http://robertagale.tumblr.com

After the cute opening with the almost too charming co-hosts, James Franco and Anne Hathaway, came the avalanche of names. Like a reverse McCarthyism, everyone wanted to be on this list. But this time, the only people shunned were the nervous, sweaty, winners behind the mic who forgot to call out everyone they knew.

On the minus side, I had no idea who won anything but Best Supporting Actress, the award that always comes early in the game, the granola bar we’re given to scarf before the long trek.

The outsized plus was missing Gwyneth Paltrow singing whatever song it was from “Country Strong.” (What is up with people who like her? She has no discernible talent other than ruining Cee Lo Green’s performance of “Fuck You” at the Grammys.)

After sitting though countless 3-4 hour Thankfests, I offer my five-second idea for shortening and improving the Academy Awards: Simply forbid any winner from naming names.

I could give a shit about the 28 people from producer to caterer that the winner feels compelled to mention. And god forbid if they forget to thank their family–every website and Entertainment Tonight-type TV show will rake ‘em though the coals for being heartless.

Instead, why don’t the producers insist that each winner actually come up with a few sentences that mean something?

Radical?
Not Really. If the 83rd Academy Awards truly wanted to pay homage to the past, they would have blown off the 10-second black and white clips of previous shows and taken a page from the time when winners actually gave heartfelt speeches of substance.

No, it doesn’t have to be political, like the comment from Charles Ferguson, director of “Inside Job” He reiterated the message of his Wall Street documentary by commenting, “Three years after a horrific financial crisis caused by fraud not a single financial executive has gone to jail–and that’s wrong.”

Nor does it have to be a grateful thank you as Lee Unkrich, the director of Toy Story gave as he announced, “Thank you to audiences all over the world who came out in historic numbers and embraced a movie about talking toys that hopefully had something very human to say.”

And the recipient is not required to be witty and self-effacing like David Seidler, winner of the Original Screenplay Oscar for “The King’s Speech.” “My father always said I would be a late bloomer,” said the elderly Seidler, “I believe I am the oldest person to ever win this award. I hope that record is broken quickly and often.”

But it sure would be nice.

And those poor local news people would be able to start the evening news on time.

It took me days to get up the courage to get near here, but I knew I had to go. I wanted to go back to the place where just the day before the shootings, judicious use of my  Safeway club card prompted the casher to say, “Mrs. Gale, you saved seventeen dollars and twenty-two cents.”  I wanted to stop soaking up every TV news report,  get my ass off the couch and stand on the same asphalt that the killer did when he when he raised his gun.

Healing is different for each of us, but its necessity brings together those who might never cross paths or exchange a word. It turns indifference into the hug I shared with the woman who stood next to me as the network satellite trucks provided the only shade in the desert midday.

“God bless you for coming here,” she told me, and at that moment I loved her.

Much in the same way that Tucsonans couldn’t begin to understand what it was like to be in New York on 9/11, those who don’t live in this community have no idea what it feels like to be here right now–and what it’s felt like for the past week. Omaha, NE, Killeen, TX, Binghamton, NY, Carthage, NC, Columbine– and other communities where large numbers of people were just doing people things when they were shot dead– have never felt closer to my heart.

We breathe the air the killer breathed. We look at the same desert-blue sky. We drive by the shooting site or the hospital or Gabby Gifford’s office every day on our way to work or school or errands. We know a victim. Or someone who knows a victim. Or someone who knows someone who knows a victim.

I picked up my glasses today and was handed them by a girl who lives a few houses down the street from the accused gunman, Jared Loughner. She’s known him since elementary school and saw him the evening before the shooting.

“He was walking with his head down and we said ‘hey,’” she told me.  ”He didn’t answer, so we said ‘hey’ again and he finally said ‘hey.’ But he didn’t look at us.”

That morning, I hiked a dry wash near my house. The Sweetwater is named for the few times each year it churns with runoff from monsoon rains rushing down from the Tucson Mountains. I found a rare flat rock, one that I would usually take home and toss on my pile of other cool rocks on the back porch. Instead, I took it inside, and in black magic marker with my left-handed scrawl, wrote in Hebrew and English  ”Gam zeh ya’avor–This too, shall pass.”

This saying–attributed to Solomon or Sufi poets, depending on who you ask–is my mother’s favorite, and she applied it to everything from a scraped knee to my dad’s suicide. It never made me feel better, but it always made me feel like I’d survive.

I walked around the perimeter of the shopping center. All the stores except Safeway were open, and people were eating lunch, shopping and doing the kinds of things that people do when they’re not being slaughtered.

I found a lush mesquite, one of the generic desert trees that, combined with a mini-rock lawn, make up most of the oases in Arizona parking lots. I placed my rock at the base of the tree next to a bouquet of wilted red roses. As I walked away,  I saw a videographer move his tripod in for the kill.

http://media.podcastingmanager.com/3/4/3/9/4/158783-149343/Media/edited%20brooke%20and%20roberta%20oct%206%202010.mp3

http://media.podcastingmanager.com/3/4/3/9/4/158783-149343/Media/Furay%20in%20Tucson%20Good%20Feeling.mp3

Furay blew me away-his voice was as good as, or even better than it was back in the day when he was a member of Buffalo Springfield, Poco, and Souther/Hillman/Furay.

Here’s Richie doing “Kind Woman” from his Buffalo Springfield days. Kinda miss the pedal steel from the original version, but it was an unexpected bonus to hear who inspired the song–and she came on stage and gave him a kiss. Spirited, sweet, and not at all contrived-just like Richie.

http://media.podcastingmanager.com/3/4/3/9/4/158783-149343/Media/kind%20woman%20furay%20tucson%20aug%202010.MP3

The concert was a fundraiser for the Desert Heart Foundation, Tucson. If you’re interested in donating, here’s the info: Desert Heart Foundation 6080 N. La Cholla Blvd., Tucson, Arizona 85741 1 520 544 5500 Dr. Tedd Goldfinger Teddgoldfinger@comcast.net

http://media.podcastingmanager.com/3/4/3/9/4/158783-149343/Media/noise%20three%20toni%20tony%20tone.mp3

If you just must watch something as well as listen to it, have fun.