How old Cary Grant?

As an impressionable young man, I remember watching with rapt enchantment, the suave and elegant Cary Grant. Even as a child, I recognized there was something special and charismatic about this man as he occupied the screen with his nonchalant charm. He moved effortlessly from one situation to another as a precursor to James Bond. Nothing really upset him or threw him off his game. Sure he would look concerned from time to time, just to let us know he was after all, one of us, but I never really bought it. He was NEVER one of us. I tried to analyze for many years, especially as an adolescent seeking an identity, what I could incorporate that might just be a smidgen of the Cary Grant persona. I decided it was his sense of humor and mild detachment that kept him apart from the fray that all too often envelopes the rest of us humans.

In college, I stumbled upon a brief story in Newsweek about a reporter doing a piece on Cary Grant. Wanting to determine Grant's age at the time, he sent a telegram to the revered actor (yes, yes, this was a time when telegrams were commonplace). He wrote in the shortened style of telegrams, "How old Cary Grant?" After a few days, he received his answer from Cary Grant, "Old Cary Grant fine, how you?" This only served to increase my appreciation and admiration for the actor. His movie screen persona was not just fabricated, it was really a reflection of the man himself!

Why do I bring up Cary Grant here? In yesterday's NY Times, there is an article about a Cary Grant retrospective being put on at the Brooklyn Academy of Music cintematek. The reporter, Mike Hale, it seems shares my admiration for the actor as well. Grant, he writes, "was an ideal of the ascendant American male . . . urbane but athletic, absurdly handsome, but self-effacing, a joker who could be a bit of a cad, even a little cruel, but would always do the right thing in the end."

He concludes, "Watching him is to be reminded of a time when intelligence, grace and self-containment were their own rewards. The 21st century, so far, hasn't deserved him."

new website coming soon

Since abandoning my old AT&T Worldnet (dial-up) for Qwest DSL service, I have lost my personal website. It was always a little difficult to find, having an odd URL with a "~" in it. I'm in the process of revamping my site, but honestly, it will be a while since I have some forthcoming milestones fast approaching. The good news is that my new site will simply be www.stephenseko.com. Luckily, none of the other Stephen Sekos had snatched up the URL (and believe me, they're out there - one plays for a symphony, another has something to do with an aeronautical company and yet another works for AT&T in New Jersey!)

I will let you know when the new site comes on-line.

how to kill a rattler - continued

My friend and desert dweller, Celeste, mentioned that her husband recently killed a rattlesnake by drowning it. Why, you ask, would one go to such lengths rather than the tried and true (and more effortless) shotgun method of disposal? He hopes to have it stuffed for display in his living room. I sense a forthcoming territorial dispute between husband and wife . . .

the new york times

When we lived in Connecticut, we first subscribed to the Hartford Courant. While the Courant offered news about Connecticut, we never really liked it. I realize they have been awarded a number of Pulitzer Prizes over the years, but overall, the publication was generally unimpressive. As an alternative, we soon opted out for the New York Times.

I truly learned to love this newspaper. (The Sunday edition was always "packed" and was so thick and heavy, it would invariably elicit an involuntary grunt as I lifted it from the door mat to transport it into the house.) It not only featured the insightful writing of it's amazing cache of reporters, but also provided entertainment and information unavailable elsewhere. For instance, one memorable article dealt with the proper methodology of getting ketchup to pour from the stubborn Heinz glass bottles (now being overshadowed by plastic squeeze bottles). In case you were wondering, you tilt the bottle at a slight angle and tap on the "57" imprinted on the neck with the blade of your hand, like a karate chop. Another article dealt with the best bottled water in the world, with the author journeying to the spot where it sprang forth from the ground. (Panna was the water selected as the best of the best.)

Why am I writing about this? I have just loaded the New York Times app on my iPod Touch. At no cost, I can now access articles from the Times daily! I can rekindle (no pun intended here) my romance with this publication (well, I could have at any time, but again, I'm really a cheapskate as I've told you previously) once more. True, it doesn't have that same tactile quality of having the actual newspaper in my hands, but let's face it, these are modern times. Advances such as Amazon's Kindle (do you get the unintended pun now?) will undoubtedly deprive of us of this pleasure, hopefully saving trees and replenishing the oxygen in our environment. And besides, it is the content that is important here. I can now delight in the publication I enjoyed so much during my days in Connecticut. And who knows what valuable knowledge I will once again be privy to? Perhaps an article about how to effectively get those capons out of that damn obnoxious skinny little bottle . . .