To my old friends

I doubt any of you look at this blog anymore, but should you take a stroll down memory lane, you might be amused to hear that I am teaching my old film class at Tech again.  I got a new job within the UFT that requires me to teach a single class each day.  Most of you are probably wondering what terrible thing I did to deserve such a demotion, but the truth is that it is actually a highly regarded postion.  So, go figure.  Anyway, I hope you don't mind that I had the new students create a blog in the same spirit as yours.  I know you're anxious that I should compare you favorably to my new class.  Alas, that would be unkind, if not inaccurate.  Also, not smart, since they are here and you are far, far away, never to return.  Here's the link, should you be so inclined. 

mrbennett310.blogspot.com

One Year Later.

It was just a year ago today that we began our film class. I still remember it fondly, and this blog is a nice memento of it. It's so great to read something one has written long ago, and forgotten about. It is like reading someone else's work, and it is in this venue, at last, that one can judge one's own work objectively. To that end, I laughed out loud at a few of my jokes. And a few of yours, as well.

I hope all of you are thriving in college. Alas, I suppose alcoholism has begun to wreak its slow havoc upon a few of you... that's to be expected. It needn't be fatal. Just exercise prudence.

Schizophrenia is another hazard of young adulthood. I'm surely hoping the only voices you're hearing are the ones emanating from thin walls of your dorm. You'll know it's a problem if the voices are accompanied by a crushing sense of paranoia combined with a suspicion that you are the Messiah come round again.

Let me know what films you've seen that you recommend. For me, the only thing I've seen that I really and truly loved was The White Ribbon from Germany. Other than that, I've continued to watch and rewatch a bunch of film noir hits, most notable among them is In a Lonely Place, with Bogart, which I watched like 3 times in a row.

If you're still looking, give me a shout out. I've been feeling a bit off lately. I could use a pick me up.

White Ribbon

I saw "White Ribbon" tonight at the Film Forum in Manhattan. Those of you who are attending NYU or FIT or Cooper etc. should keep this place in mind. It's over on Houston Street (remember it's not pronounced like the city in Texas) just west of 6th Avenue. It shows a lot of great stuff, mostly oldies, but also foreign films that won't be released widely in the US. It's a treasure, really, and if you're living in the area, use it.

Tonight I saw a great film, "White Ribbon." I'm too tired right now to expand on it, but if it gets released widely, (which I doubt) go see it. It's an amazing film.

I hope everyone is well. Best wishes for a great New Year. Was Y2K really ten years ago?

PS. Article in today's NY Times about "The Big Lebowski." Any Dude lovers out there, check it out.

A word of encouragement

A kind word for those of you who are not loving your new lives at college. I basically hated my first semester, and wanted to be home when I was away, and wanted to be away when I was home. I felt like a man cast adrift.

By the time my senior year rolled around, I didn't want it to end. I just loved it. I felt like I had come into my own as a person, and that person, with further evolutions, is still alive today. The person I was before college is gone.

Anyway, your experience may not dovetail with mine, but those of you who are window shopping in gun shops, wondering what the mimimum calibre pistol appropriate for blowing your brains out, just hunker down and wait it out. Things get better.

Which reminds me of the guy who decided to commit suicide, and went to a gun shop to buy the implement of his self-destruction, but was deterred when he saw how expensive the guns were. He'd be damned if he'd lay out that kind of dough for something he'd only use once.

The Men Who Stare at Goats

I'm one of those damned fools who believes he can judge a new acquaintance by the look on his face, and a movie on the basis of the trailer. When I was a kid, the trailers were much better. They gave you a small taste, a teaser basically, but they never clued you in to the plot. Nowadays, the trailers are twice as long, and they tell you the entire story upfront. I guess the money people at the studios did some research and found out that people like to know upfront what it is they're going to be watching. I'm not one of them. Anyway, based on the trailer, I thought this movie was going to be much better than it was.

First of all, it had a lot, and I mean a LOT of voice over narration, and this was coupled by a lot, and I mean a LOT of explanatory dialogue between the two main characters played by George Clooney and Ewan McGregor. And you guys remember how I used to rail against voice over. My criticism that a movie should be shown and not told is, in many instances, unfair, because the structure of a particular film may call for narration, and the narration may be organic, and not "cheating." But I hate it anyway.

By the way, forgive me for using this opportunity to return to my former profession, but the film is a send-up of another film, a parody in other words. The references are not heavy-handed, but if you've seen the other film, you'll recognize it. Nick? Are you listening? I figure you'll see this film. And I know you've seen the film that it parodies. Hence, I am putting you on the spot. I don't recall seeing it mentioned in any reviews, but doing research of this kind is cheating, and I have always expected, (and received) more from you. Hence, quiz commences. Or gauntlet thrown, if you prefer.

For the rest of you, I do not give this one a high rating.

N.B. Professor, I thought you were going to send me a link to that video of my Ticker-tape parade. Can you just give me the Facebook account, or do I have to be invited by the postee?

Ticker Tape Parade

When the Yankees won the World Series back in 1996, I decided to have a bit of fun. I marched my class down to Callahan's room, and we threw shredded paper all over the room, all the while marching around and around, chanting, "Eat your heart out Callahan, Yankees are the Champs again!"It was great theatre, and a great morale booster for the troops, who live for that kind of stuff. Naturally, I repeated it in 1998, and 1999. Being a Met fan made it harder in 2000, but it had become a tradition, and had to be done.

Then came the dark years, when Boston rose Phoenix-like from the ashes, and won two World Series and few Super Bowls. Callahan led a parade through my room after one such debacle, but the marchers marched under duress, and sullenly tossed their paper. I was proud of them.And so, today, I was not about to let the small and trivial detail of no longer working at Staten Island Tech deter me from my traditional role of "taunter of Callahan."

So, I emailed Manzo first thing this morning, and found, to my glee that a class was scheduled at the perfect time. I poked my head into his room before-hand, which ruined the surprise a bit, but added to the fun also, when he said, "I knew you wouldn't let me down, Bennett." The kids didn't know what a treat as in store for them, and they were gleeful when an entire brigade, including Manzo's class, and Ms. Ginos, (who had made a huge bag of confetti just for the occasion) strode down the hall and into his room.Prophetically, Manzo was teaching in room 310, my old room, the very one that I had launched so many epic parades from in year's past.

Alas, the Yankees denied me during my tenure in 313. I always thought something was missing.After we circled the class thrice, I hopped up onto a desk and proclaimed, "Let us hail the new Yankees, who, like their name-sakes, who saved the Union during the Civil War, have united the nation once again under the banner of Yankee greatness." We then asked Callahan to join in the salute, which he did, to his credit, but when we asked him to join the Yankee cadres, he demurred.

It was a lot of fun, but I have to say I was pretty downhearted when I left the building to rush off to my new job, which I loathe.

Until next year, then!

Amelia

I saw Amelia, with Hilary Swank and Richard Gere. I had very low expectations, so even a mediocre film would have satisfied me, and I was satisfied on that basis. It was Saturday afternoon, a rainy miserable day, and I needed something to get me out of the moment. I thought Amelia would be tolerable for a couple of reasons. FIrst of all, I figured it would be stunningly, beautifully, filmed, and I was right. Every room, every cigarette lighter, every Scotch and Soda shimmered in art deco delight. You could almost taste the cherry red enamel high gloss finish of one of the planes she flew. And all this is before anyone takes flight. The flight scenes only added to the visual enjoyment.

The second reason I thought it would be ok was that biography films are usually that, namely, "ok" and not much more. They're usually not terrible because there is an intrinsic interest all of us have in the course of someone's life. In this regard, I think bio pics of lesser well known figures are generally more interesting than those of iconic figures. After all, we kind of know most of the details of Lincoln's life. But aside from the fact that she was a famous aviatrix, who wore her hair in a mannish way, who was lost in the Pacific while attempting a circumnavigation of the globe, I knew next to nothing about Amelia Earhardt. Interestingly, the film tends to downplay, rather than exalt, her accomplishments. In fact, it appears that that there really wasn't much more to know beyond the facts related in the sentence that preceded the one you are reading now.

But, the aerial photography, and the beautiful facial close-ups keep one watching. For those of you who don't think Hilary Swank has a beautiful face, I was referring to Richard Gere, who certainly does. And her face is very interesting if it isn't classically endowed.

Without knowing anything about her, I kind of suspected that she was gay. I had no reason to think it, and I can't say I ever discussed it openly. But, her mannish style and aggressive spirit in an age when women were not encouraged to have those things might have made me ask the question, were I so inclined. The film shows her as being very heterosexual, with the exception of one rather interesting scene. She is sitting with her soon-to-be-lover and she looks at another woman sitting across the room, and remarks on how beautiful she is. Her companion says that she always notices women, or something to that effect. But, the topic is never explored further.

Naturally, I was waiting to here Joni Mitchell's song, "Amelia" which is very evocative, but the score was original, suggestive of the 1930's, and the insertion of a post-modern ballad of sorts, would not have fit.

The Invention of Lying

I saw this film yesterday and enjoyed it very much. If you see it, I think you'll know why I liked it so much. I'm not going to review it here, but suffice it to say that the film was actually original in its concept. For a comedy, that's high praise.

I attend a lynching.

I had the singular experience last night of being screamed at by an unruly mob of 800 people. It was at a "Town Hall" meeting given by Congressman McMahon to discuss health care reform. The crowd was overwhelmingly opposed to the bill currently winding its way through Congress. While I'm not particularly enamored of the bill myself, I think it's important that the country move forward in some meaningful way in this area. We can't just do nothing. At this point, a bad bill might very well be better than none at all.

But when I started to speak in favor of reform, the crowd tried to drown me out by howling. I've never had an experience like that before. It was exhilerating! Rather than becoming nervous or cowed, I started really enjoying myself, and I even began to antagonize the crowd, as one might a caged wild animal. It was great theatre.

Anyway, there's a rather prominent picture of me in the Advance today. It's a nice picture, but for some odd reason, perhaps owing to reflected light, a weird optical illusion makes it look like I have lost most of my hair. Very strange.

On Leaving.

It feels so strange that the new school year has begun and I'm not part of the action back at Tech. For twenty years I saw one after another of my colleagues leave, most to retirement, a few, alas, to death, and a lucky few to new careers. It is always bittersweet to stand, handkerchief in hand, waving to the metaphorical ocean liner as it yaws seaward, an old friend on deck shrinking to nothingness. And as we turn from the shore, back to our quotidian routine, a melancholy descends like a fog. I usually fight this sadness by concluding, with practiced shadenfraude that the ship in question is the Titanic, but it's always sad to be left behind.

The most painful of these send-offs was with Bonamo. His departure was so sudden and unexpected, unlike the many sad though organic retirements I've endured. He was the future of the school, no doubt about that. Brilliant, hard-working, honest, kind, tough, a man who loves life and brings his energy to everything and everyone he touches. What a loss for us as a school, and for me personally. We had become such good friends. I knew I could trust him. I knew I could work with him. The future was very bright.

Then, in May I came in to his office and the teachers were all aflutter about an inspection the superintendant from Queens was going to visit upon us. I said nothing, but waited until everyone but Bonamo had left the room. He peered at me guiltily, fully anticipating the interrogation which was to ensue, an onslaught that he well knew he was ill prepared to withstand.

"What's the story, Bonamo?," I asked. He hemmed and hawwed and looked at his shoes, and finally said that he would prefer not to say. I narrowed my eyes and lowered my voice, and let him have it with both barrels. "Oh, you'd rather not say, huh? Now you listen to me, you fat f***, we can do this one of two ways. Either you tell me right now why that big mucky-muck is coming, after which you and I will concoct some cock and bull story that I will help you feed to the staff, thereby keeping your secret intact with my help, .... or you can continue to lie, in which case I will go to every person in the school and tell them that there's a big secret afoot and Bonamo's up to no good and we all have to figure out what it is. So, big-boy, what's it going to be?"

He stared at me for a long time, then he sighed and said simply, "I'm going to be the Principal of Townsend Harris High School in Queens."



I walked back to my room, closed the door, sat down at my desk, and wept. What a loss.



Anyway, this year was my turn.

Casablanca

This truly remarkable film was on TCM again last night, and I happened to tune in toward the beginning. It is almost impossible to turn this film off. It draws the viewer in, with an almost Svengalian power. I find the same thing happens when I watch a scene from The Godfather. I can't shut it off. I think it has to do with what critics call "pacing." I never looked up what that word means, but i think it refers to the quality that some films have of being consistently interesting without any letup. And, Casablanca is such a film. The plot is rather complex, but is described brilliantly, and clearly. THe characters are fascinating, and fully explored. The dialogue is first rate all the way. If you've never seen this film please take the time to see it.

Some truly memorable lines of dialogue, one of which is NOT "play it again, Sam." This is one of several immortal lines that never were uttered in film, "you dirty rat" by Cagney, and "Judy, Judy, Judy" by Cary Grant being two others that spring to mind. Anyway, the line that gave me the most pleausre last night came from Captain Renault, responding to Major Strasser's dismissing Rick Blaine as a "blundering American." Says Renault, "we must not underestimate American blundering. I was with them when they blundered into Berlin in 1918." Touche'.

By the way, forgive me for being so self-centered, but I would like to know if anyone is actually reading this blog anymore. Say hello to your old teacher and friend. I hope you're all enjoying your first or second week of colllege. I'll try to write a bunch of essays in this blog to provide you with plenty of material with which to procrastinate during the time you should be working on your essays etc.

The Outrage

I was watching "The Outrage" with Paul Newman on TCM today. He plays a Mexican bandito who kills a man and rapes his wife. The story is told four times in flashback. I immediately thought that it sounded a lot like "Roshamon," a classic of Japanese cinema directed by Akira Kurosawa (who wrote the screenplay upon which Runaway Train was based).

I saw Roshamon over thirty years ago, but I recall the story vaguely. Again, a rape/murder recalled by the particpants, and then the truth revealed by a hitherto unknown witness. It's considered a seminal work and an icon of "post-modernism," where truth is always relative. My opinion of it at the time was that it suffered from a fatal flaw, namely that it asked the viewers to accept the last version of events, those related by the "impartial" witness, as being "true." Even as a callow youth of 19 or so, it was not lost upon me that a truly post-modern statement would not allow that any version of events contains ultimate truth. All versions must be suspect. Thus did I turn up my nose upon Roshamon.

But this version was truly laughable! Paul Newman, of all people playing the role of the Frito Bandito, dark greasy hair, handle-bar mustache, and classically stereotypical Mexican bad-ass accent, with long eeeee sounds, as in weeeeel for will, and constant use of the third person form while referring to himself.

Hollywood usually turned to its favorite "half-breeds" of dubious ancestry to take on such roles. Favorite among this group is Anthony Quinn. Others of the same ilk included Ricardo Montalban, Jack Palance, Fernando Ferrar, and a few others. My all-time favorite fake Mexican desperado is Eli Wallach, in real life a Jewish kid from Brooklyn. His "Tuco" in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly" is among the great performances in cinema. Certainly the role of a life-time. But, Paul Newman? No way. Unless...

Yes, perhaps the movie's makers knew their audience well. The one thing all versions of the story agree upon is that the woman is raped. It's strong stuff. Perhaps, in order to soften the impact of the violation, they wanted an actor who was "attractive," if you will. In most of the four versions of the story that is told, the woman is ambiguous in her feelings towards her attacker. Perhaps the director felt that the audience would be better able to accept such a portrayal if the actor was acceptable on some level.

If you are interested in any of this stuff, I would advise you to watch Roshamon, (which I may be mis-spelling). It is one of the giant films of cinema history, up there with "Citizen Kane." The remake is justifiablly not highly regarded or remembered.

Julia? Delightful. Julie? Like needles in eyes

I walked out of Julie and Julia last night. The film was broken into two separate strands, like The Godfather Part II, or The Hours (which was three strands, actually). The story-line about the famous culinary personality Julia Child, with Meryl Streep playing the lead, was very entertaining, especially for a Francophile and recent visitor to France, like myself. But, the strand about the modern yuppie who writes a blog about her experiences in cooking through Juilia CHild's most famous cookbook, is so unwatchably painful and boring that I had to leave. Never has the "fast-forward" button been desired more fervently at a film. Could I have skipped the one section in favor of the other, I would have stayed. Hence, my recommendation for this film is to wait for it to come out on DVD, when your remote control button will be near at hand.

Words to live by.

Not a day goes by that I don't quote a specific line of dialogue from Dr. Strangelove. It comes from the scene where General Turgidson is explaining to the President that General Ripper has sent his bombers to attack Russia. He reads a message from Ripper that ends with a reference to precious bodily fluids. Turgidson comments to the effect that "we are still trying to figure out what that means." The President's reply is my current favorite line from a film, and my guide to surviving in a crazy world. Says he, "There's nothing to figure out. The man is clearly a psychotic!"

Every day, either I, or the people around me, or the press, or the governemnt, is "trying to figure out" why someone has behaved in a manner that directly goes against common sense and their own best interests. For years I would join in the analysis, delving into matters of passion, psychology, philosophy, etc. But no more. Now, I end all such conversations very quickly by saying, "There's nothing to figure out. [Fill in name] is clearly a psychotic."

Once you adopt this simple guide to understanding the behavior of others, your life becomes so simple. In fact, it is particularly useful in matters dealing with the relations between the sexes. Consider the amount of time spent by men trying to figure out why women act the way they do. Meanwhile, the answer is clear. (Ok, gals, I was just kidding. I'm sure the formula works just as well for women who want to analyze the actions of men. However, being male, I can't help but feel that it has greater resonance when pointed toward the distaff half.)

Anyway, please try it out for yourself at the earliest opportunity. You will be amazed and gratified at how incredibly wise you sound, and your friends and family will hail you as a genius. As soon as anyone starts in with that same old litany, "oh, did you hear about so and so, and what he did, now why did blah blah,..." cut them off immediately "There's nothing to figure out. The man is clearly....

Two pre-code gems

I recommend two film for your enjoyment. The first is "Baby Face" 1933, with Barbara Stanwyck. They recently found the uncut version and I saw it on TCM not too long ago. Netflix will probably still have the cut version, unfortunately. Frankly, those of us used to very tame themes in older films will find this tale of a girl who sleeps her way to the top of the corporate ladder, an eye-opener.

The second is "The Smart Money" with Edward G. Robinson. Again, a film from 1931 that portrays a morally ambiguous protagonist, namely, Eddie G. as a gambling skirt-chaser with a heart of gold. This one is guaranteed to please. Order it and watch it with the whole family. Don't worry. It's not too risque' for Mom.

A sendoff, of sorts

I posted this on my Xanga blog back in August of '06. If it alleviates any fear you might be experiencing on the eve of your departure for college, then I'm glad.


I guess a lot of my old friends from the class of '06 are on their way to college this week. I would imagine that you are feeling a certain level of anxiety. After all, college is one of those destinations that you've been heading for for so many years. And now, here it is. So, it would be sort of strange if you felt no anxiety at all over such a significant milestone in your life.
Well, for what it's worth, let me tell you that the single most interesting and rewarding experience of my life was going away to college. More happened to me in that four year period than has happened in all the years since, I think. And I look back on it with such fondness and nostalgia. Of course, I could never live like that again, sharing a single room with a stranger and having no money in my pocket. But, to be on my own like that for the first time was such bliss. And of course, I was able to confirm what I had suspected for many years, namely that I was smarter and better-looking than just about everybody else. Of course, I also found out that being smarter and better looking than everyone else really doesn't count for much.
In all seriousness, it was the professors who really changed my outlook on things. Talk about being smarter than everybody else! To have the opportunity to spend several hours a day in the presence of such brain power. It really opened my eyes about a lot of stuff.
Anyway, the first year had some rough edges. I actually found myself feeling a touch of homesickness on occasion. But, after that, I never looked back. And by the time my last year rolled around, I really didn't want to leave. So, be of good cheer my friends. You're off on the start of a great adventure, one that you must not miss. I envy you.

Another anomaly

For some reason, my blog says that I am not "following" anyone. Is it possible that I pressed a "delete" button of some sort? Oh well.

Anyway, the summer has been pleasant, as all summers are. I travelled to Brussels, then drove to a number of interesting places in Belgium and France. I recommend them all, at least for lovers of art, culture, food, beautiful landscapes, great biking, friendly people, stunning architecture. Here are the places I went:

1. Brussels
2. Ghent, site of Van Eyck's Altarpiece of the "mystical lamb." an amazing work of art. I saw the house that they signed the treaty that ended the War of 1812, too.
3. Bruges. I have to see the film again. The city is like an enchanted fairytale. Alas the main museum was closed for repairs. Did I mention that I was so disappointed that I cried. I cry rarely, and only when people die or when spectacular meals are ruined somehow.
4. Ypres. A battlefield site from World War One.
5. Bayeaux. The famous tapestry of the same name is worth the trip to Europe alone. But, great art moves me in a way that it might not some one else. I recall a student from a few years ago, I think she's still at Tech, so I won't out her, complained in a strident manner about how I sent the class to a museum. She went on and on about it, saying how awful it was and how meaningless etc. I rather liked her before this outburst, but afterward, I sort of felt like she and I were not members of the same species.
6. Normandy. Site of American invasion on D-day, but a lot of other stuff too, like Mont St. Michel, a sublime monastery set on an island just off the coast.
7. Chartres. The only cathedral left with a full compliment of 13th century stained glass. In every other cathedral, the local citizens destroyed all the glass during the French Revolution. Gives you some idea of how much the Church was hated.
8. Verdun. Scene of the single worst, most wasteful battle in history.
9. Argonne Forest. Site of the American offensive during World War One. There's a cemetary there that is one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. It is the largest American Cemetary outside the US, and I was the only person there. It is immaculately maintained with the most beautiful gardens, ponds, enormous tree lined paths, perfectly manicured lawns, ... and the graves of 15,000 dead Americans.

I guess most of you are packing your bags for college. A certain degree of anxiety must accompany that. I wrote an essay on my old Xanga a few years ago that I sent to my students who were "on their way." I'll try to dig it up and post it here later tonight or tomorrow.

In Bruges

My title says it all.  I am currently in Bruges, Belgium.  I am anxious to watch the film again when I get home, but there is one thing I can say for sure.  Even a total moron  like the main character would never call this city a dump.  It is absolutely the most beautiful place on earth.  A medieval gem.

Unfortunately, the main museum that houses one of the most beautiful works of art in the world is closed for renovation.  When I saw the sign on the door, I burst into tears.  I wish I was exaggerating because I am not one for crying.  But I was so disappointed that I came all the way to Belgium and I won't be able to see Van Eyck's altarpiece with the Canon Vander Peale, that I really did  become despondent.  Luckily, there is much else here to console the down hearted.  We'll stay a few days and then head over to Ypres, site of the famous battle in WW1.  I was biking in the Flemish countryside today and my wife pointed to some poppies blooming on the roadside.  The words to the famous poem came to mind.  "In Flanders field the poppies grow, upon the crosses row on row."   Such a sight in the US would cause a national emergency.  The Drug Enforcement Administration would cordon off the entire district, while helicopters would descend spraying tons of toxic poison.   

Ammo

While watching "Public Enemies" the other night, I was struck by how few movies portray gunfire, especially automatic weapon fire with anything close to accuracy. The two aspects of gunplay that movies almost always get wrong are the amount of "kick" a firearm has, and the amount of ammunition is available to the firer.

In the case of the Thompson .45 caliber sub-machine gun, (the "sub" referring to a weapon that fires bullets ordinarily used in smaller guns) one can only imagine (I have to since I have never fired one) that the recoil is fairly substantial. A .45 caliber round is almost a half-inch in diameter, after all. Thus, the scenes where the characters were firing one handed were probably not very accurate. In fact, I recall reading that soldiers who carred the "Tommy" gun in WW2 were instructed to aim for the enemies right foot. The reason for this was that the weapon would ride up and to the right as you fired it. Therefore, you would "stitch" your target with a series of bullets running from his right foot up to his left shoulder. Related to the idea of recoil is the fact that bullets have very good penetrating power and they fragment when they hit something hard. Therefore, hiding behind the window sash is not a good strategy. The hail of bullets coming in from outside will most likely travel right through the plaster walls and kill you. Also, when bullets hit glass the glass itself becomes a flying projectile moving with enough force to seriously wound. Fragmented bullets were the bane of the German Army during WW1, especially when they faced the British Army, who were equipped with a bullet that was notorious for its penchant for fragmenting. Bullet fragments usually didn't kill you, but they would put an eye out for sure. These are not the same as the famous "Dum-dum" bullets that were designed to cause maximum damage on impact with the body.

The second problems with movies and guns has to do with the sheer volume of bullets that movie characters are able to bring to a gun battle. During one scene in "Public Enemies" both sides were firing full force with Tommy guns for several minutes. I turned to my wife and said "I wonder where the tractor trailer is with a fork-lift operator and a dozen stevedores unloading pallets of ammo. The entire 101st airborne division doesn't carry as much ammo as these guys brought to a lake-side resort hideout. It is much more typical for the person firing an automatic weapon to husband his ammo, firing in short bursts of three to five rounds. Unloading an entire clip of 20 (or 50 in the round drum) bullets in just a few seconds leaves you high and dry. Your opponent will know you are out of ammo as well, and will use this pause as you reload to his advantage.

I'm trying to recall films where the ammo problem is dealt with accurately, and I'm afraid I can't think of any. Next time you watch "Saving Private Ryan, for example or some such war film that purports to accuracy, try to keep what I've said in mind and see if they keep to any kind of accuracy in that regard.

Shell Beach

I was bicycling on Shelter Island this weekend, and I saw a sign for Shell Beach. Naturally, I turned and pedalled hard to see what it looked like. I saw a second sign for it, and continued on my way. As I reached the end of the small peninsula I was riding down, there was no sign for it, and despite riding this way, and then that way, I was unable to locate it. When I asked the locals, they pointed in the general direction, but were strangely vague about how to get there. I never did find it.

True story.