Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Women's World Cup 2011 Articles

U.S. Beats Brazil In Shootout, Reaches World Cup Semifinals
(By David Leon Moore, USA TODAY, July 10 2011)

The final seconds of this marathon World Cup quarterfinal were ticking away — maybe 60 or so left. Crafty and dazzling one moment, emotional and unpredictable the next, Brazil led the U.S. team 2-1 in the second minute of stoppage time after 90 minutes of regulation and 30 minutes of overtime. For the Americans, who were playing 10 against 11 because of a red card given to defender Rachel Buehler in the 65th minute, their earliest World Cup exit seemed imminent. There just simply did not seem to be any way for the U.S. to win. There turned out to be two.

•Way No. 1 — A long cross from sub Megan Rapinoe to Abby Wambach, soccer's Queen of Midair, who headed it into the net in the 122nd minute. Wambach has been in the worst slump of her career, having scored one goal coming into the tournament and going scoreless despite several chances in the first two Cup games. Then she knocked one in off her shoulder in a 2-1 loss to Sweden on Wednesday. And now … she's not in a slump any more. This will go down as one of the most spectacular goals in women's soccer history.

"To be honest," Wambach said, "I can't believe what just happened. These last three hours have been some of the most up-and-down moments of my life." The pass from Rapinoe, according to Wambach, should also become legendary. "That was by far the best ball in the tournament," Wambach said of Rapinoe's cross. "That ball was world class. She put that ball right on my head. Luckily, I didn't miss it." Rapinoe had subbed in for Lauren Cheney in the 55th minute. She once again showed why she has been one of the most dynamic players in the tournament. "I don't think I've ever hit a ball like that with my left foot," Rapinoe said.

•Way No. 2 — A save by U.S. goalkeeper Hope Solo on Brazil's third kicker in the penalty-kick shootout — Daiane. Solo, four years ago, was benched in a Cup semifinal against Brazil and the Americans lost 4-0. After the match, she ripped coach Greg Ryan for the decision and veteran Briana Scurry for allowing goals she said she would have saved. Sunday, finally getting her World Cup start against Brazil, she was a hero. The first two shooters for Brazil, Cristiane and Marta, made their kicks. "I didn't really try to read them," Solo said. "I had in my head where I thought they'd go."

Then sweeper Daiane, who had spent the day mostly deep on defense, addressed the ball. Solo decided to try to read and react. She lunged to her right and got her right hand on the ball. The Americans made all their kicks, so Solo's save turned out to be the decider. "Amazing," said defender Christie Rampone, playing in her fourth World Cup. "Best goalkeeper in the world." U.S. coach Pia Sundhage helped heal relationships between Solo and her teammates when she was hired after the 2007 World Cup. She also has stuck with Wambach through the slump. Sundhage was deeply moved by what she saw Sunday. "I come from Sweden," she said. "This American attitude of putting everything together and bringing out the best in everybody is contagious. I am very proud to be the coach of this U.S. team."

The Americans' ability to compete with Marta, Cristiane and Co. despite being a player short was impressive. In fact, their play seemed to pick up when Buehler was sent off. Rampone organized a brilliant effort by the defenders, including a resurgent performance by left back Amy LePeilbet, and veteran Shannon Boxx was a rock in the midfield. "Marta is the best player in the world, hands down," Sundhage said. "She is phenomenal. However, this team is better than one player." Marta scored both Brazilian goals, one on a controversial penalty kick re-try in the 68th minute. The first penalty kick, by Cristiane, was saved by Solo, but Solo was ruled to have come off the line, giving Brazil a second chance. Marta's second goal came on a masterful, soft-touch shot in the second minute of overtime. As she has been in the previous matches in Germany, Marta was booed by German fans. "I don't know why," Brazilian coach Kleiton Lima said. "Probably because she is not German."


U.S. Stuns Brazil, Advances To Semifinal Of Women’s World Cup
(By Michael Birnbaum, Washington Post, July 10, 2011)

The Women’s World Cup quarterfinal between the United States and Brazil on Sunday took enough twists and turns to fill an entire tournament. If an early own goal, a controversial ejection and a retaken penalty kick weren’t enough, there was a go-ahead strike in extra time by Marta, the Brazilian superstar, and a last-ditch equalizer by Abby Wambach, the Americans’ bruising forward. One last act of spellbinding theater awaited — and Hope Solo and Ali Krieger embraced the spotlight at Rudolf-Harbig Stadium. Solo made a diving save in the third round of a penalty kick tiebreaker and Krieger, a Dumfries native, capped a flawless performance by the Americans in the shootout by tucking her attempt into the lower left corner for a 5-3advantage and the win. That followed a 2-2 draw through 120 minutes of regulation and overtime.

The victory avenged a 4-0 loss to Brazil in the 2007 Women’s World Cup semifinals in China and came exactly 12 years after the United States prevailed in a tiebreaker against China to win the championship. With their latest triumph, the Americans advanced to face France, a first-time semifinalist, on Wednesday in Moenchengladbach. The other semifinal, scheduled for the same day in Frankfurt, pits Japan, which ousted two-time defending champion Germany on Saturday, against Sweden, a 3-1 winner over Australia earlier Sunday.

The Americans haven’t won the world title since 1999 and appeared in jeopardy of falling short again by finishing second in group play behind Sweden and falling behind previously unbeaten Brazil in the extra period. “I’m at a loss and I literally cannot believe what just happened,” Wambach said. “But we’ve got two games left. “The history of the team has always been we never give up,” she added. The Americans went ahead 74 seconds into the match on an own goal — the first blemish against Brazil in the 16-team tournament. Shannon Boxx crossed the ball to the six-yard box, where Brazilian defender Daiane deflected it into her own net. But midway through the second half, Brazil pulled even on a chaotic sequence. Australian referee Jacqui Melksham red-carded U.S. defender Rachel Buehler for taking down Marta in the box. That resulted in a penalty kick and left the Americans short-handed for the remainder of the match.

Solo stopped Cristiane’s attempt, but while the goalkeeper celebrated with teammates, Melksham ordered the kick taken again. At the time, it was assumed that Melksham ruled Solo had stepped forward before the ball was struck — a violation — but TV replays showed a U.S. player entering the penalty area too early. Marta took the second attempt and converted easily, tying the score at 1.

A five-time FIFA player of the year, Marta struck again two minutes into extra time, lifting the ball over Solo from a difficult angle. While the play was unfolding, Boxx turned for an instant to plead for an offside call. Marta gained just enough separation to connect with the cross and put Brazil ahead. “Sometimes we play better when we’re down,” Solo said. “We never like things easy.” For the rest of overtime, the Americans pressed valiantly, keeping the ball in Brazilian territory for much of the time. Three minutes of added time tacked to the end gave them their chance. Midfielder Megan Rapinoe crossed toward Wambach, who beat a defender and goalkeeper to the high ball and headed it into the net, inspiring thunderous cheers from the sold-out crowd of 25,598.

In the shootout, in which teams alternate attempts, Boxx, Carli Lloyd and Wambach converted for the United States and Cristiane and Marta scored for Brazil before Solo leapt fully extended to her right to block Daiane’s shot. After Rapinoe and Francielle exchanged goals, Krieger clinched the victory. “I just blocked everything out and focused on making the shot,” said Krieger, 26, who starred in the Prince William youth programs and at Forest Park High before playing at Penn State. She has spent most of her professional career in Germany. “There’s something about the American attitude” that kept the team going even when the match appeared lost, U.S. Coach Pia Sundhage said. “Right now, I’m the happiest person on Earth.”


U.S. Vs. Brazil: This One Should Have Left You Cheering
(By Mike Lopresti, Gannett, USA Today, July 11, 2011)

Let's say you're one of those who wouldn't jump on soccer's bandwagon with a bazooka to your head. This one still should have moved you. Let's say you think any sport where the referee reaches in the pocket and pulls out a little red or yellow card is silly. And you can't understand why they put up extra time at the end of each half, but won't tell anyone exactly how much. And you couldn't describe the offsides rule if they offered you a bank truck. And there's still the same old problem of not enough scoring. This one still should have left you cheering. Who cared Sunday what the sport was? Remarkable is remarkable, epic is epic.

Great sport is about beating the odds and beating the pressure and beating the clock — then being speechless when it is over, so deep is the emotion. Doesn't matter if it is done with a bat or a glove or a stick or a hand or a foot. So here is the women's U.S. soccer team, turning back Brazil on Sunday in the World Cup quarterfinals on penalty kicks, with the type of drama that can wow a country. Even that part of the country preoccupied with when the lockout might end — either of them. Whoever's writing this team's script deserves a raise.

Take the goalie known for her individualism, named Solo. You couldn't make that up. More pertinent, when the Brazilians absolutely, positively had to get a ball past her, they couldn't. Or the veteran Abby Wambach, who scored in the final seconds of overtime Sunday to save the day and force the penalty kicks. This was burying a three-pointer over LeBron James at the buzzer, homering on a 0-2 pitch in the ninth inning off one of Mariano Rivera's best cutters, throwing a Hail Mary pass for a touchdown on the final play against the Pittsburgh Steelers.

Plus, nothing makes a victory more telegenic than when it comes after a team has been sucker-punched by luck. This band of Uncle Samettes endured iffy calls and having to play shorthanded for more than 50 minutes. It was as if Brazil was in a perpetual power play. So the Americans tied the game on their last gasp, and then won the penalty-kick shootout, which is like two goalies having to stand there trading punches, as if they were Ali and Frazier, until one of them finally falls down. Hope Solo was the one left standing. Many on these shores are not fully on board with the Women's World Cup, but maybe we can put it in another more appealing way.

This was as close as you can get to an Olympic moment without a flame or flying doves. And we eat up Olympic moments like they were hamburgers. You know how it has been watching sports lately. One American retreat after another. Turn on golf, and Europeans are making most of the big birdies. Turn on tennis, and its Spain or Serbia or Russia or Switzerland. Turn on the NBA, and the pride of German basketball is holding up the trophy. Turn on baseball, and it's Latin America's pastime. We still rule in the hot dog eating contest, but not much else. Pro football, certainly, but they're not even playing.

So here's to the women who gave their country a scintillating Sunday, something rare lately. And now they want to finish the job. In truth, the Americans don't even have the best storyline going among the final four teams. That would be Japan, as a soccer team tries to help heal a nation shattered by a tsunami. But when it is time to meet France in Wednesday's semifinals, the Americans go in as fighters who have already cheated death. We make movies about people like that.

Sweden advances to semis
(Associated Press)

In Augsburg, Lotta Schelin scored one goal and set up another as Sweden beat Australia, 3-1, to reach the semifinals. After setting up Therese Sjogran for the opening goal in the 11th minute, Schelin pushed the lead to 3-1 in the 52nd to set off the players’ traditional Swedish dancing celebrations. Schelin capitalized on a poor back pass from Kim Carroll and took one touch past goalkeeper Melissa Barbieri before slotting the ball into the unguarded net. Sjogran set up Lisa Dahlkvist for Sweden’s second goal in the 16th in front of 24,605 fans, before Ellyse Perry briefly gave Australia hope with a stunning effort in the 40th.

“There is a fantastic atmosphere in our team and we pulled each other through,” said Schelin, the player of the game. The result means Sweden also qualifies for the London Olympics next year. Japan upset host Germany in another quarterfinal and will play Sweden on Wednesday.

U.S. Rises Above Fatigue, Beats France To Reach Women's World Cup Final
(Sporting News website, July 13, 2011)

The Americans have plenty of heart and just enough legs. The U.S., the oldest team in the Women's World Cup and playing on short rest against a younger and fresher team, were outplayed by France for most of the game before rallying with two goals in the final 11 minutes for a 3-1 victory in Wednesday's semifinals. "This is just such an awesome feeling," Lauren Cheney told ESPN. "We overcame so much adversity." Abby Wambach, a 31-year-old forward with weary legs, rose up one more time to score the go-ahead goal on a header in the 79th minute. Wambach, who famously tied the quarterfinal match against Brazil in extra time on a header, did it again, this time on a corner kick from Cheney. "Abby, she's just the best," U.S. coach Pia Sundhage said. "I'm very happy to have her in our team. Great."

Three minutes later, the U.S. put away the game. Forward Alex Morgan, fresh-faced and fresh-legged at the age of 22, came into the game in the 56th minute. She cleaned up a turnover and beat goalkeeper Berangere Sapowicz. The U.S. had made the semifinal in all six Women's World Cups, but this is the Americans' first Cup final since winning the tournament in 1999. The U.S. will play the winner of the Japan-Sweden semifinal on Sunday. The Americans entered the tournament as the No. 1-ranked team in the world, having won the Olympic gold medal in the Beijing, but hadn't played well in recent years and weren't expected to win the World Cup. The U.S. had to win a playoff vs. Italy just to qualify for the 16-team World Cup tournament. Two-time World Cup defending champion Germany and Brazil, with five-time FIFA player of the year Marta, were co-favorites. Having survived a "bumpy road" in group play, as Sundhage calls it, the Americans won a drama-filled game vs. Brazil and Japan upset Germany. That left the U.S. as the overwhelming favorite once in the semifinals. Anything short of a victory in Sunday's final will be considered a disappointment for the Americans, trying to become the first team to win three World Cup titles.

The Americans got on the scoreboard quickly vs. France. In the ninth minute, on a counter attack, Carli Lloyd fed Heather O'Reilly on the left flank, running with defenders. O'Reilly is always dangers and she took the ball into the box and made a crossing pass. There, Cheney, the Americans' best player in this tournament, deflected the pass into the right corner of the net. France had control of the ball much of the match, missing scoring chance after chance, and finally converted in the 55th minute. Sonia Bompastor played a long crossing ball from the left side toward the right side of the goal. With a French player running toward the near post, U.S. goalkeeper Hope Solo moved forward to play a probable deflection. The French player never touched the ball and Bompastor's blast went in to tie the match.

At that point, the French seemed destined to pull off the upset and advance to its first World Cup final. Unpredictably, the American defense stiffened, the midfield started controlling the ball and the team beat France on the counter-attack. And with a late rush, the U.S. is now just 90 minutes away from its first World Cup title since 1999. “There’s something special about this team, and I do believe that this is the team to do it. We want to write our own storyline, and we want to write our own destiny,” Solo said. "To be honest, we’re tired of hearing about 1999. It’s time for a new team to come in here and make history.”

http://aol.sportingnews.com/soccer/story/2011-07-13/us-rises-above-fatigue-beats-france-to-reach-womens-world-cup-final?ncid=webmail6#ixzz1S1h2vYi9


This Time Around, Goalkeeper's Not Going Solo
(By Lisa Olson, AOL FanHouse, July 13, 2011)

Debating the hotness of Hope Solo — drooling over her hotness is a truer description — seemed a perfectly reasonable followup theme to the U.S. women’s national soccer team’s stunning, jaw-on-the-floor defeat of Brazil last Sunday. The discourse was predictable: the host slobbered a few words, someone else grunted in agreement, another brought up Brandi Chastain’s bra and everyone chuckled and scratched. Yep, here was sports talk radio stuck in a highbrow moment. Save the breath and stop the eye rolls, because there’s no use wasting time chastising those who still can’t see beyond the superficial when it comes to women’s sports. While the riveting commentary cited above took place on one of New York’s finer stations, no doubt the banality was replicated in pockets across the land. If a conversational jumping-in point is needed, may I humbly suggest this: Hope, the peripatetic goalkeeper who today guides the U.S. side in a World Cup semifinal against France, might just be the most fascinating athlete America has at the moment.

She ended an interview Tuesday with Dave "Softy" Mahler from Seattle’s KJR by saying, "Alright, we'll be bringing home the Cup, guys,” a fresh reminder that the aptly-named Hope always fearlessly shares what’s on her mind. The defining picture at this juncture of the tournament is of Solo and teammate Abby Wambach leaping into each other’s arms on a pitch in Germany after a dazzling spin of events turned what appeared destined to be an American loss into a spectacular win even soccer haters had to admire. Trailing 2-1, down a player and deep in extra stoppage time, there came Megan Rapinoe's sublime cross — “I just took a touch and friggin’ smacked it with my left foot,” she’d say later — the ball finding Wambach at the far post, and there went Wambach's perfect header, tying the match 2-2 in the 122nd minute. “I got it to the back post and that beast in the air just got a hold of it,” Rapinoe would also say, reminding us yet again that soccer players often use the most colorful descriptions to describe their beautiful game.

Solo followed Wambach’s implausible, never-to-be-imitated goal with a flawless performance in the shootout, and soon they were hugging tight, Wambach momentarily forgetting the screeching inflammation in her Achilles tendon, Solo ignoring the pain in her shoulder that’s still healing from surgery to repair a torn labrum.
From that delirious snapshot grew a rousing sentiment that made the rest of the world cringe. The rally proved that the Americans, according to Americans, were a scrappy, gutsy lot who didn’t know the meaning of quit. “Somebody’s writing this book, and it’s something about the American attitude that they find a way to win. It’s unbelievable,” said U.S. coach Pia Sundhage, who hails from Sweden. “That is a perfect example of what this country is about, what the history of this team has always been. We never give up,” said Wambach, who hails from upstate New York. “A tribute to the American spirit,” said a TV announcer, and while most any other time that cliché would provoke involuntary gags, this time it happened to be true.

Twice the Yanks have won the women’s World Cup, in 1991 and 1999, but it’s been more than a decade since they’ve truly captivated the country. It took a ball slamming off Wambach’s forehead for slobbering radio hosts to raise their heads. Though Germany won the past two World Cups, the Yanks were still a favorite heading into this tournament, but that theme has flipped, and now it’s the Yanks who are viewed as slight longshots. It’s very rare — almost never — for Americans to be considered the underdog in anything, so pardon us if we run around flexing from now until whenever our girls end up on the wrong side of the scoreboard. That could come as soon as today at Borussia-Park in Moenchengladbach, Germany.

France has never progressed this far, and they’ve beaten the Americans just once in 13 international matches, but they are riding high after running England into the turf in a quarterfinal match that also included a stirring comeback and then a win on penalty kicks. More than anything, Les Bleus has on its side an enviable edge, as a large core of its players come from the same club, Olympique Lyonnais, which is only the most dominant team in France. The Americans, alas, must make do despite hailing from disparate soccer clubs, colleges and developmental programs. France’s cohesiveness is apparent in its elegant possession game, and with the U.S. playing on short rest and without the suspended Rachel Buehler, Les Bleus is a creeping favorite. "We have a bit of an advantage over the United States because we're already familiar with this venue. The extra recuperation time has been kind to us — they've yet to invent a machine that does a better job of helping players recover than simply sleeping and resting,” French coach Bruno Bini told FIFA.com.

Solo gets this American true grit theme. She latched onto it after the Brazilians were sent packing, saying: “This is what it’s all about. It’s about defying the odds for me. It’s about proving people wrong. It’s about playing the game I’m passionate about. This is what I live for. I’ve prepared my entire life for this moment.” And then, days later in the radio interview, she admitted to riding the energy generated from her irritation over the Brazilians’ shameless stall tactics and outrageous gamesmanship, never mind the curious eyesight of the officials. “I found myself extremely overwhelmed with anger towards the ref, towards the Brazilians, the players, their antics, and their unsportsmanship,” she told KJR. “I found myself just incredibly angered, but I knew there was still a way to win this, so I did everything I could to manage my emotions, to stay focused, to stay in the zone, and that's what I was able to do."

The passion that drives her, that compels her to offer uncensored honesty, is the same unfiltered feed that led to her controversial benching against Brazil in the 2007 World Cup. Weeks before the tournament began, her father, Jeffrey, died of heart failure at age 69. A Vietnam veteran, he’s often described as being “homeless” in his adult years after splitting with Solo’s mother when she was 6. It’s a characterization that causes Solo to grimace. Even though Jeffrey chose to live in the woods outside of Seattle, or sometimes on the city streets, the father-daughter bond was firm. He was her first coach and later, when she played for the University of Washington, he’d be there for every single game, often arriving four hours early just to watch her warm up.

"I always had a very unique, close relationship with my father," Solo once told USA Today. "He was the happiest man I've ever known. He enjoyed the simple life. He never judged another person. His heart was pure. He'd call me from a pay phone, and we'd pick a place to meet. And I'd make him macaroni and cheese, and we'd sit in the woods in a tent and talk for hours. He understood life and sports, and that's why he knew me so well. "He was a tough Italian guy who was raised in a boys home in the Bronx. He always had that street sense in him. In terms of being ‘homeless,’ I’m always very careful not to define it that way. He chose to live in the woods. He enjoyed it. I'd offer him money, and he'd never take a dime. If I looked for him, I wouldn't look for him at a homeless shelter."

Solo is a tomboy who embraces her girly moments. When she wasn’t playing sports as a kid, she’d be out catching snakes and frogs along the Yakima and Columbia riverbeds; weeks away from turning 30, she’s long been obsessed with pedicures and now owns more pairs of shoes than she can count. It was her quick feet that caused her to move from forward to goalkeeper at age 15, to fill in temporarily for an injured teammate on her select soccer team. For years she despised playing goal. She missed the glamour and freewheeling adrenaline rush that came from being a high-scoring forward, but then came an epiphany when Amy Griffin, a Huskies assistant who used to be a former World Cup goalkeeper, installed a screen saver on Solo's computer.

"A goalkeeper can not win a game, she can only save it,” it read. The game, Solo learned, could be magical if only she’d allow it to come to her. By 2007 she was considered one of the world’s top goalkeepers, but her father’s death hit hard, and after giving up two goals in four games, Solo was benched by coach Greg Ryan for the semifinal against Brazil. When the U.S. lost, 4-0, with Briana Scurry in goal, Solo famously declared that she “would have made those saves” and brutally questioned the coaching decision. They were harsh, rude words coming from a raw place. They also were words that might have been acceptable had they been uttered by a male athlete irate at losing his spot, but from a female? Solo’s tirade rocked the premise of how female athletes were meant to act: graciously, perhaps even submissively. Banished from the match for third place and ostracized by many of the same women who had risen with her through club and then international play, Solo took a step back, made amends, allowed her psyche to heal and, most of all, worked her rear off. She was in goal when the U.S. beat Brazil, 1-0, in the gold medal game at the 2008 Olympics, and while she admitted some of her teammates were still distant, three years later everything seems copacetic.

Will France’s fresher legs and formidable union wreck this compelling American tale? Or must we again fall back on Brandi’s bra (oh, how Brandi must hate that bra) as the defining picture from a women’s World Cup? “There’s something special about this team, and I do believe that this is the team to do it. We want to write our own storyline, and we want to write our own destiny,” Solo said. "To be honest, we’re tired of hearing about 1999. It’s time for a new team to come in here and make history.”

Read more: http://aol.sportingnews.com/soccer/story/2011-07-12/this-time-around-goalkeepers-not-going-solo-hope-solo-womens-world-cup-france#ixzz1S1jWfQ1Z



Japan Seizes The World Cup As USA Watches Title Slip From Grip
(By David Leon Moore, USA Today, July 17, 2011)

Some of the players on the amazingly resilient U.S. women's soccer team had started to believe, especially after the miracle against Brazil a week earlier, that they were a team of destiny. But what if there are two teams of destiny? Maybe that's what happened Sunday in front of a sellout crowd of 48,817 in the final of the FIFA Women's World Cup.

It ended 1-1 after regulation, then 2-2 after overtime, then came down to a penalty-kick shootout, as did the Americans' quarterfinal victory against Brazil, which the U.S. team won to become an overnight sensation back home. This time, the shootout went awry for the Americans, and the Japanese won 3-1. It was a result that, for the U.S. team, was painful. It was an ending — the Americans coughed up a 1-0 lead with nine minutes left in regulation, a 2-1 lead with three minutes left in overtime — that was excruciating. "I guess it's never over 'til it's over, and we know that more than anybody," U.S. defender Rachel Buehler said.

As disappointed as the U.S. players were, they felt that in some ways the result was quite fitting, given the nightmare the Japanese have lived through since the deadly earthquake and tsunami that struck in March. "Maybe their country needed them to win more than our country needed us to win," U.S. star forward Abby Wambach said. Midfielder Carli Lloyd, one of three U.S. players unable to make a penalty kick in the shootout, agreed with Wambach. "Deep down inside, I thought it was our destiny to win it," Lloyd said. "But maybe it was Japan's."

The Americans were vying to win the Women's World Cup for the third time, but the first since the legendary Mia Hamm-led 1999 team won in front of a 90,000-plus crowd at the Rose Bowl. Instead, Japan, which never had been to a World Cup or Olympic final and never had beaten the U.S. women — they were 0-22-3, having been outscored 77-13 — is the 2011 World Cup champ. If that seems shocking, it's just another indication that women's soccer has developed from just a handful of teams capable of winning a title in, say, 1999, to maybe a dozen legitimate contenders in 2011. "Teams are catching up to us," U.S. defender Ali Krieger said. "We can see that."

Japanese goalkeeper Ayumi Kaihori, who made saves on penalty kicks by Shannon Boxx and Tobin Heath in the shootout, was named player of the match. "We have some very good players on the team and this is why we have been able to win the final," Kaihori said. "I received excellent support from the other players and I want to emphasize this is a team effort. In the penalty shootout, I just had to believe in myself and I was very confident." In the end, the bumpy road the Americans have been on since shockingly losing to Mexico in a World Cup qualifier in November finally caught up to them. So did their inability to consistently take advantage of scoring opportunities, a recurring theme during the tournament. The Americans outshot Japan 12-5 in the first half, including one by Wambach that hit the crossbar.

After Alex Morgan scored in the 69th minute to break a scoreless tie, the U.S. defense allowed an equalizer in the 81st minute. Buehler cleared a loose ball in front of the goal but Krieger punched it right back in front of the goal, and Japan's Aya Miyama sent it past goalkeeper Hope Solo, who had no chance to react to the play. "I wasn't expecting what happened," Krieger said. "I just got caught off guard." In overtime, Wambach gave the Americans a 2-1 lead in the 104th minute, heading in a pretty cross from Morgan. Morgan, 22, of Diamond Bar, Calif., is the youngest player on the U.S. team, and her stellar second half, along with her goal in the second half of the semifinal against France, was one indication that the U.S. team's future is promising. "This was a great experience for her," U.S. coach Pia Sundhage said of Morgan. "She has done well coming off the bench. She has a lot of goals in her and a lot of good games in her."

It was still 2-1 with three minutes left in overtime. "I remember seeing the clock with five minutes to go and thinking, 'We can do this,'" Lloyd said. But Japanese star midfielder Homare Sawa, a five-time World Cup player, scored on a deft touch off a corner kick in the 117th minute. It was her fifth goal of the tournament, which led all scorers and was one more than Wambach and Brazil's Marta. "That was just an example of Japanese precision on their set pieces," Buehler said. "She got a foot on it. I had my foot right there, too." "A remarkable player," Solo said of Sawa, Japan's 32-year-old captain.

The late scores by Japan were uncharacteristic of earlier U.S. matches. The Americans had been the team coming back, scoring late, making the clutch plays down the stretch. "It's tough because we were just minutes away," Wambach said. "When you're just minutes away, you're defending for your life, and that gives the other team chances." It was as though the USA, which had been the aggressor, went into a sort-of prevent defense, and it backfired. "It started with our attack, giving the ball away too easy," Sundhage said. "And we just weren't sharp enough with our defense on the two goals. That's why we didn't win the game." In the shootout, Boxx went first and her shot to the right was saved by Kaihori.

After Japan made its first kick, Lloyd sent hers high over the crossbar. Solo saved Japan's second attempt, but then Heath's kick resulted in another save by Kaihori. Three consecutive misses was too big a hole from which to crawl out. When Japan's Saki Kumagai knocked her shot past Solo, that clinched it, and the Japanese players swarmed the field in celebration. "We had been in penalty kicks previously against Brazil, and we had a good feeling tonight going into the penalty kicks," Sundhage said. "But that just proves what a small difference there is between a really good penalty kick and a not-so-good one." Wambach: ‘We’ll move on’

Wambach, 31, had said before the tournament that she considered her long and glorious career — she's an Olympic gold medalist and the third-leading goal scorer in U.S. women's soccer history — incomplete without a World Cup championship. She will have to wait and see if she can return to the World Cup at age 35. "I'm not thinking about that right now," Wambach said. "I just want to spend some time with my teammates. "This has been an emotional roller coaster. We'll go back play on our respective teams in our league (Women's Professional Soccer). And the Olympics are around the corner. We'll move on. "I feel devastated, but I feel proud of my teammates. And I give Japan credit. They just never gave up. And Sawa — what a performer."

The loss put a downer of an ending to a U.S. run to the final that had captivated Americans in a similar fashion to the 1999 tournament. Somewhere along the way, probably in the Brazil game, this team successfully moved out of the shadow of the so-called '99ers and created a compelling and separate identity. Before the match Sunday, President Obama, consumed with the debt crisis, tweeted his support: "Sorry I can't be there to see you play, but I'll be cheering you on from here. Let's go. —BO" The president did assign an official delegation to the title match, led by Vice President Biden's wife, Jill, and including former first daughter Chelsea Clinton.

Clinton's mother, Secretary of State Hillary Rodham Clinton, also became a fan. "I am so proud of the U.S. women," Clinton told news reporters in Greece. They were proud of each other, too. When it was over, Lauren Cheney, who played three positions in this tournament and shined at all of them, limped away from the locker room on crutches. She had rolled her right ankle in the first minute, yet played in pain the rest of the half and wanted to take the field in the second half, too, but was replaced by Morgan. "It wasn't a great feeling watching it slip away," Cheney said. "Our team fought so much. I'm so proud of them. We've beaten so many odds. "I love this team so much."


World Cup Final: Both Teams Deserve Respect After Enthralling Game
(By Sally Jenkins, Washington Post, July 17, 2011)

For absence of all reasonable behavior, for fits, spasms, shouts and other involuntary reflexes, have you ever experienced anything like the Women’s World Cup? If we at home were insensible and raw-throated after all the “GOALS!” and the “OH NOOOOOOS!” can you imagine how the participants felt? It was past 11 p.m. in Germany, and Japan and the United States were dirty, limping and panting with exhaustion. But underneath all the grime, players from both teams were covered with something else, too. Call it honor.

By then speechlessness had set in — but what was there to say? Nothing, except a bewildered congratulations to Japan and thanks to both teams for such an unanticipated, enthralling spectacle — and thank God we don’t have to go through this again until 2015. The only people who are entitled to feel bad about the United States’ enervating loss in the World Cup final on a penalty shootout after extra time are the handful of American players who thought the trophy was in their grasp so many times over the course of the game, only to have it wrenched away by — what? An unforgiving crossbar, for one thing. But for another, a Japanese team playing for more than itself, that trailed twice but wouldn’t leave the field without answering, and at last won thanks to their diving goalie Ayumi Kaihori , whose flailing shin blocked Shannon Boxx’s first penalty-kick attempt and put the United States behind for the first time all game. “They never gave up,” Abby Wambach said simply.

Let’s get this straight: The World Cup has no magical powers than can make a tsunami and a nuclear meltdown un-happen. But it can console, and uplift and send a message home about fighting back, and you’d be one ugly American to begrudge them this victory. You’d be ugly, too, to criticize the American team unduly for the loss after such a memorable run. The penalty-kick phase was inglorious — Boxx, Carli Lloyd and Tobin Heath each missed on successive attempts, no doubt affected by the pressure of the moment. But I’d defy any viewer or critic to hold up under the same circumstances, given the way Japan had seized the momentum with its overtime comeback. The Americans suffered from an invisible drag all game long, even though they dominated for long stretches, and twice led, including that 2-1 margin that came off Wambach’s header in the 104th minute. Though they ran themselves into the dirt mounting huge offensive surges, they were never properly rewarded on the scoreboard.

They had dozens of scoring chances — the United States could easily have led 4-0 in the first half. But balls bounced wide. They ticked off the post or the crossbar. Some went awry out of haste, or wrong decisions, or over-anxiousness. But in some cases they were just purely unlucky — Wambach missed one left-footed strike in the first half by a fraction of an inch. There was no understanding why shots simply wouldn’t go in the net. “You can’t,” Coach Pia Sundhage said. You got the feeling it just wasn’t their day — and you got the feeling that they had that feeling, too.

Overall, they did far more right than wrong in the tournament, both on and off the field, and they deserved applause. With their stirring comeback against Brazil, they engaged a U.S. audience that had largely ignored them. They had every right to reproach us for not paying attention to them between Olympics and World Cups, but they were gracious enough not to. One of the traits of this program over the last dozen years has been how uncomplaining the players are; they are never surly no matter how poorly paid or ignored they are compared with men’s soccer. Instead they just put their heads down and run as hard as they can. Though relative have-nots in a sports world full of entitlements, whose job futures in Women’s Professional Soccer are by no means assured, they don’t carp about their disadvantages; rather, they just keep trying to build a future. For that alone they command the deep respect.

“We’re pro athletes, something not many women have the privilege to experience,” Wambach said earlier in the week. “In order for me, in my life, to continue doing something so amazing, this job, it’s almost a duty to give these [younger] girls a platform to inspire themselves. . . .It’s almost a pay-it-forward system at this point. Some people call it a burden, but I don’t call it a burden. It’s a responsibility and it’s something I and my teammates take very seriously.”

Instead of whining about lack of coverage, they seized the previously apathetic nation’s attention with their heart and theatrics, and held it. All of a sudden, their locker room was full of reporters newly arrived from the States. Solo’s followers on Twitter increased from 10,000 to more than 130,000. Tweets of encouragement came from Lil Wayne, Tom Hanks, Wanda Sykes, and countless fellow athletes such as Aaron Rodgers, not to mention various Obamas, Bidens and Clintons. A handsome U.S. Army captain stationed in Afghanistan decided to quit shaving his upper lip until the U.S. women won, and made a YouTube video in which he invited Solo to the Austrian Officer’s ball, promising to shave first. Even some hard-bitten male sportswriters were entranced. ESPN’s “Pardon the Interruption” tweeted about them, and Peter King, football writer for Sports Illustrated, called for a Wambach cover — probably jinxing her. It must have been hard to keep their heads on straight, but they did, and for that they deserved credit too, and so did Sundhage, that amateur folkie singer whose relaxed slouch and odd quirks couldn’t obscure her expert, sure-handed management.

In the midst of it all, the American players seemed to understand just how hard it would be to bring the Cup home. After their electrifying come-from-behind victory over Brazil in a penalty shootout, it was tempting to celebrate prematurely. “You know, it’s great, but let’s review,” Wambach said. “ We won a game — we won nothing.” They didn’t underestimate the team they would be facing in Japan. Goalie Solo put it best. “They are the sentimental favorites of this tournament, and it’s pretty clear to us they’re playing for something bigger and better than the game. When you are playing with so much emotion and heart, that’s hard to play against.”

http://www.washingtonpost.com/sports/united/womens-world-final-both-teams-deserve-respect-after-enthralling-game/2011/07/17/gIQArsxgKI_story.html


Women’s World Cup: Everyone Gets A Trophy
(By Joel Achenbach, Washington Post, July 18, 2011)

Before I get to the substantive discussion of the soccer game yesterday — what we’re all really buzzing about, still — a quick note on the debt limit debate. As you know, I’ve been on vacation, and have assiduously avoided reading too much about the debt negotiations. Nonetheless, it is a fact that when in Utah the TVs at the motels are always tuned to Fox News and one is constantly hearing about how the President has wrecked the economy and driven the nation into debt and so on. This led me to random outbursts on remote wilderness trails, hectoring cacti and petroglyphs, ranting at rocks, and excoriating random geological formations for the illogic of the world. The president does not spend money! Congress does that! The vote on the debt limit does not involve more spending, but is merely a vote to ensure that the nation does not default on debt already owed. So I told the rocks, etc. They stared at me mutely. I think they felt sorry for me. The Washington guy — can’t let it go, even out here in nature.

So, Women’s World Cup: A disappointing end but what a run. We got our money’s worth. That was Can’t Pee TV — riveting and almost unendurably intense. It’s still not entirely clear how the U.S. lost in the end — how could we lose with superheader Abby Wambach and that goalie, Hope Solo, with the wingspan of a condor? But it was obvious how Japan won it: By not giving up, by having great reserves of want-to and pluck. You have to feel good for our Japanese friends after all they’ve been through this year.

And this was no fluke victory, even though the U.S. looked to be the stronger team. Yeah, we had a lot more shots on goal, but in soccer close doesn’t count. You don’t get half a point for whanging the ball off the crossbar. Note that, in the final few minutes of the second period of extra time, with the U.S. clinging to a 1-goal advantage, Japan had several great chances to tie as our defense suddenly went wobbly. The equilizer was nicely executed on a corner kick. Did we lose focus whenever we were up a goal? Did we succumb to pressure in the PKs? Whatever: From the comfort of our living rooms it’s easy to second guess. The U.S. women’s team performed with class and dash for the last month. What a bummer that the tournament is over. Are we supposed to watch baseball now? Swing and a miss. [Yawn.]

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/achenblog

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

White Stripes Are Dead, Long Live White Stripes


(By Steve Kandell, Spin.com, Feb 8, 2011)

Here's the main reason you shouldn't spend too much time mourning the demise of the White Stripes: They were already gone. If last week's official announcement was jarring for any reason, it wasn't because the news itself was surprising, like some sort of bottom had just dropped out, but because we hadn't heard the name or really thought much about the White Stripes in years. This is hardly a reflection on the band's legacy -- if anything, the graceful early exit cements their greatness. But even beyond Jack and Meg White ceasing some time ago to be an active, prolific musical entity, they stopped being the White Stripes, as defined by a singular vision unlike that of any band in contemporary music, long before that. The White Stripes' final, it would now seem, studio album was 2007's Icky Thump, the first since White formed the Raconteurs as a brush with which to scratch those spots the Stripes' devout minimalism couldn't reach. That was followed by a few shows, then subsequent tour plans were scrapped due to Meg's "anxiety." (In quotes because that was the official explanation, not because we are in any way calling out the fuzziness of the term. Although that's what we just wound up doing anyway.)

Then, back to the Raconteurs and two Dead Weather albums, with stops in between to build a studio, start a label, raise a family, and rescue a few of his heroes' languishing careers, all with increasing autonomy, broadening the Stripes' orthodoxy concerning sartorial and genealogical matters to include a combative anti-modernity streak. With each of these moves, the White Stripes as we came to know them faded further into the ether. The message with the Raconteurs, and later the Dead Weather, was that there was no message. Jack was just one of the boys in the band, come as you are. And even during the truncated Icky Thump return, the familiar white and red gave way almost entirely to more black-and-white gaucho drag. Yes, we're talking about art direction and not music, but what were the White Stripes if not an exercise in art direction? De Stijl, anyone?

Once the dress code was relaxed, literally and figuratively, and audiences became more accustomed to seeing White play with an array of musicians who could keep up with him, his devotion to and defense of Meg's…let's say, "limitations," felt more and more like an exercise, albeit a great one. (Icky Thump may not be anyone's favorite Stripes album, but which of White's subsequent releases has been as consistently gratifying?) The album was warmly received, but White was put in the odd position of having to justify the band's existence and explain what Meg provided that his other collaborators couldn't. That was new. What the announcement ultimately boiled down to was mainly this: Jack White would no longer be playing in one of his three primary bands, but it only stands to reason that he'd wind up in some other one pretty soon anyway. This is both a testament to what he has built for himself over the past decade, but also a fairly shocking reminder that one of the most innovative & arresting musical acts in recent history had become just another line item on an ever-lengthening CV.

Certainly there are complex reasons for the band's dissolution that may never come to light -- they are, after all, ex-spouses each with new families, as if creative and business partnerships weren't tricky enough -- and a tempered joint statement on an otherwise slow news day is a more preferable exit strategy than a lot of the other options available to a semi-dormant band in its second decade. They are frozen in amber, quit before they got fired. The fact that there was some expectation that White would return to the Stripes once or twice every Olympiad seems like the part he'd find most constricting. Take away that burden and he's free again. And if we were to learn in a year's time that a new White Stripes album was forthcoming, we'd all be thrilled and surprised. But once the news sank in for a minute, we wouldn't be surprised in the slightest. You gonna believe a guy who lied about his own sister?

Saturday, May 28, 2011

The Dying Of The Light
(By Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times, May 24, 2011)

Do you remember what a movie should look like? Do you notice when one doesn't look right? Do you feel the vague sense that something is missing? I do. I know in my bones how a movie should look. I have been trained by the best projection in the world, at film festivals and in expert screening rooms. When I see a film that looks wrong, I want to get up and complain to the manager and ask that the projectionist be informed. But these days the projectionist is tending a dozen digital projectors, and I will be told, "That's how it's supposed to look. It came that way from the studio." The most common flaw is that the picture is not bright enough. I've been seeing that for a long time. In the years before digital projectors, the problem was often that tight-fisted theater owners weren't setting the Xenon bulbs in their projectors at the correct wattage, in the mistaken belief that dialing them down would extend the life of the expensive bulbs. Not true. If you ran a 3000W bulb at 2000W, you'd extend its life by all of 2.3 percent. Yet when Martin Scorsese used people around the country to actually check theater brightness, he found most of the theaters involved were showing an underlit image. An Eastman Kodak spokesman told me in the late 1990s: "The irony is that their only real achievement is to cheat the customers."

That was then. This is now. Driven by a mania to abandon celluloid in favor of digital, increasing numbers of chains are installing 3D-ready digital projectors. As everyone can tell simply by taking off their 3D glasses, the process noticeably reduces the visible light from the screen. I got emails from readers saying the night scenes in "Pirates of the Caribbean" were so dim they were annoying. Ah, but what if you saw the movie in 2D? As it happens, a lot of people did; Gitesh Pandya of BoxOfficeGuru.com reported: "less than half of the Pirates weekend gross came from 3D screens, with more opting for the 2D version." He attributes that to moviegoers being "cautious with their dollars." After the weekend, David Poland of MovieCityNews.com ran the numbers and determined 60% of sales were in 2D and 40% in 3D: "Not only is this a clear rejection of 3D on a major movie, but given how distribution is currently designed, it makes you wonder whether Disney cost themselves a lot of gross by putting their film on too high a percentage of 3D screens."

There may have been a reason consumers shied away from 3D. An expertly written article by Ty Burr in the Boston Globe reports that some 3D projectors, particularly those made by Sony, produce "gloomy, underlit" images of 2D films. His article must have hit a nerve; and I've seen it posted and referred to all over the web. The newspaper found dark images on eight of the 19 screens at the high-end AMC Loews Boston Common on Tremont Street. Burr wrote: "This particular night 'Limitless,' 'Win Win,' and 'Source Code' all seemed strikingly dim and drained of colors. 'Jane Eyre,' a film shot using candles and other available light, appeared to be playing in a crypt. A visit to the Regal Fenway two weeks later turned up similar issues: 'Water for Elephants' and 'Madea's Big Happy Family' were playing in brightly lit 35mm prints and, across the hall, in drastically darker digital versions." His observations indicated the problems centered on Sony projectors: "Digital projection can look excellent when presented correctly. Go into Theater 14 at the Common, newly outfitted with a Christie 4K projector, and you'll see a picture that is bright and crisp, if somewhat colder than celluloid."

He says there is a reason for this: "Many theater managers have made a practice of leaving the 3D lenses on the projectors when playing a 2D film." The result is explained by an anonymous projectionist: "For 3D showings a special lens is installed in front of a Sony digital projector that rapidly alternates the two polarized images needed for the 3D effect to work. When you're running a 2D film, that polarization device has to be taken out of the image path. If they're not doing that, it's crazy, because you've got a big polarizer that absorbs 50 percent of the light.'' Fifty percent! It can be worse than that. I quote: "Chapin Cutler, a cofounder of the high-end specialty projection company Boston Light & Sound, estimates that a film projected through a Sony with the 3D lens in place and other adjustments not made can be as much as 85 percent darker than a properly projected film." Your best bet is apparently to (1) find a theater that doesn't use digital at all, (2) doesn't use Sony projectors, or (3) still projects light through celluloid the traditional way.

Digital projectors have been force-fed to theaters by an industry hungry for the premium prices it can charge for 3D films. As I've been arguing for a long time, this amounts to charging you more for an inferior picture. The winners are the manufacturers of the expensive machines, and the film distributors. The hapless theaters still depend on concession sales to such a degree that a modern American theater can be described as a value-added popcorn stand. I have an email from a Hollywood professional who writes me: "During the last awards season, I went to an Industry screening of 'The Social Network' at Sony Studios, in their James Stewart facility -- what they said was their best screening room. The movie looked dark and muddy; truly awful. Then I looked back and saw that the picture was emanating from a twin-lens rig. After the show, I complained to the projectionist about the image. He explained that the process of shifting both the lens and changing the silver screen to a white matter screen, which they were equipped to do, was too time-consuming. So he told me that his supervisor authorized showing the movie to Academy voters through the 3D lens, which looked like shit. And this is at Sony Studios. Just imagine how bad it is in the real world. It is as if the Industry is courting self-destruction."

Sony refused to comment on the Boston Globe article. At my recent Ebertfest, one seasoned director called the projection in the 90-year old Virginia Theater in Urbana-Champaign "the best I've ever seen." That's because we use two of the best projectionists in the nation, James Bond, who consults on high-level projection facilities, and Steve Kraus, of Chicago's Lake Street Screening Room. Ty Burr writes: "So why aren't theater personnel simply removing the 3-D lenses? The answer is that it takes time, it costs money, and it requires technical know-how above the level of the average multiplex employee. James Bond, a Chicago-based projection guru who serves as technical expert for Roger Ebert's Ebertfest, said issues with the Sonys are more than mechanical. Opening the projector alone involves security clearances and Internet passwords, 'and if you don't do it right, the machine will shut down on you.' The result, in his view, is that 'often the lens change isn't made and audiences are getting shortchanged'."

The problem isn't with all digital projectors, and seems most common with the new Sony 4K projectors, which has lenses too difficult to adjust for most of the (semi-skilled) multiplex projectionists. It is possible to project a high-quality digital image, and I've often seen that done. But only if theaters insist on it, and manufacturers like Sony make changes allowing their lenses to be changed as needed. The movie industry feels under threat these days from DVDs, cable movies on demand, a dozen streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, Fandor and Mubi, and competition from video games. Decades ago, it felt a similar danger from radio (it introduced talkies) and television (it introduced wide-screen). The irony today is that it hopes to rescue itself with 3D, which is not an improvement but a step back in quality. The fact that more people wanted to see "Pirates" in 2D than 3D is stunning. The fact that 3D projectors in some theaters are producing murky and dim 2D pictures makes me very unhappy.

I began by asking if you notice, really notice, what a movie looks like. I have a feeling many people don't. They buy their ticket, they get their popcorn and they obediently watch what is shown to them. But at some level there is a difference. They feel it in their guts. The film should have a brightness, a crispness and sparkle that makes an impact. It should look like a movie! -- not a mediocre big-screen television. When people don't have a good time at the movies, they're slower to come back. I can't tell you how many comments on my blog have informed me that the writers enjoy a "better picture" at home on their big-screen TVs with Blu-ray discs. This should not be true. Nobody at Ebertfest confused the experience with sitting at home and watching a video. A movie should leap out and zap you, not recede into itself and get lost in dimness. I despair. This is a case of Hollywood selling its birthright for a message of pottage. If as much attention were paid to exhibition as to marketing, that would be an investment in the future. People would fall back in love with the movies. Short-sighted, technically illiterate penny-pinchers are wounding a great art form.

http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/2011/05/the_dying_of_the_light.html

What can you personally do to be sure you see an ideal picture? Matthew Humpries at Geek.com writes:
• The title of the movie listed by the theater will have a "D" after it if it is being shown on a digital projector
• If you are in a D movie, look at the projector window when seated. If you see two stacked beams of light it is a Sony projector with the 3D lens still on.
• A single beam of light means no 3D lens, or a different make of projector that doesn't have the issue
• If you see the two beams, then get up and go complain. You paid good money to see the movie, so make a fuss until they either give you back that money or remove the lens. Seeing as that's an involved and time-consuming process, expect a refund.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Robert B. Parker Passes Away Working At His Desk

Crime Novelist, Spenser Creator Robert B. Parker Dies At 77
(By Patricia Sullivan, Washington Post, Jan 20, 2010)

Robert B. Parker, 77, a popular and prolific author of hard-boiled American crime fiction who was best known for the 37-book Spenser series, which became an ABC television show in the 1980s, died Jan. 18 at his writing desk at home in Cambridge, Mass. The cause of death was not known, but his longtime agent, Helen Brann, said it appeared to have been a heart attack.

Mr. Parker helped revive the detective fiction genre with Spenser (no first name), a wise-cracking, street-smart and surprisingly literate Boston private eye. The character -- a former boxer and former state police officer -- is a gourmet cook who grapples with complex relationships with a witty female companion, an African American alter ego and a foster son. Named for Edmund Spenser, a Shakespeare contemporary, the character and series became favorites of literati who enjoyed crisp, witty prose. Mr. Parker's work was notable for its quick pace, evocative descriptions, sharp dialogue and focus on themes such as women in contemporary society and the troubled status of adolescents. His protagonists were tough guys -- prone to violence but true to a moral code as they protected a lesbian writer in "Looking for Rachel Wallace" (1980) and investigated drug smuggling in "Pale Kings and Princes" (1987) and "Pastime" (1991).

Mr. Parker wrote 65 books in 37 years and was among the top 10 best-selling authors in the world, Brann said, with 6 million to 8 million books sold. He received the Mystery Writers of America's Edgar Award for best novel (1977) and its Grand Master Award (2002) and Mystery Ink's Gumshoe Award for Lifetime Achievement (2007). In addition to the "Spenser: For Hire" TV series, which starred Robert Urich, Mr. Parker's Jesse Stone novels became CBS TV movies starring Tom Selleck in 2005. "Appaloosa," his 2005 Western, was made into a 2008 movie directed by and starring Ed Harris. Mr. Parker created a third fictional private eye, Sunny Randall, at the request of Academy Award-winning actress Helen Hunt, who asked him to write a novel with a female investigator. The first book in the series did not become a feature film, but it was a bestseller. His prodigious output was the result of a disciplined work ethic: He wrote five pages a day, five days a week, 50 weeks a year. "I started writing the Jesse Stone novels because I realized that at this point in my career it takes me three to four months to write a Spenser novel and as a result I have a lot of time on my hands," he told Bookreporter.com in 2000. His next book, "Split Image," a Jesse Stone book, is due out next month. He had turned in several books that have not been published, including some in the Spenser series, Brann said.

Robert Brown Parker was born Sept. 17, 1932, in Springfield, Mass., and graduated in 1954 from Colby College in Maine. He went into the Army for the next two years. He received a master's degree in 1957 and a doctorate in 1971, both in English from Boston University. His doctoral dissertation was a study of the private eye in the novels of Dashiell Hammett, Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald. Mr. Parker earned his living as a technical writer at Raytheon and in the advertising department of Prudential Insurance until the doctoral degree got him a full professorship at Northeastern University in Boston, where he began to write seriously. His first novel, "The Godwulf Manuscript," sold within three weeks of completion. Over the next five years, Mr. Parker wrote four more Spenser novels, each increasingly successful. In 1979, he was able to quit teaching and devote himself full time to writing.

So clearly and consciously did Mr. Parker consider himself an heir of Chandler's that the Chandler estate in 1988 asked him to complete a 30-page manuscript left uncompleted at Chandler's death. The result was "Poodle Springs," a novel that carries both authors' names on its title page. It was panned by the New York Times Book Review as "a chaos of tawdry shortcuts." Mr. Parker, who claimed not to read reviews of his work, nevertheless wrote a sequel to Chandler's classic "The Big Sleep," calling it "Perchance to Dream." Survivors include his wife of more than 50 years, Joan Parker of Cambridge, and two sons. In interview after interview, Mr. Parker refused the opportunity to make the idea of writing detective fiction seem mysterious. "The art of writing a mystery is just the art of writing fiction," he told the Boston Globe magazine in 2007. "You create interesting characters and put them into interesting circumstances and figure out how to get them out of them. No one is usually surprised at the outcome of my books."



'Spenser' Novelist Robert B. Parker, 77, Dies In Mass.
(By Carol Memmott, USA TODAY)

Robert B. Parker, the celebrated writer of more than 50 books, the best known of which were his Spenser novels about a wisecracking ex-boxer turned Boston private eye, died today in Cambridge, Mass. He was 77. "This is a man who had an enormous following," says Otto Penzler, owner of the Mysterious Bookshop in New York and a friend of the prolific writer for 30 years. "He was extremely successful. People just loved his books." The Associated Press reported an ambulance was sent to Parker's Cambridge home Monday morning on a report of a sudden death. The death was of natural causes and was not considered suspicious, says Alexa Manocchio, spokeswoman for the Cambridge police department.

Parker will be sorely missed. "People just loved Spenser," Penzler says. "They loved the other books, too, and they sold nearly as well as the Spensers. Let's face it. Sunny Randall (the lead character in six novels) sounded very much like Spenser, and so did Jesse Stone." Split Image, the ninth novel featuring police chief Stone, will be published by Putnam on Feb. 23. Spenser's popularity surged with the TV show Spenser: For Hire, which premiered in 1985 starring Robert Urich as Spenser and Barbara Block as love interest Susan Silverman. It ran for three seasons. Urich also starred as Spenser in four TV movies. Joe Mantegna played Spenser in three subsequent made-for-TV films. Stone Cold was one of about a half-dozen Jesse Stone novels made into TV films starring Tom Selleck.

Chris Pepe, Parker's editor at Putnam for more than 20 years, says Parker "was an absolute straight shooter, completely charming. What you saw was what you got. He was just totally professional. He was the best person to work with. He made my job really easy, and it will probably never happen again." Parker's books about the irreverent tough-talking Spenser — 37 were published — will be what he's most remembered for. "The Spenser character was a lot like Bob himself," Penzler says. "Very funny and smart-alecky. He had that kind of a mouth. He was honorable and loyal. Those are characteristics that are not as ubiquitous as we might like." On Parker's writing style was spare and razor-sharp: "It was absolutely pitch-perfect dialogue," Penzler says. "Most of his books were dialogue, anyway. It's the way Bob thought, the way he spoke, in funny short bursts. Other people would take four paragraphs, and he in one sentence could sum up a situation in a humorous way with perception and intelligence." In addition to the February publication of Split Image, Blue-Eyed Devil, a Western, will be released in May. And, luckily for his fans, there are some Spenser novels in the production pipeline, according to Pepe. "We don't have hard dates yet, but there are more on the way. You haven't seen the last of him. That's for sure."

Monday, May 2, 2011

Kylie Minogue Comes To See Me, Sort Of

After more than 20 years of listening to Kylie Minogue’s albums, I’ve finally seen her in concert. It’s not that I’ve been passing on the chance until now- it’s just that she never toured the United States until 2009 and she’s never been anywhere close to this area until last weekend. When her second U.S. tour was announced this year, there were about a dozen U.S. venues such as New York City, Los Angeles, Orlando, Houston, LA, Atlanta and Fairfax, Virginia- about 8 miles from my house. How could I not go see her? I think the venue was picked simply to make me happy because I can’t figure out any other reason for her to appear there. Okay, maybe her shows require a certain type of auditorium because of the sets and that factored into things but still, eight miles from my house! So Saturday night found me at the Patriot Center at George Mason waiting for her to take the stage. I left work a little early and met John at my place around 5:30 and then we headed over a bit later, after talking poker and playing Angry Birds for a bit. Hey, the original plan was to meet our friend Trevor and his partner Matt for drinks or something but he blew us off, at least pre-show, so that he could go eat with other friends of his that were also going to the show.

John and I walked around the concourse for a bit and checked out the merchandise for sale but there was nothing either of us was eager to buy because A) it would be too embarrassing to walk out of the house wearing it and B) it was pretty pricey, like the $100 coffee table book or the $25 program. The crowd was pretty glamorous but there were a few straight people there- I saw at least nine of them, including me, John, Daniel (John’s brother) and Daniel’s fiancée. I wasn’t too sure about the security guard wearing red suede shoes though. I overheard one person saying to his friend “This crowd makes Cher’s audience look butch.” After going up to see Daniel and Hannah, we met up with Trevor after he texted me where he was sitting. John hadn’t seen Trevor for a decade or more so we chatted for a bit, particularly about music like Chicago, The Beautiful South and Huey Lewis- acts that Trevor liked back in college but now he was mostly into the Pet Shop Boys. When the show was about to start or at least until it sounded like the opening act, er… the DJ, was finishing up, we headed back to our seats. Fourth row up from the floor seats, with two empty seats just to our left so we had a great view, even with people standing up in front of us. The show was a spectacle, an event, a triumph, and it made me like the Aphrodite album even though I’d been kind of lukewarm to it prior to hearing the revamped, amplified versions of the songs they played at the show. Here’s the Washington Post’s review of the concert along with the setlist I texted myself throughout the show.

Australia’s Kylie Minogue Dazzles In Her Second Stateside Tour(By Megan Buerger, Washington Post, May 1, 2011)

It was a show of epic proportions. With Cirque du Soleil-style dancers, eight costume changes and a stage fit for a disco queen, Kylie Minogue’s Saturday night concert at the Patriot Center was an escape to another world. Another world, that is, where svelte Greek warriors wear feathers, the law of gravity is defied and calories (apparently) don’t exist. For her mythology-themed “Aphrodite — Les Folies” tour, Minogue pulled out all the stops. Given that the Australian starlet has been high on international pop charts for 20 years but has never quite won over the United States — this is her second stateside tour — the grandeur is entertaining, if a bit overdue.

And grand it was. The $25 million tour boasts three sprawling staircases, aerial acrobatics and a series of larger-than-life props including a Pegasus statue set among mighty Grecian columns. For Minogue, 42 and fit as ever, the stage was also a runway. Drawing as much attention as the special effects were her staggering Dolce & Gabbana custom gowns and elaborate headdresses. Opening with the title track from her 11th album, “Aphrodite” (2010), Minogue emerged from beneath the stage in a large shell a la Botticelli’s Venus. In keeping with the theatrical theme, she circled the stage in a chariot pulled by men in leather loincloths, sang a rock rendition of her U.S. hit “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” (2001) and, for the encore, layered her crew on a three-tiered cake stage for “All the Lovers” before sinking out of sight.

Minogue is proof that it pays to know your audience. A nod to her legion of gay fans, the evening was largely a homage to the male figure. Scantily clad dancers paraded the stage in gold armor while homoerotic images reminiscent of Abercrombie & Fitch ads flashed on video screens behind them. It takes a secure soul to throw caution to the wind and join this shimmying collective, but Minogue’s audience leapt aboard. The stadium was only half full, yet there wasn’t a still body in the house. It could be argued that the show was not particularly meaningful, and it wasn’t, but that was hardly the point. Where Minogue differs from American pop divas such as Lady Gaga and Madonna is that she takes herself less seriously. She, like her audience, was there to promote only one agenda: having a good time. Perhaps this explains her spirited gay following. Free from political statement or hidden message, Minogue is unapologetically true to herself.

Kylie Minoque- Aphrodite Tour
May 1, 2011 ($60.00- Patriot Center)

Songs From Album:

Carnival of the Animals intro (By Camille Saint-Saens)
1 Aphrodite Aphrodite
2 The One X
3 Wow X
4 Illusion Aphrodite
5 I Believe In You Ultimate Kylie
6 Cupid Boy Aphrodite
7 Spinning Around Light Years
8 Get Outta My Way Aphrodite
9 What Do I Have To Do Rhythm Of Love
10 Everything Is Beautiful Aphrodite
11 Slow Body Language
12 Confide In Me Kylie Minogue
13 Can't Get You Out Of My Head Fever
14 In My Arms X
15 Looking For An Angel & There Must Be An Angel (Eurthymics cover) Aphrodite
---- Band and dancers intro -------
16 Love At First Sight and Can't Beat This Feeling (Mashup) Fever
17 If You Don't Love Me (solo) Hits + (Prefab Sprouts cover)
18 Better The Devil You Know Rhythm Of Love
19 Come Into My World (snippet) Fever
20 Better Than Today Aphrodite
21 Put Your Hands Up (If You Feel Love) Aphrodite

Encore:
22 On A Night Like This Light Years
23 All The Lovers Aphrodite




Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Everybody Panic- Why The Internet Is Running Out Of IP Addresses And What Happens Now


We’ve Finally Hit The Breaking Point For The Original Internet
(By Brian Fung, Washington Post, 02 July 2015)
 
It's finally happened. The North American organization responsible for handing out new IP addresses says its banks have run dry.  That's right: ARIN, the American Registry for Internet Numbers, has had to turn down a request for the unique numbers that we assign to each and every smartphone, tablet and PC so they can talk to the Internet. For the first time, ARIN didn't have enough IP addresses left in its stock to satisfy an entire order — and now, it's activated the end-times protocol that will see the few remaining addresses out into the night.
 
IP addresses are crucial to the operation of the Internet. They're the numbers behind URLs like "google.com" or "facebook.com." They identify every device that connects to the Web, from servers to connected cars. The original designers of the Internet thought they'd only need around 4 billion unique combinations, derived from the series of dots and digits that make up IP addresses everywhere.  How wrong they were.
By 2020, humanity will be living alongside 25 billion Internet-connected devices, according to Gartner researchers. The rising global demand for Web-enabled devices is far outstripping the original system's ability to keep up. Left, uh, unaddressed, this problem would have put a stranglehold on the Web, keeping it from growing. It would've kept you from using new devices like smartwatches or smart refrigerators. Entirely new technologies we haven't dreamt of might never have emerged. We'd have been stuck with the Internet that we now have, forever.
If you haven't already guessed, we have a backup system in place so that Xboxes and Playstations of the future can continue to get online. Internet engineers have actually been anticipating this day for decades. To understand how they've solved it, let's let one of the original designers of the Internet explain:  “The solution is known as IPv6, short for ‘version 6.’ It's an upgrade of the old IP numbering system, known as IPv4. While it won't replace the old system, it's considered the future of the Internet. It has to be, by necessity. At ARIN, large requests for IPv4 addresses will now be subject to rationing or waitlisting.  The number of days remaining before depletion are dwindling," wrote Richard Jimmerson, ARIN's chief information officer, in a blog post Thursday. "It is very likely that we are already processing a request that we will be unable to fulfill."
Some companies, such as Google, flipped the switch on IPv6 in 2012, and the number of devices, Web sites and Internet providers supporting IPv6 has been growing.  Not every company has made the jump yet — it takes more elbow grease and money than not doing anything at all. But the switch is inevitable. We've already passed the point where Internet-connected devices outnumber people, and the original system is at its breaking point.  Luckily, IPv6 offers 340 trillion trillion trillion possible unique combinations. Hopefully this will last us a while.
Everybody Panic- Why The Internet Is Running Out Of IP Addresses And What Happens Now
by John Biggs on February 2, 2011
 
Something is about to rend the very fabric of our existence: we’re about to run out of IPv4 IP addresses, the old 255.255.255.255 number patterns that identify most of our forward facing servers. How bad is it? Well, not that bad because it will take a good year or so for everything to really go pear shapes, but when it does expect a zombie uprising, dogs and cats living together, and a slow, methodical move to IPv6.
We spoke to Owen DeLong, an IPv6 Evangelist fromHurricane Electric about the problem.
CG: Did you see the size of those things out there? What caused the great god Cthulhu and his monstrous, four-storey, porcine handmaidens to rise from the heart of the Earth, laying waste to our cities? What happened to IPv4 to cause all this?
Owen: IPv4, as you probably know, uses a 32-bit address. Yesterday, APNIC received the last 2 blocks to be allocated through the normal IANA process.
Thursday morning, the final 5 IPv4 blocks in the IANA free pool will be distributed according to a global policy, one each to the 5 RIRs. This will be in a ceremony and press conference starting at 9:30 AM local in Miami, FL.

CG: So how long before we all die?
O: This is the first phase of running out of IPv4 addresses. The next phase will be
when the Regional Internet Registries start having to deny requests because there is not enough space left to satisfy them. It is currently projected for that to happen in about 6-9 months, but, there is a lot of variability. Nobody can provide an actual certain date because demand and allocation rates vary quite a bit.
Is a moving 6-week average in terms of /8s per month issued by each of the RIRs. As you can see, there’s a lot of variation week-to-week and wide variation between the various RIRs. APNIC has been pretty steadily increasing their rate of consumption since 2008, but ARIN and RIPE show a slow down in late 2008, a lull through 2009 and 2010, and now are showing another ramp up. Literally anything could happen to these lines and predicting trends is quite difficult. I expect that the IPv4 free pool remaining at the RIRs will probably run out sooner than most predictions rather than later.
CG: This is horrible. I have kids. This sounds like that one scene in The Road where the Man fills the bathtub after looking out the window. What should we do?
O: The answer is that we need to migrate the internet to a newer version of Internet Protocol… IP version 6 (or IPv6 for short). While IPv4 provides 3.2 billion globally unique addresses for hosts, IPv6 provides more than
340,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000
unique addresses. (That’s 3.4×10 to the 38th or 340undecillion, if you don’t want to count the zeroes).
There was a lot of effort spent trying to find a way to expand the address space while keeping it backwards compatible with IPv4, but, at the end of the day, both hosts had to know about larger addresses and there was no way to avoid having to update every system, application and device that needed to handle addresses and make network connections. For the last 15+ years, that’s been work in progress and most hosts are now able to use IPv6 (Windows Vista and later, MacOS X 10.4 and later, and any reasonably modern version of Linux, for example). Most backbone network equipment has been upgraded already.
However, there are still some big gaps in IPv6 deployment. Most home networking equipment, much of the last-mile service provider equipment, and virtually all consumer electronics are not yet capable of IPv6. Many content providers have not yet embraced IPv6. Most commercial applications and the vast majority of “in-house” applications have not yet been updated for IPv6. Network-enabled video games are another area of concern. I don’t know of a single one that has embraced IPv6.
CG: Who are some of the flat-Earthers in this situation? Who will be first against the wall when the IPv6 New World Order arrives?
O: I’ve spoken to some major producers, such as Blizzard (responsible for the popular World of Warcraft among other titles), and received responses ranging from “we don’t think there’s a need” to “we don’t think IPv6 will ever get deployed.”
Shared addressing technologies such as “NAT444″ are going to cause new challenges and even outright breakage in applications like instant messaging, video on demand, voice over IP, and more. Network enabled video games are going to be particularly hard hit by these address sharing technologies as will any other “peer to peer” applications.
CG: Is this the end for you my friend?
Hopefully events this week will serve as a wake up call for any organizations still thinking that IPv6 is some distant future thing they might have to worry about later. IPv6 is happening now and anyone that isn’t working on adapting to an increasingly IPv6 world is going to find themselves way behind in a few months.
Before the end of this year, growth in users with direct IPv4 access will not only stop, but, in order to make addresses available for address sharing technologies to preserve minimal IPv4 functionality for new customers, likely residential users will start losing the direct IPv4 access they enjoy now and be migrated to more shared address solutions. The functionality of the internet today will require migrating to IPv6 even just to get back to where we are now, let alone to continue advancing new applications and technologies.
CG: What are some resources for programmers who want to start programming for IPv6?
This site contains some good reference material, sample application code, and a tutorial on porting applications from IPv4-only to dual stack capability in C, PERL, and Python. Programmers in other languages should be able to use these to get a general idea of what is needed in their languages as well.
CG: Do you have an IPv6 “Go Bag” for escaping when the stuff really hits the fan? Where are you going to hide?
Both my network and my employers network are fully deployed with IPv6. We’re running full production grade dual-stack environments, so, we really aren’t too worried about the impact on our environments at this time. Instead, we’re trying to help get the word out and assist others who are a bit behind in the transition. We’ve started offering consulting and training services to assist others in their migrations.
CG: Why did this have to happen? Why weren’t a bunch of 1960s Bell Labs hippies smart enough to add more numbers to the IP addressing system? Why, Owen, Why?
The internet really started in the 70s as a DARPA research project. At the time, there were 60 or so institutions expected to connect. As the interested research community grew, the addressing scheme was expanded from 8 bits (256 addresses in the predecessor to Internet Protocol (IP) known as Network Control Protocol (NCP)) to 32 bits (the IPv4 addresses we have today). At the time, it was still expected that the internet would serve largely defense, research, and educational institutions. It was essentially a laboratory experiment on a really large scale. The expectation was that 3.2+ billion addresses would be way more than enough for the anticipated few million users. At the time, nobody had even thought of the world wide web or any consumer applications for the internet.
It was something advanced computer students and researchers used to exchange messages and trade software and information. There were no graphics, no web sites, and speed was measured in kilobits per second.
The introduction of the world wide web in the early 1990s was a major turning point in internet history. The web is the tool that allowed the rat to escape from the laboratory and start breeding in the real world. In essence, we completely lost control of the experiment and it started breeding uncontrollably in the wild. Researchers realized the problem almost immediately and work on IPv6 began in the mid 1990s, resulting in early IPv6 RFCs and implementations from 1998 forward. The community has been working towards IPv6 deployment in earnest since about 2002, but, it’s been a tough sell with management and others because it was perceived as a cost without any additional revenue. There was no new killer app. like the World Wide Web to jumpstart IPv6 mainstream deployment. It also didn’t help that standards organizations like the broadband forum dragged their feet quite a bit. Standards for DSL implementations of IPv6 were not finalized until November of last year.
At this point, we are where we are. We’re running out of unused IPv4 addresses very soon and we’re way behind where we should be on IPv6 deployment and trying to play catch-up. There’s value in learning from history, but, not a lot of point in looking back to place blame on people for not knowing then what we know today.
CG: So in the end, I might be overreacting, right?
O: This really just means that there are new tradeoffs between existing functionality of the IPv4 internet and continued expansion until we can get things moved over to IPv6. Nobody dies, nothing becomes fundamentally broken. The internet doesn’t grind to a sudden halt. Many users may have their existing functionality reduced in order to support additional users. That’s about the worst real consequence.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Steve Martin

Steve Martin In The Spotlight
(By Richard Goodman, December 15, 2010)

Steve Martin has been in the news this past month because of a talk he gave and how the audience reacted to him not being wild and crazy or even slightly zany. Never mind the fact that the talk was done to help publicize the release of his new book, which is a dramatic tale set in the art world. His previous two books were also subdued ventures, although they were tinged with humor of the sly and intelligent type. If this current book, which I just bought, is anything like The Pleasure Of My Company or even Shopgirl, it will be well worth reading but I’m not expecting another Pure Drivel simply because that hasn’t been the direction he’s been going lately. I wish I had been at that discussion because I would have loved it, knowing what I do about his recent literary ventures and being eager to hear him discussing the art world. The audience at his talk didn’t seem to realize that though and had their expectations calibrated wrong. They tried to hold him accountable to their expectations rather than his own so everyone came out of the evening feeling disappointed. Martin felt so off-put that he wrote a letter to the New York Times to discuss the matter. Since I have such a high regard for Steve Martin’s writing and career (minus three or four of his movies), I wanted to share his letter to the Times plus a recent career evaluation I read back in March and just for good measure, I’m throwing in two of my favorite Martin pieces from a few years back (from Pure Drivel, I believe).

******************************

The Art of Interruption
(By Steve Martin, New York Times, Dec 4, 2010)

Last Monday, at the 92nd Street Y in New York, I took part in a conversation about a novel I had written. The book is set in the art world, and my conversation partner was Deborah Solomon, an art scholar and a writer for this newspaper, as well as a friend. Some years ago, she and I had conducted a similar conversation in Washington to discuss my art collection. It was lively and entertaining, and I couldn’t think of a reason that this evening would not go as well. Because it’s an honor to speak at the Y, we agreed to do the event for free.

When I arrived for Monday’s talk, I was informed that it would be telecast on closed-circuit TV across the country. What I wasn’t told was that the viewers were going to be encouraged to send in e-mails during the discussion; what I didn’t expect was that the Y would take the temperature of those e-mailed reactions, and then respond to them by sending a staff member onstage, mid-conversation, with a note that said, “Discuss Steve’s career.” This was as jarring and disheartening as a cellphone jangle during an Act V soliloquy. I did not know who had sent this note nor that it was in response to those e-mails. Regardless, it was hard to get on track, any track, after the note’s arrival, and finally, when I answered submitted questions that had been selected by the people in charge, I knew I would have rather died onstage with art talk than with the predictable questions that had been chosen for me. Since that night, the Y has graciously apologized for its hastiness- and I am pleased to say that I look forward to returning there soon, especially to play basketball.

Now let me try to answer the question you might be asking yourself at this point: was I boring? Yes, I might have been. In hindsight, I probably should have read a few pages from my book to give the audience a feel for it, and I did struggle with a few explanations. But I was not lazy and neither was Deborah. We were both working very hard at our task. I have no doubt that, in time, and with some cooperation from the audience, we would have achieved ignition. I have been performing a long time, and I can tell when the audience’s attention is straying. I do not need a note. My mind was already churning like a weather front; at that moment, if I could have sung my novel to a Broadway beat I would have.

But I can’t help wondering what we might have said if we hadn’t been stopped. Maybe we were just around the corner from something thrilling. Isn’t that the nature of a live conversation? It halts, it stutters, it doubles back, it soars. We might have found a small nugget, something off topic or unexpected, that wouldn’t have warranted the refund that was offered. If the e-mailers could have lived with “I am unamused” for just a little longer, or had given us some understanding based on past performance, or even a little old-fashioned respect, something worthwhile, unusual or calamitous might have emerged. Who knows, maybe I would have ended up singing my novel.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/05/opinion/05martin.html?_r=1&src=fbmain


******************************

It’s me again. I don’t think I completely agree with the central assertion of this next article- that Steve Martin is successful because he is selling nostalgia, either for earlier eras or for his own earlier brand of comedy- but I do like the fact that it tries to pin down why Martin has become so respected and successful lately. I think his current relevance is a result of the fact that he is able to deftly go between – and sometimes mix- intelligent and lowbrow tastes. For example, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels had many scenes of physical comedy but there were also many layers of plot and character motivation sandwiched between the gags. It was a convoluted, mind-melting con game in terms of both plot and execution but you laughed your ass of the whole time your brain was working through the machinations and that is just one instance from his canon. Roxanne and LA Story do the same thing but with a sweeter edge. The Spanish Prisioner does it with bitter edge and Shopgirl does it with a melancholic tone.

Also, I feel like Steve Martin is more in tune with the general population than many other actors or performers. Yes, he’s more intelligent than any of us, he’s richer and more famous, and even- oddly enough for a 60 year-old white haired man- more attractive than us but I get the sense that he also has a hole in his life that he is trying to fill, with love or acclaim or the pursuit of excellence. He keeps trying new things because he wants to master them and therefore achieve mastery over his life and the lurking chaos of the universe. Of course that is my opinion, the same as the following article is that writer’s opinion, both of which may be different than Steve Martin’s opinion so next time I talk to him, I’ll ask him to elaborate for me on what’s his motives are in life. Here’s the article, followed by a couple of essays from the genius himself.

******************************

Late-Period Steve Martin
(By Nathan Heller, Slate.com, March 4, 2010)

How to understand the actor, novelist, essayist, playwright, banjo player, crotch-centric variety show performer, and Oscar co-host: For those who have some aspiration in the arts, this is a good time to aspire to be Steve Martin. The actor has spent so many hours on honorary daises of late that getting tapped to co-host the Oscars- this weekend he will lead the ceremony for the third time in a decade, more than any other recent host- seems less a tribute than a kind of expert summons. In 2005, Martin accepted the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor, the closest thing to a lifetime achievement award that Washington bestows on funnymen. Two years later, he was feted at the Kennedy Center Honors. His bluegrass album, meanwhile- The Crow: New Songs for the 5-String Banjo- earned him, just a few weeks back, his second banjo Grammy of the new millennium. This sounds like, but is not, the basis for a joke that Steve Martin might make.

To students of his comic style, this polymath success is unsurprising. Martin was born in 1945, and at first glance his career clings to the boomer outlook like a pair of tight plaid trousers: wild and crazy in the '70s, familial in the '80s, professionally venturesome in the '90s, and taken with quaint silver-years hobbies in the aughts. Blink and look again, though, and his path has all the consistency of a patchwork quilt. In the space of a few recent years, Steve Martin published two slim novels, co-wrote and starred in the critical bomb The Pink Panther, co-wrote and starred in the critical bomb The Pink Panther 2, exhibited his private art collection, wrote arch theatrical plays, continued to perform crotch-centric variety acts, pooled funding for a banjo-art show at the Corcoran, published introspective New Yorker pieces, and hosted the Oscars. His star, all the while, has climbed. While many actors Martin once played opposite have disappeared from marquees, tabloids, and the lower cable channels, he has grown into a dean of big-screen comedy, a standby and a classic who can still hold sway on the red carpet. This is impressive when you realize that the last time Martin starred in an outstanding comic movie, George H.W. Bush was in the White House.

What accounts for Martin's staying power? The answer emerges only when you stop trying to play pick-up sticks with his endeavors and instead focus on the direction they all point in. Martin is not chiefly a comic, or an actor, or a writer. He is a nostalgia artist. From the years of his first wild ascent, his signature has been to reach toward a lost cultural moment and remake it in his own time. The collision of those two worlds, past and present, gives his comedy its distinctive flavor. It also helps account for his success. Martin's nostalgia is, in fact, the broader cultural nostalgia of the late '70s; and it's only by tracing that era's effect on his style that you begin to see the pattern hidden in the multiform career. To conjure an image of Martin in the '70s is probably to see him in one of three settings: onstage in a white three-piece suit, inside a King Tut headpiece, or as one of the Festrunk brothers, the pair of Czechoslovakian rakes who grooved fearlessly through the Western bloc. These acts, though, were the endpoint of his climb. Martin started as a countercultural voice in the late '60s, writing for the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, then a bastion of provocative liberal humor, and living in what he describes, in his recent memoir, as "the hippie center of Southern California." He wore long hair, a beard, and what appears to be a couple of pounds of turquoise jewelry. Onstage, he told a lot of Nixon jokes. He came to be distrustful of the laughs they earned. "It had already become rote," he once explained. "I felt that it was time to change that. In a way, it was time to go back to something pre-this time- to a sort of wild, crazy comedy." In an era when George Carlin spoke truth to power in a T-shirt and a ponytail, Martin donned a suit and tie. He used props suggestive of childhood- juggling balls, magic kits, funny hats- and spoke wistfully of the chaos of "today's world."

This was the birth of Martin's nostalgic style- the reach toward a lost, more naive moment, conjured with a plainly stupid hat, or a goofy music act, or a slew of funny faces. What made this comedy so electrifying, though, was the foot Martin kept planted in the present. His act was famously an anti-act- the magic tricks fell flat, the banjo routines often died after a few halfhearted bars- but he also jostled audiences by subjecting them to a kind of culture shock. The nostalgia Martin purveyed was inherently compromised. His balloon forms were childlike in concept, yes, but they were shaped like venereal disease and shouted profanities when popped. His "happy feet" had the qualities of a psychopharmacological tic. By the late '70s (after a long and sometimes painful-to-watch refinement of his style), Martin's act was a virtuosic dance that reached for a quaint sensibility, then dunked it in the cold water of his own, post-liberation era.

There is a battle of worldviews at each comic turn here: one genteel, prudish, naive and the other as free and uncensored as the Me Decade allowed. Where you expect a lurid gesture, you get preschool finger goggles. Where Martin sets up a wholesome defense of monogamy, he pivots suddenly toward rude sexual insouciance. This isn't just the comedy of foiled expectations. It's the humor of a value system fleeing toward another era and then back again. Just as the white suit itself was a vexed symbol (did it represent profound conservatism or, a la John Lennon, the opposite?), Martin's buttoned-up-but-libertine, childlike-but-arrantly-adult routine was culturally equivocal. One moment, he seemed to be trying to force the '60s back into their box. A second later, he was sucking on his balloons to get high.

This cultural ambivalence- if not plain schizophrenia- was a product of the time when Martin developed his style. Just as his own path was an answer to the counterculture, the '70s were a braid of liberal regret, what-now confusion, and desire to graft the virtues of another, clearer time onto the present. Martin's brand of nostalgia runs like mica through the era's art. The time of his success as a perverted vaudeville act, for instance, was the time when Woody Allen started backing his modern-love movies with scratchy jazz recordings and recasting dissolute cities as big-band-era playgrounds. It was when Polanski and Altman brought neo-noir into the modern mainstream. And it was when Raymond Carver and Ann Beattie launched a new Realist generation- one whose subject wasn't the tortures of a strait-laced middle-class life but, instead, the struggle to salvage domestic community from a burnt-out counterculture.

Martin's unique resonance in that moment helps to explain his uncanny ascent. (In 1975, Martin was having trouble filling clubs; by 1978, he was playing to stadiums and gracing the cover of Rolling Stone.) When he made the transition to film- because, he has said, the heat of a stand-up career came to be too much, and too isolating, and he wanted the long-term security of a movie career (could any justification be more of its era?)- his reach toward a lost culture turned explicit. Martin's first feature, The Jerk, was the story of an idiot savant who goes from rags to riches and back via a series of echt-Americana settings: a rural shack, a gas station, a carnival. The soft center of the movie finds Martin and Bernadette Peters singing "Tonight You Belong to Me" on the beach with a ukulele and a Dixieland cornet—the lowbrow version, essentially, of Diane Keaton crooning "Seems Like Old Times." From there, Martin starred in Pennies From Heaven, a Depression-era period piece studded with song-and-dance numbers, and Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid, a black-and-white noir spoof. Outwardly, these movies sought to buoy recession-era audiences with glamorized visions of previous lean years. But they worked because they teased out the elements of a known zeitgeist success- Martin's upended version of an old-style variety act- and carried them onto the screen.

Things changed in the '80s, of course- politically, culturally, economically- and in the next decades, Martin tried to make his nostalgic shtick work without its original counterbalance. His solution was to turn the nostalgia on himself. Martin's '80s movies often hearkened back to his stand-up act: singing and dancing open-mouthed in Little Shop of Horrors, making balloon shapes in Parenthood, staggering with mantis arms in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Increasingly, though, the movies just hearkened back to themselves: Was that scene you remember in Parenthood or Father of the Bride? All of Me or The Man With Two Brains? Who makes two disembodied-consciousness movies in two years, anyway? In fact, as Martin has grown less reliable about complicating his nostalgic impulses, his movies have developed a bizarre marshmallow quality: sweet, delightful, family-friendly, and almost endlessly preservable. Many seem bizarrely out-of-time. Is The Pink Panther worth reprising just because the original movies are retro, clownish, and warmly familiar? Without a cultural clutch to lock into, Martin's recreative gears spin toward schlock.

What Martin has lost on-screen over the years, however, he's recovered elsewhere. Much of his recent writing takes on the same conflicts of desire, cultural expectation, and historical idealism that made his early comedy so gripping. Shopgirl, his debut novella, opens with flight toward a lost culture ("When you work in the glove department at Neiman's, you are selling things that nobody buys anymore"). It goes on to follow a questing twentysomething in L.A. who finds herself mysteriously drawn to a flukily successful, highly paid, middle-aged divorcé- make of this premise what you will- then suffers as their urban fairy tale unravels under the pressures of modern life. This attempt to negotiate between two worlds- one imminent, the other nostalgic- also animates Martin's autobiographical essays; and it's easy to see how the same impulse underlies most of the other eclectic pursuits enumerated on his blindingly nostalgic Web site. Let's be honest: What's more quaint, and out-of-time, and culturally beside-the-point than bluegrass?

To some extent, the Oscars were made for Steve Martin in his current incarnation: wistful for an older form of glamour, campy as Ed Sullivan, and based on the premise that charming familiarity is what viewers want. That much is probably true. When Martin takes the stage this weekend, he and Alec Baldwin will face off about who has hosted Saturday Night Live more times. He'll quip about the fact that he's never won a statue. His modern-day variety routine will have none of the edgy restlessness he once brought to the stage. We won't care. These days, we, like Martin, turn to other places for escape.

Article URL: http://www.slate.com/id/2246900/


Times Roman Font Announces Shortage of Periods
(By Steve Martin, The New Yorker, June 9, 1997)

Representatives of the popular Times Roman font recently announced a shortage of periods and have offered substitutes - such as inverted commas, exclamation marks, and semicolons - until the crisis is overcome by people such as yourself, who through creative management of surplus punctuation can perhaps allay the constant demand for periods, whose heavy usage in the last ten years (not only in English but in virtually every language in the world) is creating a burden on writers everywhere, thus generating a litany of comments, among them: "What the hell am I supposed to do without my periods? How am I going to write? Isn't this a terrible disaster? Are they crazy? Won't this just lead to misuse of other, less interesting punctuation???"

"Most vulnerable are writers who work in short, choppy sentences," said a spokesperson for Times Roman, who continued, "We are trying to remedy the situation and have suggested alternatives, like umlauts, since we have plenty of umlauts - and, in fact, have more umlauts than we could possible use in a lifetime! Don't forget, umlauts can really spice up a page with their delicate symmetry - resting often midway in a word, letters spilling on either side - and not only indicate the pronunciation of a word but also contribute to a writer's greater glory because they're fancy, not to mention that they even look like periods, indeed, are indistinguishable from periods, and will lead casual readers to believe that the article actually contains periods!"

Bobby Brainard, a writer living in an isolated cabin in Montana - who is, in fact, the only writer living in an isolated cabin in Montana who is not insane - is facing a dilemma typical of writers across the nation: "I have a sentence that has just got to be stopped; it is currently sixteen pages long and is edging out the front door and is now so lumbering I'm starting to worry that one period alone won't be enough - that I'll need at least two to finally kill it off - and if that doesn't work, I've ordered an elephant gun from Jessie's, and if I don't get some periods fast I'm going to have to use it..." The magazine International Hebrew has offered this emergency statement: "We currently have an oversupply of backwards periods and will be happy to send some to Mister Brainard or anyone else facing a crisis!" .period backwards the in slip you while moment a for way other the look to sentence the getting is trick only The

The general concern of writers is summed up by this brief telegram:

Period shortage mustn't continue stop

Stop-stoppage must come to a full stop stop

We must resolve it and stop the stoppage stop

Yours truly,

Tom Stoppard

Needless to say, there has been an increasing pressure on the ellipsis...

"I assure to you," said the spokesperson, "I assure you the ellipsis is not - repeat, is not - just three periods strung together, and, although certain writers have plundered the ellipsis for its dots, such dots are deeply inelegant and ineffective when used to stop a sentence! An ellipsis point is too weak to stop a modern sentence, which would require at least two ellipsis points, leaving the third dot to stand alone pointlessly - and, indeed, two periods at the end of a sentence would look like a typo, comprende? And why is Times Roman so important? Why can't writers employ some of our other, lesser-used fonts, such as Goofy Deluxe, Namby Pamby Extra Narrow, or Gone Fishin'?"

In fact, there is movement toward alternate punctuation; consider the New Punctuation and Suicide Cult in Southern Texas, whose credo is "Why not try some new and different kinds of punctuation and then kill ourselves?" Notice how these knotty epigrams from Shakespeare are easily unravelled:

Every cloud engenders not a storm

Horatio, I am dead

Remembering the Albertus Extra Bold asterisk embargo of several years back, one hopes the crisis is solved quickly, because a life of exclamation marks, no matter how superficially exciting, is no life at all! There are, of course, many other fonts one could use if the crisis continues, but frankly, which would you rather be faced with - Namby Pamby Extra Narrow or the bosomy sexuality of Times Roman? The shortage itself may be a useful one, provided it's over quickly, for it has made at least this author appreciate and value his one spare period, and it is with great respect that I use it now.


The Sledgehammer: How It Works
(By Steve Martin, The New Yorker, July 27, 1998)

Many of today's adults, who are otherwise capable of handling sophisticated modern devices, are united by a contemporary malady: sledgehammer anxiety. "I feel I'm going to break it," "The old ways still work for me," "This is where technology leaves me behind" are the most common chants of the sledgehammer-phobe. Much of the initial fear comes from a failure to understand just how it works. By attaching a "heavy-weighted slug" (one of the many terms for the blob of lead at the sledgehammer's terminus) to a truncated super-cissoid, you create a disproportionate fulcrum. In other words, if you're a TV set showing Regis promoting a diet book, and you're in a room with an angry unpublished poet holding a sledgehammer, watch out.

The novice sledgehammerer (from the German Sledgehammerammalamadingdong) must be familiar with a few terms:

Thunk: This is the sound that the "clanker" (street term for the heavy-weighted slug) makes when wielded against the "stuff" (see next).

Stuff: Things that are to be wanged (see next).

Wang: the impact of the clanker and the stuff.

Smithereens: The result of being wanged.

Many people are surprised to find out that the sledgehammer has only one moving part: it. Yet "Should I buy now or wait for the new models?" is a refrain so often heard from the panicky first-timer, who forgets that the number of sledgehammer innovations in the last three thousand years can be counted on one finger. There are currently two types of sledgehammers on the market: the three-foot stick with a lead weight on the end, called the "normal," and a new model, currently being beta-tested, which is a three-foot stick with a lead weight in the middle and is called the "below normal." But don't let the market confusion keep you from getting your feet wet. The longer you wait, the fewer things you'll demolish.

There is a natural fear of sledgehammers, says the National Sledgehammer and Broken Toe Society, which is charting the most common accidents and offers tips for the sledgehammer's safe use. The over-the-head position, for example, often leads to excruciating lower-body pain, caused when the sledgehammer wedges itself between the thighs at the end of the backswing. There is also the self-inflicted back-of-the-head knockout on lateral swings, which is very rare, and afflicts only - to use the researcher's lingo - "really dumb people." There are also cleaning accidents. A home hobbyist in Valdosta, Georgia, reported that while he was removing paint from his sledgehammer it suddenly went out of control and destroyed his living-room wall, even though he never let go of its handle.

Despite all these drawbacks, the world of the sledgehammer is rife with enthusiasts: "I find the sledgehammer very erotic," says Jane Parpardello, who is a stockbroker with Smith Barney and wants everyone to know that her home phone number is listed. "I think it's because my father was shaped like a sledgehammer: the long, wooden body, the big metal head. When I see a man with that shape, I want to pick him up and swing him against an apartment wall."

The sledgehammer king, Marty Delafangio, whose net worth is estimated a forty-two thousand dollars, was recently summoned before Congress to defend his reasons for attaching a mandatory Web browser to his market-leading product. "I smelled money to be made," said Delafangio. "The combination of a Web browser and a sledgehammer is a natural." Congress disagreed, and now the Web browser can be sold only as an optional addition, although in a compromise the powder-puff attachment remains.

In the last ten years, the sledgehammer has come into its own, finally recognized for what it is: a tool, a thing, and a heavy object. A hundred years from now, when technology has altered the sledgehammer's appearance to a sleek, digital, aerodynamic machine, it will no doubt function as it does today, toppling the mighty and denting the hard.