R.I.P., Bill Sorro

Saturday, 6 October: Self is in the San Mateo Public Library, listening to Vangie Buell talk about a man named Bill Sorro. It’s the first time self has heard of the name, but Vangie pays him tribute, and then Abe Ignacio gets up to read a story by him.

Switch to this morning, 5 AM (When self gets up this early, she knows she has the itch to write). She’s browsing through a copy of Filipinas Magazine. In a section called “Transitions”, she finds this:

Died: Civil and housing rights activist Bill Sorro, August 27 in San Francisco. A former tenant of the International Hotel, Sorro, 68, was part of the trade union for 25 years and helped establish Ironworkers for Union Democracy (# 378) in Oakland, California. He was a board member of numerous organizations such as the Veterans Equity Center, the Kearney Street Housing Corporation, the International Hotel Senior Housing Inc. and the CCSF Education in Action. Born to a Spanish/ Scottish mother and Filipino father, Sorro was involved with Filipinos for Affirmative Action, Filipino Civil Rights Advocates and the United Pilipino Organizing Network. He teamed up with Emil de Guzman and Al Robles to establish the Manilatown Heritage Foundation. Sorro received the Koshland Committee Award in 2001 and was given the Local Hero Award by KQED in 2005. A gallery exhibition about his life titled “A Serving of Love: the Passion of Bill Sorro” can currently be seen at the Manilatown Center. It will run until October 6.

Today: Self’s Personal Cinematic Trifecta, & An American Place

Self has decided she’d better grit her teeth and get on with it. For, in life, one has to take the pits with the cherries. Or something to that effect.

Self got a speeding ticket? Fie, fie! She hopes the female cop sleeps well tonight, knowing she stretched the facts a little on the ticket (perhaps she needed to make up her quota of tickets for the month?)

Self’s Gracie has lumps? Well, so has Bella! In fact, Bella’s entire stomach is a mass of marble-size lumps! And vet has never said even one thing about those!

And self now has gaps on two sides of her mouth? So what? No one looks at self and expects to see a beauty, for God’s sake! After all, self is a writer, not a singer!

So, with that out of the way, self is now prepared to settle down for the business of the day, which is, first, to give report on Eastern Promises, which she did get to see today, at Century Park 12 on Bayshore; and then to quote from fascinating article she is reading about an American farm, an article she has never been able to finish before, but which tonight she is reading with great interest, with a “There but for the grace of God go I” feeling.

Anyhoo, let’s talk about Viggo, shall we? And that famous nude scene in the Turkish bath where he has to off two evil-looking mobsters in black leather jackets and wickedly curved knives that remind self of the talons on the velociraptors in Jurassic Park (There she goes again, mixing up her genres! How can self even compare Eastern Promises, which is a “class” effort, with one by Spielberg in popcorn mode? Once again, I digress)

First of all, the last thing you notice, while this scene of wild mayhem is going on, is — pardon the expression — Viggo’s balls. Yes, dear blog readers, that is the last thing one is looking at in this movie, as scene unfolds. Instead one is looking at the blood smeared on Viggo’s back, and the tiles, and the innocent bystanders, two elderly men in towels, who are left shrinking against the walls. And self wonders why every single review she has read about Eastern Promises, including the one from the Boston Globe, has to talk about this scene as if some boundary has been crossed — the Viggo nude fight scene as some kind of Rubicon . . .

Self thinks that a scene more worthy of notice, more worthy of Rubicon status, is the first killing, where man in a barber chair gets a very gruesome chop job on his throat. Honestly, dear blog readers, self is the type of person who actually invited son to watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 with her, but upon viewing this scene, self gasped and covered her eyes.

Self is so grateful that Naomi Watts, one of her favorite actresses, did not have to perform a sex scene like the one Maria Bello had to perform on the stairs in History of Violence. Though Naomi would probably have performed it well. But, anyhoo, self is so glad that she did not have to. As her role in this movie was quite tame, and involved mostly looking sad and cooing to a baby. Yes, there is one kiss that she shares with Viggo. It’s mighty short.

(Just a moment, dear blog readers! Hubby calls! And, since everything about this day is so chaotic, self simply must stop here to answer the phone . . . )

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