Classifieds
Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com
ACROSS
1 Memo phrase
5 Music-playing
Apple
9 Improvises
musically
14 Primary
15 “__ Lisa”
16 Many a jukebox
tune
17 Type of film
industry contract
19 Capital south of
Moscow
20 Former justice
Antonin
21 Musician’s suffix
23 Make (one’s way)
24 M&M’s choice
27 Solidify
28 “High Voltage”
band
29 Starting on
33 Soft shot
35 Mothers of
Invention leader
39 Academic
ultimatum
43 Early computer
44 Quite small
45 Gear on slopes
46 Coral formation
49 Cavity filler’s org.
51 Shopper’s
decision
58 Smelting waste
59 Neighbor of Turk.
60 Poke fun at
62 Dutch city, with
“The”
64 Portmanteau
word describing
some great music
... or, initially, four
answers in this
puzzle
66 Modify
67 Not yours, in
Tours
68 Singer k.d.
69 Superlatively bad
70 Short period of
time, for short
71 Long period of
time
DOWN
1 They’re hard to
sit for
2 Rights org. since
1909
3 Saudi currency
4 Name on a 1945
bomber
5 Populates, as a
grand jury
6 D.C. insider
7 Studio sign
8 Place for some
serious me-time
9 Break down
10 High-occupancy
vehicles?
11 “Farewell, ma
chère”
12 Naysayer’s
contraction
13 Future flowers
18 Social reformer
Jacob
22 Noir sleuth
25 Texter’s
“however”
26 Cooper’s tool
29 Lummox
30 Source of
awakening rays
31 Back-tied sash
32 Distress signal
devices
34 Fiddler’s need
36 Dental suffix with
Water
37 Pressure meas.
38 Sounds of relief
40 Cupcake finisher
41 Twitter handle
word for a celeb,
perhaps
42 Overly focused
on minor rules
47 Lip balm brand
derived from
“evolution of
smooth”
48 Skillet
50 On a cruise
51 Dismissive
word
52 Mission on a
commemorative
1936 stamp
53 Beeper
54 Providers of
senior moments?
55 Inventor Nikola
56 “Hi! I’m ... ”
badge
57 Patsy of country
61 Heart tests,
briefly
63 Del. summer hrs.
65 “The Fall of the
House of Usher”
author
By Ed Sessa
©2017 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
02/01/17
02/01/17
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
RELEASE DATE– Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
xwordeditor@aol.com
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FOR RENT
Sundance Film Festival:
Short films in summary
SUNDANCE
A quality short film can
be just as impactful as a full-
length counterpart. In many
ways, it combines the best
qualities of a 90 minute movie,
but in under 15. With smaller
budgets and time constraints,
directors must get creative with
their storytelling methods. The
2016 Sundance Short Films,
sponsored by YouTube Red, all
pack a sizeable punch equal to a
full length movie.
This series features eight of
the best short films from the
2016 Sundance Film Festival,
ranging
from
stop-motion
animation
to
live-action
documentary.
“Affections,” the first of
the series, tells the story of
a woman in an unfulfilling
relationship
searching
for
a
better
romantic
partner.
Her search, though, ends up
taking
an
unconventional
route. Mesmerized by a local
homeless man, she offers him a
ride one day. Leading to a brief
fling that ends romantically
on a rocky beach. The actor
playing the homeless man is far
too handsome and put together
to be believable, but this almost
makes it more entertaining.
Following this hopeful and
charming short is “Jungle,”
a
story
about
Senegalese
street vendors in Manhattan.
“Jungle” has enough potential
to be extended out 80 more
minutes
because
its
story
feels so original. It shows the
competition
between
street
vendors and the hardships they
face, especially when taken
advantage of by their “bosses.”
“Edmond Eats Everything”
is a stop-motion animated short
and one of the most original
looking films I have ever seen.
The dialogue-less story focuses
on a man and his destructive
habit of eating unlikely things,
like
friends
and
fetuses.
Although challenging, it ends
in an unusually beautiful way.
“Bacon and God’s Wrath” is
a short-documentary about a
Jewish woman who, after 90
years, disobeys her religion and
eats bacon. It’s a fun look into
the cause of apostasy and its
inconsequential effects on the
woman. Still, it feels a bit slow
and unrewarding.
Like “Affections,” the trough
of a relationship is the theme
in “Her Friend Adam.” The
short highlights insecurity and
jealousy extremely realistically.
It’s like a more serious version
of the “you vs. the guy she says
not to worry about” meme.
Then, “The Grandfather Drum”
takes a drastically different
pace. This visually captivating
short is animated like a picture
book, telling the story of a
Native American family and a
drum that heals sickness.
“The
Procedure”
is
the
funniest and most obtuse short
in the series. Within the first
seconds, a man is tranquilized
while getting into his car. When
he wakes up, he is locked to a
chair with his eyes forced open
“A Clockwork Orange”-style.
When he screams, a neon sign
reading “Quiet Please” lights
up, accompanied by a loud
horn. From the ceiling drops
a butt until it hangs inches
away from the man’s face and
releases a fart. The man then
escapes. Under four minutes,
“The Procedure” is terrifying;
nobody wants to have a literal
ass fart inches above their nose.
Everyone can feel his pain.
The
series
ends
with
“Thunder Road,” a long-take
of a man giving a eulogy at
his
mother’s
funeral.
Jim
Cummings (“The Lion King”)
gives the most heart-warming
performance in the series. It
combines dark humor with his
ability to portray a man clearly
torn apart by his mother’s
death. At the end, he sings and
dances to Bruce Springsteen’s
“Thunder
Road,”
resulting
in
embarrassment
and
his
daughter’s shame.
All
of
the
shorts
show
desperation
and
isolation
better than most full-length
movies. Decreasing attention
spans
are
leading
to
a
possibility for short films to
become more popular. And,
if they are anything like the
best of 2016’s Sundance Film
Festival, this is a promising,
hopeful prediction.
WILL STEWART
Daily Arts Writer
FILM REVIEW
‘Respect’ and the complex
politics of song ownership
MUSIC NOTEBOOK
Last weekend, I road tripped
to the Women’s March in
Washington, D.C. with three
other girls. It’s about a nine-
hour drive, which gave us all
plenty of room to expose each
other to our respective music
tastes, and somewhere along
the line, we decided that it
wouldn’t be a trip to a Women’s
March without an appropriate
amount of empowering feminist
music. Naturally, we turned to
Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.”
As soon as the beginning notes
sounded through the speakers,
we turned up the volume,
already lifting our arms to start
dancing in our seats.
I didn’t know it then, but I
would go on to talk about that
same song in one of my classes
the next week. Apparently,
“Respect”
was
originally
written in 1965 by Otis Redding.
The original lyrics surprised
me: The man of this version of
“Respect” is telling a woman
he’s “about to give [her] all
[his] money,” and pleading for
her to give him “respect when
[he comes] home.” For me,
this was a sharp contrast with
Franklin’s version from 1967, in
which she assumes the power
in the relationship and calls
for a man to give her “propers
when [he gets] home.”
Each song comes from the
perspective of someone who
wants respect, but Franklin’s
version seems to have a more
demanding message, and it was
this version that was seized
upon, across the country and
around the world, as an anthem
for respect. I already knew of its
association with the feminist
movement,
but
“Respect”
also came to represent the
struggles of the Civil Rights
movement
and
of
soldiers
fighting overseas in Vietnam.
It was widely popular and soon
became Franklin’s signature
song. At the Monterey Pop
Festival in 1967, Redding was
quoted referring to “Respect”
as a song “that a girl took away
from me.”
This got me thinking about
the extent to which a song can
be owned. I don’t mean in a
business-related or monetary
sense, but rather in terms of
its association with a person.
Redding wrote the song and
was the first to record it, but
ever since Franklin released
her version, the song has been
regarded for the most part as
hers. But here’s the thing: In a
way, the song has even gotten
away from Aretha Franklin. In
response to the song’s success,
she has said that she didn’t
initially mean for it to represent
any of the movements with
which it came to be associated.
She was just singing about
something that mattered to her:
Respect.
Sometimes, of course, the
link between an artist and
a song that they release –
that they “own,” in the eyes
of the public — can turn out
less favorably. It can become
so strong, so singular, that
the artist is dubbed a one-hit
wonder and stuck with the
song indefinitely. Lou Reed
once made a joke about his
own obituary starting out
with the beginning notes of
“Walk on the Wild Side,” and
in the days before he met with
more
commercial
success,
Beck would sometimes refuse
to play his hit “Loser” during
live shows, or else change the
words so that nobody could
sing along. The artist’s tie
to a song can also take the
road that it did with Redding
and be replaced, in the eyes
of history, by another link
between the same song and
a different artist. “Hound
Dog,”
for
instance,
was
originally recorded by Big
Mama Thornton but I didn’t
even know this until last fall,
because all over the world it is
associated with Elvis Presley.
It is also this link that gives
songs their identity, for better
or for worse. For all the artist’s
effort, at the end of the day,
the appreciation of that song
does not begin and end with its
artist. I have grown attached
to so many new songs just by
hearing them on the radio
and feeling, regardless of who
wrote them or of why they
were written, like I connected
with what they were saying.
I feel like – crowds of people
will sing along with Hozier’s
“Take Me to Church,” or Frank
Ocean’s “Bad Religion,” even
when they don’t identify with
the intended meaning of the
song — and that’s okay. They
wouldn’t sing along if there
weren’t something there that
they were connecting with,
whether this connection was
the kind the artist was hoping
for or not.
I believe that this feeling of
connection within Franklin’s
version of “Respect” is what
people from so many different
movements
caught
onto.
Driving
on
some
highway
through
Pennsylvania
last
weekend, most of us in the car
didn’t know that the song had
in fact been done by Redding
first. I listened to Redding’s
version, and it’s good, really
good, and I credit him for it
— Franklin wouldn’t have her
own version without it — but
it’s a different song. Right then,
on the road, we were listening
to Aretha Franklin, we heard
what she was saying, and we
were responding to it, assuming
the demand for respect in our
own identities. And even if
that wasn’t what Franklin — or
Redding — intended, I thank
them for it anyway.
LAURA DZUBAY
Daily Arts Writer
In memory of my favorite
t-shirt: A six-year story
For awhile, I thought that clothes
were just clothes. While I always
felt it was important to make an
effort to dress well, I never thought
about the emotional associations
that clothes have. That was until
I found myself having to decide
whether or not to throw away a
shirt that had deteriorated after six
years of frequent use. Ultimately, I
decided that while I may never wear
it again, I simply could not give it
away because of the memories that
it holds. So here’s to you, my six-
year-old t-shirt.
I remember the first day we met:
I was in need of better-fitting shirts
that didn’t boast a Nike or Adidas
logo. I went to the mall, and I found
you — it felt like a match made in
heaven. You fit me like a glove and
you were on sale, so I knew we were
destined for great things.
For the first few months of our
love affair, we were inseparable —
I’d wear you once or twice a week,
make sure you got cleaned and we’d
do it all over again the next week.
You were there for me during the
best and the worst of that school
year — my hardest exams, holiday
gatherings with family and even
when dad was admitted to the ICU.
Then in July 2011, something that
I had tried my best to mentally
prepare myself for what happened:
dad’s long fight with cancer came to
an end. As my parents’ only son, and
as a Hindu, I was responsible for
performing the funeral rituals.
I knew I didn’t need a shirt for
the funeral itself since I would be
wearing a veshti as I did for all pujas
(prayer rituals), but I instinctively
reached for you when I was getting
dressed on the morning of the
ceremony. You were there with me
on the way to the funeral home, on
the way to the crematorium and
as I cried in the car later that day.
You saw more of what I was going
through than even my family and
closest friends.
Something changed after that
week. When I was getting ready in
the mornings for months after his
funeral, I would see you hanging
out in the corner of my dresser but
I couldn’t bring myself to put you
on, because by doing that I would
have to acknowledge what had
happened. This wasn’t something
that was exclusive to my choice of
attire. I did everything in my power
to avoid acknowledging the reality
that he was gone forever. It had
a profound effect on my life for a
while — I wasn’t in a good mental
place, but fortunately I found the
help that I needed.
For the most part, I was able to
acknowledge the hole that my dad’s
passing had left in my life and was
able to grow from it. Still, when I
got dressed in the morning, I didn’t
reach for you. I made excuses for
avoiding you. “Oh, you’re too old,”
“You don’t fit well anymore” or “It’s
too cold” were the justifications I
told myself, when the simple reality
was that, at that point in my life,
I wasn’t ready to relive the week
of my father’s funeral. From the
cremation to the spreading of his
ashes, that was a can of worms that
I still wasn’t ready to open.
As time passed I became more
nostalgic for those last few months
spent with dad. When I thought
about his death, I went from
feeling cheated out of years of
memories with him to being able
to think about all of the qualities he
instilled in me. I realized that, while
unfortunate, his death was one of
the most life-changing things that
had happened to me. I realized that
it had taught me how to grow up,
how to prioritize what mattered to
me in life and served as a reminder
of how precious family is.
Getting dressed one day in the
summer of 2012, I saw you poking
out from under a stack of shirts and
decided that it was time to embrace
all of the memories that you carried:
from the ones that you were with
me for, like the funeral, to the ones
that you helped me remember, like
driving around Chicago listening to
my dad and my favorite songs with
the windows down. I’m always
afraid that sooner or later those
memories will fade, and they likely
will, but whenever I put you on, I
remember everything about him.
So while I may never wear you
again, hopefully you’re willing to
stick around in case I ever need to
take a trip down memory lane.
Clothes are extremely personal.
On the surface level, the way you
dress is a fairly strong indicator of
the type of person you are (or aspire
to be), but on a deeper level, they
are also a vehicle for processing
memories and emotions. This
summer, I was looking at flannels
in a vintage store when one caught
my eye: It was only $1, so I figured
that there was no real reason not to
pick it up. I have spent much more
on other shirts, but I always find
myself coming back to this shirt.
Whether I’m bar-hopping, going
on a date or going to class, I always
have to stop myself from wearing
it too often so I’m not known as
the guy who only wears one shirt.
We have already made countless
memories: We went to New York
together for a concert, we went
to Europe for a month together
and we have many more trips to
come. The interesting thing about
clothing is how continuous it is: As
one piece of clothing slowly fades
out of my wardrobe, another one
enters the fold and new memories
are made. I can’t wait to see what
I’ll think of when I put this shirt on
in a few years.
NARESH IYENGAR
Daily Arts Writer
STYLE NOTEBOOK
6A — Wednesday, February 1, 2017
Arts
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