Several weeks ago while bored and looking for an instant view show on Netflix to binge on, I joined the “posse” and became hooked on Longmire.
For those not familiar: This show centers around Walter Longmire, a sheriff in the fictional Absaroka County, Wyoming. He doesn’t like technology, but he’s great at solving murders and other crimes. His best friend is Henry Standing Bear, a Cheyenne who owns the Red Pony bar. He has a tumultuous relationship with Mathias, the sheriff on the Cheyenne reservation (on the show, they call it “res” or “rez” for short). It seems that neither Mathias nor other prominent Native Americans Jacob Nighthorse or Malachi Strand seem too friendly with Longmire. We can attribute this to America’s often less-than-honorable dealings with Native Americans. He also seems to have a surrogate father relationship with his deputy, Victoria “Vic” Moretti.
Season five is done, and I finished watching it about a week ago. I am left to wonder, will there be a season six? Will this be yet another show, such as That 70s Show, where I didn’t get into it until after it was over? How is Vic handling her pregnancy? Who’s the father? Will Longmire survive the lawsuit? Will Nighthorse and the mayor enter an alliance? Will Standing Bear survive his ordeal?
Finally, why on earth didn’t Standing Bear and Nighthorse kill Malachi* when they had the chance?
As I watch the show and see the ongoing whites-versus-Native American interactions and conflicts (Standing Bear refuses to serve turkey at his bar, saying that turkey was served at “Thanks-taking”), I often wonder why A&E chose to drop this show. It’s now exclusive to Netflix. So far, Longmire has remained fascinating after five seasons, the kind of fascination where some may desperately turn to non-canon fan fiction to get an idea of what happens next. This is in contrast to show I’ve enjoyed, American Horror Story, that seems to have lost itself in a dreamy landscape of the same themes.
* I may not like Malachi Strand the character, although as a Caucasian of only trace Native American ancestry, I’d prefer to be slow to judge. But, Graham Greene does a brilliant job portraying him. If you’re reading this, Mr. Greene, good on ya, sir.
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Being politically conservative, I often disagreed with Carlos Guerra’s columns that ran on Section B of the San Antonio Express-News. He didn’t like President George W. Bush, and he also felt the rich didn’t do enough to help the poor.
Once, I decided to write to Carlos and tell him how misguided I felt he was.
One e-mail turned into several. Throughout it all, Carlos maintained unfailing politeness.
It gave me a lot to think about.
Over the next few years, I would email him about this or that topic, and it remained the same civil tone. My correspondence with him evolved from disagreeing to getting his opinion and carefully reading what he wrote. Among the things we discussed: whether San Antonio would get an NFL franchise (Carlos believed San Antonio lacked the market needed to sell out luxury suites), whether nor not newspapers should endorse political candidates (surprisingly, we both agreed they should not) and an excellent place for barbecue down in the Corpus Christi area, Cotten’s BBQ (both of us were South Texas boys: Carlos was from Robstown, and I grew up in Beeville).
I grew to like him very much and, while I often disagreed with him, I enjoyed reading his columns because it was as if Carlos knew the pulse of San Antonio. Carlos became one of my favorite Express-News columnists. If you wanted to know what was happening in San Antonio and in Texas a decade ago, Carlos’ columns served as an excellent barometer.
Early on in my e-mails, I referred to him as “Mr. Guerra.” That quickly ended as he insisted I call him “Carlos,” telling me that “Mr. Guerra” was his father.
I never spoke to Carlos on the phone and never met him, and while I lived in Michigan from late 2004 until finally returning home in August 2013, I often thought that when I returned to Texas, how fun it would be to meet him, buy him coffee somewhere and chat. Life has taught me that when you find someone you like, why ruin that friendship by dwelling on the disagreements?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be.
In 2010, I was shocked to see that Carlos had passed away. Reading an article on him in the Express-News, I learned he’d retired following some sort of buyout from the newspaper, and that at the time of his death, he was embarking on a new career in public relations.
As saddened as I was to hear about his death, I also found his retirement sad. It was indeed the end of an era. Some of the happiest times of my life were while living in San Antonio from 1998-2004. Carlos’ columns reflected that for me. Now, his columns exist in the archives, and he exists in the recollections of his friends.
Vaya con Dios, Carlos.
Richard Zowie lives in Fredericksburg and as a writer. During his career, he has freelanced for the San Antonio Express-News. Post comments here or e-mail him at email@example.com.
I just finished doing my fourth play since returning to theater as a hobby in 2012. This past weekend we wrapped up a three-week run of the British comedy Blithe Spirit. Being cast in it was a very pleasant surprise, as I saw several talented men audition for the two parts of Charles Condomine and Dr. George Bradman. Ashleigh, Kerry, J.D., Priscilla, Cindy, Dawn, Heidi and the rest of the backstage crew were all absolutely wonderful to work with.
I was cast as Dr. Bradman, which was an acting challenge for me in two ways: I’m an American, and it took a lot of work to speak in a decent English accent. And, while I might have played a doctor on the stage, I’m most certainly not a doctor. If someone from the audience had sustained an injury and someone else had screamed, “IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?!” and eyes had been cast upon me, my response would’ve been: “I’m not a doctor, but I play one on stage. Sorry.”
This play, like others, left me bittersweet at the conclusion. I was relieved to have more free time but also very sad to say goodbye to the crew. As friends, I grew very fond of them during the production and enjoyed chatting with them. With any luck, I’ll get to work with them again.
A few anecdotes from the play:
Right before I came on for my one and only scene in the second act, my wife Violet mentioned she’d accidentally destroyed my research paper on “Hyperplasia of the Abdominal Glands.” To this day, I still have no idea what hyperplasia is–even after googling it.
The hardest part for me was pretending I had 20/20 vision. I’m very nearsighted (about 20/200 left eye, 20/400 right), but my glasses are too modern and since there was no suitable alternative, I did all nine performances without glasses. One particular worry of mine was that my squinting might be noticeable.
Dr. Bradman is a polite but, I’d say, somewhat arrogant man who’s very skeptical about the supernatural. I tried to play his skepticism as a nicer version Dr. Richard Dawkins, an evolutionary professor who’s very critical of creationism and intelligent design. As for the arrogance, I based Dr. Bradman on someone I once knew in Michigan.
Still, I wonder: what would Dr. Bradman have thought if he’d realized Madame Arcati wasn’t a charlatan and that Elvira and, later, Ruth, really did dwell in the afterlife realm?
All nine performances, I kept wondering: what IF the table falls off the stage? Thankfully, it never did.
Kudos to Paula Dean, who did the makeup for the crew and made it a very tolerable experience for me. I know some men like to wear makeup, but that’ll never be me. As soon as the performance is over, I wash it off.
In one performance, the seat of my pants ripped when I bent over to help pick up Madame Arcati. What did I do? Ignore it and continue. (During my hiatus until the second act, Nita Regester repaired it). If it had been noticeable, I probably would’ve ad-libbed something about needing to lose weight so I didn’t have to visit my tailor so often.
And speaking of ad libs:
In the previous production I was in, Little Shop of Horrors, I decided to do an ad-lib during the final performance. This time, I stuck with the script. In live theater, ad libs are best left for two cases: if you honestly can’t remember your line or if your fellow player forgets theirs and you see the need to step in, help them and get things going again. I think the best way to practice having to “step in” would be to have my sons read lines to me and then have them pick one at random, say nothing and look at me, as if they went blank.
Theater is something I’ll probably do only once a year due to being a single parent and the enormous amount of time required, but I may try to find ways to hang out there and stay involved since I consider the folks there my “second family.”
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I recently chatted with a dear friend from college about humility. Wonderful guy. We don’t agree on everything, but one thing I enjoy about him is his humility.
It made me think of some of the people I’ve known who were, um, not exactly humble. It also made me think of some celebrities who also aren’t humble. We can probably imagine.
There’s nothing wrong with being self-confident or having self-respect, but when those traits aren’t kept in check and are allowed to develop cultures that fester into ego and arrogance, that’s when it gets bad.
I tell my kids that being humble allows you to be able to relax and see things objectively instead of becoming overconfident, condescending and being unable–as the saying goes–to see the forest for the trees.
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A big left-hander who pitched in the Major Leagues from 1897, 1898-1910, he was 193-143 lifetime. One has to wonder what his lifetime wins-against-losses record would’ve been if he’d been a more dependable player, not given to alcoholism or to what would be considered Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder today.
Rube Waddell during his playing days.
His career earned run average of 2.16 and his 2,316 career strikeouts (six times, he led the league in strikeouts as a pitcher) are both astonishing, considering he pitched in the Deadball Era, when batters focused more on making contact with the ball and getting on base rather than trying to hit tape-measure home runs.
The true irony of George Edward “Rube” Waddell was that he had little control over his personal behavior or his spending habits, but had excellent control of his fastballs and curveballs. Baseball managers, such as Connie Mack of the Philadelphia Athletics, tolerated Rube because, when he was on, he was close to unhittable. Unfortunately, he was also high maintenance: he’d often show up late or not at all for scheduled starts, would leave a game abruptly to follow fire engines and was easily distracted by opponents.
And, on March 16, I got to meet him.
That day my sons and I went to Mission Burial Park South to visit the final resting place of Rube Waddell. He died in a sanitarium on April 1, 1914 at 37 of complications from pneumonia. Having no money, it’s been said Waddell would’ve been buried in a pauper’s grave if not for the generosity of Mack.
A few weeks from now on April 1, 2014, it will mark the 100th anniversary of Waddell’s passing. His tombstone is an impressive large, vertical slab, about six feet tall. There is what appears to be a stone ball protruding out of the top. As I looked at the slab, weathered by time, I wondered how many people know this is the final resting place for a man who, for the first decade of the 20th century, was considered one of the top draws in Major League Baseball.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Waddell,” I said. “I’m sorry your life ended so soon. I read about your life and it sounds like you were very fun to watch play. I don’t know what your spiritual beliefs were, but I’d love to see you in heaven someday.”
Next time I visit, I think I’ll print out a picture of Waddell, laminate it and leave it there along with a baseball.
Richard Zowie’s favorite baseball team is the Houston Astros, Like Waddell, he is also left-handed. Post comments here or e-mail them to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Last month at work, I was sent to get pictures of people walking in Fredericksburg for a Volkssport event. They walk, they get credit for it.
I was given two maps of the routes: one was for a 5K (three miles to those who rely on the English system of measurements) and another for a 10K (about six miles). I then went out and took pictures of people walking. Some pics turned out not too bad.
And as I took pictures, I thought, Why not walk these routes also as a way of getting exercise?
Friday was a short day at work, so I drove downtown and walked the 5K. It wasn’t too bad, although I was sweaty and a little sore afterwards.
Today, I faced a decision: walk the 5K again or be adventurous and try the 10K?
Something possessed me to try the 10K. I think I was just in the mood to try a longer route to help burn more calories and work towards my goal of losing 120 pounds (I currently weigh 276 and have lost almost 14 pounds; my target weight is about 160).
So, I walked.
As I walked, I made sure to consult the map a few times so as to not get lost. The skies were somewhat overcast, making me glad I wore my hat.
Along the way, I took brief breaks to relax and enjoy the scenery. A few times I saw squirrels, my second-favorite animal. I also had to stop for traffic. At one point, as a biker and his girlfriend were stopped at a light, I hurried on the crosswalk, noticed some debris on the road (it was one of those reflectors they embed into the asphalt, but it somehow became loose), picked it up and tossed it off the road into a pile of dirt. The biker smiled and nodded at me, and I did the same back to him. Those guys have far less margin of error than cars do when it comes to obstructions on the road.
About halfway through the journey my hips and shins began to ache. Around that point I walked a path through a cemetery called Der Stadt Friedhof (according to Google translate: “The City Cemetery”) where lots of Germans from long ago were buried.
I walked. and walked, and walked. A few dogs barked at me, no doubt thinking I was a cyborg. I also said hello to a few fellow walkers. And at one point, I noticed four women walking about 100 yards in front of me. My age. I tried to catch up but traffic slowed me down. C’est la vie.
I was finally able to finish, and it felt great to sit in my car and relax. I started wondering if I should try a 10K again and felt maybe I should save those for when I’m doing more and more walking.
So, in my weekends off I keep thinking I should do a 5K and then maybe do a longer walk around town where I just walk and not worry about how long it’ll take.
Will I walk tomorrow? If I can talk my legs and knees into it.
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