On Grampa

My dad used to postulate that perhaps some things skipped a generation. Of course, he was at least two generations older than me, nearly 43 years old when I was born, so I would always get confused just trying to do the math. But then, generation gaps were always a point of great confusion for the greater Moore collective. Some of us are older than our own uncles or second cousins. Some of us have more years apart from our siblings than from our parents.

Dad and his own dad–Grampa–meanwhile, were so close in age that, story goes, Nana used to joke that they were basically growing up together. It was such a stark contrast to my own situation that I don’t think I could really comprehend the nature of their relationship.

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The White Canvas – Theory over Execution

Years ago, I got into the Japanese film auteur Kiyoshi Kurosawa, not to be confused with his non-relative, Akira, toward whom I’m mostly indifferent. I’ve already written at length about the personal impact K. Kurosawa’s “Pulse” (Kairo) had on me, but that account aside, what I mostly love about his movies is that they’re highly thought-provoking and great conversation pieces. What I would not necessarily call them is entertaining. The gratification you get from watching them is delayed and often wholly subjective. You might never get any. These are not movies for date night; they’re ones for your two-month solitary confinement sentence. They require prolonged, undivided attention. Under no circumstances should they be enjoyed while grappling with diarrhea.

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