The complete title of this blog was "Sometimes things are happening even when you don't know it." It would not fit into the little window.
Anyway, I have been getting a poem a day (for Poetry month) in my Inbox from the Academy of American Poets and it has been thrilling. No matter whether the poem has huge impact or not, just trying to wrap my brain around refreshes. I readily admit I don't always have a clue what the poet is saying. Take Mei-mei Berssenbrugge's poem, for example:
From Concordance [Our conversation is a wing]by Mei-mei Berssenbrugge
Our conversation is a wing below my consciousness, like organization in blowing cloth, eddies of water, its order of light on film with no lens.
A higher resonance of story finds its way to higher organization: data swirl into group dreams.
Then story surfaces, as if recognized; flies buzzing in your room suddenly translate to "Oh! You're crying!"
So, here I hug the old person, who's not "light" until I embrace him.
My happiness at seeing him, my French suit constitute at the interface of wing and occasion.
Postulate whether the friendship is fulfilling.
Reduce by small increments your worry about the nature of compassion or the chill of emotional identification among girlfriends, your wish to be held in the consciousness of another, like a person waiting for you to wake.
Postulate the wave nature of wanting him to wait (white space) and the quanta of fractal conflict, point to point, along the outline of a petal, shore from a small boat.
Words spoken with force create particles.
He calls the location of accidents a morphic field; their recurrence is resonance, as of an archetype with the vibration of a seed.
My last thoughts were bitter and helpless.
Friends witnessing grief enter your consciousness, illuminating your form, so quiet comes.
It is the shaping of the language, the use of words in new ways and the use of words I am familiar with but never use, like quanta and fractal and particles and morphic (morphic field?) which keeps me re-reading the poem, gently savoring it. There are many images there, and I respond to them, like "eddies of water" and "the vibration of a seed." "Words spoken with force create particles" resonates. But other than a vague identification with key words, do I have the remotest? Uh uh.
Since I am one who always wishes to share largesse, I have been sending some poems to my daughter and to my grandkids, to savor, too. But I don't get any response, so think that the poems arrived and then thud. Nothing.
Today, though, I called my daughter about the catfood recall and she was very excited about the poetry and my sending the poems has led to her checking out a bunch of volumes and reading poems aloud to her daughters. (She has been savoring poems by Emily Dickinson especially, who, as she says, speaks our language.)
While we chatted I sent her some more poems, inc. the one above and when we talked about movies, she recommended "Opal Dream." I will check that out.
So the beat goes on.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Happy Ending, Unhappy Ending or No Ending
On my walk this morning (ahem! yeah, I am preening myself, after making it around only 2 blocks--the first walk in a long time) I was ruminating on books, as usual, and their endings, more particularly. I have read lots of books in the last month. Several were cliff hangers, leaving me saying aloud, "Oh, dear." When it is a book from a series, (like the beloved Jury series, by Martha Grimes, for instance) I am sanguine; all will be revealed in the next book, right? However, (you may not want to read further since I am about to sound off like a snarky Philistine) when the novel is Art, or Poetic, and most esp. if the author is a college professor, then the ending is too often artfully ambiguous and just leaves me wondering. Frankly I don't read books to be left wondering--that is what my life is about, after all, so who needs the ambiguity?
Take the novel Yellowcake, by Ann Cummins, as an example of the artful novel with the--to me, anyway--artfully ambiguous ending. That novel, about the ravages suffered by uranium millworkers, Navaho and Anglo, was quite admirable. Cummins' writing shone on every page. I exclaimed about her skill to whoever would listen. I became immersed in the lives of her well-drawn characters and caught up in wondering what would become of them. For a short time I lived within that novel and liked it a huge deal. Until the ending, when I was left asking myself 'did anyone ever find what happened to Sam--and what did, anyway?' And 'did Ryland manage to hang on a few more years, spending them contentedly with Rosy?'
I was having an email conversation with a friend about "Black Orpheus," which I have not seen in years, in which I said, "I recall it as being disjointed, almost dream-like and incomplete. That is, no nicely tied up ending." (Would have to watch it again to see my memory serves.) Today, after my walk, I read an email from her in which she said she often prefers an open-ended movie, while her mother "HATES them, in fact likes them to go on five minutes beyond the happy ending so she can be SURE it was a happy ending. (Let us not speak of movies with no happy ending.)"
Her comment was so obviously serendipidous that I added it to my ruminating pot and let it stew a bit. So, what about happy endings and unhappy ones? After thinking it over, I think I can say that I am not one who requires a happy ending in order to like a film or a book. I don't like unhappy endings (take "Evira Madigan," for instance) but I see that they have impact and are fitting, inevitable, for some plots. Here is the thing, when I said "Oh, dear," about those three books I think it was that were cliff hangers, in every case something unpleasant had occurred at the end. But I still had hope, if the book was one of a series. (After all the author hadn't killed off the main character, right?) About Yellowcake I can only hope that she writes a sequel. Doesn't leave me wondering.
The way I would score Happy Ending: a 10. Unhappy Ending: say an 8. No Ending: 0.
Take the novel Yellowcake, by Ann Cummins, as an example of the artful novel with the--to me, anyway--artfully ambiguous ending. That novel, about the ravages suffered by uranium millworkers, Navaho and Anglo, was quite admirable. Cummins' writing shone on every page. I exclaimed about her skill to whoever would listen. I became immersed in the lives of her well-drawn characters and caught up in wondering what would become of them. For a short time I lived within that novel and liked it a huge deal. Until the ending, when I was left asking myself 'did anyone ever find what happened to Sam--and what did, anyway?' And 'did Ryland manage to hang on a few more years, spending them contentedly with Rosy?'
I was having an email conversation with a friend about "Black Orpheus," which I have not seen in years, in which I said, "I recall it as being disjointed, almost dream-like and incomplete. That is, no nicely tied up ending." (Would have to watch it again to see my memory serves.) Today, after my walk, I read an email from her in which she said she often prefers an open-ended movie, while her mother "HATES them, in fact likes them to go on five minutes beyond the happy ending so she can be SURE it was a happy ending. (Let us not speak of movies with no happy ending.)"
Her comment was so obviously serendipidous that I added it to my ruminating pot and let it stew a bit. So, what about happy endings and unhappy ones? After thinking it over, I think I can say that I am not one who requires a happy ending in order to like a film or a book. I don't like unhappy endings (take "Evira Madigan," for instance) but I see that they have impact and are fitting, inevitable, for some plots. Here is the thing, when I said "Oh, dear," about those three books I think it was that were cliff hangers, in every case something unpleasant had occurred at the end. But I still had hope, if the book was one of a series. (After all the author hadn't killed off the main character, right?) About Yellowcake I can only hope that she writes a sequel. Doesn't leave me wondering.
The way I would score Happy Ending: a 10. Unhappy Ending: say an 8. No Ending: 0.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Are we there yet?
Last night I finally made a stab at organizing my email Inbox. And it only took 10,000 years, said Little Edith.
And Even Less Likely to Blog About It: Ian Rankin
Last Monday I went to hear one of my favorite mystery authors, Ian Rankin, who is Scots, read from his latest book, The Naming of the Dead, which I have actually read, surprise surprise. I like Rankin's novels because he is funny yet he gets into the more meaningful questions about our existence. His protagonist, Rebus, is something of a curmudgeon, a cynic, not unlike myself. More so, interestingly, than Rankin, I think.
I was very excited to get to hear him. He was as entertaining as I could have asked for. He was telling stories from the moment he got to the lectern--obviously his natural element. He described the process of writing The Naming of the Dead. One thing I appreciate about his writing is that he readily comes across on the page as laid-back, even conversational. His process as he described it seemed organic. He mentioned that he wrote to answer certain questions--or to put it another way, he began with just a bit of the story and wrote to satisfy his need for an ending which was satisfying to him. (Truth, but not necessarily the truth.)
During the question/answer period he said some of his favorites among his own books were Black and Blue, The Falls, and the one which proceeded this one, Fleshmarket Alley. (Originally called Fleshmarket Close but changed here in the states because American readers can't be expected to know what a close is, right?) I don't really have any favorites. Truth to tell, it is Rankin's writing I like. He himself said the plot is the easiest thing. Which someone questioned--perhaps a struggling writer?--but he said something to the effect that plots are heavy on the ground--it is the locale and the background--even the title, that comes first. Then comes the question...
Seeing him (eye candy) and hearing him--funny eruditer--gave me a huge lift.
Thank you, Jennifer...
I was very excited to get to hear him. He was as entertaining as I could have asked for. He was telling stories from the moment he got to the lectern--obviously his natural element. He described the process of writing The Naming of the Dead. One thing I appreciate about his writing is that he readily comes across on the page as laid-back, even conversational. His process as he described it seemed organic. He mentioned that he wrote to answer certain questions--or to put it another way, he began with just a bit of the story and wrote to satisfy his need for an ending which was satisfying to him. (Truth, but not necessarily the truth.)
During the question/answer period he said some of his favorites among his own books were Black and Blue, The Falls, and the one which proceeded this one, Fleshmarket Alley. (Originally called Fleshmarket Close but changed here in the states because American readers can't be expected to know what a close is, right?) I don't really have any favorites. Truth to tell, it is Rankin's writing I like. He himself said the plot is the easiest thing. Which someone questioned--perhaps a struggling writer?--but he said something to the effect that plots are heavy on the ground--it is the locale and the background--even the title, that comes first. Then comes the question...
Seeing him (eye candy) and hearing him--funny eruditer--gave me a huge lift.
Thank you, Jennifer...
Friday, April 20, 2007
Ready~~ Set~~~GO!
Have to go to work in about 10 minutes, so taking those few for a post. Not a lofty post, just ramblings and meanderings about TA DA! American Idol.
This is partially inspired by seeing Sanjaya on Jay Leno last night. I puzzled and puzzled over the time allotted S., since when Gina Glockston was on, one of my faves, she barely had a moment in the sun. Leno seemed to sincerely appreciate Sanjaya's continued good-natured behavior , in the face of all the adverse criticism he received on the show and the voluminous amount of media attention he has received, good and bad. I am amazed to think that Sanjaya may go on to have a career, based on the negativity.
ION, I have been having ear worms of both the song Sanjaya sang, "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About" (which he personalized with "besides hair") and "Broken Wing," sang by Jordin Sparks. But, with a difference--Jordin's rendition gave me goosebumps.
This is partially inspired by seeing Sanjaya on Jay Leno last night. I puzzled and puzzled over the time allotted S., since when Gina Glockston was on, one of my faves, she barely had a moment in the sun. Leno seemed to sincerely appreciate Sanjaya's continued good-natured behavior , in the face of all the adverse criticism he received on the show and the voluminous amount of media attention he has received, good and bad. I am amazed to think that Sanjaya may go on to have a career, based on the negativity.
ION, I have been having ear worms of both the song Sanjaya sang, "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About" (which he personalized with "besides hair") and "Broken Wing," sang by Jordin Sparks. But, with a difference--Jordin's rendition gave me goosebumps.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Hiatus
It has been quite a while...This post is just me holding my nose and diving in again. Last week was particularly awful, but not anything I would want to write about in a blog. Anyway, I am back. I think.
To offset my malaise, I watched a lot of Animal Planet--tried to avoid raging about issues on C-SPAN--and read my eyes out.
A movie I watched which was much better than expected was Return to Me, with David Duchovny and Minnie Driver. Plot: Beloved wife dies, woman gets heart as transplant, husband unwittingly falls for woman with wife's heart. EW!
Yes, it was something of a tear jerker, but it had unexpected quirky bits that kept it from being merely sentimental twaddle. (OMG--I loved the old card players.) DD is always a draw, since I was addicted to the XFiles series. (Though his movies nearly always disappoint.) Minnie Driver managed to do something with a role that raised obvious questions. And the chemistry seemed to be there.
That chemistry is not just a matter of acting. (Maybe romantic comdies should be rated on the basis of how much chemistry is there--like a romantic comedy chemistry thermometer.)
So often I think after a romantic comedy "Would those two have REALLY gone for each other in real life???" and more often than not, "No!" is my answer. (Or even "Hell No!") Too often, actually, even while watching, I know that they don't have that essential spark--the spark with the power to confound all logic and amaze people who can see no rational basis for how a couple can possibly hang together. The glue, that is, that makes union possible. And without it, improbable, in a romantic comedy.
I had more trouble seeing DD working in a hard hat than making out with Minnie Driver.
I would rate it a 3 handkerchief movie, with a lot of wry smiles along the way.
To offset my malaise, I watched a lot of Animal Planet--tried to avoid raging about issues on C-SPAN--and read my eyes out.
A movie I watched which was much better than expected was Return to Me, with David Duchovny and Minnie Driver. Plot: Beloved wife dies, woman gets heart as transplant, husband unwittingly falls for woman with wife's heart. EW!
Yes, it was something of a tear jerker, but it had unexpected quirky bits that kept it from being merely sentimental twaddle. (OMG--I loved the old card players.) DD is always a draw, since I was addicted to the XFiles series. (Though his movies nearly always disappoint.) Minnie Driver managed to do something with a role that raised obvious questions. And the chemistry seemed to be there.
That chemistry is not just a matter of acting. (Maybe romantic comdies should be rated on the basis of how much chemistry is there--like a romantic comedy chemistry thermometer.)
So often I think after a romantic comedy "Would those two have REALLY gone for each other in real life???" and more often than not, "No!" is my answer. (Or even "Hell No!") Too often, actually, even while watching, I know that they don't have that essential spark--the spark with the power to confound all logic and amaze people who can see no rational basis for how a couple can possibly hang together. The glue, that is, that makes union possible. And without it, improbable, in a romantic comedy.
I had more trouble seeing DD working in a hard hat than making out with Minnie Driver.
I would rate it a 3 handkerchief movie, with a lot of wry smiles along the way.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Beyond Books
Reading other peoples blogs, those beautiful creations, complete with pictures and links, I conceive of books in the future cast on walls, projected from computers, complete with moving pictures and sound--references within references.
We now have illustrated books--these would be like that, but with layered images (yeah, I stole that from Crusie).
I am not thinking of movies with extended subtitles, rather book-lengthy streams of the written language I revere, but embellished, with images, sounds, music.
Books of the future could be add-ons--readers adding their own words/images/references. Sharing them online.
The hitch would be the "my mine mine" factor--the desire to be the sole author, not part of a collaborative effort.
Also, one could become so addicted to the creation of even a single book that one could spend a lifetime online, reading/watching/listening and submitting, reading/watching/listening and submitting.
Sounds good, actually.
We now have illustrated books--these would be like that, but with layered images (yeah, I stole that from Crusie).
I am not thinking of movies with extended subtitles, rather book-lengthy streams of the written language I revere, but embellished, with images, sounds, music.
Books of the future could be add-ons--readers adding their own words/images/references. Sharing them online.
The hitch would be the "my mine mine" factor--the desire to be the sole author, not part of a collaborative effort.
Also, one could become so addicted to the creation of even a single book that one could spend a lifetime online, reading/watching/listening and submitting, reading/watching/listening and submitting.
Sounds good, actually.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Office Space
I finally watched Office Space today and it did me good. I woke up (late) in terrible pain and wanted to go back to bed. But watching that movie was a better option. I had intermittent mental hiccups of laughter while toiling away later. (Smiling internally is better than not smiling at all.)
I love that Ron Livingston! He was the main reason to watch Stand-off. (Is that gone for good, or just for the season?--even checking the uh, official, website, I could not tell). Heck, I even watch that cell-phone commercial because he's in it. Won't somebody give that boy more roles?
But I digress. I think Office Space should be mandatory viewing for anyone who works 9 to 5. The movie is actually pretty mild, though, compared to the real thing. I once applied for a job with all those cubicles--the supervisor was elevated so that he?she? could see what people were doing at all times. As I stood there shuddering, I knew I could not work there...But when I finally found a job I figured I could live with, I did not escape those tedious morale building meetings where they urge the employee to put on more steam, for the company. Then there was the dress code...Argh! I totally sympathized with Anniston's character about her "flair."
The movie is one I could watch another time or two. Which I hear is what people are doing.
I love that Ron Livingston! He was the main reason to watch Stand-off. (Is that gone for good, or just for the season?--even checking the uh, official, website, I could not tell). Heck, I even watch that cell-phone commercial because he's in it. Won't somebody give that boy more roles?
But I digress. I think Office Space should be mandatory viewing for anyone who works 9 to 5. The movie is actually pretty mild, though, compared to the real thing. I once applied for a job with all those cubicles--the supervisor was elevated so that he?she? could see what people were doing at all times. As I stood there shuddering, I knew I could not work there...But when I finally found a job I figured I could live with, I did not escape those tedious morale building meetings where they urge the employee to put on more steam, for the company. Then there was the dress code...Argh! I totally sympathized with Anniston's character about her "flair."
The movie is one I could watch another time or two. Which I hear is what people are doing.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Spring Forward
Nature took that phrase to heart with the most excellent weather we had today. The usual temperature is 60 degrees and we had 70--Yay! for us. I got out in the yard and puttered. Finally chopping off the dead tops on plants which seem to have live roots, and filling the bird feeders, which were picked clean this week. (Probably by the fat squirrels which hang upside down in ludicrous positions, but I'm not complaining.) A flicker shrieked at me but didn't make an appearance in the yard. Then there was the one-note tiny bird in the neighbors pear tree that went bling bling bling bling bling. They take a critical interest when I fuss with their feeders. What a glorious day! I want more like this one.
My daffodils started opening on Friday and they have gladdened my heart so much. Ridiculous, maybe, when everyone and her brother has them blooming--but they were my yellow trumpets. They have an interesting perfume. There were also a couple of wayward violets blooming on the curb line next to the car. I have to applaud their tenacity, considering that everyone and her dog walks on them.
I undertook to do some wire manipulation this evening and learned a few things--1) I am very rusty; 2) I can't substitute 18 gauge for 20 guage some projects--which might be more to do with my strength than the flexibility of the wire but whatever; 2) conversely, if I use 26 or 28 guage wire (for a different project) it is so flexible that it bends/kinks easily; and 3) when creating intricate components I will probably make a lot of dogs along the way, in order to come up with the necessary number of acceptable ones. I don't think there are any life lessons in my playing with the wire, but it sure seemed appropriate for this fine day.
My daffodils started opening on Friday and they have gladdened my heart so much. Ridiculous, maybe, when everyone and her brother has them blooming--but they were my yellow trumpets. They have an interesting perfume. There were also a couple of wayward violets blooming on the curb line next to the car. I have to applaud their tenacity, considering that everyone and her dog walks on them.
I undertook to do some wire manipulation this evening and learned a few things--1) I am very rusty; 2) I can't substitute 18 gauge for 20 guage some projects--which might be more to do with my strength than the flexibility of the wire but whatever; 2) conversely, if I use 26 or 28 guage wire (for a different project) it is so flexible that it bends/kinks easily; and 3) when creating intricate components I will probably make a lot of dogs along the way, in order to come up with the necessary number of acceptable ones. I don't think there are any life lessons in my playing with the wire, but it sure seemed appropriate for this fine day.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Yo Factor
Tonight on American Idol judge Randy Jackson complained that one of the contestants lacked the "Yo" factor--she had no "Wow."
Sometimes on that show they seem to be pressing all the contestants into the same mold--over the top Wow and lots of YO! with no room for a crooner or a Broadway musical sort of singer. But I know what he meant. They defined some of the Yo/Wow factor, actually: Talent, passion, believability.
All of the contestants have talent in abundance (think Lekisha, Melinda, Jordin...)--but some have yet to find a way to express who they are--to demonstrate their individuality. One contestant that impresses me immensely, even though I am not particularly fond of her style, is Gina. Right from the beginning she was intensely motivated to give everything she had to the contest. She was willing to push herself and also to listen to advice on what she needed to do to do her very best. Tonight she was able to shine with all her light.
I believe I know who will win, but I dread the count down, really. I hate seeing people drop out. During this contest I am torn between loving the talented and feeling sad for the underdog.
Sometimes on that show they seem to be pressing all the contestants into the same mold--over the top Wow and lots of YO! with no room for a crooner or a Broadway musical sort of singer. But I know what he meant. They defined some of the Yo/Wow factor, actually: Talent, passion, believability.
All of the contestants have talent in abundance (think Lekisha, Melinda, Jordin...)--but some have yet to find a way to express who they are--to demonstrate their individuality. One contestant that impresses me immensely, even though I am not particularly fond of her style, is Gina. Right from the beginning she was intensely motivated to give everything she had to the contest. She was willing to push herself and also to listen to advice on what she needed to do to do her very best. Tonight she was able to shine with all her light.
I believe I know who will win, but I dread the count down, really. I hate seeing people drop out. During this contest I am torn between loving the talented and feeling sad for the underdog.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
True Confession
I'm a couch potato. Between 8 and 10 I can nearly always be found in front of the tube. But this is the first season that I have gotten hooked by (gasp!) American Idol. And, oh, yeah! voting for my favorites.
When my son told me his family watched American Idol I was astonished. (Picture eyes rolling.) But at this point in time I am trying for viewing that is more upbeat--Discovery or Animal Planet, instead of human disasters or infuriating politics on CNN. Normally during the 8 o'clock slot I would be watching NCIS--but I can always watch that in re-runs, is my reasoning. The music on American Idol is the draw obviously. Songs I've never heard--and doubt if I will again.
I have to fight my impulse to vote for the underdog. That little thing that the judges do after each song is nerve-wracking. Some of the criticism seems constructive. Randy Jackson is pretty balanced, though I don't always agree with him. Paula Abdul can usually be counted on the defend the contestant or at least to state her criticism ruefully. Then there is Simon. I just brace myself when it is his turn. The annoying thing is, I often agree with him--the far out exception being the personal criticisms he makes (big eyes? bad hair? bad outfit?) which often have little or nothing to do with the performance. He obviously isn't lacking in the ego department but leans towards the contestants who are more humble. But his peccadillos no doubt keep viewers from nodding off.
When my son told me his family watched American Idol I was astonished. (Picture eyes rolling.) But at this point in time I am trying for viewing that is more upbeat--Discovery or Animal Planet, instead of human disasters or infuriating politics on CNN. Normally during the 8 o'clock slot I would be watching NCIS--but I can always watch that in re-runs, is my reasoning. The music on American Idol is the draw obviously. Songs I've never heard--and doubt if I will again.
I have to fight my impulse to vote for the underdog. That little thing that the judges do after each song is nerve-wracking. Some of the criticism seems constructive. Randy Jackson is pretty balanced, though I don't always agree with him. Paula Abdul can usually be counted on the defend the contestant or at least to state her criticism ruefully. Then there is Simon. I just brace myself when it is his turn. The annoying thing is, I often agree with him--the far out exception being the personal criticisms he makes (big eyes? bad hair? bad outfit?) which often have little or nothing to do with the performance. He obviously isn't lacking in the ego department but leans towards the contestants who are more humble. But his peccadillos no doubt keep viewers from nodding off.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Spring's warm breath at my neck
The sun was actually hot today, on my back porch. And it lighted up the house--I really had forgotten what that is like. Those silly snake heads on my daffodils still haven't opened, but one more day like today should do the trick.
I am so tired at this moment that I can't rub two brian cells together.
ION, I have decided to write more here, without spending so much time and angst fretting over what is important and what isn't. The moment is what is important, and I just keep letting that slip away.
I am so tired at this moment that I can't rub two brian cells together.
ION, I have decided to write more here, without spending so much time and angst fretting over what is important and what isn't. The moment is what is important, and I just keep letting that slip away.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
fun moments
1. Dancing to Buckcherry, who performed on Jay Leno.
2. A bumper sticker: Practice Compassionate Impeachment
3. Laser Cats video on SNL
2. A bumper sticker: Practice Compassionate Impeachment
3. Laser Cats video on SNL
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Cary Grant a celebration of Style
After reading this book I doubt you will ever view Cary Grant the same way again. It is like having a magician explain his tricks: afterward, you watch closely, to see how he does it. Afterward, either some of the magic is gone or you marvel even more at how he pulls off the prestidigitation.
There are two requirements for enjoying this book, I think: Admiration of the work of Cary Grant of course. Torregrossa has produced a book as handsome as its subject, filled with hundreds of portraits of Grant and stills from his movies. It is also a huge plus if you have to have some interest in fashion and enjoy reading about the mysteries of garment construction, such as collar stands and armscyes.
The author, Richard Torregrossa, obviously adores his subject. I can't think of one criticism of Grant in the entire book. The most he says that might suggest that Grant's character is other than sterling is when he mentions that some found Grant a prima donna on the set (a perfectionist!) and that both Grant and his lovely last wife, Barbara, liked to argue. But those bits are not brought up to impune Grant's character--the charge of his being a prima donna is immediately discounted, and the arguing characterized as adding spice to the marriage. Torregrossa worships Grant. He repeatedly comments on his manly attractiveness and lauds his acting, his gentility and his business acumen. He is not looking for ways to topple him off his pedestal. I found that refreshing.
As for fashion and garment construction, it is here, not in any salacious details (Grant did not gossip and neither does Torregrossa) that bit by bit Grant's secrets to his success are laid bare. Whowouldathunkit?! was my response to reading about the many infinitessimal means Grant used to create his image.
The bold outline of his career is probably familiar to nearly every movie goer--how a boy of 16 named Archibald Leach first ran away to the circus, made his way to glorious New York with that circus, and stayed on after it departed. With perserverance and good luck, he was able eventually to get a role in a play.
That sounds like overnight success--being discovered and an overnight sensation. It would nice here to be able to throw in that phrase "And the rest as they say is history." But wrong. It was actually the reverse. Because he was not an overnight sensation as an actor, he set about creating an image and persona which would lead to success. He was completely active in his transformation from Archy Leach to Cary Grant. He studied role models--the ones with the look he wanted to cultivate. And early on he learned that if there were an obstacle, such as one director rejecting him because he had a thick neck, skillful tailoring could solve the dilemma. (Which is where that collar stand comes in.) Torregrossa goes into much detail about Grant's process of working with his Savile Row tailors to create garments which would produce exactly the look he wanted.
In some ways Grant was an iconoclast, because he did not really follow fashion--he merely wanted to look his best and used whatever means available. He made no secret that he preferred women's nylon panties to regular men's underwear, be they briefs or boxers, because the panties gave him the look he wanted, especially when wearing period uniform trousers. A director grabbed a comb and parted his hair on the "wrong" side and it was such an improvement that Grant parted it that way everafterward. Another example: He had this signature gesture of putting his hands in his pockets. Hampered when wearing a jacket with the usual single vent, he discovered that his jacket kept its elegant appearance and he could more comfortably get his hand into a pocket if the jacket had two vents. Looking at a closeup of one of his jackets, it seemed to me that he had requested an extra-large pocket of his tailer, also. He was minutely interested in every aspect of tailoring and fashion and did not hesitate to make suggestions to his co-stars. (How the suggests were received isn't mentioned.) Even after retiring he kept up with the work of designers he admired, sending them his comments and suggestions.
One of the accidents of the book (certainly not Torregrossa's intention) is that to some extent Grant comes off appearing to be a clothes horse whose main passion was his wardrobe. (Which was immense.) After reading the book I took a look at two of his movies, Notorious, and The Awful Truth.
Grant had a warm relationship with Hitchcock, so I was surprised at how wooden Grant seemed in parts of Notorious. Uh, almost like a mannequin. I think of the love scene, and then later when he is rejecting the luminous Miss Bergman.
Torregrossa mentions that Grant did make suggestions he thought might improve some scenes--suggestions always rejected by Hitchcock. I recall, though, reading that some actors not so enamored of Hitchcock's direction thought he treated actors like furniture. It is obvious from the outset that the movie is very mannered. Grant is a mysterious figure when he first turns up--one only sees the back of his head. He sits immobile, viewing the party--and Bergman--impassively. The movie is not meant to be a slice of life--more a painting in black, white and shades of gray.
Well, despite seeing Grant through very different eyes, and despite some of the bad dialogue, I have to admit that as a whole, Notorious works--and Grant works. How did he do that? I am afraid I must fall back on that term charisma. And of course Hitchcock's intention. To quote the author: "Grant trusted Hitchock more than any other director. Grant said he "could fold myself up as if I was in the fetal position and whatever he said, I would do, because he was always right."
In the Awful Truth Grant is quite funny and charming. I want to say natural, but that would imply that he is not acting. Most memorable for me (what can I say? I am a sucker for dogs every time) are his scenes with the dog, Mr. Smith. He is hilarious and free--and impeccably attired. Not wooden or constricted. Of course, it is a comedy not a stylized drama.
But the real point is--people are still watching Grant's movies and asking how did he do that?
How did Archic Leach travel the long road to become Cary Grant?
When Archie Leach was nine, his mother left. His father told him vaguely that she had gone to the seashore. But she never returned. Apparently they did not have the sort of relationship which enabled them to have a little chat about that. Eventually, as an adult, Grant discovered that his mother had been institutionalized and during the whole of his childhood had been only about 60 miles from where he lived. After he found out that she was still alive, he took care of her, for as long as she lived.
I mention that biographical detail because obviously at a very young age Cary Grant was thrown on his own devices. He had to invent himself. Torregrossa suggests that he began early, as a Boy Scout, modifying his Scout uniform.
Grant is a fascinating subject. He was also a private person, despite his fame. After reading the book, I was left to ponder how he dealt with his transformation. The dichotomy is at the heart of Torregrossa's book:
' As Grant's fame grew it seemed every comic on earth was likely to do a
Cary Grant imitation. When a reporter asked him who he thought did the
best impression, Grant said, "I do."'
and
'When an interviewer asked the star of To Catch aThief,Indiscreet
and An Affair to Remember, "Who is Cary Grant?" he responded,
"When you find out, let me know." The answer revealed his lifelong
uneasiness with his duelling identities, the one he was born with and the
one he invented, much like his often-quoted comment, "Everyone wants to be
Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant."'
The book left me marveling at Archy Leach's gift--which he has passed on to all movie-goers--his gift for creating a character, a persona, an image called Cary Grant. If you wonder whether Cary Grant was a serious actor or an elegantly clad poseur in all those old movies, watch them, decide for yourself. Armed with this book, you will see through some of the magic tricks. But will that dispell the magic?
There are two requirements for enjoying this book, I think: Admiration of the work of Cary Grant of course. Torregrossa has produced a book as handsome as its subject, filled with hundreds of portraits of Grant and stills from his movies. It is also a huge plus if you have to have some interest in fashion and enjoy reading about the mysteries of garment construction, such as collar stands and armscyes.
The author, Richard Torregrossa, obviously adores his subject. I can't think of one criticism of Grant in the entire book. The most he says that might suggest that Grant's character is other than sterling is when he mentions that some found Grant a prima donna on the set (a perfectionist!) and that both Grant and his lovely last wife, Barbara, liked to argue. But those bits are not brought up to impune Grant's character--the charge of his being a prima donna is immediately discounted, and the arguing characterized as adding spice to the marriage. Torregrossa worships Grant. He repeatedly comments on his manly attractiveness and lauds his acting, his gentility and his business acumen. He is not looking for ways to topple him off his pedestal. I found that refreshing.
As for fashion and garment construction, it is here, not in any salacious details (Grant did not gossip and neither does Torregrossa) that bit by bit Grant's secrets to his success are laid bare. Whowouldathunkit?! was my response to reading about the many infinitessimal means Grant used to create his image.
The bold outline of his career is probably familiar to nearly every movie goer--how a boy of 16 named Archibald Leach first ran away to the circus, made his way to glorious New York with that circus, and stayed on after it departed. With perserverance and good luck, he was able eventually to get a role in a play.
That sounds like overnight success--being discovered and an overnight sensation. It would nice here to be able to throw in that phrase "And the rest as they say is history." But wrong. It was actually the reverse. Because he was not an overnight sensation as an actor, he set about creating an image and persona which would lead to success. He was completely active in his transformation from Archy Leach to Cary Grant. He studied role models--the ones with the look he wanted to cultivate. And early on he learned that if there were an obstacle, such as one director rejecting him because he had a thick neck, skillful tailoring could solve the dilemma. (Which is where that collar stand comes in.) Torregrossa goes into much detail about Grant's process of working with his Savile Row tailors to create garments which would produce exactly the look he wanted.
In some ways Grant was an iconoclast, because he did not really follow fashion--he merely wanted to look his best and used whatever means available. He made no secret that he preferred women's nylon panties to regular men's underwear, be they briefs or boxers, because the panties gave him the look he wanted, especially when wearing period uniform trousers. A director grabbed a comb and parted his hair on the "wrong" side and it was such an improvement that Grant parted it that way everafterward. Another example: He had this signature gesture of putting his hands in his pockets. Hampered when wearing a jacket with the usual single vent, he discovered that his jacket kept its elegant appearance and he could more comfortably get his hand into a pocket if the jacket had two vents. Looking at a closeup of one of his jackets, it seemed to me that he had requested an extra-large pocket of his tailer, also. He was minutely interested in every aspect of tailoring and fashion and did not hesitate to make suggestions to his co-stars. (How the suggests were received isn't mentioned.) Even after retiring he kept up with the work of designers he admired, sending them his comments and suggestions.
One of the accidents of the book (certainly not Torregrossa's intention) is that to some extent Grant comes off appearing to be a clothes horse whose main passion was his wardrobe. (Which was immense.) After reading the book I took a look at two of his movies, Notorious, and The Awful Truth.
Grant had a warm relationship with Hitchcock, so I was surprised at how wooden Grant seemed in parts of Notorious. Uh, almost like a mannequin. I think of the love scene, and then later when he is rejecting the luminous Miss Bergman.
Torregrossa mentions that Grant did make suggestions he thought might improve some scenes--suggestions always rejected by Hitchcock. I recall, though, reading that some actors not so enamored of Hitchcock's direction thought he treated actors like furniture. It is obvious from the outset that the movie is very mannered. Grant is a mysterious figure when he first turns up--one only sees the back of his head. He sits immobile, viewing the party--and Bergman--impassively. The movie is not meant to be a slice of life--more a painting in black, white and shades of gray.
Well, despite seeing Grant through very different eyes, and despite some of the bad dialogue, I have to admit that as a whole, Notorious works--and Grant works. How did he do that? I am afraid I must fall back on that term charisma. And of course Hitchcock's intention. To quote the author: "Grant trusted Hitchock more than any other director. Grant said he "could fold myself up as if I was in the fetal position and whatever he said, I would do, because he was always right."
In the Awful Truth Grant is quite funny and charming. I want to say natural, but that would imply that he is not acting. Most memorable for me (what can I say? I am a sucker for dogs every time) are his scenes with the dog, Mr. Smith. He is hilarious and free--and impeccably attired. Not wooden or constricted. Of course, it is a comedy not a stylized drama.
But the real point is--people are still watching Grant's movies and asking how did he do that?
How did Archic Leach travel the long road to become Cary Grant?
When Archie Leach was nine, his mother left. His father told him vaguely that she had gone to the seashore. But she never returned. Apparently they did not have the sort of relationship which enabled them to have a little chat about that. Eventually, as an adult, Grant discovered that his mother had been institutionalized and during the whole of his childhood had been only about 60 miles from where he lived. After he found out that she was still alive, he took care of her, for as long as she lived.
I mention that biographical detail because obviously at a very young age Cary Grant was thrown on his own devices. He had to invent himself. Torregrossa suggests that he began early, as a Boy Scout, modifying his Scout uniform.
Grant is a fascinating subject. He was also a private person, despite his fame. After reading the book, I was left to ponder how he dealt with his transformation. The dichotomy is at the heart of Torregrossa's book:
' As Grant's fame grew it seemed every comic on earth was likely to do a
Cary Grant imitation. When a reporter asked him who he thought did the
best impression, Grant said, "I do."'
and
'When an interviewer asked the star of To Catch aThief,Indiscreet
and An Affair to Remember, "Who is Cary Grant?" he responded,
"When you find out, let me know." The answer revealed his lifelong
uneasiness with his duelling identities, the one he was born with and the
one he invented, much like his often-quoted comment, "Everyone wants to be
Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant."'
The book left me marveling at Archy Leach's gift--which he has passed on to all movie-goers--his gift for creating a character, a persona, an image called Cary Grant. If you wonder whether Cary Grant was a serious actor or an elegantly clad poseur in all those old movies, watch them, decide for yourself. Armed with this book, you will see through some of the magic tricks. But will that dispell the magic?
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Oscar Night
Watching the Academy Awards is good for my tear ducts--like going to a wedding.
Laughed at Ellen, though I think she could have lost that vacuum. Seinfeld, too, I could have lived without.
I was surprised and mostly pleased at the awards. How could Dreamgirls not win, with so many songs nominated? Statistically, it seems impossible.
I have always admired Helen Mirren (tuned in to Prime Suspect 6 the minute the awards were over). Hurrah, for that Oscar. Mirren doesn't resort to kick boxing or chase scenes--uh uh. She moves in close and engages with the other characters, eye to eye, nose to nose. I am always mesmerized by the way she can create drama without screaming or thrashing about, barely raising her voice, using only the smallest gestures.
Sentimentally, I was leaning toward Peter O'Toole getting the Oscar for best actor. But I admire Forest Whitaker and not having seen either movie, what the hell? I do hope that there will be another chance for O'Toole...
Whitaker's speech expressed best the spirit of the Awards: if you follow your heart (or in the words of Joseph Campbell, follow your bliss), whoever you are, wherever you started, you can achieve your dream. He didn't mention that you have to work your ass off--that is a given.
I must mourn Philippe Noiret. Though he leaves a huge oeuvre, I haven't been fortunate enough to see more than ten or so of his flims. I loved esp. Cinema Paradiso and Vie et rien d'autre. Images from Coupe de Torchon, in which he plays the role of a hen-pecked minor civil servant somewhere in Africa, will forever linger in my mind. His filmwork was subtle and finely nuanced, resulting in memorable performances. I was shocked to learn of his death--as if it were a personal loss. My response, which seems unrealistic (I did not KNOW him, for heaven's sake) I think relates to the very nature of film. Though movies are entertainment, they also have amazing power to influence us--to connect us, as Whitaker said, and to move us, also, to act. The best actors reveal not merely themselves, but something universal about humanity.
Laughed at Ellen, though I think she could have lost that vacuum. Seinfeld, too, I could have lived without.
I was surprised and mostly pleased at the awards. How could Dreamgirls not win, with so many songs nominated? Statistically, it seems impossible.
I have always admired Helen Mirren (tuned in to Prime Suspect 6 the minute the awards were over). Hurrah, for that Oscar. Mirren doesn't resort to kick boxing or chase scenes--uh uh. She moves in close and engages with the other characters, eye to eye, nose to nose. I am always mesmerized by the way she can create drama without screaming or thrashing about, barely raising her voice, using only the smallest gestures.
Sentimentally, I was leaning toward Peter O'Toole getting the Oscar for best actor. But I admire Forest Whitaker and not having seen either movie, what the hell? I do hope that there will be another chance for O'Toole...
Whitaker's speech expressed best the spirit of the Awards: if you follow your heart (or in the words of Joseph Campbell, follow your bliss), whoever you are, wherever you started, you can achieve your dream. He didn't mention that you have to work your ass off--that is a given.
I must mourn Philippe Noiret. Though he leaves a huge oeuvre, I haven't been fortunate enough to see more than ten or so of his flims. I loved esp. Cinema Paradiso and Vie et rien d'autre. Images from Coupe de Torchon, in which he plays the role of a hen-pecked minor civil servant somewhere in Africa, will forever linger in my mind. His filmwork was subtle and finely nuanced, resulting in memorable performances. I was shocked to learn of his death--as if it were a personal loss. My response, which seems unrealistic (I did not KNOW him, for heaven's sake) I think relates to the very nature of film. Though movies are entertainment, they also have amazing power to influence us--to connect us, as Whitaker said, and to move us, also, to act. The best actors reveal not merely themselves, but something universal about humanity.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Valentines Day Beatles
Went out to dinner tonight and the restaurant had the Beatles on. (Not, unfortunately, on a disc--oh, no, their background music was not up to the quality of the food--kept hearing Sleep Country ads--HATE THOSE!) We were talking, so I did not tune in to all the songs, but caught a good portion of Band on the Run and Love Me Do. I noticed probably for the first time in three plus decades how raw those are. Which of course might be a great part of their charm.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
the Dixie Chicks--yeah!
This is old news already, but I was thrilled to see the Chix win not one or two but 5 Grammy awards, after being frozen out by nearly all the Country music stations. I loved their song "Not Ready to Make Nice" first time I heard it--when MSN offered the free download, still available.
That song reflects my sentiments exactly.
So, Yahoo! and Hurrah! for them.
That song reflects my sentiments exactly.
So, Yahoo! and Hurrah! for them.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Videos and Meerkats
I just watched the short IFILM video of the three 40 day-old white tiger kittens, in the Buenas Aires zoo. Ah, the wonders of the internet. I could have sat here for a long while, spying on those kittens. (The exquisite mother guarded them jealously and was not well-pleased at all the attention they were getting.) One of them is nearly purely albino--just a few pale stripes on its tail (don't know the sex of those cuties) and little grey eyebrows, which remind me of No theater make-up.
After that I confess to watching the video of former Pres. Bush smacking (not grabbing, as they say in the blurb) Terry Hatcher's butt. Since he seemed to hardly be able to stand, much less give chase, I doubt his gesture gave her much cause for worry. Maybe it will be something to tell her grandchildren? "In 2007 I was such a babe that a man who had been president patted my behind."
Oh, and there was a video of a pair of skeletons discovered in Northern Italy,thought to be young lovers, locked for 5,000 years in an embrace. Which I think gives the lie to Marvell's famous lines about the grave being a fine and private place where none embrace. No longer private, for sure.
There were many videos to choose from, including another I watched, of a marmalade cat trying to lick a parakeet--said parakeet protected by glass, apparently. {I am always a sucker for cats!)
Like other seemingly useless activities, I could become completely addicted to watching videos on my computer. Luckily I seldom wander into the video websites known and loved by friends and family, since I accomplish so little, as it is.
I had gotten online, actually, to look up Meerkats, since we are hooked on the Animal Planet on-going series about those adorable critturs. (Though watching the matriarch eat a beatle as big as a soup plate is kind of off-putting) Which brings me to Wikipedia: "The meerkat or suricate is a small mammal and a member of the mongoose family. It inhabits all parts of the Kalahari Desert in southern Africa. A group of meerkats is called a "mob" or "gang". (Sneaky, huh, how I started talking about Meerkats and then switched to my real topic?) I have never ventured to contribute to any of the vast quantities of info to be found there, but I appreciate so much having that resource available. I don't know much about how or who, but thank whoever for all help past present and future. Thank you, Wikipedia for all the info and references (maybe I will actually read that book in which the gal says Meerkats are her faves) that keep me reaching for more.
After that I confess to watching the video of former Pres. Bush smacking (not grabbing, as they say in the blurb) Terry Hatcher's butt. Since he seemed to hardly be able to stand, much less give chase, I doubt his gesture gave her much cause for worry. Maybe it will be something to tell her grandchildren? "In 2007 I was such a babe that a man who had been president patted my behind."
Oh, and there was a video of a pair of skeletons discovered in Northern Italy,thought to be young lovers, locked for 5,000 years in an embrace. Which I think gives the lie to Marvell's famous lines about the grave being a fine and private place where none embrace. No longer private, for sure.
There were many videos to choose from, including another I watched, of a marmalade cat trying to lick a parakeet--said parakeet protected by glass, apparently. {I am always a sucker for cats!)
Like other seemingly useless activities, I could become completely addicted to watching videos on my computer. Luckily I seldom wander into the video websites known and loved by friends and family, since I accomplish so little, as it is.
I had gotten online, actually, to look up Meerkats, since we are hooked on the Animal Planet on-going series about those adorable critturs. (Though watching the matriarch eat a beatle as big as a soup plate is kind of off-putting) Which brings me to Wikipedia: "The meerkat or suricate is a small mammal and a member of the mongoose family. It inhabits all parts of the Kalahari Desert in southern Africa. A group of meerkats is called a "mob" or "gang". (Sneaky, huh, how I started talking about Meerkats and then switched to my real topic?) I have never ventured to contribute to any of the vast quantities of info to be found there, but I appreciate so much having that resource available. I don't know much about how or who, but thank whoever for all help past present and future. Thank you, Wikipedia for all the info and references (maybe I will actually read that book in which the gal says Meerkats are her faves) that keep me reaching for more.
Sunday, February 04, 2007
District 13 and Eye of the Beholder
Strange bedfellows.
Yesterday I watched District 13 in which all the actors in it are comedians and it is not a comedy. It is a Jackie Chan martial arts film with at least a hint of a theme, and quite fun. The opening chase scene is worth the price of admission, with this great gymnast, David Belle, scrambling over balconies, shooting himself through transoms and leaping off of buildings for what look to be leg-shattering distances. It is year 2010 in Bario or Banlieue 13, a ghetto by any name, the dark side of Paris, where all the druggies and dealers now live behind an immense wall. (Hmmm. Sounds familiar, huh?) The esteemable politicians of the city have a solution for the problems of the ghetto--a nuclear bomb. Twist: when Belle, who is in jail, is taken out, to aid the police--or is that really what they want from him?
Eye of the Beholder was given only one star, which was about right. In fact, I would not even mention that movie, except that I think it failed not because it did not do enough, but because it left so little to the imagination. The plot is flimsy--but not elusive enough to be intriguing or interesting. So how did I come to watch it? I saw right away that it was extremely dark and unlikely to have a happy ending. But Ewan McGregor and Ashley Judd were both making such earnest work of their roles that I went along for the ride. Maybe I should just admit that I like Ashley Judd and went along for the ride because she had the main role. Ewan McGregor was suitably creepy. The cast also included Genvieve Bujold, k.d. Lang, and Jason Priestly. (I did not notice Jason Priestly, so I guess he was deep into his role, whatever it was.)
Yesterday I watched District 13 in which all the actors in it are comedians and it is not a comedy. It is a Jackie Chan martial arts film with at least a hint of a theme, and quite fun. The opening chase scene is worth the price of admission, with this great gymnast, David Belle, scrambling over balconies, shooting himself through transoms and leaping off of buildings for what look to be leg-shattering distances. It is year 2010 in Bario or Banlieue 13, a ghetto by any name, the dark side of Paris, where all the druggies and dealers now live behind an immense wall. (Hmmm. Sounds familiar, huh?) The esteemable politicians of the city have a solution for the problems of the ghetto--a nuclear bomb. Twist: when Belle, who is in jail, is taken out, to aid the police--or is that really what they want from him?
Eye of the Beholder was given only one star, which was about right. In fact, I would not even mention that movie, except that I think it failed not because it did not do enough, but because it left so little to the imagination. The plot is flimsy--but not elusive enough to be intriguing or interesting. So how did I come to watch it? I saw right away that it was extremely dark and unlikely to have a happy ending. But Ewan McGregor and Ashley Judd were both making such earnest work of their roles that I went along for the ride. Maybe I should just admit that I like Ashley Judd and went along for the ride because she had the main role. Ewan McGregor was suitably creepy. The cast also included Genvieve Bujold, k.d. Lang, and Jason Priestly. (I did not notice Jason Priestly, so I guess he was deep into his role, whatever it was.)
Monday, January 29, 2007
Hilda's Cookies
My daughter brought over a tin of cookies at Christmas. Since she is an amazing baker (and cook) they were amazing--some of them very fancy. But the ones we loved most were these plain little rounds, slightly plump, crispy on the outside and softer inside. After we finished those off, I asked for the recipe. She said the recipe originally was given to her by her neighbor, Hilda. So, here it is, if you are fond of simple cookies:
Hilda's Cookies
2 sticks of butter
1/3 cup of oil
1 2/3 cups of sugar
2 eggs
Lots of vanilla--2 T. [I only had 1 teaspoon on hand but they were fine]
1 teaspoon soda
4 cups of flour~~OR~~2 cups of flour, 1 cup of Bob's Red Mill unsweetened coconut and
1 cup of Bob's Red Mill corn flour. [I used the coconut and corn flour]
Nutmeg [I just put about a teaspoon in the palm of my hand and it looked about
right--to taste]
All ingredients at room temperature. Cream butter and oil, stir in sugar, beat
in the eggs, one at a time, stir in the vanilla. Blend the soda (mash any
lumps!) with the first cup of flour and stir that into the wet ingredients.
Continue to add the dry ingredients and use a spatula to be sure everything
is completely blended.
Roll the dough into one inch balls and flatten slightly. Bake 350 degrees on
ungreased cookie sheet, about 12 min. Watch closely. They should only be
very light brown.
I made this discovery--if you chill the dough and then roll it into balls and bake it
the tops crack, which gives the cookies a different look, not unlike old-
fashioned molasses cookies.
You could also make the plain flour version and add shredded lemon peel and poppy
seeds. Maybe glaze them with lemon juice and powdered sugar glaze?
Hilda's Cookies
2 sticks of butter
1/3 cup of oil
1 2/3 cups of sugar
2 eggs
Lots of vanilla--2 T. [I only had 1 teaspoon on hand but they were fine]
1 teaspoon soda
4 cups of flour~~OR~~2 cups of flour, 1 cup of Bob's Red Mill unsweetened coconut and
1 cup of Bob's Red Mill corn flour. [I used the coconut and corn flour]
Nutmeg [I just put about a teaspoon in the palm of my hand and it looked about
right--to taste]
All ingredients at room temperature. Cream butter and oil, stir in sugar, beat
in the eggs, one at a time, stir in the vanilla. Blend the soda (mash any
lumps!) with the first cup of flour and stir that into the wet ingredients.
Continue to add the dry ingredients and use a spatula to be sure everything
is completely blended.
Roll the dough into one inch balls and flatten slightly. Bake 350 degrees on
ungreased cookie sheet, about 12 min. Watch closely. They should only be
very light brown.
I made this discovery--if you chill the dough and then roll it into balls and bake it
the tops crack, which gives the cookies a different look, not unlike old-
fashioned molasses cookies.
You could also make the plain flour version and add shredded lemon peel and poppy
seeds. Maybe glaze them with lemon juice and powdered sugar glaze?
Saturday, January 27, 2007
the Gregor Series by Suzanne Collins
Do these sound like the ingredients for a page turner for a 67 yo: giant cockroaches, 6 feet long, giant bats, able to carry people on their backs, and giant rats 6 to 10 feet tall, that slash and gash the humans? Ew! Toss in humans with purple eyes and skin so pale you can see their veins, add a baby still in diapers named Boots--and for a protagonist, why not an 11 yo boy named Gregor? Oh, yeah, and these creatures all live deep below New York City, where the sun doesn't shine.
Those are the characters in the Gregor series, Gregor the Overlander, Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane, and Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods. Those three little books (about 5" X 8", 300 pages) not only kept me reading for hours after I had planned to go to sleep, but made me weep at times, because of the nature of the dilemmas Gregor found himself in--which even for an adult would require deep introspection and examination of one's values to sort out.
Gregor had been a sad child for a long time--ever since his father disappeared a few years ago. His father taught science and now the family--Gregor, his sister Lizzie, and the baby, Boots (his father disappered before she was even born), have to subsist on what his mother can earn as a waitress. In the first book, Gregor the Overlander, Gregor is dismayed to find that pale-skinned humans with the purple eyes think he is The One--some sort of flash warrior who will go on a quest and save their land from the Gnawers--the huge rats that always threaten the humans with extermination. But since the quest may lead him to his father, if he is still alive, Gregor reluctantly agrees to go. If it seems that the odds are completely against a skinny light brown kid from a tenement in New York battling 10 foot rats, the discovery, during a casual sort of tournament, that he is what is known down there as a Rager, evens the odds. Ragers are creatures with a special gift--the ability to kill efficiently and effortlessly--sort of like a robot. The gift, far from reassuring Gregor, disturbs him. It is not entirely under his control, and creates a dichotomy of values within him that he must struggle with throughout the series.
My 10 yo. granddaughter requested the 4th book (Gregor and the Marks of Secret)of the series for Christmas. (On delivery I discovered she had actually already read that book, but wanted to own it, so it would be there, on the shelf next to the 3 others, whenever she wanted to take it to bed for another read.) I don't like to give a gift that I have not personally vetted, so (ahem!) I borrowed her 3 books and started to read them. Got waylaid, but not until after I was thoroughly convinced that of course she must have the 4th. Which I look forward to, myself, when I can borrow it. And, oh, there is another volume coming out in May. By then I will need a fix!
Those are the characters in the Gregor series, Gregor the Overlander, Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane, and Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods. Those three little books (about 5" X 8", 300 pages) not only kept me reading for hours after I had planned to go to sleep, but made me weep at times, because of the nature of the dilemmas Gregor found himself in--which even for an adult would require deep introspection and examination of one's values to sort out.
Gregor had been a sad child for a long time--ever since his father disappeared a few years ago. His father taught science and now the family--Gregor, his sister Lizzie, and the baby, Boots (his father disappered before she was even born), have to subsist on what his mother can earn as a waitress. In the first book, Gregor the Overlander, Gregor is dismayed to find that pale-skinned humans with the purple eyes think he is The One--some sort of flash warrior who will go on a quest and save their land from the Gnawers--the huge rats that always threaten the humans with extermination. But since the quest may lead him to his father, if he is still alive, Gregor reluctantly agrees to go. If it seems that the odds are completely against a skinny light brown kid from a tenement in New York battling 10 foot rats, the discovery, during a casual sort of tournament, that he is what is known down there as a Rager, evens the odds. Ragers are creatures with a special gift--the ability to kill efficiently and effortlessly--sort of like a robot. The gift, far from reassuring Gregor, disturbs him. It is not entirely under his control, and creates a dichotomy of values within him that he must struggle with throughout the series.
My 10 yo. granddaughter requested the 4th book (Gregor and the Marks of Secret)of the series for Christmas. (On delivery I discovered she had actually already read that book, but wanted to own it, so it would be there, on the shelf next to the 3 others, whenever she wanted to take it to bed for another read.) I don't like to give a gift that I have not personally vetted, so (ahem!) I borrowed her 3 books and started to read them. Got waylaid, but not until after I was thoroughly convinced that of course she must have the 4th. Which I look forward to, myself, when I can borrow it. And, oh, there is another volume coming out in May. By then I will need a fix!
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Blow
The vehicle for 70's fashions and for Johnny Depp to look, well, Johnny Deppish, in this pose and that with is that his real hair which changes color from frame to frame but always with that insouciant lank lock to the left.
Monday, January 01, 2007
It's not too late!
For New Year's Resolutions. But, Gad, how hard it is to commit! (I am the Queen of Wimps, when it comes to committing to any project.)
As noted elsewhere, last year I made only two resolutions: to laugh more and to read more poetry. I was actually able to carry out that regimen. I am going to go way out on a limb this year: I resolve to read at least one non-fiction book a month and to blog at least once a week. Hmmm. 12 non-fiction books and 52 posts. I guess I won't think of those numbers. Just do it.
My friend Jen, who is wonderfully supportive always, gave me a tip about the non-fiction: read for half an hour during the day. All my non-fiction reading is done at bedtime, a necessary ritual for me. But I am usually too tired to tackle non-fiction, which seems to demand more--consciousness? If I actually sit up to read a non-fiction book, surely I will absorb more.
About blogging: I know people who manage to post incredible blog entries several times a week. (Image: grey-haired old lady, on hands and knees, forehead to the floor, venerating their accomplishment.)
But I am not setting myself up for failure. Once a week will be an improvement. If I do more, then Tra La La!
As noted elsewhere, last year I made only two resolutions: to laugh more and to read more poetry. I was actually able to carry out that regimen. I am going to go way out on a limb this year: I resolve to read at least one non-fiction book a month and to blog at least once a week. Hmmm. 12 non-fiction books and 52 posts. I guess I won't think of those numbers. Just do it.
My friend Jen, who is wonderfully supportive always, gave me a tip about the non-fiction: read for half an hour during the day. All my non-fiction reading is done at bedtime, a necessary ritual for me. But I am usually too tired to tackle non-fiction, which seems to demand more--consciousness? If I actually sit up to read a non-fiction book, surely I will absorb more.
About blogging: I know people who manage to post incredible blog entries several times a week. (Image: grey-haired old lady, on hands and knees, forehead to the floor, venerating their accomplishment.)
But I am not setting myself up for failure. Once a week will be an improvement. If I do more, then Tra La La!
Flashbacks
I wonder if anyone else has the extreme aversion to flashbacks that I do. I recently rejected a Reginald Hill novel because he kept skipping back and forth--much as I love his style, I decided to just skip it.
I once skipped 70 pages of flashback, and completed the novel without harm.
So tonight when I put a hold on the new Elizabeth George, What Came Before He Shot Her, I wondered if I would stick it, once the book was in my hands. Sounds like one long flashback to me. Of course, I have lots of time to chew on that conundrum--I am something like 190th on the list--unless I opt for the large print copy--and I hate those--then I think I would only be 11th.
I always complain about George's novels, but that has not stopped me from reading them all. Sigh.
I once skipped 70 pages of flashback, and completed the novel without harm.
So tonight when I put a hold on the new Elizabeth George, What Came Before He Shot Her, I wondered if I would stick it, once the book was in my hands. Sounds like one long flashback to me. Of course, I have lots of time to chew on that conundrum--I am something like 190th on the list--unless I opt for the large print copy--and I hate those--then I think I would only be 11th.
I always complain about George's novels, but that has not stopped me from reading them all. Sigh.
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