When life knocks you down (even with the "help" of police), you just have to get up and get back in the "race"

Last night I was sitting in a burger shop, preparing to leave, when I was approached by a woman obviously in distress; apparently my using a laptop computer was also a major selling point. She told me her distressing story about how she had just arrived from the local Catholic Community Services, and had been told that it was just an office, and she had been directed elsewhere for shelter. I surmised then that she was recently rendered without a place to live, and night temperatures were predicted to be below freezing for the next several days. She seemed completely flustered and boxed out of her mind; considering my own problems I’m not always helpful, or in a position to help, but upon a request to use my device to find bus times to the location she was seeking, I felt obliged to comply.

I fired up my computer again and connect to the shop’s free Wi-Fi. Checking the Metro website, the last bus on the route she had been told to take to the homeless shelter, at a church and probably for women and children only, left the transit center enter at 6:31 pm;  it was now 6:33 pm. There was a bus stop for this route that was a 15 second run across the street, and I told her that if she left right now she would likely catch it in time. But instead of being energized into action by this information, she just waved her arms around in frustration, angry that she had not been told that her first stop was not the shelter; naturally the services office needed to determine if she was some psycho before allowing her off to arrive unexpectedly at the church shelter. 

I was becoming somewhat bemused by her antics, because I was starting to suspect that she either wanted money—or worse, shack her up myself, which even if she was attractive (she wasn’t) I was in no position to help anyone in that regard even if I wanted to. Anyways, I told her if she needed time to get her thoughts together, we could find another travel opportunity for her. There was another bus she could take to one location, where she would have to transfer to another bus; presumably the services office had given her a bus ticket, so this shouldn’t have been a problem for her. Once she deboarded from the second bus, she would have to walk 0.92 miles to the shelter. This prospect didn’t seem to energize her either, merely being the occasion for even more frustrating (for me) moaning and gesticulation.

I recall a long time ago that I was traveling from Fort Hood, Texas to Los Angles by Greyhound bus. During this trip some guy sat down next to me and started a “friendly” conversation. He asked me what I was up to, and I told him I had just finished my enlistment in the Army and had decided I was going to try LA as my next stop. My companion told me he was from that area and was only too happy to help me get “established,” especially after I told him how much cash I had. That wasn’t all he told me; he mentioned that he had a warrant for his arrest in Texas, which is why he happened to be traveling back to California. It seems that he had a “close call” when he and a friend were busy helping someone “move out,” dumping appliances from a house onto their pick-up truck. That is until the police arrived and they had to beat a hasty getaway, leaving the pickup behind. My new “friend” also seemed to remember that he left his wallet and identification in the truck. 

The Army taught me many things, one them something about us all being a “band of brothers” and a “team.” One thing it did not teach us was that there was always a stray “brother” who whose motivations were something other than altruistic. This individual knew a naïve and trusting person when he saw one. I’ll avoid the sorry subsequent details of this encounter, except to mention that within a few days I found myself on the streets of Los Angeles, with about seven dollars and some change on my person. I wandered around, in a semi-daze, all day; I must have walked about fifty miles trying to figuring out how I was going to kill myself. I laid-out on a lifeguard shack on a beach in Santa Monica; I’m not a “physical” person, but I nearly roused myself enough to strongly consider cracking the skull of some kid who was throwing miniature firecrackers at me. Instead I wandered off some more, ending up in an abandoned school house with a lot of broken glass lying around. Before I had a chance to contemplate the things I might do with these instruments, I fell asleep. When I awoke in the morning, I heard birds chirping outside. I gathered myself up and walked out to start a new adventure in life; this wasn’t the first time I faced a blank slate, nor the last time. I remember what Old Blue Eyes sung in “That’s Life”:

I've been up and down and over and out and I know one thing

Each time I find myself layin' flat on my face

I just pick myself up and get back in the race

As for the person I encountered on the bus, I hope the police caught up with him and his warrant. As for this other person, I hope she got her head together and decided that being without a place to stay on a bitter cold night wasn’t the end of the world—especially when you had an option to take advantage of. After I walked out of the burger place a Kent police car passed in front of me, into a parking lot where there appeared to be a small camper. When I walked past this location 15 minutes later, the camper was gone. Yep, whenever things look bleak, the Kent police are always there to make life even worse.  It is no coincidence that the police started their “no camping in Kent” forays after the city council shot down a proposed homeless shelter.

An early 1980s horror "classic" finally arrives on Blu-ray

One may recall that there was a video “format war” similar to that between VHS and Betamax back in the late 1970s and 80s, this time during the 2000s between Blu-ray and HD-DVD. Although I’ve been an early adopter of digital entertainment media—I purchased one of those Creative Nomad Jukebox mp3 players for $500 (and soon regretted doing so) in 2000—I was somewhat suspicious of the new “high-definition” video discs, because of their price and title selection (mostly new films I didn’t like), and because I didn’t want to commit to one or the other. I suspected that Blu-ray was the superior format; I also remembered that they said this about the Betamax format as well. 

But one day early in 2008 I was walking in an electronics store wondering what to do with my tax refund. I started scanning the more limited number of titles in the HD-DVD section just out of curiosity, and I discovered something that wasn’t in the Blu-ray section: The 1982 Universal remake of Cat People. In HD! It was impossible for me to pass that up. I purchased it even though I didn’t have the hardware to play it, just to have it. Against my better judgment I decided I should purchase an HD-DVD player even though by then it was a dying format, and Cat People would be one of the last titles that HD-DVD’s strongest supporter, Universal, would release on it. 

After Universal bailed on the format and announced that it would soon release titles on Blu-ray, I expected that Cat People would be among its initial releases, but this was not the case. I purchased a few more HD-DVD titles out of the bargain bins, but the player eventually died, and although Blu-ray lasers can play the HD-DVD format, just as it can standard DVDs and CDs—computer optical drives certainly—there seems to be no motivation to license the software to do so. When it was announced last September that Shout! Factory licensed the film from Universal, I counted the days until Cat People was finally released on Blu-ray this past January 21. 

Why Universal delayed releasing this film itself is hard to understand, since the source material it provided Shout for release on its subsidiary Scream! Factory is apparently the same as it used for its HD-DVD release. No pristine print seems to have been available, and digital noise reduction is used throughout to fill-in the heavy grain, often making texture seem “soft” on anything other than extreme close-ups. Nevertheless, the video (and audio) transfer is noticeably superior to the DVD release. 

Now, I suppose some people might wonder why this was one of the first films I thought of for my “must own” Blu-ray collection. I can’t explain it. Well, maybe I can. The 1982 remake of the 1942 classic was billed as an “erotic horror thriller,” with greater emphasis on the “erotic” part. In that sense the remake has only surface detail in common with the original. The first Irena came from a village in Serbia, a community that practiced a “religion” of a satanic nature involving cats, eventually becoming the kind of animal/human changelings typical of strange Old World locales that produced many a movie monster.  In the remake, they are simply a mysterious race from a mysterious world. Both have a “love triangle,” but its composition is different (unlike in the original, the updated Alice is an overly protective friend of Oliver, while Irena’s brother Paul is the third“ angle”), and of course there is the pool scene—although the original is more chilling, since it is shot in black and white, which makes the shadows dancing from the pool water onto the walls more ghoulish. 

The remake doesn’t pull any punches—in fact telegraphs them a mile away; there is no “mystery” or secrets for the audience. In the original, Oliver believes that Irena is suffering from mental delusions, and eventually that she is possibly a psychotic killer; only at the end does he realize that she “never lied” about her fears about herself and their relationship. Thus the original puts more emphasis on mystery and psychological terror. I happen to enjoy both versions on their own merits, but it shouldn’t be surprising that “purists” hated the remake, while fans of the remake who are unfamiliar with the original would find the latter dull and incomprehensible.

Of course, the principle attraction in the remake is Nastassja Kinski, who is no great beauty but exudes a certain taboo “it.”  It is not quite clear the origins of her character, as she speaks “American” as if she has marbles in her mouth, but like the original Irena her “people” maintain human form unless they make love to a human being, after which they transform into panthers and kill their human lovers. In the original film, French actress Simone Simon was able to convey a number of conflicting personas convincingly, whether it was provoking empathy, menace or a suppressed sexuality. Kinski doesn’t inspire much “menace” in the remake, in fact what violence that she is responsible for seems so out-of-character as to induce confusion (if not amusement). But what she does convey well is a certain vulnerability that lends itself to vicarious identification for certain viewers—one that promises something more at the right time and place. 

It is hard to explain the “attraction” of the film itself, except to say that it was unlike anything I had seen before, or since. Propelled by Giorgio Moroder’s mesmerizing synthesizer-driven soundtrack, you were placed in a world between two planes of existence, a world that, as the mysterious Femolle informs Irena, “is what men think it is,” but is something more sinister in reality. But repressed carnality is the underlying theme of the film. The whole film centers around whether Irena would accept fate and “mate” with Paul (Malcolm McDowell), or give in to her love for Oliver (John Heard)—knowing that she might be forced to kill him afterwards. No film I have ever seen was driven by this kind of sustained sexual tension, “helped” along by frequent female nudity. In fact, the only female character who didn’t appear in some form of undress was Femolle, played by Ruby Dee; she was 58 at the time, and she was apparently the only female that director Paul Schrader didn’t cast for that reason. 

They don’t make films like this anymore, of course. Back in the day, it was for “art” or what a scene “called” for; now it is to “shock,” or to suggest a move to an “adult” persona. The late 1970s and early 1980s were a “golden age” for mainstream “anything goes” films. Even films that seem to be targeted for the teenage audience had something for the “adult” audience. But things change. It amazes me how the audience has changed, particularly since the 1970s when television characters in sitcoms  looked funny, and even the stars in “serious” crime shows looked and acted “eccentric.” Can you imagine a television detective series starring a 300-pound actor? That was William Conrad in “Cannon,” and it was a hit show. You had guys in wheelchairs, “cowboys” making mischief in the big city, and 70-year-olds coming out of retirement to corral criminals. Those were the days when actors actually had personality and character, people “ordinary” couch potatoes could identify with. 

Today what you have is Ken and Barbies who might talk smart-alecky lines which are “cool” to certain demographics, but they have no personality aside from snobbism and narcissism. They won’t “do” certain things that French actress Sophie Marceau called “seducing the audience.” Back in the day,  you knew what to expect in an “R” rated movie; today, it’s for “language” or “drug references”—things that would have been common enough in “PG” films 35 years ago (the 1978 “family” film Ice Castles was practically a primer on foul language for the kiddies). Thus I find myself pining for the old days, and Cat People certainly brought back memories of a certain kind that seem taboo now in this puritanical, self-conscious age.

Questions of Peyton Manning's "legacy" aside, it should be clear who the greatest playoff quarterback of all-time is--and it isn't Joe Montana

There has been a lot of “talk” about Peyton Manning’s “legacy” being tarnished by his playoff performances. And it is a fair argument to make, given that he is regarded by many as the pinnacle of what a quarterback aspires to be.  Some commentators insist that Manning’s 11-12 playoff record—and having the most playoff losses of any starting quarterback—has no effect at all on how he should be viewed, given his seemingly consistent high-level of play during the regular season. 

But you cannot keep these two aspects of his career separate. You would expect the super elite to perform better when it most counts. Of course it would be hypocritical not to point out that outside the Packers’ 2010 Super Bowl run as the 6^th seed, Aaron Rodgers has a 1-4 playoff record, with two of those losses at home, while Fran Tarkenton was 0-3 and Jim Kelly 0-4 in the Super Bowl. But Rodgers has received a pass because he rarely had all of his “weapons” healthy for the playoffs, and Tarkenton and Kelly are simply either too far in the past to recall, or not regarded to be in the same “class” as Manning. 

But since Manning occupies such an elevated position in the opinion of almost all the “experts,” much to the nausea of many, it is only fair that the question of “legacy” be brought up. Consider the following stats (pass completions, attempts, yards, TDs, INTs, and rating) with Super Bowl record in parenthesis:

 

Terry Bradshaw: (4-0) 49-84 932 9 4 112.8

Joe Montana (4-0) 83-122 1142 11 0 127.8

Tom Brady (3-2) 127-197 1311 8 3 90.7

Peyton Manning (1-2) 90-132 860 3 4  81.0

Bradshaw isn’t by any stretch a “great” quarterback, but one thing that stands out about his Super Bowl performances is his ability to convert the “big play.” His 11.10 yards-per-pass is best of any quarterback with at least 2 Super Bowl games, and his almost one touchdown pass per five completions also testifies that when a pass play was required, Bradshaw made them count. That is what a big game quarterback does.

Montana’s mastery of the pass-happy West Coast offense is clear in his regular season stats, but even more so in the playoffs, and the Super Bowl.  His TD to INT ratio only speaks to the fact that he was cold-blooded when the stakes were the highest. There is no question that no one approached Montana when it came to not only performing as an elite quarterback during the regular season (quite different than, say, Troy Aikman), but elevated his game to a whole different level in the post season.

Brady is a strange case. Consider the fact that his five Super Bowls were decided by a total of just 16 points; one or two plays could have made the difference between winning and  losing. Brady’s stats were in fact remarkably pedestrian; his low yards-per-completion and attempts, and only 8 touchdown passes in 197 attempts testifies to the fact that other factors besides his own performance played into the results of his three victories, and in the losses he simply did not elevate his game as might be expected. Coaching, more than quarterback play, was likely the difference in victory.

As for Manning, he was by far the least productive despite averaging 30 completions per game; he clearly did less with more. It is as if he played “scared,” throwing a lot of  “safe” passes—and then when required to make the “big play,” he did not get the job done. He was fortunate to escape with his one ring after a clearly pedestrian 25 of 38, 247 yards, I TD, 1 INT  and 81.8 rated performance against a good Chicago Bears defense. Overall, while Montana threw for 45 touchdowns in 23 playoff games, Manning’s 37 in the same number of games with over 100 additional pass attempts also testifies to his failure to bring his “A” game—let alone his “B” game—come playoff time.

When judging Manning’s “legacy,” this cannot but be taken into account when judging a quarterback as the “greatest” of “all-time.” In my mind, Montana still has the best claim to that mantle--in the Super Bowl era. But consider the following stats:

130 completions in 213 attempts, 1735 yards, 15 TDs, 3 INTs and 104..8 rating. 

That was Bart Starr, winning nine of ten playoff games and five NFL championships--and nearly winning a sixth in 1960, save for time running out and a game-saving tackle by the Eagles' Chuck Bednarik. In those days, this kind of efficiency was virtually unheard of, so much so that Starr still has the highest QB rating in the playoffs of any quarterback, just ahead of Aaron Rodgers and Kurt Warner (believe it or not, Mark Sanchez has the sixth highest playoff QB rating). A gentleman off the field, on the field Starr played with that killer instinct that had one sole purpose in mind--to destroy you no matter what. He numbers may not have been "flashy," but as demonstrated in the Ice Bowl, his leadership at critical times was beyond compare. There is no doubt in my mind who truly deserves pride-of-place as the greatest quarterback in playoff history.

Manning and the Broncos discover what it means to be unwelcome guests in the Seahawk defense's house of pain

After the Seattle Seahawks’ 43-8 demolition of the Denver Broncos in the 48^th edition of the Super Bowl, stunned commentators were scrambling to explain what to them was inexplicable. Leading up to the game, the majority of commentary suggested that the if Seattle had any chance of winning this game, the defense had to frustrate Peyton Manning and put him off his game; the Seahawks’ offense could not keep up if this was going to be a track meet, which Denver would lap them several times. The "analysts" also demonstrated that they were paying more attention to a stagnating offense, and not a defense that prevented opponents from taking advantage.

All the “smart” money was on Broncos, and almost everyone on ESPN—mesmerized by the Broncos record-setting offensive numbers—was certain that the Seahawks had no chance. Mark Schlereth smugly asserted that Seattle’s defense had not seen an offense as good as Denver’s all season, and everywhere Denver’s “experience” would trump the Seahawks’ youth. When asked if Seattle’s defense was as good as his 2000 Baltimore Ravens team, Brian Billick seemed hard pressed to find any phase of Seattle’s defense that was as good as that team’s. 

The problem was that Manning and the Broncos had not seen a defense as good—or as big and fast—as the Seahawks. While some postgame commentators thought that the Seahawks’ defense was “certainly” not as good as the 1985 Chicago Bears, those people forget that the Bears were not facing 4,000-yard passers every other week; the only time it did, the Bears’ defense was mauled for 38 points in its only loss that season, against Dan Marino and the Miami Dolphins. With the possible exception of Andrew Luck, every quarterback they faced this season was off their game against the Seahawks’ dominate back four and underrated front seven. 

Still, you had the feeling that Seattle could not afford to play “even” with Denver, but even the 22-0 halftime lead was beyond any Seahawk fan’s wildest dreams. When Percy Harvin broke the game wide-open with a 87-yard kick-off return for a touchdown to open the second half, everything that followed had the appearance of inevitability. Few commentators had seen this coming; one of them was Adam Rank of NFL.com, who believed that the Seahawks would not only win, but thought the game would get “out of hand” for Denver—only it did so much earlier than he thought. And when that prediction came true, Mike Klis of the Denver Post saw a Broncos team that was utterly “destroyed by the younger, more energized, rougher, tougher” team.

The difference was the defense without any shade of doubt. As usual the Seahawks’ offense did just enough to win on its own, so long as the defense played its “normal” game. The offense had its usual early game red zone problems, but finished the game scoring 27 points and gaining 341 total yards—which coincidentally nearly matched its season average of 26 points and 339 yards per game. Manning should have been expected to weave his “mastery,” a product of an almost machine-like efficiency. But he has a flaw: He fears being hit (understandable because of his neck surgery), and thus needs to get rid of the ball within 2 seconds of the snap. This is why he continuously audibles, seeing a better play in order to get rid of the ball quicker. The problem was that the Seahawks’ defense is like Lombardi’s Green Bay Packers—they only play one way, and that is fast, and hard. It didn’t matter what Manning did; he was under pressure all game, and both of his interceptions—one returned for a touchdown—were due to poor decisions and throws in an effort to avoid being hit.

In the end, the Seahawks won because it out-played the Broncos in every phase of the game—offense, defense, special teams and turnover differential. After the game, Phil Simms stated that he was not ready to put Seahawks’ quarterback Russell Wilson in the Hall of Fame just yet, pointing out that he did just enough of what was asked of him, and no more; however, he saw the Seahawks’ defense as one that was built to oppose today’s high-octane offenses, which is the basis of the team’s success. This Super Bowl will go down as the ultimate example of defensive domination.

While weather in the east and south grabs media headlines, it is more of the same, except worse, out west

Western Washington is “well-known” for its “mild” and “wet” winters, and if you don’t particularly like rain any time (let alone all of the time), those are true statements. The area isn’t actually the wettest region in the country, but the constant presence of gray cloud cover makes it seem like it is. Of course, most people here would gladly accept a little more rain if it means little or no snowfall; however, what is usually the wettest months of the year—November, December and January—have seen well below normal precipitation. After a torrential streak in September, which saw a record 6.17 inches of rain from the normal 1.50, it seemed only fair that October would be off somewhat—1.54 inches, 1.94 below normal. But it has only continued to be unusually dryer than usual:

November: Normal 6.57 inches, 2013 3.79

December: Normal 5.35 inches, 2013 1.66

January: Normal 5.57 inches, 2014 3.70

Thus in the last four months precipitation has been just a shade over 50 percent of normal, and that hurts more than just the ski business. However, in most of California this amount of rainfall would be the occasion for rejoicing. Everywhere in the state this past year has seen record low precipitation, part of an ongoing trend of dryness. 3.65 inches of rainfall was recorded in Los Angeles in 2013, where the average is about 13 inches. In San Francisco, less than 3.4 inches fell, down from an average of 20.65 inches. In unincorporated Kentfield in the north Bay area, the average rainfall in a year is 48 inches; in 2013, less than 8 inches fell, barely a third of the previous record low. Snowpack on the mountains have shriveled to the point where they are barely visible on satellite imagery, resulting in almost every reservoir in the state being below 50 percent of normal capacity, and valleys that normally show up green on satellite are now mostly appear brown. 

The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration says that the amount of precipitation that fell in California 2013 was the lowest since recordings first began over a century ago. And if January is any indication, the coming year may be even worse—even for a state that seems to have another drought every ten years. The cause of these conditions seems to be that a high pressure “ridge” that normally forms off the Pacific Northwest is for some reason stronger than is normal, and has not permitted moist air to travel south. Presumably the actions of this ridge also accounts for dryer than normal conditions in the Northwest. 

Governor Jerry Brown declared a water “state of emergency” a few weeks ago. With all the attention to the harsh weather conditions in the east and south—where the appearance of just an inch of snow can cause a “state of emergency"—in California at least we are reminded that humans are composed of 60 percent water, and sometimes it is too convenient to forget that.