down what I remember. If you were there, some of this will seem familiar. If you weren’t, maybe you’ll want to give it a go next year.
Thursday night, Parkway theater. Saw “Leo.” Had the guy from “Shakespeare in Love” in it, with Elisabeth Shue, the one from the babysitting in Las Vegas movie. Not so good. Too long. “Up, Up, and Away,” a short film, two minutes long. Much better. Not too long.
Went to Hal and Mal’s for a pale ale. Had more than that. Had political discussion with folks from another free newspaper. Fell in love with a bartender.
Friday night at New Stage: “The Blues.” Five selections from really cool directors, like Wim Wenders and Mike Figgis, and some guys I haven’t heard of. The bit with Bobby Rush and B.B. King was great, and I loved Wim’s piece. Martin Scorsese is going to be doing one of these. Which means he won’t get an Oscar for it.
To Hal and Mal’s for a few beers. Had a few more than that. Had non-political discussion with people I don’t really know, got interviewed by NPR, ate many tamales, and fell in love with a waitress.
Saturday was New Stage for a bunch of short films. “Transit” is about the lack of public transportation in Hattiesburg. “The Uncle Tom Sho’ Featuring Negro-Rigged Jeopardy” is one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Yassuh!
“Last of the Mississippi Jukes” was standing room only. I got an early seat down front. The crowd applauded the performances in the movie. Almost all musicians in movie were in the theater. When they were introduced, the audience gave a deserving standing O. Morgan Freeman was there, trying to deflect a microphone: “I actor, not speaker.” The blues musicians were celebrated like gods.
Back to Hal and Mal’s for blues jam and several Jack-and-Cokes. Had several more than that. Watched fantastic jam with several great acts, David Hughes, who made the movie, and Chris Thomas King, who played bluesman Tommy Johnson in “O Brother.”
Got to shake Morgan Freeman’s hand and talk with Chris Thomas King. Had no food, fell back in love with the first bartender. Swore I’d go to the Subway Lounge afterward. Got lost and went home.
Sunday, woke with hangover, went back to bed. Woke with hangover again, went back to bed. Got up, went to the 5:00 show, the “Screener’s Choice.” Loved “Mboutoukou,” a student film set in Africa and “People in the City,” a music video set to Air. Talked with Ken Stiggers, who made “Uncle Tom Sho’.” Watched the first movie of the last block, but it was too French. Went home. Got rained on.
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