What I did and am still doing during my Great American Staycation
A tour through this American life by way of what I'm doing, eating, watching, reading, and listening to
Click audio button to hear wood thrush sing in Appalachian Kentucky. Recorded July 2, 2026.
Greetings, Friends.
I put myself into a time out this week.
You can call it a staycation, but it was really self defense. My recent stay in the hospital eventually culminated in a clinical diagnosis of Grave’s disease, and even though I am on six, soon to be seven, different medications to help reverse the heart failure my condition caused prior to diagnosis, and also to cool off my sizzling thyroid, I am still so revved up, I am shouting at the barista when I don’t mean to, and I am down for a fist fight with the raging humidity outside my door. So, to avoid harming myself and others, I took the week off from being in public.
And anyway, I had things to do, like sort through all my medical bills. That’s very American, isn't it? I tried to be effective with my To Do list from the comfort of my couch, unless that was impossible. Walking the dog, I can’t do that from the couch, for example. But since it’s 100 degrees here at the edge of Appalachia, I drove out to where the forest meets the city limits, so we could walk where it was cooler.
Outside American
Summer for me is not complete unless I hear the trill of the wood thrush. Since I live alongside a cattle farm, my birds are field edge birds—meadow larks, mostly—so I have to head out to the knobs to hear my summer sentinel. As soon as we park in the gravel lot, the dog leaps out of the truck, ready to hunt squirrels and rabbits, of which there are a-plenty at the forest’s edge, and the wood thrush sings me into a smile. Have a listen to its beautiful song in the audio snippet above.
The covid effect, as I call it, which made us hide our faces from one another, also made us look once again at our natural environment. To our benefit, many of us continue to get outside and breathe. I’d like to think that being in nature is now an American thing to do. Maybe it is so; on the Pinnacles trail that early in the morning (7am) when we go, there are still so many people, it’s like walking through the neighborhood. I wave and smile at everyone.
Eat American
After each hike we, the dog and me, went and spent a small fortune on peaches, melon, tomatoes, and corn from the fruit stand at the foot of the knobs near where three counties come together. We have made this trek three times in five days. Yes, three. The third time, I also got eggs.
It has been worth the heat and cash to have the fresh bounty in my kitchen. I’ve made two crisps, one with peaches and blueberries, and one with just peaches. Each with a pecan crumble on top. Each with so much Haagen Dazs vanilla bean ice cream, it’s all gone now. I also made a peach cake, but because I’d eaten all the ice cream, I made whipped cream to go with that. I need to gain back some of the significant weight I lost with this illness over the last couple of years. Since leaving the hospital, I’ve gained back 6 pounds. Most of it from ice cream, I am sure. Yes, there have been days where fruit and ice cream are all I have eaten. So fight me.
I’ve also been enjoying the sugar baby melon I bought, just simply sprinkled with Maldon salt. Lord, is that ever good!
I don’t get nostalgic for much, but when I do, it’s likely for food or for a landscape. Like right now, all I can think about is how much I wish I were at the Jersey Shore, Harvey Cedars in particular, and that I had a Neptune’s hoagie in my bag, along with some Herr’s chips. And a Rolling Rock to wash it down.
But instead, there hasn’t been a hoagie in my life since I stopped at the Wawa’s outside of Harrisburg, Pa., on my way to Glastonbury, Ct., last August, en route to my 40th high school reunion. No one, and by no one, I mean no one, in Kentucky knows how to make a hoagie. It’s shocking what passes for a sandwich in these parts. You have to get all the way to Philly before you can get bad-sandwich-relief. Don’t even get me started on pizza, where you have to go all the way to Connecticut to really get the cure.
Anyway, Rolling Rock, ah. A beer. Since getting my diagnosis, I have been told to lay off any alcohol until further notice, for fear I will go into atrial fibrillation again. But you could have one, and I think you should! It’s very American to pop a top.
I also grow nostalgic for peaches because when I was a kid growing up in the northern portion of Palm Beach County, Fla., where at the time Indiantown Road was two lanes that ended in dirt out by the rodeo at Lake Okeechobee, and it was just sugar cane fields and horse farms, and a hella snakes, there was a ratty old fruit stand where they sold peaches down from Georgia in the summer. We didn’t have much money, so to stop on the way home from the beach for a bag of fresh peaches and—Lordy, what a treat—fresh pineapple, was to me like being fed by the gods for no other reason than that they were good and smiling upon me as I slurped down the sticky yellow juice left in my cup of the gorgeous fruit.
You know what else would be nice to munch on this summer? A crab cake. Only from Maryland. The cornbread there is crap, but the crab cakes are unsurpassed. With a remoulade that I learned to make when I lived in New Orleans, where I first learned the word itself in 1991.
So, there’s your Eastern Seaboard food tour.
Watch American
I’ve watched ten films so far this week, and also several (can’t remember how many) World Cup matches, including the US v. Bosnia-Herzegovina. Here’s my list in case you are looking for off-beat movies to watch from your couch, too.
Winter Passing (2005): Ed Harris, Zooey Deschanel, Will Ferrell, Amelia Warner. Directed by Adam Rapp. I was looking for quirky, and this came up in my search. It had Ed Harris in it, so I watched it, because he is an actor in a class by himself. He did not disappoint. Deschanel is also luminous. Ferrell is just weird enough to be interesting without being annoying which is how I usually find him.
But, ugh. What a slow movie about an estranged daughter from her novelist, anarchist father as they both grieve the suicide of their mother/wife. If I took anything away from this film it was that Ed Harris can do anything and that my brain has been rewired so completely by my smart phone, that I was irritated by the normal human pace of this film that is achingly well acted.
Submarine (2010): Sally Hawkins, Noah Taylor, Craig Roberts. Directed by Richard Ayoade. Produced by Ben Stiller, which gives it an American imprimatur. I’ll watch anything with Sally Hawkins in it. That’s how I found this film—I was searching for films of hers that I hadn’t already seen. It’s a charming coming-of-age film, with just enough Welshiness to remind you that they have the darkest outlook of all the Celts who were forced to live under English rule. To wit, when Roberts’ character, Oliver Tate, begins to scheme about killing his girlfriend’s dog so she will be so sad, she will fling herself into his arms, what happens instead is even more awful, but to him, the perfect solution.
How did Stiller end up involved in this?Analyze This (1999): Billy Crystal. Robert Di Niro. Lisa Kudrow. Directed by Harold Ramis. Does anyone else miss Billy Crystal as much as I do? There is no comedian performing today who makes me laugh with happiness just by looking at him, as Crystal used to. I miss how familiar his schtick feels. He makes me miss all my funny Jewish friends in New York and DC, and makes me long for Zabar’s on the Upper West Side where, when I lived in NYC, I would go to stock up on what I couldn’t get at Fairway, or didn’t want to go up to Fairway in Harlem to get. This would be followed by an everything bagel with a schmear and coffee at H and H next door. Plus, having spent much of my career writing about psychiatry or editing psychiatrists, I was cracking up to hear Crystal’s character ineffectively counsel the mafia don.
This movie also reminded me how funny Di Niro is. His comedic timing is perfect. Among the best moments in the entire film is Kudrow mocking Di Niro’s mobster character for his “problems”. Another is Di Niro’s mob guy contemplating his mommy issues.A Little Prayer (2023): David Strathairn. Need I say more? Okay, Jane Levy, Will Pullen, Dascha Polanco, Celia Weston. Directed by Angus MachLachlan. A sweet film about kindred spirits who instantly recognize each other but don’t need to go on about it; they just are there for each other. This is a quiet film. Pure hearted. I’d watch it again, just to see Strathairn’s performance.
First Reformed (2017): Ethan Hawk, Amanda Seyfried, Cedric the Entertainer. Directed by Paul Schrader. I wanted to like this film, shot in an area of upstate New York I know well. But I hated this film so much I felt like I needed to take a shower after watching it. Schrader also wrote the Academy Award-nominated screenplay. Hawk is such a good actor, especially when he’s playing dirt balls or edgy characters. This film is no exception. Seyfried has range, but I get distracted by her bug eyes. Does she have a thyroid disease, like me? If so, is it being treated? Will her protruding eyes ever not lead her face around?
What angered me about this film is that it was so well received by critics who wrote voluminously about its themes of spiritual transcendence when in fact, it was about a dude with depression and obsession, exacerbated by the grief of losing his son. That he was also a priest was incidental to his fixation on death, which he could only transcend through illicit sex and masochism, and none of it lent him a spiritualizing quality. Ugh. People, and by that I mean film critics, have lost the plot on God.New York, I Love You (2008). Everyone who was big in 2008. Directed by just as many directors as actors who were making a name for themselves in 2008. Remember Paris, je t’aime (2006)? It was the inspiration for this film, as well as the first time audiences really got an understanding of how wonderful is the American actor, Margo Martindale, as she played a postal worker who goes abroad for the first time, and chooses Paris. I loved that film so much when I saw it in the Paris Theater in New York City 20 years ago now—it feels a lifetime ago. I also saw New York, I Love You when it was released, but I don’t recall where I was when I did.
This time, though, knowing what we now know about the world, I watched the film and felt pangs for the Manhattan that in 2008, was just about to slip from the grasp of anyone who wasn’t a money laundering Russian real estate investor or pal of the now president. The stories resonate less as a result, but gosh it was lovely to once again see the late, and inimitable Irrfan Khan, who played a diamond seller to an Orthodox Jewish woman, played by Natalie Portman. It is one of the best of this jewel box collection of these New York vignettes. I do recommend this film, even though it will make you melancholy if you ever lived or still live in NYC. I also recommend Paris, je t’aime even though I didn’t watch it this week.The Discoverers (2012): Griffin Dunne, John C. McGinley, Stuart Margolin, Madeleine Martin, Devon Graye, Cara Buono. Directed by Justin Schwarz. Head scratcher of a movie. It felt like it wanted to carry the torch for the standard bearer of family road trip movies, Little Miss Sunshine (2006), but Dunne was such poor casting for this film, it all felt awkward, and not in the way it was intended. Dunne’s energy is so big, so high wattage, there is no way he could ever be the community college professor schmuck he is supposed to be in this film. I was just confused the whole time. And it was slow, even pre-smart phone slow. Pity. I was looking forward to the promised re-enactment of the Lewis and Clark adventure, but it wasn’t worth the time I put into it.
The film did make me wonder where Dunne has been, however. He has such a strong presence on stage or screen, but until I watched this film, I’d forgotten he was out there. Anyway, don’t bother with this one.
Promotional still of Next Goal Wins from Searchlight Pictures. Actors portray the American Samoan national soccer team performing their haka war dance Next Goal Wins (2023): Michael Fassbender, Will Arnett, Elisabeth Moss, Oscar Kightley, Rachel House, Beulah Koale. Directed by Taika Waititi. I love New Zealander Taika Waititi, creator of Reservation Dogs, so much, I would watch him direct traffic. I thought I had seen everything he’s ever made, so when I discovered I was wrong, and that he’d co-written and directed this film about the world’s last-ranked soccer team, of course I watched it. It is the (mostly) true story of how the team from American Samoa prevailed over many hardships as it prepared to play Tonga in a FIFA World Cup qualification match. I won’t tell you how it turned out, because you should watch this charming and hilarious film that had me laughing out loud.
The people featured in this film might have the word “American” in their national identity but they are way more chill and closer to nature than we would ever even think to be. The Irish accented German-born Fassbender is so odd in this role as soccer coach Tom Rongen, and so perfect for it, that the fact he sounds like a drunk Graham Norton barking at large Polynesian men just added to the sublime surreality of the film. Seriously, watch it.
Promotional post from the Weinstein Company for This Must Be the Place. This Must Be the Place (2011): Sean Penn, Frances McDormand, Eve Hewson, Judd Hirsch, David Byrne, Harry Dean Stanton. Directed by Paolo Sorrentino. I had no idea what to expect going into this one. Sean Penn in a Robert Smith-inspired Goth get up? Okay, I’m game. Then I heard the girlie voice come out from under Penn’s black fringe and I was really intrigued. Turns out, the film is very well acted, and does introduce us to some thoughtfully rendered characters impacted however directly or indirectly by a Nazi war criminal hiding out in a trailer in the Utah desert, the one that Penn’s character, Cheyenne, goes on a road trip to find in part to avenge his father, in part because he has nothing better to do.
But I personally had an issue with it that only I could have: my uncle, Harry Dean Stanton, who was not billed in the promotional materials I read before selecting the film to watch, turns out to have a cameo role in it. This has happened to me my entire life. I’ll be watching a film I have no idea HDS is in, and then suddenly he appears and I am bemused and disoriented to remember that he is part of our family, that he has always caused heartburn for my dad for reasons for another day, but you can learn about here. I talked about surreality above. This is my own brush with it every time.
Why it’s annoying, though, is that too often it feels like Harry Dean’s part is gratuitous and in this film, his character is entirely unrelated to the plot. HDS just was so loved and adored (good for him) by so many directors, they’d make space for him in their work, whether or not it actually was good filmmaking. As a critic, that strikes me as taking advantage of the audience to indulge him and to indulge the director.
Anyway, it’s also if not the first, then among the first, times we get a look at Bono’s actor-daughter, Eve Hewson, who plays a friend to Penn’s Cheyenne. I also don’t really understand what purpose her character serves to move the plot along, but we’re not related, so I didn’t get as annoyed. Also, David Bryne. So he wrote a song that has the same name. His role also felt written in. Sorrentino must have owed a lot of money to a lot of people.
The dénouement of this film was boringly trite, but the cryptic ending felt like the right place to go. You won’t hate this film, but in total, I doubt you would love it, either. It is worth your time if you are a fan of either McDormand or Penn, because even for them, these are fringe roles. Also, there is a novel explanation for why people smoke cigarettes. Not sure that I buy it, but it is critical to understanding the ending. Sorrentino must also be a smoker.State of Grace (1990): Gary Oldman, Sean Penn, Ed Harris, John C. Reilly, Robin Wright, John Turturro, Burgess Meredith. Directed by Phil Joanou. Without meaning to, by choosing to watch this film, I was revisiting a lot of the territory I’d covered.
This is a film noir piece, is beautifully filmed, and is constructed like a novel, in that we are nearly an hour into the story before the actual heroes, bad guys, and plot line are clearly drawn. This might annoy your smart phone brain, as it did mine, but I told myself to take consolation in watching these young actors demonstrate why they would go on to become legendary.
I enjoyed seeing the soon-to-become Mrs. Penn, Robin Wright, as Sean Penn’s character’s love interest in this film. She is so fresh-faced yet no-bullshit, and she does a perfect New York accent. You watch her and think, “This girl’s got chops.” And now we know how true that is.
I deliberately did not read anything about it other than it was shot in late 80s NYC, and starred Ed Harris, which is what I was looking for. But without knowing it, the film brought me back to Penn (whose character I won’t really sketch out for you or I will spoil it), New York City, the role of the church and traditions, and the corruption to both when there are family secrets.
Also, it’s a mob movie, but from the point of view of the Irish mafia trying to work with the Italian one at a time when gentrification is gobbling up the real estate in the predominately Irish Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood of Manhattan. That was before the Russians, but it was the dawning of the City’s global financialization, paving the way for the Russians, and the Chinese and Saudis to buy it up.
Also, Jaonou is the director who most worked with U2 on their music videos and other film projects. HDS does not make an appearance.
I liked this film. It feels like watching a gritty play, and was in fact, written for screen by playwright, Dennis McIntyre. Sadly for this cast, the film was released at the same time as Scorsese’s Goodfellas, which felt far more lighthearted, even with all the killing, and I think was more relatable as a result.
This is a well wrought romantic tragedy disguised as a crime thriller, though. Worth your time if that is your thing.
American Letters
At two movies a night, interspersed with soccer, I am finding time to read in those weird summer hours between end of day, beginning of night. Here’s what is on my coffee table, so I can easily pick them up during those very hours when it’s too hot to spend time on a long walk with the dog.
The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton, already “reviewed” here. I’m still working on it.
The World-ending Fire: The Essential Wendell Berry. Lots of discrete essays on the interrelatedness of the landscape to our culture.
Andrea Dworkin: The Feminist as Revolutionary by Martin Duberman. I have been meaning to read this for years.
American Beat
I’ve also been giving some distinctly American recording artists a re-listen, usually while I am in the kitchen making things with peaches. Not Americana. American. I won’t review them here, though, as this is so long already. But I will list them so you can remember you once listened to them, too, and maybe will be inspired to go back to them over the weekend.
Beck’s Odelay is 30 years old this summer. For real.
flow by Keith Urban. A collection of yacht rock covers of a bunch of the songs Gen X heard in the 1970s from the backseat, where the Naugahyde was sticking to our thighs, we weren’t wearing seat belts, and the windows were rolled down.
I Am Shelby Lynne, which came out in 1999, before the world knew about her and sister Allison Moorer’s utterly horrific childhood story.
The Wild, the Innocent, & the E Street Shuffle. OMG. This album is as fresh and surprising and as fucking hot as the day it was released. So sad this funky, clever Bruce became so boring and bourgeois.
Zero 7. Simple Things. Not American. Even with Sia. Not American. But it feels so Los Angeles.
Happy Fourth of July. May our next 250 years be less obnoxious and bloody.
Whitney
