The one bad thing about our San Felipe mobile home is the shitty wifi, which is roughly the speed of 56K dial-up (or the way things were 20-plus years ago). I can’t really file anything this way. It takes three to five minutes for a page to load. Option #1: walk into town (1/4 mile north) in search of a better signal. Option #2: To hell with it, go swimming or sailing, read Oliver Stone’s “Chasing The Light”, etc.

We’re renting a little mobile home that’s right on the beach and 20 feet from the lapping waves. Not that many people are here but that’s cool. The heat and air temps are “Lawrence of Arabia”-plus. The Gulf of Baja is warm as a heated pool…warmer. Overall a much nicer vibe and a lot cheaper than the Hotel del Coronado.

Showbiz deaths almost always happen in groups of three so get ready…well, not necessarily but we all know the pattern. Hugs and condolences to family, friends, fans.

Nick Santora and Keifer Sutherland‘s The Fugitive might be good (who knows?), but I have to watch it in Quibi-sized bits?

I’m literally starved for some kind of adult-level longform that I could actually get into, but everything out there is thriller-ific, fantastical, horror-fied or supernatural-ed.

I’m thinking of re-watching Mindhunter, Season 2. That has the stuff that I’m looking for…that I need want, cherish.

Prior to Anthem. Entire Orioles team. Some Red Sox. pic.twitter.com/6XtKnvhWv7

— Rob Bradford (@bradfo) July 24, 2020

It was impossible to survey the flotsam & jetsam frolicking and lounging around the historic, all-wooden, once-transporting Hotel del Coronado yesterday and say to myself, “Life in these United States is just as layered and fascinating and distinctive — socially, fashionably, politically — as it was 100 years ago.”

We stayed last night in San Diego’s Holiday Inn Express, which is aesthetically acceptable and atmospherically fine except — except! — for the young drunks next door who were quacking like ducks and bellowing like sea lions way past bedtime hour. We called the desk three or four times, and I guess the last warning conveyed by security (“If you don’t shut up we’re going to evict your ass”) finally got through. But what an ordeal.

The same kind of bloated manatees I was observing at the Hotel Del Coronado were, like us, staying in less pricey digs back in the city. I couldn’t bring myself to part with $300 or $350 plus tax for a HDC room…I just couldn’t.

I grew up and came of age amongst proper (okay, mostly proper) citizens of Rome for the most part. But ill-mannered, crudely spoken, Jabba-sized, poorly dressed barbarians have since stormed the gates, and this, as that ancient Pelican Walter Cronkite used to say, is “how it is” these days.

I criticize no one individual. I simply report and speak the anthropological truth.

From Maureen Dowd‘s “AOC and the Jurassic Jerks” (7.25):

After decades of putting it off or not caring or whatever, Hollywood Elsewhere finally visited San Diego’s Hotel del Coronado today. Which for me has always been the “Seminole Ritz” of Some Like It Hot fame. My first time, yes, but I felt as if I knew the place like the back of my hand.

Tatiana and I stood on the exact same spot where Tony Curtis‘s “Joe” (masquerading as a Shell Oil heir called “Junior”) and Marilyn Monroe‘s “Sugar Kane” (pretending to be a rich girl whose family has threatened to cut her off, wink wink) first flirted. The hotel, built in 1888, has been modernized quite a bit since Billy Wilder‘s classic shot here in the summer of 1958, but…let’s just say that the 19th Century mystique hasn’t been totally eradicated.

What disturbed me (as usual) were the low-rent, low-tide tourist visitors. The creme de la creme of 20th Century society used to stay here — U.S. presidents, movie stars, industrialists — and now the place is crawling with…I don’t want to use the same old epithets. What I am I supposed to do? Applaud the fact that not one visitor today even began to resemble Osgood Fielding III, Spats Colombo, Sweet Sue or “Beanstalk”?

Posted on 12.29.19 after visiting San Francisco’s Top of the Mark: “A time-traveling anthropologist comparing the differences between 20th and 21st Century clientele would be struggling for the right politely descriptive phrases while conveying an honest assessment, as I am now. The truth is that over the last 60 or 70 years certain aspects of American culture have not only gone downhill but sunk into the swamp. We’re talking about the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire here.”

I think I shall never despise a driving-aid app as much as I do Waze. Waze’s driving instructions are competent as far as they go, but I hate how the vocal Waze friendo never tells you what street or boulevard you’re turning on to — he/she just says “in one tenth of a mile, turn right.”

Most of us like to drive with the whole equation in our heads — heading south, approaching this or that major intersection or turn-off, X number of miles until the final destination, etc. WAZE ignores all that, treats you like an idiot. “You may think you want to know street names and mileage estimates and stuff like that, but you don’t need to,” the software says. “Just follow our cretin-level directions and we’ll get you where you want to go.”

Today Waze made a colossal mistake that I’ll never forgive it for. We were driving south on interstate 5, 15 minutes north of San Diego and just south of Torrey Pines. Our hotel (a Holiday Inn Express on Ash between Sixth and Seventh) is right smack in the middle of downtown, and there was only one way to get there — stay on the 5, which goes right through to central San Diego.

Did Waze tell me to stay on the 5? Of course not. It told me to take the 805 south (a loop highway for people looking to bypass the city), and then go south on the 163, which very gradually led me to the right address. But what an asinine suggestion. The best route between two points is the most direct, and not the most roundabout.

HE to Waze: I loathe your simpleton voice directions. As far as I’m concerned you’re equally confusing as helpful, and from time to time (like today) a hindrance to sensible driving. I’m a Google Maps guy all the way. I don’t want to hear your name again…ever.

Variety‘s Manori Ravindran has posted an exclusive about Tenet possibly opening theatrically in Europe in late August. If I were flush I would fly to Madrid or Paris or Berlin to see it, but aren’t Americans barred from European travel?

Ravindran: “Warner Bros. is reaching out to international exhibitors about a possible late August launch for Christopher Nolan’s Tenet. If it takes place, it would mean that the twisty spy thriller, which was expected to be among the highest-grossing summer releases, will have some sort of popcorn season debut.

“Exhibitors in the U.K., France and Spain have been told by the studio to plan for an Aug. 26-28 launch. The dates are not confirmed, though sources indicate that talks are positive. It’s understood the studio is also aiming to release the film early in Asia, with exhibitors in the region expecting to receive a new date in the next few days.

“It’s worth noting, however, that given the fast-changing nature of the global health crisis, these plans could change if the situation worsens and more hotspots emerge.”

I felt happy and soothed last night as I began reading Oliver Stone‘s “Chasing The Light.” It’s basically a series of hopscotching biographical sagas, partly about his family but mostly about the glory years and the making of his major early-stage films (the best of them being Platoon) and written with his usual applications of passion and brio and naked honesty.

The Joe Rogan interview clips are choice appetizers. It’s really too bad that Stone never made his Martin Luther King biopic, which would have partly dealt with motels, white women and sex — a focus that all but guaranteed it wouldn’t be made. It was also too bad that Pinkville, Stone’s My Lai massacre project, never went before the cameras.

Tatiana and I are driving to Mexico this morning so I’ll be off the radar until mid afternoon and possibly not until dinner hour.

We all understand that Best Picture Oscar winners have always been chosen for primarily political reasons. Quality-focused judgments have always been secondary. So it will be when it comes to singling out 2020/21 Best Picture contenders. The big distinctive hurdle, as we’ve seen during three of the last four years, is that the winner will probably have to pass a “woke” test.

Over the last five years (’15 through ’19) only Spotlight (’15) and Green Book were pure quality-level or emotional bull’s-eye wins. Yes, wokester fanatics — Green Book was beloved for the emotional current of the last 20 or so minutes. And if you don’t like hearing that, tough.

Moonlight (2016, awarded in early ’17) is a good film, but it won Best Picture so the Academy members could proclaim they weren’t in the grip of #OscarsSoWhite. Don’t argue — just ask Spike Lee.

Guillermo del Toro‘s The Shape of Water…I don’t know know why it wasn’t beaten by the obviously superior Dunkirk or Call Me By Your Name in early ’18 as the script was clearly a curious, genre-level, sexy-beast wokey thing (a direct descendant of Creature From The Black Lagoon). Whatever the reason, Shape didn’t win because of any pure-quality consensus. Perhaps it prevailed by sheer force of personality (i.e., Sally Hawkins + GDT)?

Parasite obviously won because a sufficient number of voters agreed with the blunt-social-assessment aspect (life is unfair for the poor) plus the wokesters loved the idea of choosing a well-made film by a filmmaker of color, and one that didn’t fit the usual definition of a Best Picture winner. Plus Bong Joon-ho worked the town like a locomotive. The first half of Parasite is very good (it goes off the rails when they let the fired maid in during the rainstorm) but it won because of identity (i.e., non-white) politics. Don’t lie, don’t argue — that’s why.

So which of the ’20 and ’21 Best Picture contenders will be “allowed” to win the Best Picture Oscar? The winner might have to be a film that reflects the complex contrarian currents of our time and/or some kind of black-white cultural schism thing. Or it might win because it’s simply good. As far as I can project that means the finalists will be…ah, hell, you tell me. I haven’t seen squat, and I can’t foresee what conditions will be seven months hence.

The only films that seem to be distinctive enough are David Fincher‘s Mank (brilliant script but “too white guy”?), Chloe Zhao‘s Nomadland (Searchlight), Ron Howard‘s Hillbilly Elegy (Netflix) and Steven Spielberg‘s West Side Story (Disney).

I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s mid July and nobody has a clue. The Oscar season of 2020 and early ’21 is looking strange as we speak. A strange chapter for everyone everywhere. A feeling of apartness, alienation, despair. Nothing to depend on.