There is a film theory that no matter what is shown on the big screen, the very quality of projecting the images and the very fact that it is on the big screen add an element of glamour/legitimacy to the characters and actions onscreen. Applying this theory to the film version of Trainspotting, despite the pathetic lives and unfortunate deaths of some of the characters, and despite Renton's positive message to "Choose life" over heroin, the film is nevertheless befuddled because the characters all look kind of cool, relatively attractive, and just plain more appealing than the average heroin addict laying in a gutter or living with his parents.
I have a similar theory about fictional characters in books. They may be messed up, villanous, and miserable but I often romanticize them, though if I lived through the same predicaments I would feel anything but romantic. Well, Anne Tyler creates fictional characters that sidestep any notion of romanticism I had for them. And I love that. She is steering this ship. Her characters tend to make choices I generally would not agree with, but in addition to my romantic notions, they also sidestep my judgment. They are people working with what they've got, guided by their insticts and desires.
A Slipping-Down Life by Anne Tyler is by no means a new book. I chose the book off the library shelf because I liked the other books by Anne Tyler I have read (also because it is fairly short and would fit in nicely to the other 4 books I am still juggling). Evie, an overweight, unpopular teenager, falls for a singer/guitarist she hears on the radio one night and goes to see him perform at his weekly gig. Why Drumstrings Casey appeals to Evie is a mystery, to everyone including Drumstrings it seems. But the otherwise unattractive Evie forcefully draws his attention, and they form a strange connection that is quite begrudging and guilty on his part.
What motivates Evie to make repeated bad decisions and compromise her future for a marginally talented man with a less than sparkling personality? Her relationship with her father is our clue. He cares for Evie, but does not know how to be a mother too. Furthermore, Evie suspects he blames her for her mother's death (her mother "had been the last woman in Pulqua County to die of childbed fever"). But in the end, her father seems to help her grow up a little, to become an independent woman who can start the process of adulthood, which is nothing more than making painfully correct decisions all the time.
Finally, I love the hyphen in the title. Hooray for freedom of grammar! Sure, America will defend freedom of expression, but there seems to be a recently clamorous group of people who speak the English language and want to tell everyone else how horrifying it is that they are using it wrong. Some of these people come from England. To be fair, the clamoring is tempered by a concession to the evolving quality of the language. In my opinion, there is no longer a proper English in the United States, if there ever was. I believe it is important to get the "proper" basics of grammar in school, but then go from there, inventing and riffing on a language that, if strong and sensible enough, will not die.
7.26.2009
7.18.2009
7.17.2009
Ice Cream, Mutant Tomatoes, and Dad
I am dedicating this post to my Dad, who inspired me to post today when I spoke to him on the phone and he asked about the blog. I will try to make this interesting, Dad, but I think we already talked about almost everything going on in my day on the phone earlier...
One thing we didn't talk about was my ice cream-making skills. Last week I used my machine for the first time to make cherry frozen yogurt. I have a Cuisinart ice cream maker, and its directions state that 20-30 minutes in the machine should present edible ice cream. What I had after 20-30 minutes was pretty runny, so I just put it in tupperware in the freezer and it was good the next day, just more like sorbet. But it was very, very good.
Tonight I am making mint chocolate chip ice cream, with mint I picked this afternoon from my backyard. It is incredibly satisfying to pick something from your yard and eat it. It is even more satisfying to turn that edible yardstuff into ice cream! The results are still pending, but I have dipped my finger into the custard that is cooling (the pre-machine step is to make a minty custard), and it is very, very good.
On the topic of fresh mint, I cannot get over the fact of growing food in my own yard. I was raised, as I have said before, in a desert city, and tomatoes don't grow on trees, let alone tomato vines, there with much success (although my Aunt N and Uncle J, living at the foothills of a rocky, sandy mountain on the edge of town, obviously have not heard that news, because they have repeat raging success with their tomato plants).
It's not as if Vegas is a totally barren wasteland (visit neighborhoods built pre-1990 to find a desert oasis), it's just that people have to work harder at growing non-desert plants there, and water is scarce (more so now in a city of millions than when I grew up in same city of hundred-thousands). And Vegas does a fantastic job of making people feel guilty for every drop of water consumed, as well it should considering the water level at Lake Mead these days. And gardening things like tomatoes, mint, and corn takes plenty of water.
My fiance and I ate our first tomatoes from our yard last night. There were only two ripe ones , each from a different plant (we have two), so I cut them in half and gave us both a piece from each plant. They are cherry tomatoes, but these things are big. Some of them are beyond golf ball-size (though no golf ball-size fruits are yet ripe). We ate normal cherry-sized last night, but I wonder about those mutants. Our tomatoes, if I can judge based on only two, are wonderful. They smell and taste like warm sunlight and redness. I don't think that is anything but a lame description to someone who has eaten only grocery store tomatoes, which is why that 'real tomato virgin' should go straight to a farmers market asap and get a sunlight-tomato and realize my description is not lame, it's true! The only four people who read this blog (please, correct me if there are more!), have all experienced real tomatoes, so the sunlight/redness description is sufficient at this time. I have 100+ tomatoes waiting to ripen on the vines, and I go out every morning now to check on them, and tie twine around the branches too heavy with fruit now to support themselves. I have several pieces of twine connecting vine branches to our fences. I am sure the neighbors are thrilled.
Back on water, I have a theory that while Vegas and the entire American west is the hotspot for growth in America right now, as the twenty-first century progresses, places where food grows and water runs with ease will gain in popularity--headline in 2015: Detroit Boomtown! Okay, it's a bit of a crazy theory, but so are desert boomtowns! Look at Vegas, but even worse, look at Phoenix! I think that original Las Vegans** enjoyed the wealth that came from the boomtown development, but also look back wistfully on the pleasant, mosquito-free, small city with all the benefits that the Vegas Valley offers, but with none of the big-city problems that exist now. Anyway, a more likely theory is that the rest of the country will steal water from the Great Lakes, resulting in water for everyone, maybe just cheaper for those who actually live in the Great Lakes states.
So, this is what my blog is about Dad. I hope you are not asleep already. It is like an episode of Seinfeld ("It's a show about nothing!") without the humor. I will work on the humor if you promise to read on.
** I count myself as an Original Las Vegan although I obviously wasn't around 100 years ago at its founding: in a town this new, it was rare to meet many natives my age (uuhhh...31) in town up to a mere few years ago. Now it is nothing to say you're from Vegas, but the switch from novelty to old-hat came very recently. Original Las Vegans were born there. Everybody else moved there (usually from California and New York--Oregon, we feel for you) and turned it into a logistical quagmire.
One thing we didn't talk about was my ice cream-making skills. Last week I used my machine for the first time to make cherry frozen yogurt. I have a Cuisinart ice cream maker, and its directions state that 20-30 minutes in the machine should present edible ice cream. What I had after 20-30 minutes was pretty runny, so I just put it in tupperware in the freezer and it was good the next day, just more like sorbet. But it was very, very good.
Tonight I am making mint chocolate chip ice cream, with mint I picked this afternoon from my backyard. It is incredibly satisfying to pick something from your yard and eat it. It is even more satisfying to turn that edible yardstuff into ice cream! The results are still pending, but I have dipped my finger into the custard that is cooling (the pre-machine step is to make a minty custard), and it is very, very good.
On the topic of fresh mint, I cannot get over the fact of growing food in my own yard. I was raised, as I have said before, in a desert city, and tomatoes don't grow on trees, let alone tomato vines, there with much success (although my Aunt N and Uncle J, living at the foothills of a rocky, sandy mountain on the edge of town, obviously have not heard that news, because they have repeat raging success with their tomato plants).
It's not as if Vegas is a totally barren wasteland (visit neighborhoods built pre-1990 to find a desert oasis), it's just that people have to work harder at growing non-desert plants there, and water is scarce (more so now in a city of millions than when I grew up in same city of hundred-thousands). And Vegas does a fantastic job of making people feel guilty for every drop of water consumed, as well it should considering the water level at Lake Mead these days. And gardening things like tomatoes, mint, and corn takes plenty of water.
My fiance and I ate our first tomatoes from our yard last night. There were only two ripe ones , each from a different plant (we have two), so I cut them in half and gave us both a piece from each plant. They are cherry tomatoes, but these things are big. Some of them are beyond golf ball-size (though no golf ball-size fruits are yet ripe). We ate normal cherry-sized last night, but I wonder about those mutants. Our tomatoes, if I can judge based on only two, are wonderful. They smell and taste like warm sunlight and redness. I don't think that is anything but a lame description to someone who has eaten only grocery store tomatoes, which is why that 'real tomato virgin' should go straight to a farmers market asap and get a sunlight-tomato and realize my description is not lame, it's true! The only four people who read this blog (please, correct me if there are more!), have all experienced real tomatoes, so the sunlight/redness description is sufficient at this time. I have 100+ tomatoes waiting to ripen on the vines, and I go out every morning now to check on them, and tie twine around the branches too heavy with fruit now to support themselves. I have several pieces of twine connecting vine branches to our fences. I am sure the neighbors are thrilled.
Back on water, I have a theory that while Vegas and the entire American west is the hotspot for growth in America right now, as the twenty-first century progresses, places where food grows and water runs with ease will gain in popularity--headline in 2015: Detroit Boomtown! Okay, it's a bit of a crazy theory, but so are desert boomtowns! Look at Vegas, but even worse, look at Phoenix! I think that original Las Vegans** enjoyed the wealth that came from the boomtown development, but also look back wistfully on the pleasant, mosquito-free, small city with all the benefits that the Vegas Valley offers, but with none of the big-city problems that exist now. Anyway, a more likely theory is that the rest of the country will steal water from the Great Lakes, resulting in water for everyone, maybe just cheaper for those who actually live in the Great Lakes states.
So, this is what my blog is about Dad. I hope you are not asleep already. It is like an episode of Seinfeld ("It's a show about nothing!") without the humor. I will work on the humor if you promise to read on.
** I count myself as an Original Las Vegan although I obviously wasn't around 100 years ago at its founding: in a town this new, it was rare to meet many natives my age (uuhhh...31) in town up to a mere few years ago. Now it is nothing to say you're from Vegas, but the switch from novelty to old-hat came very recently. Original Las Vegans were born there. Everybody else moved there (usually from California and New York--Oregon, we feel for you) and turned it into a logistical quagmire.
7.11.2009
Various Regional Observations
Just a few observations about my new home: the hometown diner, the awful traffic solution/problem, and the elephant in the road, uh I mean room.
#1: Coney Islands
Though you wouldn't guess it from the name, a Coney Island is generally a Detroit coffeeshop (haven't seen any in Ann Arbor, but correct me if I'm wrong) that serves regular Denny's-type fare, hot dogs (which I guess you would expect), and some pretty good Greek and/or Mediterranean food (which you wouldn't expect if you don't live in Detroit, but makes sense if you do). I don't have much to say about Coneys, except that they are everywhere, possibly more everywhere than a Waffle House in Georgia is everywhere (this is because Coneys come in buildings of all shapes and sizes, with different peoples names on them-and you are never more than a stone's throw from a Coney). Another thing worth saying about Coneys is that most people seem to have a devout love for one or two. Another thing is that Patti Smith had her wedding reception at Lafayette Coney Island. And the last thing is that Coneys are way better than greasy spoons like Denny's (ugh)and IHOP (ick), and are one of those Detroit quirks that, like many things Detroit, you have to go to appreciate and know.
#2: The Michigan Left
The Michigan Left is the pernicious work of a traffic expert in need of some advice from this Dilettante. If I could get the ear of whoever invented the Michigan Left, I would indeed give him/her an earful. For those who don't know what I am talking about, here is the concept, gathered from rumor, myth passed down, and my own conjecture: It is ostensibly safer and more convenient to not turn left on the street you want to turn left on and instead either a) continue straight through an intersection, make a U-turn, and then take a Right onto the street you just passed, or b) take a Right where you want to take a Left, and then make a U-turn and then continue through the intersection. I have to make a Michigan Left every time I want to go west on the 96 freeway, which would be okay, I guess, except for the fact that there are speeding cars exiting the freeway only 30 yards from where I peer to my right to see if it's safe to make my U-turn. So I usually end up pulling in front of a car exiting at 60 mph, in order to end my wait in a long and impatient queue gathered on a bridge over the freeway (said queue possibly in fear of the infrastructural security of said bridge, given road conditions in Michigan--see #3).
In another scenario, I am cruising along in the left lane of traffic on a major road, when all of a sudden, the car in front of me comes to a dead stop, because the driver of the car needs to make a U-turn, in order to take a left (actually, now a right) at the intersection we have already passed through! Sigh....I prefer the practical Pittsburgh Left to the Michigan Left. The Pittsburgh Left is the practice of the first person in the left-turn-lane line turning at the moment the yield-left light turns green (those brave Pittsburghers correctly presuming that the oncoming traffic will not beat them if they move fast, thereby keeping traffic flowing, not doing a bit of harm, and getting where they're going a minute sooner).
#3: Michigan Roads
Like many other parent-expatriates (not expatriates that are also parents, but people expatriated from the geographical region of their own parents), I receive mail from both Mom and Dad (not married) that recounts various bits of news to me. Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it is advice, sometimes it is an update on friends or family, and it is always touching and much appreciated by this Dilettante, who misses her family. So recently I received from Mom a Parade Magazine article listing the worst roads in America. There were several towns listed (for example, Gatlinburg TN, West Orange TX) and then "any road in Michigan." Not "Detroit MI" or "Flint MI," but any road in Michigan. And I wholeheartedly agree. Another thing you have to go to really know, though that one I'd like to keep under wraps.
#1: Coney Islands
Though you wouldn't guess it from the name, a Coney Island is generally a Detroit coffeeshop (haven't seen any in Ann Arbor, but correct me if I'm wrong) that serves regular Denny's-type fare, hot dogs (which I guess you would expect), and some pretty good Greek and/or Mediterranean food (which you wouldn't expect if you don't live in Detroit, but makes sense if you do). I don't have much to say about Coneys, except that they are everywhere, possibly more everywhere than a Waffle House in Georgia is everywhere (this is because Coneys come in buildings of all shapes and sizes, with different peoples names on them-and you are never more than a stone's throw from a Coney). Another thing worth saying about Coneys is that most people seem to have a devout love for one or two. Another thing is that Patti Smith had her wedding reception at Lafayette Coney Island. And the last thing is that Coneys are way better than greasy spoons like Denny's (ugh)and IHOP (ick), and are one of those Detroit quirks that, like many things Detroit, you have to go to appreciate and know.
#2: The Michigan Left
The Michigan Left is the pernicious work of a traffic expert in need of some advice from this Dilettante. If I could get the ear of whoever invented the Michigan Left, I would indeed give him/her an earful. For those who don't know what I am talking about, here is the concept, gathered from rumor, myth passed down, and my own conjecture: It is ostensibly safer and more convenient to not turn left on the street you want to turn left on and instead either a) continue straight through an intersection, make a U-turn, and then take a Right onto the street you just passed, or b) take a Right where you want to take a Left, and then make a U-turn and then continue through the intersection. I have to make a Michigan Left every time I want to go west on the 96 freeway, which would be okay, I guess, except for the fact that there are speeding cars exiting the freeway only 30 yards from where I peer to my right to see if it's safe to make my U-turn. So I usually end up pulling in front of a car exiting at 60 mph, in order to end my wait in a long and impatient queue gathered on a bridge over the freeway (said queue possibly in fear of the infrastructural security of said bridge, given road conditions in Michigan--see #3).
In another scenario, I am cruising along in the left lane of traffic on a major road, when all of a sudden, the car in front of me comes to a dead stop, because the driver of the car needs to make a U-turn, in order to take a left (actually, now a right) at the intersection we have already passed through! Sigh....I prefer the practical Pittsburgh Left to the Michigan Left. The Pittsburgh Left is the practice of the first person in the left-turn-lane line turning at the moment the yield-left light turns green (those brave Pittsburghers correctly presuming that the oncoming traffic will not beat them if they move fast, thereby keeping traffic flowing, not doing a bit of harm, and getting where they're going a minute sooner).
#3: Michigan Roads
Like many other parent-expatriates (not expatriates that are also parents, but people expatriated from the geographical region of their own parents), I receive mail from both Mom and Dad (not married) that recounts various bits of news to me. Sometimes it is funny, sometimes it is advice, sometimes it is an update on friends or family, and it is always touching and much appreciated by this Dilettante, who misses her family. So recently I received from Mom a Parade Magazine article listing the worst roads in America. There were several towns listed (for example, Gatlinburg TN, West Orange TX) and then "any road in Michigan." Not "Detroit MI" or "Flint MI," but any road in Michigan. And I wholeheartedly agree. Another thing you have to go to really know, though that one I'd like to keep under wraps.
7.05.2009
The Fifth of July and a Book Review
It's the day after Independence Day, which for me used to signify the downswing of summer. After moving to Michigan, though, I find the officially mandated seasons to be quite on target. In Detroit this year, it reached sweat-inducing temperatures exactly one day after the first day of summer (June 20th). In Vegas, summer heat comes in early May (and leaves around mid-October!). Regardless of the frequent and wild temperature fluctuations here, I've enjoyed our weather ever since the clocks sprang forward, ending my first run-in with a mild case of S.A.D. It's more about sunlight than temperature for some folks.
The upside of a cold dry winter is that if during that season for some crazy reason I choose to bare some skin, I would not be ravaged by blood-thirsty mosquitoes, as I was last night despite practically standing on top of a smoky firepit to avoid such a result. I count eight bites on my feet, and one on my arm (the arm bite by a mosquito who had the audacity to appear in broad daylight this afternoon while I was tending to my corn!).
Here is my first book review--anyone reading this can get a more expert viewpoint from a number of newspaper book critics who get paid to do this, while I am a mere dilettante, but hey, these reviews are mostly for my own benefit, kind of a debriefing. I just finished the novel Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, an author who I had never heard of until a few weeks ago, but whose work I now intend to follow. What first attracted me was the title, how cute! I tend to be random when it comes to reading new or new-to-me authors, and what attracts me to a book is the title or cover art (the latter not being a fair basis for judgment, as authors may not have much control over that marketing/artistic device, depending on their contract, etc.). So I picked this book up because I liked the title and figured it could allay some avid-reader-guilt for having avoided Death in Venice my whole life.
Dyer's book is divided into two parts-Venice, Italy and Varanasi, India of course. In the first part, the main character, Jeff Atman, is a British journalist at the Biennale, an art world event held in Venice, though he actually was sent to cover not the event itself, but to interview a woman only tangentally related to the event who lived in Venice. He's a habit in the arts circuit though, and got invites and passes to good parties and exhibits, his commentary on which provides the reader a brief and amusing look into the Biennale from a rather jaded perspective. In Venice he meets and falls in love with Laura, an American who works at a gallery. The story covers their affair amid the parties and exhibits. In Laura, Jeff finds a partner who seems to share his view of the silly, grand, boring, beautiful spectacle of art as well as the outside world. Jeff embraces this newfound love and the prospect of a new life with this woman, after what seems to have been a long spell of cynical, unmotivated plodding through his former life in England.
I loved this first part in Venice. It was like...well, like my first couple of years in college. A little work mixed in with a little more partying, fueled at times by a bit of booze but more so by youthful energy and the exciting promise of what a new day and night might bring (turning out to be, like this Venice, full of random meetings and colorful characters). Jeff is very likeable despite his jaded outlook, or maybe because of his jaded outlook, because I saw myself in this character, a character who channelled his despair into a glib, tough sense of humor. It's my measure of a good writer - real, recognizable characters. Yes, I loved the Twilight series (guilty), but even though those books were constantly describing what Bella thought, how Bella felt, what Bella thought Edward and Jacob were thinking and feeling (based on exhausting scrutiny of their words and facial expressions), the Twilight books did not make me feel like I was ever in any character's shoes (or heart or mind) in a given situation. Rather, Twilight's writer (who I think is great!) told an entertaining story but kept you the reader at a distance, despite the very personal nature of the story. On the other hand, Dyer brought me in to this guy's head to recognize myself, my desires, my sense of humor** and coping strategies in the face of the same old sameness, and my kindred joy at the promise of having found a soulmate/co-conspirator to shake things up.
On to part two: Varanasi. I think Brits are more familiar with all things Indian, but this American had to look up "ghat" in the dictionary: steps leading down to a body of water (big thing in Varanasi, which is on the Ganges). Part two is not a continuation of part one. It is the opposite side of the same rupee. It is squalor and death, this after the reader has had a stint in Italian luxury and the embrace of a promising new life. The two parts structured the book into a jarring upside-down V. Up, up to a grand life with a new love. Then down, down to watch the bodies burn at Manikarnika ghat, to fight the native filth and then embrace it, to experience the gradual disconnection of one's self with one's former life.
I waited like a puppy for the Jeff in part one to show up and reclaim his Venetian splendor. I can be such a shallow American. It took a while, but I grew accustomed to the spare, ascetic, and ickier developing-world life of our hero, who never spared the reader a description of a dead body, confused monkey, or bout of dysentery, which means he never spared the reader from the colorful observations of a full life (though not all lives encompass negotiation with monkeys).
If Venice was college, Varanasi was my brief stint housesitting on the Florida Gulf Coast: What was I doing here? Who are these people? Bleak (yes, really, in Florida, go there some time and you'll see), foreign, exotic, and a renunciation of my former, malfunctioning life. I went jogging in 100% percent humidity as angry self-entitled soccer moms honked at me for blocking their charging SUVs, and I worked as a cashier with people who were still mad at the Yanks about the Civil War. I related to no one. And I fled what I felt was unnecessary torture and strangeness from my congenitally relaxed and breezy west coast life. A different outcome than that of Dyer's evolving character, who felt he had nothing to go back to in his former life. Or perhaps he learned something in a foreign world that I didn't take the time to: "I was in my way. I was ahead of me in the queue. I was keeping me waiting. When I drank beer, I was waiting for the glass to empty so I could have it filled and start drinking again....All I'm saying is that in Varanasi I no longer felt like I was waiting....I had taken myself out of the equation."
Regardless of any wisdom acquired on an ancient Indian riverbank, what it comes down to is how well the story, any story, is told. As I happily would watch on film a person shop for groceries for an hour if directed by Woody Allen or Spike Lee, so I could read Geoff Dyer's account of Jeff Atman ordering food at a restaurant in Venice or wandering the ghats of Varanasi. What a pleasure to find a character you care for, even as he cares less, and slips through your and everyone else's fingers.
**"...that it's possible to be a hundred percent sincere and a hundred percent ironic at the same time."
The upside of a cold dry winter is that if during that season for some crazy reason I choose to bare some skin, I would not be ravaged by blood-thirsty mosquitoes, as I was last night despite practically standing on top of a smoky firepit to avoid such a result. I count eight bites on my feet, and one on my arm (the arm bite by a mosquito who had the audacity to appear in broad daylight this afternoon while I was tending to my corn!).
Here is my first book review--anyone reading this can get a more expert viewpoint from a number of newspaper book critics who get paid to do this, while I am a mere dilettante, but hey, these reviews are mostly for my own benefit, kind of a debriefing. I just finished the novel Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, an author who I had never heard of until a few weeks ago, but whose work I now intend to follow. What first attracted me was the title, how cute! I tend to be random when it comes to reading new or new-to-me authors, and what attracts me to a book is the title or cover art (the latter not being a fair basis for judgment, as authors may not have much control over that marketing/artistic device, depending on their contract, etc.). So I picked this book up because I liked the title and figured it could allay some avid-reader-guilt for having avoided Death in Venice my whole life.
Dyer's book is divided into two parts-Venice, Italy and Varanasi, India of course. In the first part, the main character, Jeff Atman, is a British journalist at the Biennale, an art world event held in Venice, though he actually was sent to cover not the event itself, but to interview a woman only tangentally related to the event who lived in Venice. He's a habit in the arts circuit though, and got invites and passes to good parties and exhibits, his commentary on which provides the reader a brief and amusing look into the Biennale from a rather jaded perspective. In Venice he meets and falls in love with Laura, an American who works at a gallery. The story covers their affair amid the parties and exhibits. In Laura, Jeff finds a partner who seems to share his view of the silly, grand, boring, beautiful spectacle of art as well as the outside world. Jeff embraces this newfound love and the prospect of a new life with this woman, after what seems to have been a long spell of cynical, unmotivated plodding through his former life in England.
I loved this first part in Venice. It was like...well, like my first couple of years in college. A little work mixed in with a little more partying, fueled at times by a bit of booze but more so by youthful energy and the exciting promise of what a new day and night might bring (turning out to be, like this Venice, full of random meetings and colorful characters). Jeff is very likeable despite his jaded outlook, or maybe because of his jaded outlook, because I saw myself in this character, a character who channelled his despair into a glib, tough sense of humor. It's my measure of a good writer - real, recognizable characters. Yes, I loved the Twilight series (guilty), but even though those books were constantly describing what Bella thought, how Bella felt, what Bella thought Edward and Jacob were thinking and feeling (based on exhausting scrutiny of their words and facial expressions), the Twilight books did not make me feel like I was ever in any character's shoes (or heart or mind) in a given situation. Rather, Twilight's writer (who I think is great!) told an entertaining story but kept you the reader at a distance, despite the very personal nature of the story. On the other hand, Dyer brought me in to this guy's head to recognize myself, my desires, my sense of humor** and coping strategies in the face of the same old sameness, and my kindred joy at the promise of having found a soulmate/co-conspirator to shake things up.
On to part two: Varanasi. I think Brits are more familiar with all things Indian, but this American had to look up "ghat" in the dictionary: steps leading down to a body of water (big thing in Varanasi, which is on the Ganges). Part two is not a continuation of part one. It is the opposite side of the same rupee. It is squalor and death, this after the reader has had a stint in Italian luxury and the embrace of a promising new life. The two parts structured the book into a jarring upside-down V. Up, up to a grand life with a new love. Then down, down to watch the bodies burn at Manikarnika ghat, to fight the native filth and then embrace it, to experience the gradual disconnection of one's self with one's former life.
I waited like a puppy for the Jeff in part one to show up and reclaim his Venetian splendor. I can be such a shallow American. It took a while, but I grew accustomed to the spare, ascetic, and ickier developing-world life of our hero, who never spared the reader a description of a dead body, confused monkey, or bout of dysentery, which means he never spared the reader from the colorful observations of a full life (though not all lives encompass negotiation with monkeys).
If Venice was college, Varanasi was my brief stint housesitting on the Florida Gulf Coast: What was I doing here? Who are these people? Bleak (yes, really, in Florida, go there some time and you'll see), foreign, exotic, and a renunciation of my former, malfunctioning life. I went jogging in 100% percent humidity as angry self-entitled soccer moms honked at me for blocking their charging SUVs, and I worked as a cashier with people who were still mad at the Yanks about the Civil War. I related to no one. And I fled what I felt was unnecessary torture and strangeness from my congenitally relaxed and breezy west coast life. A different outcome than that of Dyer's evolving character, who felt he had nothing to go back to in his former life. Or perhaps he learned something in a foreign world that I didn't take the time to: "I was in my way. I was ahead of me in the queue. I was keeping me waiting. When I drank beer, I was waiting for the glass to empty so I could have it filled and start drinking again....All I'm saying is that in Varanasi I no longer felt like I was waiting....I had taken myself out of the equation."
Regardless of any wisdom acquired on an ancient Indian riverbank, what it comes down to is how well the story, any story, is told. As I happily would watch on film a person shop for groceries for an hour if directed by Woody Allen or Spike Lee, so I could read Geoff Dyer's account of Jeff Atman ordering food at a restaurant in Venice or wandering the ghats of Varanasi. What a pleasure to find a character you care for, even as he cares less, and slips through your and everyone else's fingers.
**"...that it's possible to be a hundred percent sincere and a hundred percent ironic at the same time."
7.02.2009
Welcome
Hello and welcome to my blog. I hope that it will be of at least a passing interest to people who, like me, enjoy trying new things and observing the fascinating world we live in. I also hope this blog will urge me out of my comfort zone to find all the interesting things Detroit has to offer, be they the good, the bad, or the ugly (ugly-good like the beautiful derelict train station or ugly-bad like certain public representatives). I intend for this blog to be a journal in which I give my dilettantish impressions of not only Detroit but my life at this place in time, about which I discuss a bit below.
I like to try my hand at new things. I am growing tomatoes and corn for the first time, a big deal for a born-and-raised Las Vegan. I am making from scratch pasta, bread, pesto, tortillas, and anything else that looks tasty, with the help of some great cooking blogs I've found (and will link as soon as I figure out how). I will soon foray into fresh ice cream, and have the equipment on the ready. To the serious cook these are modest accomplishments but I am just getting started. I hope to amp my from-scratch cooking and eating, as I have recently read The Omnivore's Dilemma and sadly now "ruminate" over every processed corn-doctored food item I buy, yearning to some day declare independence from Kroger and their ilk.
I am a big fiction reader, but lately I've read some nonfiction, mostly dealing with growing and eating food (Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma) or planning weddings (don't really know who writes these). My current fiction books, after getting over a recent, near deadly Twilight obsession, are: Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, My Father's Tears by John Updike, The Appeal by John Grisham, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, and The American by Henry James. I am in the process of reading all five of these right now, and will finish all of them, despite what my fiance says.
I like to try my hand at new things. I am growing tomatoes and corn for the first time, a big deal for a born-and-raised Las Vegan. I am making from scratch pasta, bread, pesto, tortillas, and anything else that looks tasty, with the help of some great cooking blogs I've found (and will link as soon as I figure out how). I will soon foray into fresh ice cream, and have the equipment on the ready. To the serious cook these are modest accomplishments but I am just getting started. I hope to amp my from-scratch cooking and eating, as I have recently read The Omnivore's Dilemma and sadly now "ruminate" over every processed corn-doctored food item I buy, yearning to some day declare independence from Kroger and their ilk.
I am a big fiction reader, but lately I've read some nonfiction, mostly dealing with growing and eating food (Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma) or planning weddings (don't really know who writes these). My current fiction books, after getting over a recent, near deadly Twilight obsession, are: Jeff in Venice, Death in Varanasi by Geoff Dyer, My Father's Tears by John Updike, The Appeal by John Grisham, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon, and The American by Henry James. I am in the process of reading all five of these right now, and will finish all of them, despite what my fiance says.
Other than reading, gardening, and cooking, I am hunting for work (and considering opening a business), planning a wedding, remodeling a 1950s era house, doing some volunteer tutoring, and in general trying to become a productive member of this country and planet.
My thought is that I will post my impressions of things: the books I read, my gardening/cooking/sewing progress, the movies I see, places I go in the Detroit area, perhaps with some job-hunt gallows humor thrown in. I don't have any agenda but to muse and have some place to put my musings for others to follow or not, to comment on or not. The name of the blog should alert you that I am no expert in any of the subjects on which I will expound, but rather an enthusiastic amateur, like most everyone else. Wow, thanks for reading this far.
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