On Re-Reading "Catcher in the Rye"

It was almost 40 years ago that I actually "studied" this book in high school, so forgive the lack of scholarly insight. I picked up Catcher in the Rye at Barnes & Noble shortly after finishing another novel written in the first person with a young male narrator (which I'll write about later, soon, I hope).

I'm sure I re-read the book several times in my late teens, even without (eleventh-grade English teacher) Marek-lady's oversight, because several vivid images came back to me before I read them. At the first mention of Ackley, for instance, I remembered him as the guy with the "mossy" teeth. (Ugh!) The other thing I remembered was, of course the use of what Marek-lady called "the ultimate profanity," which is probably why the book kept getting banned.

Yeah, "Catcher" being banned makes as much sense as "Huck Finn" being banned, which is None. You take two of the best young men in fiction and ban them because - why exactly? They cuss? They defy authority?

Without rereading the Cliff Notes or whatever they're using now to understand "what it all means," I'll just say I still loved the book and Holden's deep yearning to protect innocence. In the end, it was innocence (Phoebe) that protected him. The idea that Holden didn't change his attitude or mature at all throughout the book is ridiculous. He was running away from his problems, but in the end he faced them.

Holden ran away from Mr. Antolini's "flitty" gesture ("petting" Holden's forehead while he slept on the Antolinis' couch) but in the end realized it was more tender and caring. I loved that realization, though Holden was too far gone in his breakdown to have recovered that friendship just then. I wonder what happened after Holden got out of the mental institution.

The innocence of "old Jane" was the critical thread in the story, I think. It was the idea of his childhood friend losing her innocence to his womanizing roommate that Holden couldn't face. He kept meaning to give "old Jane" a buzz, but never did. And again, I wonder what happened later.

The story that this began to make me think about was "Rebel without a Cause," where James Dean is frustrated trying to explain to his dad, Jim Backus, that grown-ups just don't understand. Holden is the gray-haired teenager, between youth and adulthood, where nobody really understands anything. He can't communicate with his parents, but he knows he can't rely on Phoebe to understand him either.

I don't wonder why people have long wanted to dramatize this story. It is very visual, and the immediacy of first-person narratives always put the audience in the scene. But I'm fine with the pictures in my own head that the book gave me. And like Huck, I don't think Holden needs me to analyze him. Just listen.

love, hosaa
reading the catcher's mitt

The Right Sh- Stuff

or, A Clay Aiken Mashup!



The search for an American Idol was not unlike the search for astronauts a generation ago. A "mashup" featuring Clay Aiken and the casts of "The Right Stuff" and American Idol Season 2.

Academy Award winning music by Bill Conti; original film written for the screen and directed by Philip Kaufman. Montage by hosaa. Download more polished version from Megaupload.

love, hosaa
stargazing

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

Or, A Series of Misfortunate Events

Yesterday I was inadvertently insulted at the convenience store where I buy my coffee on the way to work. I was chatting with a couple of people, and the woman noticed that I was wearing the same skirt as the cashier. She interrupted what I was saying to make that observation. The gentleman turned to look. Then, as though to save herself from her inadvertent rudeness, she added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

It was a minor and very forgivable offense. But the phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" stuck to the underbelly of my mind, like a barnacle. We go really easy on ourselves, don't we?

The first e-mail I opened at the office was labled "Grave mistake in article...." It pointed out a factual error ("grave" is a matter of opinion), which originated with the author but passed through several readings by several editors, including myself. I notified the publicist who submitted the article and asked for a word or two from the author that we could publish in our correction.

To his credit, the publicist was eager to remedy the situation. But he added that, as a "former Pulitzer Prize winning editor," he demands accuracy in all that he does, but we shouldn't beat ourselves up so much over this because, hey, editing is a complex process. (First of all, what is a "former" Pulitzer Prize winner? Did they take the prize back?)

This again clung to the bottom of my brain. Maybe not wanting to beat oneself up over factual errors is how one decides to remove oneself from the Pulitzer Prize categories and switch over to publicity:

"We made a mistake ... not that there's anything wrong with that."

Now I turn back to the unfortunate events that left our conference staff without a reporter and photographer for the opening keynote session last weekend. I know travel was a bear in Chicago on Friday, and I know the reason I sent myself to the conference was to be a backup resource. So I did the work that the others were supposed to do. The next day we had our photographer, but not the reporter. There were more unfortunate events going on, but mostly they were his responsibility.

The reckoning came yesterday when I asked him to explain himself and told him what the consequences of his mistakes would be. The phrase "Not that there's anything wrong with that" was on the other side of some parallel universe, not here. But the incident is now over, and the reporter (I hope) has learned a valuable lesson.

Mistakes should have consequences. There IS something wrong with that. But there is also a time for forgiveness and moving on. I don't believe in making people feel bad for their mistakes - just in making them remedy them. They should actually care about it.

On a lighter note, here's how I saved civilization on Monday... (HAHA!)

I was sitting at my gate at O'Hare on the end of a row of seats, and some guy set his carryon luggage right next to me. Nice looking business type. We didn't make eye contact, but he left quickly with a smug look on his face, strutted across the way to the Starbucks opposite us, and got in a long line. He kept looking left and right, left and right, up and down the concourse as he stood in line.

Okay, the smug look might have been, "This old lady looks sweet and innocent enough, she won't steal my stuff." MY interpretation of the smug look at that point became, "Die, damn infidel! Die a bloody shredded body parts MESS! Bwah-ha-ha-ha!"

The thing is, I never saw the guy come back out of Starbucks. I went to the ladies room (lugging all of MY carryon crap, by the way), and when I came back, his stuff was still there, unattended. This is roughly now 20 minutes since he dropped it off beside me.

Now I'm hearing all the announcements about not leaving your stuff unattended, and telling you to report any unattended bags. And I start getting nervous.

Do I keep my mouth shut because it's all probably perfectly innocent? I had no idea what happens when people report suspicious packages in airports. Do they sound alarms? Bring in bomb-sniffing dogs? Clear out the terminal, causing thousands of people problems?

At 30 minutes into the abandoned luggage debacle, I finally reported it to the airline worker at the gate. She quietly got on the phone, and an employee quietly came and fetched the luggage away. No panic and (more to the point) no bloody shredded body parts.

So now I'm wondering if the bad guys all have me on their surveillance cameras as the terrorist-thwarter, and now they're going to come get ME!! (Yes, I know I watch too much 24.)

It was at least another 15 minutes before the smug looking man came back to look for his luggage. He asked up at the desk about his bags and pointed to where he'd left them. The airline worker then made a quiet call, and his bags were quietly returned to him. I have no idea whether the smug suitcase abandoner got a stern lecture for abandoning his bags and causing (at least for one moron) a panic.

I know I did the right thing, and I feel no guilt about inconveniencing a smug person who thinks it's okay to ignore the rules.

Moral of the story: If someone looks honorable enough NOT to steal your stuff, they're probably also honorable enough NOT to let the airport blow up.

Love, hosaa
A little on the self-righteous side, I guess. And there probably IS a little bit of something wrong with that. :)

McNamara's Ford

In Remembrance of Robert S. McNamara

Yes, I re-watched the Errol Morris documentary about Robert McNamara last night, The Fog of War.

For those who haven't seen it, the film comprises interviews with McNamara and historic footage, photos, audio tapes, and documents. It is as much about World War II as it is about Vietnam, and tries to put all of McNamara's life and work into perspective.

The segment showing the fire bombing of Tokyo and the decisions leading up to it were terrifying and wrenching, and probably the keystone of the documentary for me. He confessed that if the United States had lost the war, he, Curtis Lemay, and other key figures would have been tried as war criminals. Hell of a confession.

But the other small thing in the film that got to me (really killed me, in a Holden Caulfield sort of way) was when McNamara was filmed driving his car through downtown Washington. The closeups on his care-worn face were poignant.

Then the camera pans down to his hands on the steering wheel, and you can see.... many years after briefly running the Ford Motor Company, McNamara was still driving a Ford.

Love, hosaa
owner of her third Ford