Summary: Recommended, but doesn’t quite live up to the hype. An entertaining page-turner that’s more of a guilty pleasure than great literature.
Spoilers follow.
The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger is basically a romance, and follows many romance novel conventions. Think Somewhere in Time with a punk rock soundtrack.
I don’t know many people who can resist a song about a robot. I made a mix of all robot songs and my kids and husband love it. At my new job, I put it up on the network as a shared playlist via iTunes and the company owner complimented me on it. It’s a big hit. Here’s a sampling.
I can’t help it; I am looking forward to Episode III. What is wrong with me?
Well, I’ll tell you — I just read Kevin Smith’s review.
Spoilers ensue.
I just recently read something that shed a lot of light on the work of a man who was at one time one of my favorite filmmakers, a writer-director-actor named Woody Allen. Maybe you’ve heard of him?
This year is the 400th anniversary of the publication of Cervantes’ Don Quixote. At least it’s the anniversary of Part I (Part II was published ten years later after a fake Quixote sequel had been published in 1614).
The Spanish speaking world is awash in Quixote mania. The Venezuelan government has printed one million copies of the classic for free distribution and President Hugo Chavez has urged his fellow citizens to "feed ourselves once again with that spirit of a fighter who went out to undo injustices and fix the world". (link)
Madrid, among other celebrations, has hosted a 48 hour readathon, including various luminaries doing their part on the radio. (link)
…and electronica. I’m not an expert on the genre, but here’s some stuff I like.
Last semester, before the election, a few people in my graduate class
decided to print a political "newspaper" and distribute it among
whomever we wanted.
Some have suggested Death of a Salesman. Others, A Streetcar Named Desire. And lest we forget, there’s also Long Day’s Journey Into Night.
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Some people say film noir is a genre unto itself, others argue it’s a sub-genre of the crime film, others say it’s really only a mood, but the one thing most people agree on is it’s pretty dang cool.
My mother flew into town this weekend. A few days before she came, she asked if I wanted her to bring anything from New York. I half-jokingly told her that I’d love it if she brought some bagels from the bagel shop in Scarsdale village (where I grew up). To my pleasant surprise, she carried a dozen bagels on the plane. They were a bit stale by the time she arrived, but still better than anything I can get in Utah. Pumpernickel – yes please.
Years ago, I saw Jelly’s Last Jam, a musical about the life and times of Jelly Roll Morton, on Broadway. Gregory Hines originated the lead role, but by the time I saw the show, Brian Mitchell had taken over. He did a fine job, but the real star was a young Savion Glover, playing the role of Jelly Roll as a young lad. Each time he appeared on stage, the focus of attention immediately shifted to his feet, completely upstaging the putative stars of the show. I remarked to the friend I was with that Glover was sure to be a star someday, and sure enough, he is.
It’s fun to see rising stars before they are widely known, and to have the satisfaction of knowing that you were a good enough judge of talent to recognize it without being told by a marketing campaign that so-and-so is the next big thing. Of course, talent alone doesn’t guarantee success, but it sure helps.
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When I was young, I would only eat cheeseburgers when dining out; I would never touch broccoli; I hated chocolate milkshakes, opting always for strawberry. I was invariably difficult with my food choices, and my parents wondered if I would ever eat anything besides the stuff I liked.
Part of the reason for my limited taste was fear; I thought that I would get food poisoning from unknown dishes, or that the strange tastes in new foods were somehow indicators of something wrong with them. Spiciness was like bright yellow colors in nature: warnings of poison and danger. As time went on, though, my fear began to subside and I began to try new food. Sometimes I would like the new food, sometimes not; later, foods I initially disliked (Indian) became some of my favorites.
Now, the point of the post: how do you develop taste in the arts?
Last week, a teenager I go to church with mentioned that he liked punk — stuff like Green Day, A Simple Plan, I forget who else. He said he also liked “old” punk, like Offspring(?!?!) When I told him that I liked punk from the 1970s quite a bit, he said he hadn’t heard much of it and asked me to make a mix for him. I took it as an opportunity to give him the genealogy of the music he loves. Here is the tracklist as of now:
1. White Light/White Heat, The Velvet Underground — White Light/White Heat (1967)
2. I’m Waiting For The Man, The Velvet Underground — The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967)
3. Sweet Jane, The Velvet Underground — Loaded (1970)
I’ve been thinking about a style of music called "lo fi" lately. I really don’t know much about it, other than I like it. It’s basically music that is recorded really simply, sparingly. Like in someone’s basement, on a 4-track.
I’ve discovered a hidden minefield with the hype surrounding the upcoming release of Episode III: my extensive familiarity with the Star Wars movies has outed me as an uber-geek. You’d think I’d be able to hide this…I am, after all, a professional and a lady. But no, I just can’t keep my mouth shut.
The other day I was doing the random thing on my iTunes and one of my wife’s songs (I promise) came on.
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In the spirit of April 1, I’d like to hear some pranks you’ve pulled on friends, relatives and close relations. Perhaps some suggestions too for pranks I can pull this year.