Month: April 2025

Which Of These Is Your Favorite? (Art On Wheels, Part Fifteen)

Yeah, Another Blogger165 Comments

When I gave birth to Yeah, Another Blogger in April 2015, I had no idea that two years later I would begin a project that would please the heck out of me and to which I’d return, and write about, time after time. Well, as we all know, life is full of surprises, to say the f*cking least. So, much to my amazement, here I am, about to report on the latest episode — the fifteenth — of said ongoing project: Art On Wheels. And I’m hoping that numerous Art On Wheels adventures await me, taking me, at minimum, into the mid-or-late 2030s. I’ll be jumping for joy if things turn out that way, assuming I’m still among the living. Of course, it would be miraculous if I’m able to bounce even half an inch off the ground at that point, as I’d be pushing or exceeding age 90. Still, half an inch is better than nothing. Or so I’m told.

Here’s the lowdown: Art On Wheels escapades find me searching for beautifully decorated wheeled vehicles, photographing them, and then presenting some of those photos, and my wobbly thoughts, on this publication’s pages. I used to track down my subjects by driving all over the frigging place in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. In recent years, though, I’ve gone into Philadelphia itself, whose streets I explore strictly on foot. I love walking and I love Philadelphia. On the other hand, I don’t love driving and I don’t love Philly’s burbs, even though that’s where I reside. Thus, Art On Wheels has become even more fun for me than it initially was.

Friday, the 18th of April, dawned peacefully, because Donald Trump hadn’t started in on causing further mayhem just yet. At 9:36 AM I boarded a train in my little town and rode it into Philly. I spent the next three hours pounding the pavement in the center of the city and in neighborhoods to its east and north. When I called it quits, I had racked up six miles of walking, a distance that’s near my upper limit of physical capabilities.

The search for worthy subjects bore less fruit than on any of my previous Philadelphia treks. But I found a few beauties, such as an Urban Village Brewing Company van, its exterior illustrated as snazzily as can be, and a Heineken beer truck, which is a vision in green. The design layouts on Sysco and on Philly Greens rang my bell too.

I was impressed the most, however, by a wheeled object that not only brought me up short but also made me realize I’d never before considered including a certain genre of art in Art On Wheels. Namely, sculpture. The beauty in question, a piece of heavy equipment manufactured by the Caterpillar company, was outside the front door, in Philadelphia’s Old City section, of what once housed the Painted Bride Art Center, a world-class presenter of music, dance and theater from the 1970s through the early 2000s. (Painted Bride still exists, in a different part of town, but is a pathetic shadow of its former self. Barely any shows take place at its new location.) Dig the incredible mosaics, by Isaiah Zagar, that cover the vacant building. Man, I went to dozens and dozens of performances in this venue. I miss it a whole lot.

I’m not sure why the Caterpillar product was there, but it absolutely rocks. For one thing, I’m down with the gold and black color scheme. Mainly, though, I’m taken with the heft of the structure and its efficient angularity, which bring to mind a mutant beetle possessing one hell of a giant pincer. This big guy would not be out of place in a museum’s or other institution’s modern-sculpture garden. Do you agree with me that it is #1, or is another of the wheeled constructions your favorite?

As I type this ending paragraph, I’m already looking forward to my next Art On Wheels expedition. Most likely it will take place in autumn of this year. I wouldn’t be surprised if it will be an eye opener, just as this most recent installment, thanks to Caterpillar, proved to be.

A Tale Of TV

Yeah, Another Blogger166 Comments

When I sat down to compose this piece about television, I was of the opinion that I’m a casual TV-viewer rather than a TV-viewing addict, seeing that I engage with the boob tube for an average of one and a half hours per day. That’s a fairly modest amount of time. As has happened frequently before, however, working on stories for Yeah, Another Blogger has led me, as if by magic, to discern the truth about things. Meaning, I now realize I’d go half-mad were my TV-watching privileges ever to be revoked. Anyway, what would I replace those hours with? Learning to crochet erotic hand puppets? Attempting to become one of the world’s best tiddlywinks players? Hell, I don’t even want to think about life without television, because I absolutely need TV. I’m addicted!

An ace dial-flipper, I regularly tune in to bits and pieces of news, sports, nature, cooking and late-night talk shows. I’m all by my lonesome when viewing the majority of those bits and pieces. What I catch the most of, by far, though, are scripted drama and comedy series. And I always watch them — in their entireties, unless we ditch them because we decide they suck — with my spouse Sandy. It’s one of our favorite things to do, for we have similar tastes in series fare. Let’s take a look at two shows that entertained Sandy and me recently.

Have you seen Adolescence, a British miniseries? It is a huge Netflix hit and has garnered a lot of media attention. Justifiably so. I place it in the pantheon of series, up there with The Queen’s Gambit, Anxious People, The Investigation and Call My Agent, to name but a few. Adolescence is really, really good.

Foremost among its explorations, Adolescence delves into the mind of Jamie Miller, a seemingly normal 13-year-old lad who, his insecurities enflamed by the taunts of a female classmate, loses all control and murders that young lady after meeting up with her one evening. The foul deed turns his life upside down and deeply damages the lives of the people who love him the most: his parents and older sister.

The show probes its subject matters with precision and honesty. The third episode hits especially hard. Set in the youth detention center where Jamie is being held, nearly all of its 52 minutes are devoted to a talk between Jamie and a court-appointed psychologist. The episode left Sandy and me shaken, so powerful and disturbing are Jamie’s words and actions as the session progresses. In my opinion, Adolescence is not to be missed. Its scripts are as tight as square knots, and each main member of the cast performs magnificently. First-time actor Owen Cooper, for example, is incredible as Jamie. Equally splendid is Stephen Graham, who not only plays Jamie’s father Eddie Miller, but co-created and co-wrote the production. What a talent he is. Adolescence, I believe, will stay in my mind for quite a while.

And then there’s the frothy Loot, a series that tips heavily into the wacky–as–hell category. Your life won’t be incomplete if you skip Loot, whose two seasons are available on Apple TV+. If you decide to tune in, however, you might end up digging it as much as Sandy and I did. It’s light, but it’s also refreshing.

Maya Rudolph shines in Loot, her comedic and dramatic talents fully on display. The show centers around her character, Molly Wells, who goes ballistic when she discovers her husband John has been cheating on her. She loses no time in divorcing him. The dissolution sends Molly reeling. She’s in pain. She’s also unimaginably wealthy, to the tune of over 100 billion American dollars, her share of the assets she and John, a tech industry genius, had jointly owned.

What to do with all that dough? Well, Molly, spoiled but possessing a heart of gold, doesn’t go for the usual approach of attempting to become even richer. Instead, she opts to give it all away, to groups and social causes that will better the human condition. The conduit for her generosity becomes the Wells Foundation, a do-good organization Molly founded while married but then totally forgot about until after the divorce came through.

I’m going to leave it at that, except to note that crazy situations have no trouble finding and enveloping Molly and her Wells Foundation employees, and that I laughed my ass off at some of the lines tossed out by the actors.

Till next time, boys and girls! If you have any series recommendations, please let me know. Sandy and I always are on the prowl for viewing options.

It’s An Old Story

Yeah, Another Blogger158 Comments

I know I’ve written about old age and mortality any number of times before, but I just can’t keep myself from visiting those topics once again. When you’re old as dirt, like me, it’s hard not to contemplate, at least now and then, how much time you’ve got left. I’m 77, for crying out loud, which stuns me. How can this be? Where the hell did the years go? As with most matters, I have no f*cking idea. One thing for sure is that the express train keeps barreling along. We’re here, and then — poof! — we’re gone. That’s life. If it were up to me, though, each individual creature, human and not, would carry on, and thrive, unto eternity. Yeah, sometimes I’m a hopeless dreamer.

My status as an ancient has been made crystal clear to me by information I’ve obtained from the website of The French Institute For Demographic Studies. One of its online calculators shows that I am older than 97% of the human beings on our planet, an extremely sobering statistic. Most truths don’t hurt, but this one does. And I’m having a heck of a hard time wrapping my head around it. (If you’d like to see where you fit on the global population scale, click here to open the website. Once there, click on Let’s go and, on the subsequent page, enter your age on the horizontal bar.)

Still, naively, and probably out of fear, I find myself not quite believing that I have an expiration date. It almost doesn’t seem possible to me that I do. I mean, I’m still nicely functional, still pretty much an ace at stumbling gracefully through life. Why should all of this come to an end? I sure would like to make it into my 90s, though. I’ll have been cheated, I feel, by anything less than that. But any way you look at it, time is running out. There are far, far more grains of sand at the bottom of my hourglass than at the top.

So, what’s to be done? Well, we all know the answers. To the best of our abilities, everybody — not just me and my fellow oldsters — should aim to do the right things. Such as: maintaining, and trying to expand, close relationships; pursuing activities that put smiles on our faces; and working hard to make society and the natural environment healthier. Anyone who does a good bit or more of all that is a valuable member of the human race.

Music has been my main interest for most of my life. I can barely carry a tune, and I’d be up shit’s creek if I attempted to plunk out Chopsticks on the piano. But I’m an expert when it comes to listening to music. And I pay a lot of attention to what musicians have to say. A recent article in The Guardian caught my attention and got me feeling better about being a geezer. The story takes a look at up-there-in-age musicians who have lost little, if any, of their life force. For instance, Bonnie Raitt, who is two years my junior, remarks, “I’m not slowing down and I’m not going to stop until I can’t do it any more.” And Graham Nash, six years my senior, has these thoughts about seeing the late master guitarist Andrés Segovia when Segovia was 92: “And he knocked me on my ass with the energy and brilliance of his performance. So I think: ‘Why not me?’”

I like the way Raitt and Nash look at things.

I’ll bring this opus to a proper conclusion by leaving you with a tune composed by Bob Dylan, who, at 83, remains a very active musician. The song in question, Forever Young, appears on his album Planet Waves, which came out in 1974. Dylan recorded the album in collaboration with his pals from The Band (Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Garth Hudson, Robbie Robertson and Levon Helm).

While working on this story I listened to Forever Young for the first time in eons. Man, I think I’d never realized how direct and heartfelt the song is. It addresses some of the themes I’ve presented herein, but with a different slant, for Dylan had one of his youngsters in mind when he wrote the lyrics. The song’s sentiments, though, apply to folks of any age. Hope you enjoy it.