sleeplessgrl

2009-10-17T16:04:00.003-04:00

It's Chili Time!

The leaves are turning, and the air is crisp in the morning. I love fall! And what I love about it even more than changing leaves and crisp air is the food. I love fall baking, cinnamon, nutmeg, anything with pumpkin in it. I also love that the slight chill in the air means that it's time for hearty soups and chili.

I have a big pot of George's Chili simmering on the stove.
George is my wonderful Stepdad who I adore and who makes killer chili.

Brown and drain ground sirloin
Chop one medium onion
Chop one clove of garlic
Chop two large jalapenos
Chop one bell pepper
Add crushed tomatoes
Add chili beans medium or hot
Add chili powder
Simmer for two and a half hours

What follows are several chili based meals we've made with George's Chili.
Chili with a side salad and a baguette
Chili on mashed potatoes
Chili with cheddar and sour cream
Chili with a grilled cheese sandwich
Chili and cheddar smothered hot dog
Chili on scrambled eggs

2009-10-16T21:50:00.007-04:00

At the beginning of each semester I reel from run-ons, grow faint from fragments, but more than that is the ship of despair launched by the lack of imagination, the lack of interest and the lack wonder. I want to ask, "Why are you here?"

I know, they've been told a college degree will lead to higher pay, that it's all about some future job. I think this is where we steer them wrong. College should be less about the job and more about learning, discovering, mastering. It should never be about the end but about the process.

I'm new to teaching, and after four semesters I'm thinking about walking away. I feel disheartened, and more than a little hamstrung. When did grammar become so outmoded, so yesterday? My guided curriculum has weeded out as much grammar and writing that's possible in an English class. What do I teach you may ask? Watered down critical thinking and watered down semiotics, how to read your textbooks without really reading them. My students, zero attention span, zero tolerance for anything unrelated to that future post college job, how do I help them jump ship from degrees=dollar signs to real learning? I think these courses are failing them, which means I, in turn, am failing them.

When I was in high school, I was told college wasn’t for me. Specifically, I was told my ideal job would be mortician. The test my high school advisor gave me, which supposedly matched personalities to jobs, couldn’t have known that in the fifth grade my class took a tour of Steinke’s funeral home, and when we arrived at the embalming area I passed out. The test also told me that the military might be an option. I chose the military, but with an eye on the prize, money for college. Regardless of whether or not college was for me (there was no way to pay for it at the time), I wanted it. I was thirsty for it, and when I got it, it was everything I wanted it to be, terrifying, challenging, exciting. I wanted to know everything.

It’s not important to know everything now. It’s more important to have an opinion, or better yet, it’s more important to have someone else’s opinion. I remember my first moment of triumph in college, shaking with nerves but entering class discussion anyway, being part of that exchange of ideas and wading chest deep in the text. It was thrilling. I thought THIS, this is learning. If my students can’t find it on Google or Wikipedia, it’s not worth knowing. If I want their opinion, I can count on receiving any number of random opinions copied from CNN, late night talk shows, random pop stars, various friends and relatives, and anyone with a blog, a MySpace or Facebook page, or Twitter account. They don’t need to know stuff or have an opinion because all of that is just a click away.

My students are all involved in the arts: fine arts, photography, animation, etc. and that these students lack imagination disturbs me. Yes this is a core course, a writing course, but they come at my courses with the weariness of factory workers five years from retirement. They shun freedom and crave parameters. Give them the opportunity to choose their paper topic, and they freeze. I get a chorus of, "What do you want us to do?" They want me to tell them what to write, how to write it, and if possible they would like me to write it for them. The irony is that when they have parameters they completely disregard them or claim they don't understand them. They never ask questions.

I take that back, they ask one question. What's my grade? They want to know because grades=degrees that=dollar signs.

My students consume their courses like the good capitalists that they are. Why should courses be different than anything else bought or sold? They want it cheap and fast. Getting their money’s worth isn’t about acquiring knowledge, but about acquiring that piece of paper at the end. We’ve convinced them of that. A college degree equals a better job and more money. No one ever says going to college is this amazing opportunity for you to try things on, to explore, to learn, to discover your passion and nurture it. We’ve made it about the money, and so it’s about the money.

I didn't anticipate the soul sucking after effects of teaching.

2008-09-27T05:36:00.001-04:00

Found!!!!!

Guess who strolled back into the yard just now! (3:28 a.m.) I have no idea what happened, why she jumped out of the window or where she went, but I just heard her lovely basset-like bark in the yard and I flew out of bed and there she was at the door. We have informed her that she is grounded for life. Thank goodness! Any idea how to keep a Houdini dog from escaping? She eats airline kennels for breakfast (metal ones too, so no kennels.) Any advice is welcome.

2008-09-27T01:07:00.001-04:00

Missing!!!!

REWARD!!!

Her name is Chloe. She is eight years old. She suffers from extreme separation anxiety. No questions asked. We just want her back.

2008-08-28T14:31:00.008-04:00

Size Matters: Madness at the dog park, or Who Made You Queen of the Dog Park?

Steph and Chloe hit the Bullshead dog park today after dropping me off at work. We take Chloe there often because of the proximity to work. The park is split into two sections, a big dog area and a small dog area. Until today Chloe has been able to enjoy the benefits of being neither a big or a small dog. She's a basset hound/retriever mix weighing in at 35 pounds. She's stout and strong and while she shares some characteristics of the retriever, her attitude is all basset. She spends her time at dog park and on walks with her nose firmly turned to the ground. She's easy going, but standoffish. Typically Steph and Chloe going to the dog park is not really note worthy, today however, Steph called immediately after with a truly bizarre tale.

Chloe has never really had to pick a side of the park. She enjoys small dogs and is not an exuberant greeter. Her trend is to do a casual sniff and greet then mosey around the edge of the park and occasionally yodel to the prairie dogs on the other side of the fence. And while she enjoys small dogs, she also has many buddies of the XXL persuasion.

Today when Steph and Chloe entered the dog park (on the big dog side) she was approached by a woman wearing a humane society t-shirt who was very nervous and concerned about one of her dogs (she had two malamutes). She said it was big dog play time and pointed out that Chloe had short legs and should therefore be on the small dog side. Steph, not really wanting a confrontation, said that that was where they were headed.

When they were preparing to leave a little while later she was hoping this woman was already gone, but there she was hovering near the divide of big vs. small dogs. All the other big dogs and owners were completely cleared out, and she stood there peeking over to the small dog side. As soon as Steph and Chloe crossed into the big dog side this woman came up to them, offered to carry our dog to the other gate, and then tried to pick her up.

I completely freaked out when Steph told me. I can't believe a complete stranger would try and pick up our dog. She's not tiny and she's not light, and she wasn't having any of it. She barked at the woman and backed away. Steph told her that if she was worried about her dog, then her dog was the problem. She also told her that technically Chloe is not considered a small dog and is in fact ten pounds over the small dog limit. Then more madness from this complete stranger.

She tried to talk to Steph about how she had volunteered for the humane society and had learned some things about dogs and how they have teeth (really? news to us!), again Steph said if she was worried about what her dog might do to another dog at the dog park, she was the one with the problem. Then she made it seem like Steph didn't care about Chloe's well-being or her dog's well-being...she said she just wanted to have a relaxing time at the dog park, as if it was Steph's fault that she couldn't....as if Steph and Chloe didn't also want a relaxing time at the dog park.

Madness really, all of it, as none of the dogs behaved badly according to Steph. (Chloe was not remotely interested in her dogs, which is not unusual for her.) And I can only imagine the reason the entire park was cleared out by the time Steph and Chloe were ready to leave. And I can't imagine how the dogs could relax at all with this woman on the verge of a full on meltdown. The thing is that I am somewhat sympathetic with the idea of not really knowing what your rescue dog has been through, what might or might not be an issue.

Chloe's full story is one for the ages. Rescued from the pound after two previous "incarcerations", she came to us with crippling separation anxiety (a complete surprise to us at the time, though in hindsight it shouldn't have been surprising at all). There were vet visits, behavior experts to our house, everything short of an exorcism was done to help ease her blind panic at being left alone. After many years of working with her, and by years I mean 6 years worth of working with her, she has settled down. Aside from this one thing (and it was a big thing for awhile) she is perfect for us, sweet, loving, and her personality is very matched with Steph's which is even funnier if you know Steph. When we are out and about at some of our usual places people recognize Chloe before us. Even at her standoffish best she makes an impression. My point, in a long, rambling way, is that Chloe is intrepid, and is also kind of a rock star, but also that being responsible for a dog that has "issues" is also incredibly stressful.

That said, if she was worried or nervous about how her dog would act around a smaller dog, there are all kinds of things she can do to be smarter and safer. A muzzle comes to mind (though I'm not sure about this, not being an expert in this maybe someone else has a better idea), and I know for a fact that there are classes that can help address issues of dog on dog aggression. But the bottom line is that the responsibility is still on the dog owner. You can shout to the rooftops that you're concerned, that your dog may or may not have issues, but your dog's actions are still your responsibility. Telling people there is a potential problem doesn't make the problem go away either.

Taking your dog to the dog park involves risk. We've seen dogs get into it over something or other. We've seen people do some not smart things in the dog park i.e. fast food eating with children, or the Three Dog Bakery birthday cake for "Fido". That said, we have personally never had a confrontation or issue until today. And as much as it was bizarre, it was also ridiculous and upsetting that a complete stranger would label Steph as a poor dog owner and our dog a problem when clearly the problem was hers.

2008-08-25T16:26:00.011-04:00

Working my way out of a funk: getting dirty, growing things, feeding people.

After talking with a friend of mine who is the garden coordinator for Hope's Half Acre, I jumped on board as a volunteer waterer, weeder, and all around garden helper. I was in a funk at the beginning of the summer and this was just the thing to do to work through it. I love gardening, and since my home garden mostly consists of potted plants and vegetables, it felt good getting my hands in the dirt. It's hard to describe exactly what it is, that hour or so weeding and watering, the sun on my back, sweating, dirt under my nails, my mind clear and focused on the task at hand, the camaraderie of fellow dirt worshipers. As part of Project Share, the garden provides fresh produce for Albuquerque's working poor and homeless, an added bonus that our hard work and enjoyment does some good.

I'm posting pics, a list of what we would like to do, and some things we need to do them.

Fall Planting, what we need:
1 yard of compost
truck to move compost
volunteers (we need folks to help shovel, weed, plant, etc.)
seeds (greens, anything food related that can be planted in fall)
handymen/women (we need folks that can build wood frames)
lumber (preferably 2x4 or 4x4)
straw

Flowers and herbs along the front fence:
perennials that attract bees and humming birds
herbs: basil, thyme, rosemary, lavender, mint.

WHAT WE'VE GOT GROWING RIGHT NOW

tomatoes

onions
kale
eggplant
squash
zucchini
corn
peppers
beans

If you want to get in on the action, contact me at donnatellanutella@gmail.com for the time and location.

2008-08-21T20:11:00.002-04:00

We almost hit two boys on Central.

Two boys made it to their bus on time but nearly lost their lives. We were driving down Central singing to Duffy’s “Mercy” and thinking about chocolate shakes. Our original plan was to hit the Route 66 Diner because a diner and a shake seemed just the thing. We arrived and got seated by the cashier who, he informed us, would also take our order. We waited happily anticipating shakes, talking about our day. After about twenty minutes we realized he had taken the order of the two women sitting behind us who had just arrived. Then he checked on the couple behind us with the mega banana split. Steph gave me this look like, “What are we invisible now?” We decided that since he didn’t bring us anything but menus, we would head to Flying Star instead. We liked their shakes, and we were pretty sure that we wouldn’t be ignored. For a change we decided on the one downtown since we were already headed in that direction. I thought why not, change of scenery. I think we’d been to that one once in the entire time they’ve been open. Then we almost hit two young school aged boys (late grade school/early middle school) crossing Central to catch the 66 bus. And by almost hit, I mean we seriously almost hit them. We saw them in the island median waiting for traffic to pass. We were going the speed limit. What we didn’t notice was the bus at the bus stop on our far right. They took a chance and with no warning for us, darted across Central. Steph slammed on the brakes swearing in a loose, panic stricken stream of profanity ending in something like a prayer. The boys were oblivious, triumphant, the fasted kids on two feet, freakin’ Superman had nothing on them. They were not at an intersection, there was no crosswalk. One minute they were standing in the median and the next they were right in front of us. I know they know better. I know their parents would be horrified.

For two shaky hours that followed I know both of us were running what if scenarios through our minds. And after two shaky hours a brief thought, a flicker of a remembrance of the delirious exuberance of youth translated into a full on reminiscence of every stupid, nervy, and potentially life threatening thing I ever did as a kid growing up in rural Indiana. It really is the same everywhere, rural, urban, there are things to be tried, limits to test, risks to take. We took them with railroad tracks, “borrowed” cars and country roads, water towers, bridges, the river that ran through town. I remember doing nearly the same thing on my bike, racing through an intersection without stopping, causing a series of cars to slam on their brakes. It was so close I thought I could feel the press of a bumper against my leg as I flew past, and as I parked my bike in the rack outside the library my legs shook so hard I could barely stand. And then with a little distance, the slam of adrenaline, I imagine that once they were on the bus and on their way home it hit them too, the wild luck of it all. Of course in my case, pulling that kind of stunt meant that someone was going to (and did) call my mother.

There are so many stories, and yes, there were a few stunts I truly regret. But when I think about the best part of growing up, many of these times, the stupid, impulsive, dangerous ones are some of my best memories, filled with a kind of wildness that I will never recapture, the kind of freedom I still dream about, and the kind of daring I wish I still had.

2008-08-03T19:09:00.000-04:00

Mamma Mia!

In this dreadful post graduate school quest for a real full time job with benefits, in this soul sucking, incredibly demeaning time, there is Mamma Mia! A summer movie that is what summer movies ought to be, sweet, fresh, funny, surprising, and surprisingly beautiful; I’ve seen it three times, once for every week that it has been out at the theater. My plan is to keep on going until I decide to run away and start my all girl band, or I get a real job, whichever comes first.

The first time Steph and I went to see it we met up with a couple of other similarly minded girlfriends: enjoys musicals, must love ABBA, be willing to embrace silliness. It all made this movie going experience as fun and memorable as it was meant to be, in my opinion. Several of us decided that no matter what, out of respect for other movie going patrons, we would quash our boisterous singing of the ABBA über pop, or at the very least, we would keep it to a minimum. A week before the movie opened it was all ABBA all the time in preparation. We burned up ABBA Gold, singing Waterloo while doing the dishes, weeding the garden to Fernando, spinning around the floor with our broom while belting Dancing Queen. We loved Muriel’s Wedding, and we knew this would be more…much more. We were ready. And we weren’t disappointed.

I have a confession to make. I love Meryl Streep, and I knew she could sing, so I was excited to see her in a musical. I also love Pierce Brosnan, who should probably never sing, but I wouldn’t have wanted him any other way. How he has changed for me over time. From my teenage years completely hooked on Remington Steele, to Bond, James Bond, to Julian, the Assassin on the verge of a nervous breakdown in The Matador, and now Mamma Mia! The cast of Mamma Mia! is fantastic. And I have to say, as much as I love Meryl Streep, Julie Waters is my girl in this movie.

So our first showing we laughed so much, deftly hummed our favorites under our breath and full on laughed, deep, belly shaking, and in some cases hiccup inducing laughter. We, unbeknownst to us when we took our seats, managed so sit in the rowdy section. It was exactly what I needed that day. It was obvious the women behind us loved ABBA, and the movie, and they were not shy about expressing it. I went home, made a mojito and jumped back into the fray of job applications. But before we left the theater I said let’s see it every week that it’s open in the theater. Everyone nodded; we were on an ABBA/Mamma Mia! induced high.

The following week proved even more stressful than the last, a round of applications out and barely a nibble, personal writing projects sliding into disrepair if not out right neglect. We needed ABBA and we needed it now! Another weekend matinee, this one packed with women and girls. It was a rowdy bunch, just our type, laughing out loud, singing along. A woman my age was on my right and sang every song to her daughter. They walked from the theater hand in hand swinging their arms, their walk more a bounce than a walk really. It’s what this music and this show does if you let it. It fills you up with positive, dare I say, vibes.

We went back again today after a week of interviews, and a teaching demonstration, my first (terrifying!) It was a more subdued group at the theater this afternoon, with the exception of a contingency of women sitting behind us, who, like us, had seen the movie before and were ready to have a good time. How we always manage to land in the rowdy group I’ll never know. Mostly folks my parent’s age and older attended this afternoon, though there were still mothers and daughters dotting the theater. The effects were the same for us, happiness, laughter, how could I love it more each time I don’t know, but I like the way it makes me feel. Watching the happy, bouncing, theater goers streaming out to hit the bathrooms or the exit, I know it’s not just me.

I know I’ll own this movie. We own a bunch of movies that we watch over and over again for reasons that only make sense to us, Finding Nemo, Love Actually, any of the Harry Potter movies, Under the Tuscan Sun, Miss Congeniality one and two, The Jane Austen Book Club. Whatever we’re missing at a given time, hopefulness, a sense of innocence or wonder, love, laughter, these movies provide it. They knock us out of our funks, brighten our days, motivate us to try, to care, to love. They dare us to laugh until soda comes out our nose. We watch them in p.j.s while eating junk. We don’t care. It’s comforting, and sometimes it’s just what we need.

People might question the idea of paying even matinee prices every week to see the same movie. But in a time before the multiplex choices were limited, people went to see their favorites over and over again because they weren’t available on high definition blue ray disc. They weren’t available for home viewing at all. Movies got people out of the house, sometimes out of the heat. More importantly, they got people together.

And when I own my high definition blue ray disc of Mamma Mia!, and I curl up in my favorite pajamas with a bag of gummy worms, I’ll think of the rowdys we laughed with, the mother who sang to her daughter, the senior citizens who went for Meryl Streep and left the theater with a bounce in their step.

2008-03-22T02:17:00.035-04:00

ROAD TRIP!

Steph is the perfect person to road trip with.

She loves great music and thinks nothing of singing loud and long to any number of musical styles.

She loves to sample local cuisine.

She doesn't mind driving.

She enjoys long, mostly nonsensical, conversations along the lines of "What would we do if we won the lottery?"

We decided to drive to Durango from Albuquerque. It was a doable trip for the amount of time we could spend. We would drive up, spend the night, and drive back.

The landscape heading north was great.

Here are some samples.

It looked like this,

and then it looked like this.

And then we were there.

The Animas River

Chloe
liked it...

a lot.

The trails along the river were awesome.

Chloe got her feet wet.

So did we!

Saw this cool sticker on a pole along the trail.

It was a beautiful day.

I've been here once before when I was a kid.
I wasn't sure, but when I told dad we made this trip
he confirmed it for me. We got lost on our cross-country
trip from Indiana to California. I don't really remember
it, like most of that trip, only a few things stick out for me
and the rest are likely remembering the pictures from the
trip rather than the events. It was just a feeling that I'd been
there before.

The town is quaint. I love the architecture.

Chloe has on her new Durango bandana.
Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad

We had the best dinner at this place.

Candied Walnut Gorgonzola Salad--Field greens, sliced red grapes, red onion and raspberry vinaigrette


Pepper Steak Herbert--Seared Filet Mignon, peppered mango chutney, flamed with brandy served on a bed of garlic mashed potatoes.

The pork tenderloin with cheesy grits, bacon, cherry tomatoes, and corn.

A bread basket with sweet and savory breads and spreads.

And

Blackberry Martinis.

Steph and I after blackberry martinis. Self portrait gone wild.

We had a blast in Durango...and and even better time on the trip home.
Road Trip II coming soon!

Music

Bella Luna--a swingy jazzy compilation cd we had a lot of fun with.

1. A Shot In The Dark -- Henry Mancini
2. Guaglione -- Marino Marini
3. La Bambola -- Patty Pravo
4. Buona Sera -- Louis Prima & Keely Smith
5. Come On-A My House -- Rosemary Clooney
6. The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly -- Hugo Montenegro & His Orchestra
7. Sotto Le Stelle Del Jazz -- Paolo Conte
8. Return To Me (Ritorna da Me) -- Dean Martin
9. Mack The Knife -- Bobby Darin
10. O Sole Mio -- Mario Lanza
11. Tu Vuo Fa' L'Americano -- Renato Carosone And His Sextet
12. Lazy Mary (Luna Mezzo Mare) -- Lou Monte, Joe Reisman & His Orchestra
13. Amarcord -- Nino Rota

We also enjoyed the following:
Funk This-Chaka Khan
Little Voice-Sara Bareilles
girls and boys-ingrid michaelson
Corinne Bailey Rae
Begin to Hope-Regina Spektor
Sleep Through the Static-Jack Johnson

2008-01-08T22:49:00.000-05:00

My Winter Holiday: a list

Snow joggers and dog walkers

Salt rimmed pant legs

Juno

Civic ice skaters

Twin Cities

The Wire

Snow

Cold

Windy City

White lights

Castles

The World on a Wall

Blue collar skyscrapers

Architectural wonders

Metallic Millennium

River/Bridge/River/Bridge

Walking

More walking

More cold

Corncob towers

House of Blues
cornbread
mojitos

Beware of falling icicles

Monkey bread

Czarinas in fur coats

Yellow Slicker Wearing Traffic Directors

Cheesecake Factory banana

National Treasure: Book of Secrets

Elevator word play

Cosmopolitans

ABQ friends

Cafe Descartes

Brother and Sister

Swirling Snowflake Symphony Conducting

Dangling Window Washers

Modified Condom Hat Wearers

Gigantic Reflective Bean

Elevator tag

Gummy bears in limos

Rosebud

Ghirardelli treats

FAMILY

The Field
Sue
Red buttons

Riding in the way back of the Hyundai

Lou Malnati's

Freezing rain/snow

Zippy Metra

Wrong station/huge farts

Warm car

Warm house

Warm friends

Fun kids

Sangrias

Bacon wrapped brandied dates=love

Our favorite Chi-Town neighborhood

Meeting a friend again
for the first time
and in person

Bittersweet airport parting

2007-11-28T16:39:00.000-05:00

Central Avenue Bus

Sat next to Johnny Cash...tall man dressed in black, spent some time talking to himself about respect. Wore his hair long and in a ponytail, and he sounded the part, like he might break out in song about some lonesome whistle blowing. His shoes were shined, I wonder where he was headed.

Young man I did not look at...sat in the back, somewhere to my left, whispered murderous threats toward the bus driver every time the bus stopped to let someone off and pick someone up. I think about it, murderous mumuring, how at some point words turn into actions. I've ridden the bus for years and haven't seen it yet.

Tommy Lee Jones tried to get on the bus with a UNM i.d. and no sticker. He was older. Heck, he was Tommy Lee Jones. But he carried a skateboard, wore a bandana and a cowboy hat. When the driver refused to let him on without paying, he skateboarded up central. Three stops later a pretty young co-ed offered the same i.d. with no sticker. She got her ride for free.

2007-11-28T00:33:00.001-05:00

Saying Everything

A friend once said to me, "You say everything." She meant it as a joke. I've been walking around with these words for years, chewing them over, thinking on them. She was right. I do say everything. I rationalized that since I spent the first half of my life keeping secrets, not saying anything, not daring an opinion, not challenging authority, that I could certainly spend the rest of my life putting it all out there, learning from my mistakes as I go. It is a reckless way to live, this. To put your heart and your words out there, with the idea that the experience and the feedback will add to your knowledge and inform your choices. You have to trust that those closest to you understand the whys and the wherefores because you've laid it all out on the table. It must be reactionary, my need to shout from the rooftops, "See me. Hear me." as though I need some external proof for my existence. But saying everything, all these words cast, feels burdensome. I regret none, but still I carry them, feel heavy with them like Atlas felt the weight of the world. Maybe after so many years of finding and exercising my voice, I'm ready again for silence, contemplation. Tonight I stargaze, a way to switch gears, find my center.

From Weight: The myth of Atlas and Hercules by Jeanette Winterson

Potassium, like uranium and radium, is a long-lived radioactive nuclear waste of the supernova bang that accounts for you. Your first parent was a star.

2007-11-27T01:57:00.000-05:00

A small announcement and another movie...

My cat lays pressed up next to my laptop and I think he just caused it to overheat.

I'm Not There

What an amazing movie. I like Bob Dylan's music, but I'm not an aficionado, still I walked away with an idea of the complexity of the man and of the history he lived through. I don't know much about technical film language, but the structure and methodology called to mind Jeanette Winterson for some reason. I think the non-linear storytelling, the pastiche, the character arcs that seemed individual but necessary in getting at the larger idea of the man, of his life. It was stunning to watch. I'm not sure this concept would have worked to represent anyone but Dylan. Cate Blanchett is a wonder in this film. I really don't want to over talk this...just go see the movie.

A final note...it is likely that since I have enjoyed, what?, five movies in a row? I predict the next movie I see will disappoint. No way I could go six for six. Lets hope I'm wrong. :-)

2007-11-21T20:02:00.000-05:00

August Rush

I thought this movie was beautiful. Everything in it is improbable, but if you suspend disbelief, it's beautiful. The trailer let's us know that this is the story--orphan boy and musical prodigy, feels a connection to his biological parents through music and thinks that if he puts his music out there they'll hear him and find him. I knew that to get it I would have to step into the reality the film sets up, not the reality we live in. It's visually stimulating, a wheat field in the wind, icy telephone wires down a long cold road, the jarring images of the city, and all of the sights match the incredible sounds in brilliant tapestry. Life sounds and music combine the way the music of his cellist mother and Irish guitarist father combine on screen. Freddie Highmore is wonderful as the boy who hears music everywhere and in everything. The supporting case is great, beautiful, fragile, but most importantly, their performances are truly supporting performances, which allows Highmore to shine. Worth the price of admission and the price of the soundtrack that's on my list for Santa.

2007-11-05T18:38:00.000-05:00

The Martian Child

Three things sold me on this movie. 1. John Cusack 2. The trailer 3. The concept.

I typically like whatever John Cusack is in, and I saw the trailer for this when I saw another movie, not sure which one. The concept is the real seller for me though, a science fiction writer adopts a kid who thinks he's from Mars. The kid is great in this movie. Played by Bobby Coleman, Dennis isn't just playground weird. Never in this movie is the audience expected to believe that Dennis hasn't been through some traumatic stuff, and yet he's not just some tragic sympathetic character, he's an intrepid scientist, an explorer from another planet, a smart kid who devised an incredibly complex and ingenious coping mechanism. He seems heroic in a way, light years ahead of the adults around him in some ways, woefully unprepared for the world in others. Pair him with a sci fi writer somewhat out of his element as a parent but completely in his element when dealing with Martians and other creatures, and it's magic. Yes, it's Hollywood magic. But so what. I don't care. I love the way the story unfolds, the way Dennis negotiates Earth, the way Cusack's character, David, negotiates single fatherhood, the parallels of both of them grieving something. A good movie, beautifully shot...I enjoyed all but the scenes with Angelica Houston and Oliver Platt, which surprised me because I typically like both of them...but in this movie...they were too much...too dramatic and cartoonish.

Hurray for three movies in a row that I have enjoyed.

2007-11-03T16:38:00.000-04:00

The great multiplex conspiracy...

I thought I would go see a matinee of The Martian Child today, but no. This and a couple of other movies are only showing after regular price tickets kick in. I have to wait until Monday to see this movie at the matinee price. I realize that for some, to quibble over three dollars is silly, but it means the difference between movie and popcorn or just the movie. And so I wait, and curse the multiplex big wigs for not offering this film during matinee hours today. Now I am stuck with cleaning, and dreaded paperwork I've been neglecting, and writing that best seller, and buying my lottery ticket, because spending a dollar on a once in a lifetime opportunity is all the financial plan I can afford.

2007-10-28T22:21:00.000-04:00

Dan in Real Life

Another movie that wasn't a disappointment. Another movie trailer that lived up to the hype. So I enjoyed The Jane Austen Book Club...I didn't write about it because I didn't want to spoil it for a friend who reads this blog and hadn't seen the movie yet. The only thing I will say about it is that I plan to add it to my collection when it comes out on dvd.

On to Dan in Real Life. I have to confess that I didn't want to be a Steve Carell fan. I know The Office is brilliant, but I haven't added it to my list of must see t.v. I see him the way I used to see Jim Carrey before Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I was drawn to the movie because of the trailer...but I was wary. I remember well the debacles that were Evening and Feast of Love. I was pleasantly surprised. Again, this isn't ground breaking. It's not incredibly thought provoking. It is, however, exactly what it professed to be in the trailer, funny, poignant, filled with likable characters. Juliette Binoche was lovely as the complicated love interest, Marie. And as always, Dianne Weist was great. Dan was a lovably flawed character, relate-able, terminally awkward, heroically funny, all around good guy. And I enjoyed Steve Carell in this the way I enjoy John Cusack in pretty much anything. This film was what I wanted, funny/sad, complex/simple, full of romance and heartbreak, with a satisfying ending. I wasn't disappointed. It was definitely worth the price of the matinée and the absolute highway robbery that is popcorn and a coke at the multiplex.

2007-10-21T04:23:00.000-04:00

A funny aside regarding haircuts.

The context.

There are very few things Steph and I splurge on, good haircuts are one of those things. And since we've lived in Albuquerque we have had Lindsey at the Nob Hill Mark Pardo Salon as our goto gal.

The situation.
The first dilemma Steph faced on relocating (even if temporarily) to Minnesota was the haircut. She has wicked thick hair and a bad cut really stands out.

The solution.
So she did her homework and found a suitable temporary Lindsey stand-in. She calls to tell me how it went, says it's a little too short, but overall, not bad. Oh and by the way, she says, the women who cut my hair just cut the Princess of Norway's hair.
It's still not Lindsey. She is loyal, my love is...and stubborn. You would think that the woman who cuts the Princess of Norway's hair would be great...but no...it was okay...but not the same. ta da! The Princess of Norway! LOL! Dr. Gustafson is seriously in the land of her peeps. Ya, you betcha!

2007-09-30T13:32:00.001-04:00

TOUCHDOWN!!!!!!

2007-09-30T12:46:00.000-04:00

Okay Babies...It's game time! Brett Favre goes for the all time pass record.
He COULD......GO.......ALL......THE.......WAY!!!!!!

2007-09-29T19:22:00.000-04:00

Feast of Love more like a Famine

I am loath to put this in the category of the level of disappointment I had regarding the movie Evening. But there's no way around it. First, it was badly shot. Jump cuts used this terrible fade to black followed by the sound of thunder and rain multiple times, which was neither artistic nor particularly poigniant or funny. I tried hard for this movie which really needed to decide if it was a tragedy or a comedy...it certainly wasn't a tragicomedy, that perfect blend of wit/morose. The voice over and the dialog tell us what we're supposed to know rather than the scenes allowing us to infer meaning. I don't know if this is a problem inherent to screenplays from books, but I don't think so. The Hours is a good example of book, screenplay, excellent movie. There were some beautiful lines about love, but most of them were in the realm of trite, overdone, or already been done before. I loved the idea of Morgan Freeman and Jane Alexander in this movie, but their story line didn't allow for great chemistry. The young couple, their love so aptly described in terms of Romeo and Juliet, were rather naive and after school special-ish. Bradley and his search for the perfect partner in love is initially not very likealbe/clueless, and turns out rather okay. The biggest problem is that at a point in the movie it is stated (in a voice over) that Bradley is friends with his previous two wives and their respective partners, one who left him for a woman and one who left him for a man. The final scenes show all these people together as friends with the exception of the lesbian couple so prevalent in the first third of the movie. They disappear completely from the narrative while all the other couples add to our understanding of love and the human condition. If this is a feast of love, where are my lesbians at? There was too much dark and not enough light in this movie, or if it needed to be dark, then let it be so, complete story lines, illuminate the demons a little more. Something. So while Feast looked promising, another misleading trailer, I found nothing to sustain me.

2007-09-28T10:47:00.001-04:00

A quick list of movies I want to see posted here so that I don't forget that I want to see them...will likely add more.

Feast of Love
Martian Child
August Rush
The Jane Austen Book Club

Reviews to follow.

Also, movies from the Southwest Gay and Lesbian Film Festival I want to see.

Itty Bitty Titty Committee (This is on Netflix as well.)
Nina's Heavenly Delights (Also available on Netflix when it comes out.)
Finn's Girl
Shelter Me
Vivere

2007-09-27T02:00:00.000-04:00

Though I love living in the city, some days it would be easier to see it from the passenger side of a car. On the way in to work I saw a woman, clearly intoxicated and screaming about "that Bitch" at the top of her lungs, nearly get mowed down by a car as she weaved off the sidewalk and into traffic. I was at my second bus stop at San Mateo and Central. My first, Central and Yale, yielded students, homeless or semi-homeless, recent parolees, and a smattering (okay there were three of us) of commuters. What is it with criminals who haven't been caught yet and criminals newly released that make them participate in bizarro bus ride confessions to their buddies sitting next to them, or loudly to some girl on the phone they're desperate to impress? This a.m. a current criminal and new parolee discussed their various and sundry incarcerations, criminal describing two warrants he knows he "has out on his ass." Then once the parolee jumps off at Nob Hill, the criminal phones his girl, asks her to hook him up with a job...his main question, "Does it require a drug test?" I sat at San Mateo and Central completely blanking on any number I could call so that someone could come out and pick the drunk woman up before she really did end up roadkill. After work, I ran over to the bus stop at the VA and as I was approaching I noticed a short stocky man and the driver in a heated altercation. A man in a wheelchair needed to get out of the bus and Shorty tried to hop on before that man had exited. The bus driver asked him to step off and let the man out. Shorty completely blew a fuse and had a full on meltdown. Central is tricky for a variety of reasons, bus patrons might be some of the most diverse of all the routes and the most populated. San Mateo, particularly on the end I travel is often full of veterans, and any number of mild to serious issues they might be rehabbing. I'm a veteran and I've seen the tragedies written in their bodies, the texture of their skin, their walk, the way they hold themselves upright as we bounce along, proud, but stiff, like they're made of metal. The smells make me think of hospitals, nursing homes, a city street at night, piss and vomit beneath neon lights. In all of that there is something hopeful, even beautiful about them. Whatever Shorty's issue, it wasn't about stepping back, the guy in the wheelchair, or the bus driver. He turned and walked back in the building.

I walked Chloe on campus this evening before dusk. We just caught the Sandias in their pink and purple glow. Campus walking isn't unlike taking the bus. I encounter patterns, young women and men (sometimes older) who want to stop and talk about Chloe, or who pause long enough to say, "Cute dog!" And people who walk past us like we're invisible. I hate to put a face on this but sorority sisters, you know it's you, though there is the occasional sideways look of disdain, but hey, I'm not dressing for you. I saw a bevy of dachshunds tonight and Chloe loved them all because she is a traitor and only loves small dogs. To be fair their owners were nice and they were very well behaved and cute. I also saw what could only be described as late 90's prom hair topping off what looked to be typical flip flops, jeans and double layered tank tops. And there are always those caught up in what ever it is they're doing, playing music, skateboarding. Tonight it was a painter set up by the duck pond. The other night it was a couple of musicians singing a Brian Adams song (I think it was Brian Adams), only I didn't know they were really playing it, I thought it was a radio. They were siting in the Center of the Universe art piece, and their sound was amazing. On a sad note, what's with the trash people? There was so much garbage in the grass around the duck pond. If I didn't have my hands full with Chloe I would have done a little trash duty tonight. It makes me sad to see it like that. Hell, the school kids over the summer do a better job picking up after themselves. Still, an enjoyable walk.

I miss Steph. I miss the car, the two of us driving on a Saturday, a slow morning before errands, a splurge trip down Rio Grande to catch the sunset (we're never up early enough to see it rise.) I like riding with my left hand tucked under the edge of her right thigh. I like listening to her sing along with the radio or whatever cd we have in. I like it when she sings unguarded. I miss walks in Old Town after dark, catching the tail end of whatever music is playing in the gazebo, letting Chloe lead us to all her favorite places.

The neighbors downstairs are having a good time. Boyfriend and girlfriend, occasional shrieks of laughter, muffled music, the smell of popcorn wafting through the shared heating ducts. I don't begrudge them their happiness. He took the trash out. Steph would be ecstatic, though she would wonder why I have been able to get him to take it out once in awhile, when she could not (what I will forever call Trashgate.) But I am not myself without her. I'm not as nice. I want to tell them to shut up, and to stop burning the popcorn.

2007-09-23T01:52:00.000-04:00

"Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better." William Shakespeare in Twelfth Night (Act III, Scene I).
I've watched Sense and Sensibility, again. Also Serendipity (my love of the Cusacks knows no bounds.) I cry every time I watch S &S. The quote above is not from either film. I came across it today. I've been writing, and of course there are loves won and lost in the pages. Well planned love, I think, leads to an ultimately unplanned mess. It seems fairytale-ish to find love looking up at you and as luck would have it, it is the love you'd hoped for. Still the machinations leading up to planned love, the gaze, the pursuit, the variety of staged accidents does love an injustice. It's fun, yes, but what does it really mean? Is it really love if you have to go out there and get it, pursue it like a lioness after a gazelle, go for the jugular? What's left after you've won your prize? How do you strike a balance after all that forward momentum? It's funny to me that love is the one thing I didn't pursue actively. We were good friends first, and for quite awhile. The love part felt very much like looking up one day and seeing it there, right in front of you. I think it's why I love these movies. They illustrate not just something that represents how we found ourselves in love, but something that I thought didn't even really exist. I like that it felt like an accident, like something divine.

2007-09-05T15:45:00.000-04:00

Twelve Year Old Window Repair Guys

I would like to believe that the window repair guy is not twelve. Evidence suggests that while he may not be twelve, he still hasn't quite gotten real facial hair. He's too skinny, wears the kind of clothes all the kids wear, he calls me Ma'am with more respect than he should, the kind of respect you show your elders. When did I become an elder? Y.T. talked about it today, she in Boston having lunch outside but away from pesky pigeons, me here in the living room waiting for my twelve year old window repair guy. He called this morning. I told her he sounded like he was twelve. She said maybe it was a woman. I said no, I'm pretty sure it was a guy. We didn't need to go over my expertise on the subject, my love of women was well versed in the hours we spent playing scrabble and eating Indian food, the time we spent doing anything but the writing we needed to be doing. I told her I would fill her in after he fixes the window. I said, when did we get so old? How is it possible that twenty somethings seem impossibly young now? She agreed. Remember when we thought teenagers were impossibly young. Yay, like when we were twenty and so full of ourselves and our big lives. I did so many stupid things when I was twenty, I said. I should be dead. She said, Me too! Now I'm afraid to leave the house without a jacket so that I don't catch a cold. I laughed. She said, It's not funny! I spent the entire time my friends visited offering them sweaters and jackets until they asked if I was geriatric. That's it, I said. Wait until we're forty and thirty seems impossibly young, and instead of lives and loves and twelve year old window guys, we start talking about bunions, arthritis, and 401Ks. The twelve year old is efficient, works well with his hands. I wonder if his hands are scared from working with cut glass, but I'm sitting in the living room and can't really see. It's all quiet and so I think he must be nearly finished. I guess I better go write a check and pay the man.