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