Very emotional.
Background at the Seattle Times, "With everything on the line, is this the end for Kyle Seager and the Mariners?"
And from just a little while ago, "Mariners’ playoff push comes up short in loss to Angels; Kyle Seager leaves field to ovation from crowd."
An emotional Kyle Seager gets a standing ovation from Mariners fans 🙏
— FOX Sports: MLB (@MLBONFOX) October 3, 2021
(via @mlb)pic.twitter.com/9boCtbYJcc
Watch Daniel Day-Lewis in an exclusive @Phantom_Thread video clip, here: https://t.co/oXHzhpylNw
— W magazine (@wmag) January 18, 2018
Day-Lewis has not seen Phantom Thread. He has viewed many of his other films, but has no plans to see this one. Earlier this summer, he announced through a written statement that he would not continue acting. He only discussed this decision with Rebecca—and has not spoken publicly about his retirement until now. In the past, he always took extended breaks between films—blue periods and times of decompression that prompted Jim Sheridan, the director of My Left Foot and two other Day-Lewis films, to remark that “Daniel hates acting.” But after a break, he would be seduced anew by a fascinating character, a compelling story, an exciting director. “What has taken over in the past is an illusion of inevitability,” Day-Lewis said. “I’ll think, Is there no way to avoid this? In the case of Phantom Thread, when we started I had no curiosity about the fashion world. I didn’t want to be drawn into it. Even now, fashion itself doesn’t really interest me. In the beginning, we didn’t know what profession the protagonist would have. We chose fashion and then realized, What the hell have we let ourselves into? And then the fashion world got its hooks into me.”Keep reading.
The fashion world, in turn, was obsessed with the film, which was cloaked in secrecy. At first, Phantom Thread was rumored to be about the couturier Charles James, a great innovator whose work was recently celebrated at the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute, who ended life destitute and virtually unknown, living in the Chelsea Hotel. Anderson and Day-Lewis were not interested in telling that story. Phantom Thread is one of the most beguiling portrayals of fashion in the history of film, but in the end, it’s not a film about fashion.
Day-Lewis was uncharacteristically inarticulate when speaking about the exact reasons why he found Reynolds Woodcock so overwhelming. Perhaps, I suggested, it was a combination of being back in his homeland and playing an exacting artist like his father. He politely brushed my theories aside. “There are spells in these films that you can’t account for,” he said. “Paul and I spoke a lot about curses—the idea of a curse on a family, what that might be like. A kind of malady. And it’s not that I felt there was a curse attached to this film, other than the responsibility of a creative life, which is both a curse and a blessing. You can never separate them until the day you die. It’s the thing that feeds you and eats away at you; gives you life and is killing you at the same time.”
Day-Lewis paused. I wondered why a man who is widely acknowledged as the greatest actor of his generation, who has won three Academy Awards for best actor and is magical onscreen, would want to walk away from his profession. “I haven’t figured it out,” he said. “But it’s settled on me, and it’s just there. Not wanting to see the film is connected to the decision I’ve made to stop working as an actor. But it’s not why the sadness came to stay. That happened during the telling of the story, and I don’t really know why.” He paused again. “One of my sons is interested in musical composition, so I showed him the film Tous Les Matins du Monde, about the French composer Sainte-Colombe. My son was deeply struck by the sobriety that it took to create that work, Sainte-Colombe’s refusal to accept less than what was extraordinary from himself or anyone else. I dread to use the overused word ‘artist,’ but there’s something of the responsibility of the artist that hung over me. I need to believe in the value of what I’m doing. The work can seem vital. Irresistible, even. And if an audience believes it, that should be good enough for me. But, lately, it isn’t.”
Day-Lewis has often wanted to quit after emerging from a character. This time, by making a public announcement of his retirement, he sought to make the decision binding. “I knew it was uncharacteristic to put out a statement,” he continued. “But I did want to draw a line. I didn’t want to get sucked back into another project. All my life, I’ve mouthed off about how I should stop acting, and I don’t know why it was different this time, but the impulse to quit took root in me, and that became a compulsion. It was something I had to do.”
Interestingly, Day-Lewis speaks about the need to retire in the same manner he speaks about the need to take on a character: with a kind of intensity that takes over his entire being. And, as with acting, he is still uncertain of his feelings. “Do I feel better?” he asked, anticipating my question. “Not yet. I have great sadness. And that’s the right way to feel. How strange would it be if this was just a gleeful step into a brand-new life. I’ve been interested in acting since I was 12 years old, and back then, everything other than the theater—that box of light—was cast in shadow. When I began, it was a question of salvation. Now, I want to explore the world in a different way.”
Although there have been rumors that Day-Lewis is going to become a fashion designer, he laughed when I suggested that career. “Who knows?” he said mischievously. “I won’t know which way to go for a while. But I’m not going to stay idle. I don’t fear the stony silence.” He has always had a variety of passions: He once wrote a comedy script with Rebecca; he paints well; he makes furniture; and he is a fan of MotoGP, the competitive motorcycle tournament. But he also has a deep love of film, and it is hard to imagine that he will not continue to contribute to movies in some way.
“They will not let you go quietly,” I said to him. And Day-Lewis smiled. “Hmmm,” he said. “They will have to.”
— Conor Dougherty (@ConorDougherty) December 13, 2017
OAKLAND, Calif. — Russel Lee and his wife spent the past few years going online to do the depressing math of how much less housing costs pretty much everywhere that isn’t California. They looked at Idaho, Arizona, North Carolina and Kentucky, but Mr. Lee, who was born in San Francisco and has lived in the Bay Area his entire life, could never quite make the move. Then the fires came.In the end, it won't be the astronomical cost of living that drives me out of state. It'll be the soul-crushing radical left-wing politics. It's already intolerable. I'm just not ready for retirement yet.
In October, as the most destructive wildfire in state history swept through Northern California, Mr. Lee’s three-bedroom home in Santa Rosa was consumed by the flames. He lost everything: his tools, his guns, his childhood report cards. Forced to confront the decision of whether to stay and rebuild or pick up and go somewhere else, Mr. Lee finally decided it was time to go. He used the insurance payment to buy a $150,000 home outside Knoxville, Tenn., and will soon leave California for good.
“It was like ‘Welp, it’s time,’” Mr. Lee said. “It’s kind of like ‘The Grapes of Wrath’ in reverse.”
For the half-century after World War II, California represented the epitome of middle-class America on the move. As people poured into the state in search of good weather and the lure of single-family homes with backyard orange trees, the state embarked on a vast natural engineering project that redirected northern water southward, creating the modern Southern California and making the state the most populous in the nation.
Those days are long gone. For more than three decades, California has seen a net outflow of residents to other states, as less expensive southern cities like Phoenix, Houston and Raleigh supplant those of the Golden State as beacons of opportunity. California still has a hold on the national imagination: It has lots of jobs and great weather, along with the glamour of Hollywood and the inventiveness of Silicon Valley.
Still, for many Californians, the question is always sitting there: Is this worth it? Natural disasters are a moment to take stock and rethink the dream. But in the end, the calculation almost always comes down to cost.
Last Friday was Saul Weinstein’s last day at work, and the start of his last weekend as a Californian. Mr. Weinstein, a 67-year-old commercial banker, retired and moved to Nevada. He has lived through several fires, and the 1994 earthquake that killed 57 people and shook him and millions of other Southern Californians out of bed at 4:30 in the morning.
But what finally sent him packing was money. Mr. Weinstein is selling his 2,000-square-foot house in Baldwin Park, east of Los Angeles, for $570,000. He paid less than half that for a similarly sized place in Pahrump, Nev., about an hour’s drive west of Las Vegas. He moved on Monday.
“When you retire you have to watch your money,” Mr. Weinstein said. “The San Andreas Fault is what they politely call ‘overdue,’ and I will be much more comfortable when I’m away from that. But if it wasn’t for the cost of living I probably would have stuck around and taken my chances.”
California was once a migration magnet, but since 2010 the state has lost more than two million residents 25 and older, including 220,000 who moved to Texas, according to census data. Arizona and Nevada have each welcomed about 180,000 California expatriates since the start of the decade. Next week, as people start decamping for the holidays, airports throughout the South and Southwest will fill up with people who are from California and are now traveling West to see the family they left behind...
CHS Dept. Chair Steve Wallace addresses the "hidden poor" in today's @LATstevelopez @latimes https://t.co/ZDP4LFFfDh— UCLA Fielding School (@UCLAFSPH) January 4, 2017
Boomers are crowding the retirement turnstiles just as safety nets may get a haircut from a Republican Congress fixated on an Obamacare repeal that could whack Medicare and Medicaid. And although President-elect Trump has defended entitlements, a key advisor once called for privatizing Social Security. California has been a national leader in supporting in-home care and expanding medical insurance to wider populations, but federal funding cuts could jeopardize those advances.
“Everything is a wild card right now,” said UCLA professor Steven Wallace, chair of the school’s Department of Community Health Sciences.
Wallace co-authored a report published last year on what he refers to as California’s “hidden poor,” approximately 655,000 older adults who are above the federal poverty level and ineligible for some government programs, but not wealthy enough to live comfortably in a region with such high housing costs.
I know those people. I’ve met many of them and written about some of them.
Doris Tillman comes to mind. She’s the South Los Angeles retiree who went nine months without running water after losing a job and falling behind on a Los Angeles Department of Water and Power bill she disputed.
“I’m going to write a book about how to survive in L.A. without water,” the 71-year-old Tillman told me at the time. She learned to get by on 50 gallons a week of water she purchased, lugging heavy five-gallon jugs into and out of her car and into her home.
Second, the toilet. Nobody has brought this up on the show, but I’m going to now: if you live with other humans, eventually one of you is going to take the kind of deuce-evacuation that could conceivably destroy a marriage. Normally you’d be fine, because normally you’d be living in a normal-sized human house where you have a door to close and a fan and several rooms or even floors of separation. But now you dwell in an elf-house and now you and all the other elves are going to share in that dump you just took. You’re going to live with it for a while. Everyone is going to become intimately familiar with one another’s bathroom peccadilloes, okay?Heh.
STOCKHOLM, Maine—At least three times a night during much of the long, harsh northern winter, Aldea Campbell gets out of bed, steps into her slippers, and descends a flight of frighteningly steep, narrow wooden stairs to the cellar to fill her wood-burning stove. She’s 82, a widow, and has lived in her 102-year-old house near the Canadian border for almost six decades.
She burns wood because she can’t afford enough oil to get through the cold months. When her arthritis is bad, she gingerly maneuvers the steps sideways to keep from falling. But still, she slipped on the stairs twice last year, once badly hurting her tailbone. “It happened so fast,” she said.
Such predicaments are increasingly common in Maine: the grayest, most rural state in the U.S., with housing among the oldest in the nation. Maine has another distinction: it is among the first states to experience challenges from a growing number of seniors who are “aging in place”—remaining independent rather than relocating to nursing homes or moving in with grown children.
More elderly across the nation are aging at home for a variety of reasons: they prefer to and are healthy enough to stay; they can’t afford other options such as assisted living; and states in some cases have imposed policies to limit nursing home stays paid for by Medicaid, which is a major funder of long-term institutional health care for older Americans.
But aging in place is proving difficult in places where the population is growing older, supportive services are scarce, houses are in disrepair and younger people who can assist have moved away. As a result, elderly people who live at home are having to rely more on neighbors—who sometimes are elderly, too—and local nonprofits and public agencies are starting to feel the strain from increasing requests for help.
“It’s a huge issue—it couldn’t be bigger,” said Lenard Kaye, director of the University of Maine Center on Aging. “Ninety-nine percent of older adults say they want to stay right where they are until they’ve taken their last breath, but that doesn’t mean they are continuing to remain safe and remain well.”
IT’S a baby boomer’s nightmare. One moment you’re 40-ish and moving up, the next you’re 50-plus and suddenly, shockingly, moving out — jobless in a tough economy.Well, a late-career job change actually sounds pretty exciting, without all the financial uncertainty, of course.
Too young to retire, too old to start over. Or at least that’s the line. Comfortable jobs with comfortable salaries are scarce, after all. Almost overnight, skills honed over a lifetime seem tired, passé. Twenty- and thirty-somethings will gladly do the work you used to do, and probably for less money. Yes, businesses are hiring again, but not nearly fast enough. Many people are so disheartened that they’ve simply stopped looking for work.
For millions of Americans over 50, this isn’t a bad dream — it’s grim reality. The recession and its aftermath have hit older workers especially hard. People 55 to 64 — an age range when many start to dream of kicking back — are having a particularly hard time finding new jobs. For a vast majority of this cohort, being thrown out of work means months of fruitless searching and soul-crushing rejection.
To which many experts say, “What did you expect?”
Everyone, whatever age, needs a Plan B. And maybe a Plan C and a Plan D. Who doesn’t know that loyalty and hard work go only so far these days?
“Shame on you if you’re not thinking every single year, ‘What’s my next step?’ ” says Pamela Mitchell, a career coach and author. “It’s magical thinking not to do this.”
Ms. Mitchell, who has reinvented her own career a few times, says everyone should think about options, alternative job paths and career goals, just in case. She recommends talking over job possibilities with family members and, if possible, building a financial cushion.
Constant networking is crucial, too. The idea, she says, is to prepare in case a big change comes.
“If you’re thinking about it, you’ll be doing all this piecemeal along the way,” she says.
All of which, of course, is easier said than done. But some people who have gone through the emotional and financial strains of late-career unemployment say that with skill, determination and a bit of luck, the end of a job doesn’t have to be the end of the world. Changing jobs or careers can be a good thing later in life, despite the many risks. Many agree that a willingness to push beyond the comforts of location, lifestyle and line of work is vital.
Though there is no single path, there are success stories that offer hope.
The contradictions of Mr. Gingrich's entitlement plan reveal part of his political character, which is that his policies often don't match the high-decibel, sometimes grandiose nature of his rhetoric. This can make it easier for his opponents to stigmatize his policies as more radical than they really are because Mr. Gingrich tells everyone they're radical. He might achieve more if he spoke more softly and carried a bigger stick.RTWT at the link.
