Steven M. Finkelstein

In the ten-plus months that I’ve lived in South Carolina, I’ve blogged quiet a bit about my frustrations with the region. With my moving to New York in a week, the place where I hope to really establish myself for the foreseeable future, I can put this period of my life behind me for good. I don’t want to repeat comments that I made in previous blogs about the particulars of why the South hasn’t worked out for me, but, for cathartic reasons, I wanted to make just one more post, to be clear about why things went so wrong in this part of the country for Megan and myself. I used to think that stereotypes about the South were just that: stereotypes, with no real validity to them. But all the worst things that I’ve heard about people down here have turned out to be true, to one extent or another. It’s not every single person living here, but it is the majority. Electoral results, as in which states went for Obama and which ones didn’t, should have given me an indication of what people down here are like, what they believe, and what is important to them. I’ll run through the list, in brief; people down here are pro-war, pro-gun, pro-life, pro-religion, discriminatory against homosexuals and Jews, and unfailingly, consistently, stubbornly racist. Everything that I hate, and the direct opposite of all of my viewpoints. The husband of one of Megan’s coworkers (a man that I had a problem with in the past), said that he was afraid of going North, even for a visit. When asked why, he said it was because the people up there would “know he was country.” I guess that’s one way of putting it. But they wouldn’t have known it by his Southern accent. They would have identified him more easily by the fact that he’d probably be down on a subway platform swinging a Confederate flag over his head and ranting about darkies. People down here are stuck two hundred years in the past. And as long as they keep instilling the same values in their children, the cycle will continue, the stereotypes will keep perpetuating themselves, and the atmosphere of casual intolerance and hate will flourish and thrive.

What’s been so amazing to me, though, isn’t even how these people are, but rather, how proud they seem to be of themselves for it. It’s akin, to me, of how an anti-evolutionist will blindly believe in creationism, without any real proof other than the Bible and their preachers telling them so. Empirical evidence of things isn’t a deterrent to these people. They believe their ways are just and true, and it doesn’t matter what anyone does or says, their minds will never be changed. It’s disappointing, to meet these people in the flesh, decked out in their Nascar gear, necks burned by the sun, weighed down by cellulite, self righteous, arrogant, stubborn. They are as God made them, and they’ll stay that way till they die, when, as their bumper stickers tell us, we can finally pry their guns from their cold, dead hands. But since nothing I could ever say will change the attitude of an entire region, there isn’t anything I can do but leave, and I will do so, gladly. I will never look back. It’s been like living in a museum of what our country was like before the only sane people decided to make the changes that common sense and logic dictated had to be made. Obama spoke in his presidential run about a country divided against itself, about a kind of European-American body of people living here (the left-wingers), tolerant, liberal, who were constantly at odds against a much more fanatic (right wing) faction, who embody the qualities previously mentioned and who have confined themselves to certain areas of the country where they can live amongst the like-minded. Well, I know where those areas of the county are now, and you’ll never see me coming back. If all of these people want to secede from the Union, let them, and good riddance, I say. They’re a blot on the face of an otherwise advancing society, spurred on by their standard bearers, Trent Lott, Rush Limbaugh, Dick Cheney, and Sean Hannity.

I’m not saying people up North are perfect, and I’m not saying that everyone in New York is going to be of like mind with myself. There are going to be those that hold with the Southern ideology. But part of the reason that I like New York so much and want to move back there is because there are so many different kinds of people with so many different viewpoints, all living together, all squeezed into the same space. Living there, you are subjected to other ways of life and other ways of being, because they’re all around you, and they’re inescapable. You’ll hear two dozen different languages being spoken sometimes, in the same subway car. That’s what I want. The whole world, and all of its myriad different citizenry, crammed in together, learning from and about each other, whether we want to or not. I, personally, want to. It’s why I’m moving. And all those for whom being in the company of those different from them is the ultimate nightmare, something to be feared above all else, I’m leaving them behind, for good. There might be some who live in the South, in Alabama, in Mississippi, in Georgia or the Carolinas, who feel that I’m being unfair. They are the exceptions to the rule, though, because most of the people I’m talking about can barely read, so I’m not likely to offend many of them with this article, and if they feel that strongly about it, they can feel free to make a comment, as this is an open forum…or come see me in New York if they want to debate the matter in person. You can’t say that I’m just making up these summations about the region and its people, though, because I’ve lived here, and I’ve seen them, in the flesh. I’ve spoken to them. I’ve walked amongst them. My experience now has been firsthand, and I always, always, call them like I see them.

It’s no secret that Disney’s Pixar studios has dominated the animated children’s movie market for the past few years, and with good reason. Their movies, while increasingly more eye-popping (in this case literally, as Up is being screened in 3-D), typically meet with resounding critical acclaim. They’re creative, original, and find ample time for warmth and life lessons along the way. This is no exception.

Up is the story of Carl Fredrickson, an elderly man who resists his home being sold out from under him so as to make way for urban development; Carl is the last holdout. In the nearly wordless montage that opens the movie, we see his life with his beloved spouse, who had early dreams of following their mutual childhood hero to “Paradise Falls, a land lost in time,” that is ostensibly somewhere in South America. Carl is a balloon salesman at a zoo, his wife a zookeeper. In the montage, we also learn that his wife is unable to have children, so she grows old and eventually passes away without them, while her dream of Paradise Falls also goes by the wayside. The time of her death coinciding with the shadowy real-estate developers threatening to take Carl’s house, he decides to fulfill what he perceives to have been his beloved’s unfulfilled ambition, by attaching a multitude of helium balloons to the house so that it floats away, and he uses it as a kind of airship, navigating it to South America and Paradise Falls, where he proposes to live. An unexpected stowaway, a young “Wilderness Explorer,” (think Cub Scout) with a troubled home life, eventually revealed as the plot moves along, comes with him to provide counterpoint to his crotchety mutterings.

From then on, the movie could have succumbed to cliches, and I was pleasantly surprised when it didn’t. Movies of this sort are often formulaic, but part of the seldom failing magic of Pixar is that it’s often able to find ways around those conventions that not only make for surprising character development, but also for the touching moments that Disney so often banks on. An unlikely villain emerges to challenge the quartet of heroes; along with Carl and his young sidekick, their group has swelled to include a gargantuan tropical bird, and a dog that talks by vent of a collar that translates his thoughts into speech, providing most of the laughs for the second half of the film. Along with the manic chases, escapes, and high energy battle scenes that lead us toward the conclusion, we have time to stop for the sentimental moments that are the real backbone of this story, and are rendered with earnest simplicity, through musical refrain and Carl’s plaintive animated expressions. Pixar’s artistic team gets better with every film, and some of these cartoons could give living actors and actresses lessons in believability.

All in all, this is an impressive outing. Disney has grown by leaps and bounds in the past couple of decades, and when they’re not bombarding us with Hannah Montanas and the Jonas brothers, they’re still capable of making a children’s film that also provides plenty of laughs for the parents. That ability to bridge the age gap with subtle humor evenly measured against slapstick sight gags, plus a liberal dose of sentimentality, sobering moments, and sparkling, colorful visuals are what should and do make a successful “children’s” movie. My rating: 6/10

Well, it’s certainly been an eventful few weeks. Congratulations again to my sister Ann, the new Dr. Finkelstein, and to Jackie Blizman, now Jackie Damp. Nothing like a graduation and a wedding to make one mindful of the ongoing passage of time. There’s nothing that dramatic happening in my life right now, unless you count the New York move in seventeen days, coupled with the search for a new job. That’s more than enough to keep me busy, and while I’m anxious to get situated in the Big Apple again, I’m also glad of the time to prepare myself. I think I’m ready this time. Back in ‘06, when I first lived in New York, I didn’t have the website up and running yet, and it’s just as well, because my posts would have been unbearably dreary. I was having a tough time, and I was in an unhealthy mindset. This time, things will be different. Megan is moving with me, and the cats, and I’m confident that’s all the support network I’ll need. I’ll be close to my Dad’s side of the family again, and also, through the magic of Facebook, I’ve become aware of friends of mine in the area. It’s interesting, there’s people I know in N.Y. from several different eras of my life. I’m not sure how much I have in common with some of them anymore, but I’m eager to find out, and to renew old relationships in a new context.

Megan and I have signed a lease in Borough Park, an area of Brooklyn that I didn’t know a whole lot about prior to visiting it this past week. For those of you who don’t know, Borough Park is one of the biggest communities of Orthodox Jews in the world, approximately eighty percent, and most of the rest of the population is Asian. Not to put too much stock in stereotypes, but that sounds like a safe, quiet combination, and that’s what we were looking for. It’s about half an hour to Manhattan by train, off the beaten track a bit, but still plenty close to the action. I think it’s going to work out well. The apartment is nothing special, but perfectly serviceable, for New York, and it’s a starter apartment. As I mentioned in a previous blog, the first apartment (and job) doesn’t need to be ideal. Right now, it’s all about getting our feet in the door. The pursuit of loftier aspirations will follow. This is just the beginning.

Indeed, it does seem like a time for rejuvenation, and I am tremendously excited. Megan and I were talking about when it’s going to all sink in. Will it be when we pack up our things into the U-Haul and make the drive, or will it be the first time I’m on the train, going to my new job, no longer a tourist, but a resident again? Will it be in six months, pressed up with the throng in Time’s Square when the ball drops on a new decade? I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out. I asked Megan if she ever thought she’d actually move to New York, and she said she didn’t think she would. I had already told her I knew I’d be coming back. I looked at it as inevitable. This had to happen. All the possibilities are there, for both of us. And I am gratified for the opportunity to pursue them.

This month, in addition to my story being featured in the Patchwork Path anthology, and the two stories of mine in the Perceptions publication, I’ve also learned that my story “While Peter’s Away” will be published by Oysters and Chocolate, the online erotica mag. The story will go live this Monday, the 15th. This is the second time my work has appeared there. This is also the second time that this particular story has been published; the first was by Bareback, last year, though since I wasn’t paid for its use on that occasion, I retained ownership of it. You can check it out at www.oystersandchocolate.com, once again, if you are not bothered by graphic sexual content.

Well, that’s it for now. I’ll be posting again with move related updates, as we draw closer to the date. It’s been a somewhat turbulent first half of ‘09, and I wonder what the second half has in store. I find it fortuitous, possibly, that the move will come about at precisely the halfway point of the year. How much bigger and better will the second half be, at least as it relates to my writing? Moving to New York can’t possibly hurt my chances of future publication, and I will be redoubling my efforts. The third novel is well underway, and I also wanted to mention again that I look to put out my new collection of short stories, The Great Divide, this coming winter. Stay tuned for that. Any advice or suggestions on cheap things to do in N.Y. are much appreciated, and I hope everyone is enjoying the summer. Cheers.

Well, I’d been waiting close to twenty years for Sam Raimi’s return to horror, and a couple of days ago, I got my wish. I saw the long awaited Drag Me To Hell, at the Times Square Regal, no less, with my girlfriend. Tickets were twenty-five bucks for a pair, so I was damn sure hoping the movie wasn’t going to disappoint. It didn’t, at least not on my end. My girlfriend thought it sucked. She called it “gross-out horror,” and she’s right. That’s what it was, but you know what? That’s Sam Raimi’s style, and if you like his landmark Dead trilogy, you’re going to like this. Because that’s what Drag Me To Hell is, a return to Raimi’s roots, this time with the better special effects that millions of dollars and twenty years of visual improvements can conjure up. Gross it certainly was, and scary, too, all without needing an R rating. PG-13 was more than enough to have me literally sweating, jumping, and involuntarily clenching my muscles, all signs of a successful venture into the genre. Because good horror, horror done right, should be a little difficult for you to watch, and this definitely was, at certain points. Slime, blood, and goop, things going into and out of people’s mouths (classic Sam Raimi, remember the eyeball to the mouth in Evil Dead 2?), carefully crafted set pieces and attention to detail, and above all, the sense that the protagonist is more than likely not going to come out the winner in this one, because that’s just how Sam Raimi rolls…it’s all there.

The premise is simple enough. Alison Lohman is a bank employee in L.A. who is looking for a promotion, and is forced by her boss into making more difficult decisions. She makes the wrong one when an old gypsy woman begs her to extend the loan on her house. She refuses, and is subsequently cursed, but not before a fantastically nasty brawl with the gypsy in the bank’s parking garage. The curse the old woman bestows upon her involves a particularly feared goat-like demon beastie, which will torment its target for three days before dragging them down into the depths of Hades, hence the film’s title. From then on, most of the traditional elements are in play, Justin Long, capably playing the concerned but sceptical boyfriend, the disastrous first meeting with his parents, seeking out a psychic for advice, and the inevitable seance to try to appease the beast. It must all come down to a climactic showdown between Lohman and the old woman, with her very soul on the line. It’s a fairly tried and true formula, but what makes this romp so successful is how expertly Raimi does it, and how much he obviously enjoys making us cringe. Sure, it’s campy, at points, but it’s scary, too, and this is one director whose craft has improved with age. The way the shots are set up, the use of sound, and the fact that he’s willing to push the envelope as far as it will possibly go, that’s what makes all of it come together. Don’t go to a movie like this expecting fine art, or even the brooding menace of a classic like The Shining, or the psychological freak show of Psycho. That’s not Raimi’s bag, baby. He’s a member of an elite group of which Peter Jackson was also a member, before he went big time: the gross-out horror specialist, looking to make his audience laugh, gag, and quiver at the same time. This movie makes you do all three, whether you want to or not, and marks the return of Raimi to the top of his game. Let’s just hope that he will return to the Spiderman franchise rejuvenated. My rating: 8/10

Also, I signed the lease on the new place in New York, and I’ll be posting a more extensive blog about that soon, so stay tuned.

I’ve just received notice that I’ll be having another piece of erotica published by the online site Oysters and Chocolate. This is the second time they’ve accepted my work, as I had a story featured there earlier this month. This is another paying piece of work, also, my fourth one this year, and while I’m not making loads of cash on any of them yet, still nice to see them piling up, and my publishing credits ever increasing. I’m not sure exactly when this latest story will be up on the O and C website, but when it does, I’ll mention it here.

This Thursday I’ll be driving to New York with Megan to look at apartments in Brooklyn, and to job hunt. Our lease here in Myrtle Beach is up on June 30th, so the countdown is well and truly on. I’ll try to post regularly, to let everyone know how things are progressing. Cheers, all.