My Only Comment on Whitney Houston

The New Yorker covers a new Whitney Houston documentary (and the magazine has a flat-out obsession with the singer — search-engine it). Her story is very sad, no question, but I don’t play her records and find her songs mere performances, the cover-ups that we now know they were. (I’ll even take Marvin Gaye’s National Anthem over hers — he did come up with the idea, after all … or was that Jimi Hendrix?)

There is one exception: “I Wanna Dance With Somebody (Who Loves Me).” The video version offers her routine distractions, but listen to the number itself. There’s heaps of loneliness and desperate need for escape in there. I like to imagine that, down deep, she knew “this one will sound different after I’m gone.” Now you can detect the pain behind all the hot kicks.

If We Don’t Talk About the Top Secret, It Doesn’t Exist

I’ve mentioned the mad mentality created by the Nuclear Era several times on this blog. Charlie has just done a piece that underscores how ongoing the insanity remains. I would particularly like applaud the nightmarish truth of the Garry Wills quote about the Ground Zero of Modern Secrecy. Wow, Another Fun Report

R.I.P. Milos Foreman

I agree with the nay-sayers about Cuckoo’s Nest in that Nicholson is terrible in the top-hero role (unfortunately, James Dean was dead) and agree with the plus-note people that Louise Fletcher redeems the foul, dated sexism of the concept of Nurse Rached. (Kidz, it was this: stuffy, norm-obsessed, perfectly domesticated women were holding freed spirits and wild men back. Like they had that power.)

So I gotta get on the bus again.

But gotta admit those were interesting times.