People are keeping me busy. Anyhow, I’m mostly here through 6/28.

And I’m posting regularly about it here.

 
Advantage: Rockford

Thanks to BKS for forwarding me this story on the end of a sartorial era at New York’s famed 21, which I guess will soon be allowing men to turn up in the pajamas Jimmy Stewart wore as he managed to make Grace Kelly feel stupid for being so wonderful to him in Rear Window.

Some choice quotes:

“It is the final victory of Los Angeles,” Tim Zagat said….

….“Etiquette is on a downward spiral, and politeness is disappearing,” said Michael O’Keeffe, the dapper owner and proprietor of the River Café, who said that jacket and tie have been his unvarying uniform since his days at Fordham Preparatory School. “I will miss the tie policy at ‘21.’ It held up an example of what etiquette could be.”….

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After the new tie policy was announced, one blog, Lost City…asked: “Couldn’t we get the old-school La Grenouille to uphold the old ways and begin requiring ties again?”

Not likely, said Charles Masson, general manager of the 47-year-old restaurant that abandoned its tie-only policy in 2003 (but not its jacket requirement). “There used to be a time when men wore white wigs, too,” he said.

Maybe partially because I’m an L.A. native whose only observed a world where men were expected to wear neckties pretty much everywhere, except the beach and the park, via the glamor of the movies, I’ve never been all that hostile to ties. In fact, I actually kind of like wearing ties at times — but  wearing them at places where the only neckwear is on waiters makes me feel like I’m either wearing a costume, or working. It’s similar to the reason I can’t seem to find a hat, other than a baseball cap, I’m comfortable wearing…and I definitely have the kind of head that wants a hat.

Still, I guess I should be happy for my hometown’s victory. On the other hand, whenever something is gained, something is lost.

On the other hand, I’m not sure if it really makes much difference or if politeness and elegance ever truly reigned….

This  Times-Picayune sounds the alarm, but I was glad to hear via NPR just now that the evacuations appear to be going smoothly. I hope, of course, that they turn out to be unnecessary and that the whole area is safe. I haven’t been back to New Orleans since just a few months before Katrina, but it’s a special place to me with great people (they actually talk to you!).

I’m not a religious person, but the clip below with Alan Toussaint seems like a kind of prayer appropriate to the occasion.

Update:  It’s not over, we are warned, but the news for New Orleans, at least, appears to be mostly good for the time being. It’s a relief for more than one reason.

I’ve already waited too long because I didn’t want to hurt you, but I’ve been posting at another film-related blog. Every Thursday night/Friday morning and every Sunday evening. It’s not like what we have — just about all the new movies — but a blogger has needs

I just thought you needed to know.

FtY was absent for a few hours last night and I think this morning.

We were changing hosting services — it’s possible some of you might have noticed back in September in particular we were frequently unavailable and that wasn’t nice. Anyhow, our erstwhile computer genius BKS has switched us over and everything now looks great. So, please resume your days as usual in the knowledge that this site will always be here for all of your Forward to Yesterday needs.

I’ve got a post up over at The House Next Door discussing Lenny, the first non-musical directed by Bob Fosse — think of it as a very late addition to the Fossethon some time back.

I can be so serious sometimes.

Hope everyone reading has a great holiday. Eat some good food, see a good movie, read something special, be with people you like.

And not much blogging either for just a bit. In the meantime, if anyone can tell me where this amazing clip comes from, I’d be grateful.

The world changes whether we’re paying attention or not.

The other night I found myself at Astro Burger, an eaterie that few ever intend to go to, but many often end up at. It’s better than typical fast food but not, you know, Pink’s or Tommy’s or whatever palace of junk food you care to mention. It was about 9:30 and some guys in their early twenties were talking just loudly enough that I couldn’t quite ignore them. But they weren’t “guys” really. A few years ago they would have been “dudes,” I would know that because that’s how they would have addressed each other, as in: “Dude, please the ketchup” or “Get up, dude, I have to go to the bathroom.”

But they weren’t “dudes” at all, they had become an entirely new (to me) beast: bros.

I couldn’t quite make out their conversation except that I’m pretty sure females played a major role in it. I nevertheless could catch random words like s “Bro, she’s….” and “Bro, that was totally…..” After a while all I heard was “bro…bro….bro…bro” and the F word. Which is really all the words these guys, pardon me, bros seemed to need.

And then it occurred to me, “bro” was the new “dude.” I had noticed the term more recently, but I had always assumed a “bro” was a fellow male you were actually close friends with, as in “as close as brothers. ” Though “dude” could be a term of masculine endearment, as “guy” had been during the eighties, in most usages any male (and increasingly any female) could be addressed as “dude.” Not just anyone, I thought, could be addressed as “bro” (or the older Hawaiian-derived varient, “bra”).

The word nevertheless had been seeping its way into my consciousness. After seeing Superbad recently with a very good male friend — a “bro,” if you will — he referred to that movie as a “bromance,” admittedly borrowing the phrase from some review or other he’d read. A little research reveals, however, that that term has been around in skater and presumably surfer culture for a reasonably long time, or so the Urban Dictionary tells me. (It also tells me that they let of literal minded pranksters in homosexual panic mood contribute. They also have some amusing definitions of “bro.”)

Then, the true meaning of “Don’t tase me, bro!” sunk in. A bro was not a close male friend, it was a security guard of either gender violently subduing you to stop you from making a politician uncomfortable.

All men (and I guess women) are now brothers. “Bro” is the new “dude.” It’s the annoying Carson Daley non-hug hug, that weird hip-hop macho variation on the female air-kiss of words. I hope this one doesn’t take a whole decade to recede, but I’m not betting on it.