Classifieds

Call: #734-418-4115
Email: dailydisplay@gmail.com

STATE OF MICHIGAN PROBATE
COURT COUNTY OF WASHTEN‑
AW PUBLICATION OF NOTICE OF
HEARING FILE NO. 19‑2049‑NC
In the matter of Charles Earl Chism,
Jr TO ALL INTERESTED PER‑
SONS includ
ing: whose address(es)
is/are unknown and whose interest in
the matter may be barred or affected
by the following: TAKE NOTICE:
A hearing will be held October 23,
2019 at 1:30pm at Washte
naw County
Probate Court Ann Arbor, MI 48107
before Judge Patrick Conlin P56333,
for the following purpose: LE
GAL
NAME CHANGE TO: KAMARI
JONES Advertisement date: 10/09/19
PETITIONER:
CHARLES
EARL
CHISM, JR 924 LUTZ AVE, ANN
AR
BOR, MI 48103

By Craig Stowe
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/09/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

10/09/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Wednesday, October 9, 2019

ACROSS
1 Washington’s
Sea-__ Airport
4 Bubble bath spot
7 Model S and
Model X electric
cars
13 “Snowy” bird
14 “Movin’ __”:
“The Jeffersons”
theme
16 World Cup chant
17 Chinese
chairman
18 Henry VIII’s sixth
wife Catherine
19 Like an ideal
situation
20 How some get
across town
22 “I’m __ a robot”:
phrase with
captcha tests
24 Percussion pair
25 Sack opening?
27 Leg bone
29 Holly’s “Raising
Arizona” role
31 Summer in
Quebec
32 “Orinoco Flow”
singer
35 Good scents
36 “The Giving Tree”
author Silverstein
38 __ pal
39 Fire truck wail
40 Toronto-to-D.C.
dir.
41 Handy
43 Lodge member
44 Guthrie at
Woodstock
46 Walk-in health
facility
47 City on the
Rhône
49 Word with drum
or trumpet
50 Distorts, as data
51 Do over
53 Royal Norwegian
name
54 Let up
56 __-mo replay
58 “The Jetsons”
son
61 Chanted phrase
63 Word on U.S.
coins
65 Luau instrument
66 Consume

67 Personnel note
68 “Roth” savings
plan
69 Political pundit
Myers
70 __ Antonio
71 Street covering

DOWN
1 Grant’s __: NYC
landmark
2 See 7-Down
3 1971 Kubrick
film, with “A”
4 Big cheese
5 Article in El País
6 “Sick insult,
dude!”
7 With 2-Down,
type of zone in
which parking is
restricted
8 Nobelist Root
9 Declining in old
age
10 Easy pickings,
and a hint to the
four other longest
Down answers
11 Et __: and others
12 Dispatched
15 Clue character
with a bow tie

21 “Yu-Gi-Oh!”
genre
23 10% donation
26 Faux __
28 Four-winged flier
29 Artistic stand
30 Deadpan
33 New Haven
student
34 Smart fellows?
37 Yoga-inspired
athletic brand
40 Closes forcibly

42 __ pool
45 Irish actor
Stephen
46 Fiscal VIP
48 Brought home
52 Song section
54 In the thick of
55 Downfall
57 Small bills
59 Gumbo ingredient
60 Junior or senior
62 Had a burger, say
64 Actress Thurman

PROBATE

He may not have been terrifying, but his
rap sheet is. His music inspires chills, but of a
different kind — more soul-penetrating than
spine-tingling. His eccentricity, while alarming,
lends itself to good, old-fashioned rebellion and
artistic chaos.
The Vatican banned one of his songs. He
had an affair with Brigitte Bardot — the literal
personification of the French Republic’s La
Libérte, Marianne (Bardot was the model for
the bust of Marianne c. 1969). He once burned a
500-franc note on television to make a statement
to his immense wealth. He talked endlessly to
cab-drivers and the “common people” who were
brushed aside in the day-to-day.
His name was Serge Gainsbourg, a man of
immense talent for music, show-biz flair and
pearl-clutching shock value. One of the most
prolific French artists of his time, Gainsbourg’s
legacy continues to live on well after his
passing in 1991. And now, I hope to contribute
to the cultivation of Gainsbourg’s memory by
introducing our readership to the man himself.
But first: The song banned by the Vatican? “Je
t’aime moi non plus.” Listen at your own peril.
The Vatican, somewhat dramatically, banned the
song for a reason. Keep your headphones plugged
in for this one.
Second: If you’re new to this worldwide
worship of Gainsbourg, start with “La chanson
de Prévert,” “Les femmes c’est du chinois,”
“L’anamour” and “Couleur café,” to name a few.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “If one of
his songs was so far out there that it got banned
by the Vatican, how could I possibly know what
I’m listening to? I don’t speak French! It’s too

risky.”
Well my friends, have you heard of Google
Translate?
All jokes aside, part of the thrill of listening to
music in another language is the mystery of the
lyrics. Sure, you could always find a translation.
But before that, you have the opportunity to
experience the song in an incredibly pure form.
One can appreciate the music, its composition, its
instrumentation and the artist’s vocal inflection
without the intrusion of lyrics.
As for myself, I didn’t understand any of
Gainsbourg’s songs initially — I fell in love with
his voice before I discovered anything else about
him.
When pressed to name a specific album (and
prove my musical street cred), Gainsbourg’s
L’étonnant Serge Gainsbourg (1961) is a personal
favorite. The album features a softer side
to
Gainsbourg’s
notoriously
“adventurous”
reputation. Deep, buttery (I know how that
sounds) vocals backed by beautiful orchestration
are breathtaking. Featuring a mix of traditional
French, jazz (“Les femmes c’est du chinois”),
and classic 60’s “bops” (“Le sonnet d’Arvers”),
L’étonnant
Serge
Gainsbourg
has
it
all.
Gainsbourg’s music also contains subtle touches
of African and Latin stylistic flairs. It’s a good,
fleshed out introduction to a musician whose
career spanned decades, a man who walks the
line between myth and legend.
Hours, days, weeks (maybe years?) could be
dedicated to writing about, to and for Gainsbourg.
Unfortunately, I’ll be too busy listening to his
music to write the epic he deserves. So for now,
this will have to suffice.
Take a listen to Serge Gainsbourg this week
and fall in love (like I have) with a man whose life
was just as exhilarating as his music is. It’s worth
getting to know the man, not just his lyrics.

For love and Gainsbourg

MADELEINE VIRGINIA GANNON
Daily Arts Writer

MUSIC: WHAT I’M LISTENING TO

UNIVERSAL MUSIC GROUP

If someone fed a computer program all of
Stephen King’s novels, and asked it to write
something using all it had learned, it would
give us “In the Tall Grass.” All the stereotypical
tropes are there. There’s the deranged father and
hysterical mother of “The Shining,” the temporal
shifting of “The Dark Tower,” and the Americana
setting attacked by an inhuman threat from “It”
(and most of his other novels). The problem is, “In
The Tall Grass” lacks the heart of even the most
mediocre Stephen King story. There’s nothing to
care about here, and even less to be scared of.
This movie struggles
to make one care from
the start. A conversation
in the opening scene
tries to introduce these
characters — a brother
and sister on a road trip
through the Amerian
heartland. However, it
only establishes bare-
minimum,
cookie-
cutter
traits,
and
is
soon interrupted. The
siblings are called into a
grass field by a little boy,
who says he is lost. These unfortunate siblings are
soon thrust into a violent, otherworldly time loop
that is never explained, even at the most basic of
levels. Throughout this movie, the viewer is too
busy trying to understand what is happening to
care about who it is happening to.
Yet all it does is establish some unoriginal traits
that do little to entice the reader and are soon
ignored in favor of the horror plot. While Stephen
King’s novels, and the best King adaptations,
inject even the wildest situations with a human
core, “In The Tall Grass” is utterly cold.
This film could have still been modestly
enjoyable if the threat it spent all its screen time
on was at least intriguing. Sadly, even that is too
much to ask. No matter how inventive the camera
work is or how creepy some of the set pieces are,
“In The Tall Grass” fails to be frightening in
any memorable way. It is easier to let one of the
main characters explain why: “It doesn’t make
any sense.” None of it does. Not the grass, the
grass people, or the giant rock that is apparently

controlling the whole charade. Grass, also, is just
not that scary. What is this evil force trying to
accomplish? There’s no reason for what it does
other than to frighten people — and theoretically
the viewer — by luring them into an endless field.
Ambiguity can be incredibly horrific when
handled correctly. “It Comes at Night” and
“Annihilation”
are
perfect
examples
of
a
mysterious concept whose inexplicability is used
to frightening effect. Those movies, however,
have screenwriters behind them who understand
concepts like subtlety, pacing and basic character
development. “In The Tall Grass” just slings
as much violence and surreal imagery at the
viewer as it can. Instead of making things scarier,
though, the deluge just becomes oversaturated.
There’s no buildup; it’s
just a loose collection
of ineffective pieces.
Some
attempts
to
be
frightening
end
up
being
brutally
laughable.
The
villains
sing,
speak
in rhyme and have
an
obsession
with
Christian
references,
all
of
which
come
across humorously and
slaughter any sort of
tension.
The acting does not help, either. Patrick
Wilson (“The Conjuring”) does his best, but his
dedication is grating to watch when nobody else
is giving even half the effort he is. The other
performances are straight out of an old episode
of “Goosebumps,” with the dialogue to match.
Characters give melodramatic, overindulgent
speeches that would’ve been cut from even
the most atrocious high school Halloween
productions. The conversations also run on a
track, like a haunted house ride — if one has seen
enough horror movies, they could literally fill in
the blanks.
The final act is a tired retread of “The Shining,”
without any of the deep scares or existential
questions that made Jack Torrance’s story a
classic. Even worse, this movie gives its female
characters almost no sense of agency. They’re
tokens for the men to fight over, brutally attack
and threaten with sexual assault.
“In the Tall Grass” is predictable, muddled and
forgettable. Skip this one.

Don’t go ‘In the Tall Grass’

ANDREW WARRICK
For the Daily

FILM REVIEW

In the Tall Grass

Netflix

At its barest, Salman Rushdie’s newest
“Quichotte” is a show of impressive needlework.
From the get-go, Rushdie’s got his thread and
his needle, poised to bind: His materials are
several stories, wholly different plot-scapes and
universes and dimensions, all constructed and
ready to be sewn together. And Rushdie does just
this. In his nearly 400-page epic, he lies out vastly
distinct storylines — from a pastiche of “Don
Quixote” to a modern take on a brother-sister
relationship — and spends time wrapping them
tightly together. By the end of “Quichotte,” it’s
almost difficult to tell the stories apart.
But this simplifies “Quichotte” to a degree
almost disrespectful of the calculated, deeply-
intentioned plot Rushdie has created. The
novel principally follows a character under the
homebrewed alias of Quichotte, a stable but
delirious sexagenarian who, emerging from
his habit of obsessive reality television binging,
decides to pursue Miss Salma R, a talk show
host he decides is, simply and indubitably, the
one for him. He initiates a quest across the
U.S. (which includes traversing the so-called
“seven valleys”— think a fanatical pilgrimage) to
pursue the admired. Along the way he imagines
a son, Sancho, into existence. The two encounter
extreme bigotry. They pass through a town
where people turn into mastodons. A gun speaks.
Absurdity saturates the trip.
Embroidering efficiently and at full speed,
Rushdie works in two stories that progress
alongside the chapters of Quichotte’s adventures.
There is Miss Salma R, the host Quichotte
so desires, with her devastating past and her
present opioid addiction. Then there is Dr. Smile,
Quichotte’s relative and the corrupt architect
of InSmile, an opioid product directed at those
vulnerable to addiction. These stories drift on
their own alongside Quichotte’s until they merge
with the main character’s in the final chapters.
Then, — yes, there is more — there is Sam
DuChamp, the author penning Quichotte’s
story in real time. He’s a moderately successful
spy novelist leading a life moderately similar
to Quichotte’s, save the delusions. As the tale of
Quichotte’s universe gradually unravels, Sam’s
story is told also.
“Quichotte” is — not only at its inception, but
constantly — overwhelming. Rushdie fits a story
with the breadth of Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch”
and the chaos of a Vonnegut novel in a relatively
small space. Somehow, though, this insanity never

quite feels like disorder. Despite the tug-of-war
between plots and several frankly unbelievable
scenes, there is never a sense that Rushdie has lost
control of his work. The reigns are secure. Rather,
as one reads on, “Quichotte” manages to make
more sense as themes reappear and the storylines
settle into one another. Quichotte’s relationship
to his sister and his concern for his son begin to
line up with the diegetic author, Sam’s, story. By
the end of the work, the two stories all but become
one.
This refrain of contestation (between the
author’s life and his fiction; between Quichotte’s
past and present) tempers “Quichotte” just
enough. It also offers tastes of passages that,
although bred in an environment of disarray,
manage to foster intimate moments:
“As the Trampoline (Quichotte’s sister) spoke, it
was almost as if there were two Quichottes in the
room, a version from the past as well as the present
one, and that as the past was superimposed on the
present it caused a sort of blurring, because the
two versions were so unlike each other that it was
difficult to see the Quichotte in the room clearly,
as he now was, and he himself was a victim of the
same confusion, not able to with any degree of
ease to free himself from the trap of what he had
once been.”
In a book drowning in overarching political
themes and a muddled plot, spaces like this are
gasps of air above the waves. Rushdie can both
continue the chaos and also make Quichotte — and
his author — human and recognizable to readers.
Rushdie pulls off his broad and absurdist plot,
but something about “Quichotte” undeniably still
falls flat of spectacular. The writing, while piercing
at moments, curls too much into Rushdie’s run-on,
detail-filled style. It makes the work, especially
the first quarter and even some action-packed
scenes (like that with the mastodons) draining to
read. Then there’s Rushdie’s jab at the extremes
of racism and Islamophobia in the United States,
which, although revisited by Rushdie in an OK
manner in the final chapter, feels mishandled.
Rushdie lines up racial incidents one after another
in the course of 20 pages and then forgets about
them, a feat that feels like indecision between
satire and genuine commentary.
It’s the age of “anything can happen,” Rushdie
so accurately declares throughout “Quichotte.”
This is, after all, 2019. Anything, it seems
sometimes, can happen, to both the writer
and what is written. The daring literary foray
into this modern wildfire of chaos has earned
Rushdie a spot on the Booker Prize shortlist. If
the judges have have a stomach for the absurd and
extravagant, he may just win.

Chaotic good: ‘Quichotte’

JOHN DECKER
Daily Book Review Editor

BOOK REVIEW

Quichotte

Salman Rushdie

Random House

Sept. 3, 2019

6A — Wednesday, October 9, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com