The most moving video you will see all decade.

Please.

Indulge me for 10 to 15 minutes of your time.

It's not a lot to ask. Just 10 to 15 minutes.

Because I want to brighten your day. I want to enlighten your soul. I want you to experience the same life-affirming and joyful feeling I experienced after watching the video below.

The name "Joe Brooks" should be engraved into your psyche and spirit after watching this exhilarating and wonderful piece of art.

Joe Brooks -- if you're not familiar with him -- is a composer, writer, director and actor who gave the world the achingly beautiful song, "You Light Up My Life."

In 1978, Brooks wrote, produced, directed and starred in the film, If Ever I See You Again. Unfortunately, I've never had the opportunity to see this movie because it is sadly not available on DVD. However, a Joe Brooks aficionado at You Tube has edited together a 10 minute synopsis of the film. And I must say, it's...magical.

As you watch, I want you to soak in the stunningly gorgeous music and songs; the romantic and sexual magnetism between Brooks and his co-star, Shelley Hack; the enchanting trance Brooks enters as he conducts his song for his love; the devastating moment as the couple separate on a lonely sidewalk (the emotional acting range Brooks exhibits in this scene will tear your heart apart); and the rush of ecstasy that will envelop you when you see Hack walking down the hall with the Christmas presents in the final scene.

Trust me. After you watch this video, you will wonder why If Ever I See You Again was not nominated for every eligible Academy Award; why it is not on DVD; what possessed George Plimpton and Jimmy Breslin to appear in the movie and why are they not in the video synopsis; and, if you're female, where you can get a pair of glasses like the one Hack wears in the film.

Oh, and if you're a man, you'll want to get a haircut like the one Brooks has in the movie.

So, dim the lights, pour yourself a glass of wine, and enjoy a taste of the cinematic majesty that is If Ever I See You Again.

Speaking of Joe Brooks...I wonder what he's up to these days.

Hmmm...wait. What's this?


post copyright 2009 rob grace

Next week's column from yours truly -- misspells corrected, for the most part. Sigh.

Here is my "One...," uh, I mean T. Blanston, Jr.'s "One Headlight" from next week's Arkansas Weekly.

A note from Rob Grace.

I’m currently suffering from heat exhaustion after doing aerobics clad in sequined sweats, a knit headband and ankle weights at 1 p.m. down at the White River sandbar in Batesville. (Well, I’m also suffering from a beating five guys from Thida gave me after they saw me in my aerobics outfit, but I’m pleased to report my ear reattachment surgery should be successful.)

Anyway, because of that, I had to call on my dear friend, T. Blanston, Jr., to compose this week’s column. So, please enjoy the latest adventure from one of the most popular journalists the world has ever seen.

Cover of DeBarge's Greatest Hits CD. (Cassette cover looks like this as well, so if you find Rob's copy, please e-mail him at rgmax99@yahoo.com as soon as possible. Thank you for your cooperation.)

Oh, and if anyone has seen my JVC beatbox, please call me at W.R.D. Entertainment. It was with me that day at the White River. It’s really big, it’s loaded with a DeBarge’s Greatest Hits cassette, and it has an indention about the size of my head in the left speaker. It was last seen in the hands of those guys from Thida.

Thanks!

Greetings from my large and beautiful Rancho Paradiso on the shores of Loch Greers Ferry! It’s been a busy few weeks for me – T. Blanston, Jr. – journalist/activist/singer/songwriter/poet/film director/occasional actor/mercenary/president of the Fred Grandy fan club/UFC fighter/lover of many female celebrities/award-winning harpist.

Let me begin with my recent coverage of the Iranian riots. After the ridiculous and blatant rigging of the Iranian election, I decided to head to Tehran to cover the uprising of the courageous Iranian citizens. I snuck through the border via an Iraqi mountain range under the cover of darkness. At the first Iranian town I encountered, I entered the local Cracker Barrel bathroom, where I swiftly changed into my disguise: a simple pair of khakis, cream colored shirt, a light brown windbreaker, a fake beard and then I dyed my stunning mane of silver hair to a dark black.

Actual photo of T. Blanston, Jr. in his Ahmadinejad-mistaken disguise. Taken outside an Iranian Cracker Barrel.

After making my way to Tehran via a large ostrich I purchased from a villager who looked strangely like a female Rosie O’Donnell, I immediately joined a rowdy throng of protesters who were chanting, “Death to the dictator!” I felt an immense burst of adrenaline and pride to be smack in the middle of these freedom fighters who were valiantly attempting to make history.

Suddenly, a man looked to me and his eyes almost popped out of his head like a character from Looney Tunes.

Knowing the language of Farsi due to my time as an Amway salesman in Iran before the Islamic revolution, I instantly translated his scream of rage while he pointed toward me.

“IT IS THE EVIL ONE! THE DICTATOR AND LIAR IS IN OUR MIDST! DEATH NOW TO THE DICTATOR!”

Thinking the man obviously had a little too many daiquiris before the demonstration, I at first laughed at his irrational behavior, but then I saw the picture of Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad on some of the signs of the protesters and realized that my disguise was a dead ringer for the guy.

“KILL THE DICTATOR!” the crowd screamed as they gathered around me.

“No,” I pleaded, “You’ve got the wrong guy! I’m on your side! I like democracy! I like Western values! I’ve been to a Jonas Brothers concert!”

“SEE!” one protester screamed. “HE IS THE DICTATOR! HE LIKES THE JONAS BROTHERS!”

“What?!?” I said. “Ahmadinejad likes the Jonas Brothers??!??”

Suddenly the screams stopped and those that wanted my blood looked to each other in confused silence. One protester walked to me.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked. “Everyone knows you like these Jonas Brothers. Remember? At your so-called victory party, you started singing ‘S.O.S.’?”

“But I’m not Ahmadinejad! I’m a reporter! T. Blanston, Jr. – award-winning journalist!”

The protestor looked to me.

“The T. Blanston, Jr.? From the America?” he asked. “The reporter who said he once had suffocating love affair with famous Poseidon Adventure actress Shelley Winters? Poseidon Adventure and lovely Miss Winters very big on TV here.”

“Oh, thank heavens,” I said, realizing they now knew my true identity. “Yes! Yes! That’s me – T. Blanston, Jr.!”

The crowd erupted in joyful cheers, and they began to hug and pat me on the back.

I held up my hands to quiet them.

“But, I need to clarify something,” I said to the admiring protesters. “I never had an affair with Shelley Winters. What happened was I was at a club, and she saw me there, and she got up from her table, screaming ‘T.! T.! T.! I love you! I want to have your babies!’, and she started to run toward me.”

The crowd was suddenly quiet, enraptured by my story.

“So, I started running from her,” I said. “And I tripped on a busboy’s foot, and then Shelley tripped, and she fell on me. She fell right on my face! And, technically, she suffocated me for about two minutes until 10 men pulled her off of me. And these were big guys struggling to get this behemoth off of me.”

I chuckled.

“No, I would never have had an affair with Shelley Winters. I mean, everyone knows she was the model for that Borden Milk cow.”

Confused looks and glances filtered through the crowd.

I laughed again at the ridiculous confusion of these poor people.

“I mean, come on. Shelley Winters? If I would have married her, I would have had to rent a crane to carry her across the threshold.”

Quietly, yet also somewhat quickly, a different mood infected the crowd. Their eyes narrowed, and many of them glared at me with intense hatred.

The protester moved closer to me.

Shelley Winters (above). Picture from the era where she had her unfortunate encounter with Blanston.

“How dare you insult the beauty of Miss Shelley Winters!” he said. And, then he screamed to the crowd: “KILL HIM! SEIZE THE SHELLEY WINTERS INFIDEL!”

Hands, fists, rocks, signs, staplers, George Foreman grills – all sorts of objects rained down on me like deadly chunks of hail. I managed to mount myself up above the crowd and body surf across the protesters as if I were at a Pearl Jam concert. Finally, I reached an unattended moped, straddled it and zoomed off with the mass of protesters running after me before they finally faded into the distance.

I was free.

I reached the border, ripped off my beard and zoomed across. A group of Iraqi soldiers ferried me to the U.S. Embassy where I relayed my terrifying brush with death to an American diplomat.

After I finished my story, the diplomat stood from his desk and walked over to me. He pulled his chair beside me and leaned in closely to my face.

“Mr. Blanston,” he said.

“Yes,” I said.

“I neglected to introduce myself at the outset of our briefing.”

“Oh,” I said. I offered my hand. “And you are…?”

“Ernie Winters. Shelley’s grandson.”

“Oh.”

He smiled. “Come. Let me take you on a personal tour of Abu Ghraib. I think you’ll enjoy it.
Particularly the part where I pull out the electrodes.”

He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the chair.

“Heh,” I stammered. “Did I mention I loved your grandmother in Lolita?”


UPDATE: We have three copy editors at Arkansas Weekly -- plus spellchecks on our computers. And, as is par for the course, the printed version of the above column spells the word "protesters" as "protestors." There are probably about 328 other errors in print and online. I give up.

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE: Well, hell's bells. The Microsoft Word spellcheck and the New Oxford American Dictionary say "protestors" and "protesters" are both correct. But the Blogger spellcheck says the former is incorrect. You know what? I don't care. I'm going to take a nap.

Mouthbreathers and knuckledraggers.

What's the saying? "Three bricks shy of a load."?

Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck, and Bill O'Reilly are probably so proud.

Or sexually aroused.

Wow -- Iran in Revolt

Stunning pics from Tehran in light of the riots protesting the alleged (read: "Uh. No shit.") rigging of the Iranian presidential elections. (Click here.)

Image 29 is particularly moving: a supporter of Hossein Mousavi helping a beaten and bloodied member the riot police.

Hat tip to Andrew Sullivan's coverage.

Let's hope this is history moving in a positive direction.

Iran updates

Andrew Sullivan is providing superb coverage of the Iranian protests. (Click here.)

Rob Van Winkle.

Live from Fayetteville, Ark.

Greetings from Fayetteville, Arkansas -- quite possibly my favorite place on Earth besides NYC, the Redneck Riveria and my bed.

I'm spending a few quality days with my son -- eating, being a couch potato, watching movies, etc.

Most people say my 11-year-old is a carbon copy of me, and this trip has confirmed it in my eyes. He wants to eat at Herman's for just about every meal in Fayetteville; he digs the Venesian Inn; he loves tanks and G.I. Joe (like I did at his age); he's discovered the joy of browsing Best Buy for a couple of hours; he thought Land of the Lost was awesome and hilarious no matter what the critics say; and he discovered the delectable joys of Japanese cuisine today (while I enjoyed sushi).

Friday night, we stayed up until 1:15 watching a film I loved at his age: Charley Varrick -- and he was deep into it. Tonight, I'm going to introduce him to the original Jaws and see if it freaks him out as much as it did me when I was around his age.

Now, if I could just convert him to Bruce Springsteen, Ryan Adams and Steve Earle, my life would be complete.

***

I bought one of those Flip video cameras yesterday, and the thing is worth every bit of $200. We've been filming all the time since. Now, I just need to figure out how to post and e-mail the videos. Trust me: the Flip is the neatest gadget since the iPhone.

***

Finally: Bruce possessed Bonnaroo last night. Here be details:

Click here.

And here.

I hope to be posting some Flip vids soon...

Saturday morning randoms.

Too much info. (Click here.)

Viva la Max! (Click here.)

Let's give Land of the Lost the love it deserves. (Click here and here.)

Viva la Zach! (Click here, here, here, here, and...oh, here.)

Too much info -- part II. (Click here.)

And Strawberry, Arkansas' own Dennis Crouch backing up Elvis Costello on bass during Letterman this past week. (Click here.)