A Nice Little Story

This came to me via a broadcast e-mail from chorus. I like the message.

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On Nov. 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches. To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an awesome sight.

He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.

But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap -- it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do. We figured that he would have to get up, put on the clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage -- to either find another violin or else find another string for this one. But he didn't. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again.

The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before.

Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that.

You could see him modulating, changing, re-composing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before. When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and
cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done.

He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said -- not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone -- "You know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left."

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that is the definition of life -- not just for artists but for all of us. Here is a man who has prepared all his life to make music on a violin of four strings, who, all of a sudden, in the middle of a concert, finds himself with only three strings; so he makes music with three strings, and the music he made
that night with just three strings was more beautiful, more sacred, more memorable than any that he had ever made before, when he had four strings.

So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Whatever you do, do NOT look up "harlequin" in Google Images.

That is all.

This'll Make Your Head Hurt

I would like to take this time to again point out the contradiction that words can present. It just occurred to me that by saying, "I'm speechless," you are technically NOT speechless. If you were speechless, you would say nothing at all. Not a single sound would emanate from the mouth hole on your face. Actually, that's not true, because technically a noise is not always considered speech. So if you were to utter "kweeeeee!", that, as far as I know, is not a word (an English word, anyway), so it wouldn't be considered speech. It'd be considered noise. So the next time you want to say you're speechless, say "kweeeeee!" instead. But don't say, "I'm speechless!", because that's not true. You have just used speech.

It's just like the word "unmentionables," which I think I previously blogged about. As in, "Don't look at my unmentionables!" Well, by calling them unmentionables, you are mentioning them. Therefore, somewhere a grammar geek's head has imploded. Possibly mine. Yes, very possibly mine. Oh dear...that would make me speechless.

Lastly, Ryan and I came up with a brain bender. We were discussing (for whatever nerdly reason, don't ask) the properties of an infinite line. Now, if it were a straight line (not a circle, which is an unbroken -- but not straight -- line), that means it must have end points. If so, the line cannot technically be infinite. Because those end points have to fall somewhere. Therefore, the line is finite. Now, my boss tried to explain to me something about space curving, and then Ryan said something about Stephen Hawking and space being a parabola...at this point, I become (haha) speechless. Seriously, my loss of speech is unmentionable. Oops! But anyway, even if the line did become a parabola because of the shape of space, the same thing applies. There must be end points on this "infinite" parabola, meaning it isn't infinite.

That's where I start to think about the universe, and empty space, and how it must end somewhere, and if so, what does it look like and what's beyond it, and if not....HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?!

Whew, I need a nap now. Maybe I should start devoting my attention to more important and easier to grasp things, like Britney's cue ball.

This is so true!

Except for me, of course, who keeps a freakishly neat desk. But I will attest to the general messiness of newsrooms...and people stealing my pens. Oh yeah, and I'm not kidding, I just threw away a dead plant. This guy has it dead on!

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The myth of a neat newsroom -- exposed!

Peter Hartlaub
Thursday, March 8, 2007

Hollywood filmmakers are big fakers. This becomes especially clear when they create a movie or a television show about your chosen profession.

Whether you're a doctor watching "Grey's Anatomy" (doesn't anybody at this hospital ever do rounds?), a lawyer watching "Law & Order" (how did they get from an arrest to a murder trial in three days?) or some guy on a deserted island watching "Lost" (what are these people doing for clean underwear? And why doesn't anybody have scurvy?), the problems are in the details.

Which is why I could never totally get into "Zodiac," an otherwise solid movie that happens to take place inside The Chronicle. Despite good acting, a fascinating story and a great director, the reporters' work spaces are way too tidy. From television comedies such as "Ugly Betty" to big-budget movies such as "The Devil Wears Prada," directors and production designers seem incapable of re-creating the gravity-defying clutter that fills most American newsrooms.

The first thing they always get wrong is the desks, which in "Zodiac" are neatly organized with metal book ends and carefully marked manila folders. In real life, newspaper reporters just lie down a few of their heavier books horizontally to keep the others from falling, or they cram everything into the shelf tightly so all solid matter surrounding it is unable to move, like a well-played game of Tetris. Sure, a few desks are organized, but many others dot the newsroom like little islands of compost -- resembling the living room of one of those crazy guys who never throws anything away.

This isn't saying that all newspaper desktops are festering piles of decomposing pulp. But if I'm an opossum who has been recently displaced by construction work, I'm going to the nearest newsroom and making a home within the work space of one of the cops or courtroom reporters. You could burrow a basketball-size hole, feed off half-eaten ham sandwiches and birthday cake and raise a nice opossum family.

The typical journalist's work area will also include at least three of the following:
-- One dead plant, partially covered by a pile of used reporter's notebooks.
-- A bunch of stuff the ergonomics consultant dropped off two years ago, in an unopened pile.
-- Several posters of Giants and 49ers players who have long since been traded or released.
-- A movie poster that was an inside joke between two other staff members -- both of whom quit or retired at least seven years ago.

That last one may sound strange, but it holds true at almost every newspaper I've worked at. I just took a three-minute hike around The Chronicle, and found movie memorabilia for "Dirty Dancing," "Elektra" and -- I swear to God I'm not making this up -- a full-size poster from the Harrison Ford-in-Amish country thriller "Witness."

Messy desks and random decor aren't the only things that television and the movies get wrong about newsrooms. "Absence of Malice" suggested that a reporter could get a story into the paper without any of her editors knowing about it. Several movies have reinforced the idea that a beat reporter can just drop everything for months at a time. And some journalists on TV shows do no work at all. In 10 combined seasons of "Suddenly Susan" and "Just Shoot Me," did Brooke Shields or Laura San Giacomo write or edit a single story?

Next, there's the alternate reality in Drew Barrymore's "Never Been Kissed," where copy editors have their own offices. Every group of copy editors I've worked with is lined up in two evenly distributed rows of tightly packed cubicles, like a team of basketball players flying in coach.

Over the years, a few journalism movies have gotten the little things right. "All the President's Men" is hallowed ground. I'm told by multiple colleagues that "Deadline USA" with Humphrey Bogart was a good film, deftly handling the clutter issue. And occasionally, an otherwise forgettable movie will display a keen eye for journalism culture.

"True Crime," one of the worst Clint Eastwood-directed movies in recent years, fails as a thriller, but works OK as a tribute to crusty old guy journalists. While the plot -- Eastwood as an Oakland newspaper reporter trying to prove a death row inmate's innocence -- has problems, his character's held-together-with-duct-tape convertible and general neglect of loved ones in favor of work is spot on.

Even less serious movies such as "Spider-Man" can include knowing nods to reporting culture. Although this may be a case of the cart pushing the horse, every journalist on the planet has had at least one boss who talks exactly like J. Jonah Jameson. ("Hoffman! Run down to the patent office and copyright the name 'Green Goblin.' I want a quarter every time someone says it.")

The newsroom in "Zodiac," however, seems like a completely foreign place, even though the building it depicts is one I walk through every day. While I admittedly wasn't alive when the events in "Zodiac" begin, the portrayal of a journalist's work space seems off -- something that was confirmed by a few veterans here.

In "Zodiac," Chronicle reporter Paul Avery, played by Robert Downey Jr., is clearly supposed to be the "messy one." This is conveyed to the audience by six or seven balled-up pieces of typing paper on his desk. Almost every other work space in the movie has a Nurse Ratched-like dedication to orderliness, with neatly stacked books and cups that are well-stocked with pens and pencils.

I steal all of my pens from Tim Goodman's side of our shared office, one of the penalties suffered by the handful of reporters who keep neat work spaces. And our desks? You could gather every piece of paper on every one of the rows and rows of desks in "Zodiac," pile them onto one surface -- and it still would be shamed by one of our messier cubicles.

Here are a few suggestions for the next Hollywood director who wants to make a movie about a newsroom. Just get the last one right and I'll be happy.

More birthday cakes: At any given moment at every newspaper I've worked at, there are three separate groups of people singing "Happy Birthday." It's like working at Chevy's, except without a constant flow of fresh tortillas. Any journalism movie worth a damn needs to have at least one pile of frosting-encrusted paper plates.

Fewer hot people: Before "Zodiac" started, a trailer ran for the movie "Perfect Stranger," where Halle Berry plays an investigative reporter. In addition to Robert Redford in "All the President's Men," other incredibly beautiful actors depicting newspaper reporters include Julia Roberts ("I Love Trouble") and Hayden Christensen ("Shattered Glass"). In reality, the average journalist is charitably a 4.5 on a scale of 1 to 10. Start your casting with Larry David and Shelley Duvall, and avoid anybody who ever did a guest spot on "Friends."

Kill the plants: Another niggling detail that "Zodiac" got wrong: The movie version of the Chronicle newsroom has a small greenhouse worth of thriving flora. In the typical newsroom, there will usually be a maximum of two healthy plants, and 47 others in varying states of death and decay. Kill the plants, and your movie will flourish.

E-mail Peter Hartlaub at phartlaub@sfchronicle.com.

My Favorite Story of the Week (so far)

Wassup! Princes Pull Phone Prank on Queen Elizabeth II

FOX News

LONDON — Princely pranksters William and Harry have been accused of recording a bogus message on Queen Elizabeth II's answering machine.

The pair were asked for help by their regal gran when she was baffled by the technology.

But she was reported to be mortified when she heard the end result.

"Hey wassup!" their message said. "This is Liz. Sorry I'm away from the throne."

"For a hotline to Philip, press one. For Charles, press two," the recording continued. "And for the corgis, press three."

According to The Daily Star, the Queen saw the funny side later when she thought about which VIPs might have heard the message.

But her private secretary was not so amused.

The paper says he almost fell off his chair the first time one of his calls was put through to the voicemail.

The Queen, who is 80, has been taught by Prince William and Prince Harry how to send text messages on her mobile phone.

But she banned servants at the royal palaces from carrying phones on duty, after becoming annoyed at their ring tones.

The ban was reportedly prompted by several mobile phones ringing during a major banquet held for foreign dignitaries.

Our Tax Dollars at Work

What more could I possibly say.

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Arkansas House to argue over apostrophes: Should possessive form be 'Arkansas's' or Arkansas'?

By JON GAMBRELL
Associated Press Writer

LITTLE ROCK — Call it Arkansas' apostrophe act — or, as Rep. Steve Harrelson would have it, "Arkansas's apostrophe act."

Harrelson filed a resolution Tuesday to declare the correct possessive form of the state as "Arkansas's." The resolution carries no legal weight, Harrelson acknowledged, but said a family friend who works as a historian asked him to carry the grammar fight to the floor.

"This is merely a favor," said Harrelson, a Democrat. "He's been asking me to do this for years and years."

Rules on forming the possessive with the Natural State can be confusing. The Associated Press Stylebook calls for singular proper names ending in 's' to solely have an apostrophe. However, Strunk and White's "The Elements of Style" calls for "'s," unless using it with an ancient name.

Harrelson's friend, Parker Westbrook, describes himself as a "longtime practical Arkansas historian" and makes a case for the "'s" based on history. With English, French and Dutch explorers passing through the state, he said the state at different times was "spelled 70 different ways and pronounced 70 different ways" in its early history.

"It is an esoteric subject, yes, but it is amazing how many people don't understand the possessive case," said Westbrook, 81, of Nashville, Ark.

After Arkansas became a state, confusion remained on its spelling and its pronunciation, as many maps from the time spelled it without its final "s." A resolution by the Legislature in 1881 formalized its current spelling and pronunciation, making its final "s" silent.

"What they neglected to do is go one step farther and say what we're saying now," Westbrook said. To give the state a "possessive sound," he said it should be spelled "Arkansas's."

If passed by the House, Harrelson said he'd seek a Senate sponsor for an identical measure there.

The non-binding resolution would not affect Arkansans' use of apostrophes in Illinois, Kansas, Massachusetts or neighboring Texas.