Sunday afternoon Parker and Isaac and I drove out to a friend's house on Lake Tuscaloosa. It was not the first time I had driven out there, and it likely won't be the last. As I was driving, Parker said "Ooh, it's really pretty out here," and I agreed.
More than three years ago, when Parker came into this world, but before he was born, the world changed. I was driving out to the same house on Lake Tuscaloosa for the third of a set of meetings being held at the house (in other words I had driven out there before, and recently), but I got lost. I called ahead to tell them I was running late, and Susan told me I had missed a turn. But I didn't remember any turn. As far as I could remember there had never been another turn to miss out there before, but Susan assured me that it was true. To this day I still do not know how I could have forgotten a turn that had always been there. As far as I was concerned the route to my friend's house had changed, even though it couldn't have.
That was strange. It was as though I had passed over into a different universe with the conception of my child.
I used to imagine sometimes when I was a teenager that at some point I would wake up and discover that my life was really a dream. I guess the world seemed very unreal in comparison with the things I read in books, and the social isolation I often felt must have been oppressive to me. As I sat down to write this just now I experienced a brief shiver of horror to think of my life having never had Parker in it. It's odd where the imagination can go, and what can spark it.
Another weird sort of thing happened on Sunday that made me think of alternate realities. I was going to someone else's house later in the evening, and as I had never been there before, I wrote the house number down along with the driving directions in my little green notebook. As I drove to the house on Lake Tuscaloosa, I noticed the house number on the mailbox. The house on Lake Tuscaloosa was numbered 10885. The house I would be going to later in the afternoon is practically at the other end of the county, but it's number is 10889. I checked those numbers just now to make sure I hadn't transposed one of them in my head, but they are accurate. How odd.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Writing
When I hear or see the word "writing," my mind immediately goes to the smell of ink flowing from a ball point pen. The ink is always blue.
Improved Reading Skills (the opposite of Speed Reading, or is it?)
I've been speaking with my husband this morning about reading. I was complaining to him, as I sometimes feel I complain all the time, that my reading isn't productive in that I can't seem to absorb it so as to do anything with it. Some of this I blame on defects in my memory, but I think the cause has more to do with my inability to argue with a text before staking out my own opinion in relation to it. I read and read and read, but in the end I hardly know what I have read, and in the end this seems to mean that my reading is altogether unproductive, and therefore a waste of time.
I have to read something in order to go to sleep at night, although having replaced our mattress in the last week with a sleep number bed from Select Comfort (so far I've been amazed at how low my number is), I haven't tested to see if reading is still necessary. Right now my book of choice for bedtime reading is On the Road by Jack Kerouac. My best reading? My best reading would come early in the morning as I sit at the table situated on a concrete slab in the backyard. This has happened exactly once since we moved into this house two years ago. There is no ideal reading time for me now, and that's okay, but it does mean that I rarely get the opportunity to focus solely on any one particular text. Beverly described it this morning as a particularly intensive time in the life of my family.
Books can, and often do, represent a certain level of escapism for me, but I have expressed before that I can feel the difference between the experience of reading junk and reading quality literature. I prefer the quality material because even the escapism of a Wilkie Collins novel, like The Law and the Lady has a certain positive value to it, which I cannot unfortunately identify. Though escapist it is still productive. Productivity is not limited to the nonfiction genre
Michael hates to read, yet he reads all the time, and his reading is always productive. He spends his days reading and writing from and on a computer screen, and he uses every bit of information he obtains in one way or another. But for him, reading requires a focused effort. He has to string every word together in his mind, so every text he chooses to read has to somehow show it's worth right up front. The ease with which I have so long experienced reading thereby becomes an impediment to me. It's too easy to gloss over a sentence without taking the time to get even the gist of it before moving on to the next.
This leaves me at a standstill. What must I do now? Because I have this book, this book by Walker Percy, that I expect to discuss tonight, but as it stands now I will only be able to ask questions. I know what he writes about to some extent, but I don't remember what he actually says. And I'm not quite sure where to go from here.
It certainly isn't a hopeless matter, but it is one I need a community to maneuver.
I have to read something in order to go to sleep at night, although having replaced our mattress in the last week with a sleep number bed from Select Comfort (so far I've been amazed at how low my number is), I haven't tested to see if reading is still necessary. Right now my book of choice for bedtime reading is On the Road by Jack Kerouac. My best reading? My best reading would come early in the morning as I sit at the table situated on a concrete slab in the backyard. This has happened exactly once since we moved into this house two years ago. There is no ideal reading time for me now, and that's okay, but it does mean that I rarely get the opportunity to focus solely on any one particular text. Beverly described it this morning as a particularly intensive time in the life of my family.
Books can, and often do, represent a certain level of escapism for me, but I have expressed before that I can feel the difference between the experience of reading junk and reading quality literature. I prefer the quality material because even the escapism of a Wilkie Collins novel, like The Law and the Lady has a certain positive value to it, which I cannot unfortunately identify. Though escapist it is still productive. Productivity is not limited to the nonfiction genre
Michael hates to read, yet he reads all the time, and his reading is always productive. He spends his days reading and writing from and on a computer screen, and he uses every bit of information he obtains in one way or another. But for him, reading requires a focused effort. He has to string every word together in his mind, so every text he chooses to read has to somehow show it's worth right up front. The ease with which I have so long experienced reading thereby becomes an impediment to me. It's too easy to gloss over a sentence without taking the time to get even the gist of it before moving on to the next.
This leaves me at a standstill. What must I do now? Because I have this book, this book by Walker Percy, that I expect to discuss tonight, but as it stands now I will only be able to ask questions. I know what he writes about to some extent, but I don't remember what he actually says. And I'm not quite sure where to go from here.
It certainly isn't a hopeless matter, but it is one I need a community to maneuver.
More excuses, books, and the reason why I don't have any readers anymore
I just noticed the total number of posts I have published to this blog. Just over three hundred in almost two years, and that's including posts that were comprised of pictures only, or excuses about why I wasn't posting. I guess you could say (and I probably have already) that it is emblematic of my stage in life. Parker is almost three. Isaac is a week away from turning seven months old. It's a good stage, but it keeps me from writing--almost anything.
I finished Walker Percy's Signposts in a Strange Land two or three days ago. It's a collection of his essays on numerous topics, and it was great. I have to comment that I probably wouldn't have gotten through the entire thing if it weren't for an obligation to certain friends who were reading it too--but I think that's the neat thing about reading in community: exposure to books you might not choose to read on your own, the opportunity to ask questions and discuss matters of interest with others who share a similar (though never identical) reading experience, and the chance to push forward with something you know is worthwhile even when the reading isn't clearly motivating in and of itself. I remember our friend John K. saying that you have to read things you don't understand before you can begin to understand them. The Walker Percy wasn't the easiest reading, and I probably understood maybe 30% of it, but I'm already planning for the time when I can read it again, knowing that next time I will understand more of it.
Right now I am working my way through Paul Elie's The Life you Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage. I'm having a rough time with it. He is writing the stories of four people: Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Flannery O'Connor, and Walker Percy. It's been hard for me so far because I have only been able to read it in snatches, he intertwines these four histories according to a pattern that hasn't emerged for me, and because so far he has focused mainly on Day and Merton, while O'Connor and Percy are the ones I really care about. I suppose that Elie's emphasis is less literary than I had expected. I'm also uncomfortable with the socialism/communism that was so important to Day, so that has presented some difficulty too. It is also true that my memory has become so bad that I have difficulty picking up Merton's story in the midst of Day's.
The most recent item that has interested me about Percy is his connection with Mark van Doren. It's silly that, having read nothing by van Doren, my interest is engaged because of the portrayal of his character in a movie, Quiz Show.
I'm also reading, at last, and absolutely, On the Road by Jack Kerouac. It seems particularly appropriate now because my brother, Andrew, is currently on the road. Not like Kerouac, but still, he is out there. Other more compelling reasons to read it: a passing interest in the beat poets that I never pursued, the recent Mark Helprin nove (Freddy and Fredericka) evoking Kerouac in passages, and more importantly, the recommendation of a cousin, who once described his religion on Facebook as Christian Buddhism.
After writing all of the preceding this morning, I also picked up The Rise and Fall of English: Reconstructing English as a Discipline, by Robert Scholes, while feeding the baby. I couldn't help myself. There it has sat on my bedstand for a couple of months, and Facebook says that I am reading it. I wanted to pick it up and see which essay I was on. Unfortunately I've only barely made it to the second, and of that I hardly remember what I have read. I do remember one thing however. I remember Scholes contention that professors should still be intensely concerned with truth, and yet according to my memory I don't know what he means by that. I don't remember his discussion of truth comporting with my own understanding of it.
I finished Walker Percy's Signposts in a Strange Land two or three days ago. It's a collection of his essays on numerous topics, and it was great. I have to comment that I probably wouldn't have gotten through the entire thing if it weren't for an obligation to certain friends who were reading it too--but I think that's the neat thing about reading in community: exposure to books you might not choose to read on your own, the opportunity to ask questions and discuss matters of interest with others who share a similar (though never identical) reading experience, and the chance to push forward with something you know is worthwhile even when the reading isn't clearly motivating in and of itself. I remember our friend John K. saying that you have to read things you don't understand before you can begin to understand them. The Walker Percy wasn't the easiest reading, and I probably understood maybe 30% of it, but I'm already planning for the time when I can read it again, knowing that next time I will understand more of it.
Right now I am working my way through Paul Elie's The Life you Save May Be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage. I'm having a rough time with it. He is writing the stories of four people: Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, Flannery O'Connor, and Walker Percy. It's been hard for me so far because I have only been able to read it in snatches, he intertwines these four histories according to a pattern that hasn't emerged for me, and because so far he has focused mainly on Day and Merton, while O'Connor and Percy are the ones I really care about. I suppose that Elie's emphasis is less literary than I had expected. I'm also uncomfortable with the socialism/communism that was so important to Day, so that has presented some difficulty too. It is also true that my memory has become so bad that I have difficulty picking up Merton's story in the midst of Day's.
The most recent item that has interested me about Percy is his connection with Mark van Doren. It's silly that, having read nothing by van Doren, my interest is engaged because of the portrayal of his character in a movie, Quiz Show.
I'm also reading, at last, and absolutely, On the Road by Jack Kerouac. It seems particularly appropriate now because my brother, Andrew, is currently on the road. Not like Kerouac, but still, he is out there. Other more compelling reasons to read it: a passing interest in the beat poets that I never pursued, the recent Mark Helprin nove (Freddy and Fredericka) evoking Kerouac in passages, and more importantly, the recommendation of a cousin, who once described his religion on Facebook as Christian Buddhism.
After writing all of the preceding this morning, I also picked up The Rise and Fall of English: Reconstructing English as a Discipline, by Robert Scholes, while feeding the baby. I couldn't help myself. There it has sat on my bedstand for a couple of months, and Facebook says that I am reading it. I wanted to pick it up and see which essay I was on. Unfortunately I've only barely made it to the second, and of that I hardly remember what I have read. I do remember one thing however. I remember Scholes contention that professors should still be intensely concerned with truth, and yet according to my memory I don't know what he means by that. I don't remember his discussion of truth comporting with my own understanding of it.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Parker loves to jump on the bed
Yesterday Parker held Isaac for the very first time. Maybe now that he's six months old it's a little less scary for Parker. Isaac has also been practicing rolling over as you will see below.
Monday morning, as we were driving to the church to deliver something, we came to our turn onto Hargrove Road. Parker pointed to the left and said, "That way to the church." Then he pointed to the right and said, "That way to Granna's house, and to the Gleasons." Parker has such a great memory. We haven't even been to the Gleason's house in months and months.
I wish he didn't love jumping on the bed quite so much though.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Books I am trying to Read
I've got so many books going at the moment that it can be a little overwhelming. I keep looking up different titles on Amazon to see what kind of prices I could get on these used. Some books can't be read before the time comes to return them to the library.
While we were away on vacation: I didn't get a whole lot of reading in, but I did manage to finish *Crime and Punishment,* the first Russian novel I have ever succeeded in reading from beginning to end. I know that I am missing something. The book was good. I was not profoundly moved by it. And yet this book, and Dostoyevky's name has come up in so many other books that I have read and enjoyed. There's something about 18th century Russian culture I cannot connect with I guess. I wonder, what was I expecting. And why is it that the only significant change taking place in Raskolnikov's life occurs in the last two pages of the epilogue? The epilogue of all things. Must keep reading, but at least now I'll have some idea of what Wayne Booth is talking about when he mentions *Crime and Punishment* in his book, *The Rhetoric of Fiction.*
I started reading *The Life You Save May be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage* by Paul Elie while we were at the beach, but only barely. I hope by reading it to gain insight into Southern writer's who also happen to be Catholic. I hope to learn something about Walker Percy from the book as well.
Tonight. I've got three books going, and I'm thinking seriously about a fourth. Tonight I have been reading *Mommy I Have to Go Potty,* because that's where we are with our oldest child for the moment, as well as working on *The Baby Food Bible* because I'm concerned that I must start offering my babies better food choices so that they will grow up prepared to enjoy a variety of wholesome foods. My imagination rarely strays beyond sliced apples and peanut butter and jelly at lunch time, and I know that we are not getting in the vegetables that we need. Also this evening I started reading that Walker Percy book of essays that I mentioned previously, for my book club. So far, as usual, I don't know quite what is going on. The fourth book I've been thinking about is Dr. Weissbulth's *Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child* because we are trying to resume our regular routine now that we've returned home after almost a week away. I have got to get some sleep.
I started Ursula LeGuin's *The Dispossessed* weeks ago, but haven't worked out the time to devote to it, and soon it will have to return to the public library. Two other books sit on my shelf that I had hoped to read, but again I must return them unread, *On the Road* by Jack Kerouac, and *The Glass Bead Game* by Hermann Hesse.
And that concludes my book obsession for this evening.
While we were away on vacation: I didn't get a whole lot of reading in, but I did manage to finish *Crime and Punishment,* the first Russian novel I have ever succeeded in reading from beginning to end. I know that I am missing something. The book was good. I was not profoundly moved by it. And yet this book, and Dostoyevky's name has come up in so many other books that I have read and enjoyed. There's something about 18th century Russian culture I cannot connect with I guess. I wonder, what was I expecting. And why is it that the only significant change taking place in Raskolnikov's life occurs in the last two pages of the epilogue? The epilogue of all things. Must keep reading, but at least now I'll have some idea of what Wayne Booth is talking about when he mentions *Crime and Punishment* in his book, *The Rhetoric of Fiction.*
I started reading *The Life You Save May be Your Own: An American Pilgrimage* by Paul Elie while we were at the beach, but only barely. I hope by reading it to gain insight into Southern writer's who also happen to be Catholic. I hope to learn something about Walker Percy from the book as well.
Tonight. I've got three books going, and I'm thinking seriously about a fourth. Tonight I have been reading *Mommy I Have to Go Potty,* because that's where we are with our oldest child for the moment, as well as working on *The Baby Food Bible* because I'm concerned that I must start offering my babies better food choices so that they will grow up prepared to enjoy a variety of wholesome foods. My imagination rarely strays beyond sliced apples and peanut butter and jelly at lunch time, and I know that we are not getting in the vegetables that we need. Also this evening I started reading that Walker Percy book of essays that I mentioned previously, for my book club. So far, as usual, I don't know quite what is going on. The fourth book I've been thinking about is Dr. Weissbulth's *Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child* because we are trying to resume our regular routine now that we've returned home after almost a week away. I have got to get some sleep.
I started Ursula LeGuin's *The Dispossessed* weeks ago, but haven't worked out the time to devote to it, and soon it will have to return to the public library. Two other books sit on my shelf that I had hoped to read, but again I must return them unread, *On the Road* by Jack Kerouac, and *The Glass Bead Game* by Hermann Hesse.
And that concludes my book obsession for this evening.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Suddenly Felt Like Writing Something
I'm very interested in the act of reading. So I'm sitting in my dining room, feeding strained peas and squash to my six month old son, and I start thinking about where the impulse to read starts. I suppose the reader starts by hitting upon an author, or a book, or a subject that they want to experience, or learn something about. Take for instance my interest in Walker Percy.
I've never read one of his books. I started the novel Lancelot, because I'd heard of Percy, because the book was available at the public library, and because the title interested me. I knew a couple of guys who had read Percy, and I respected their choice of reading materials. I knew that he was one of the Catholic writers, along with Graham Greene, who I had already discovered. I looked him up at the public library, where the choices are too often painfully limited, and I think that Lancelot was one of two books they had written by Percy. Because of my interest in Arthurian literature, I already had experience with the fictional Lancelot, who I simultaneously admired and loathed, so I was predisposed to wonder what Percy could mean by choosing such a title. Unfortunately I started the book, but never finished it. It wasn't to my taste, somehow I couldn't really understand the implications of the action, and I gave up on it.
I still really want to read Walker Percy. I want to know why a friend described him as a grouchy old man. I want to know how and why he came to be identified as a Catholic writer. Mostly I want to know, and learn, and see if he has anything to teach me. Whether I am capable of meeting the lesson, I just don't know.
I am about to read a book of essays by Walker Percy in company with some perceptive female friends. Day by day I check the mail to see if the book has yet come. It's much to early to expect it, but I can not help but look. Simultaneously, I have checked out another book from the library that discusses Percy in company with some other Catholic writers who were his contemporaries. I can't satisfactorily start that one yet because I've promised myself I would finish Crime and Punishment before embarking upon too much else. It's hart to read with two young children in the house, along with a recent obsession with an on-line community based game, and a long term cross-stitching project I've been pursuing.
Even as I sit here writing this, I am thinking about another book I almost checked out from the library but didn't, that talks about the Celtic influence on Southern Literature. It's title reminds me of what I learned from Diana Gabaldon's fiction, that Celtic ceremonies play a significant role in the activities of (I can hardly stand to think the words, much less type them) the Ku Klux Klan. I'm also reminded of an almost thrown away comment read recently in a Mark Helprin novel, that the Apalachan poor still bear the genetic markings of a noble highland ancestry. I don't really read Southern Literature. I'm sure that John Grisham doesn't count, though Flannery O'Connor certainly does.
So much to read, such a limited amount of time.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
My First Time Uploading Video to Blogger
This is just a little video of me playing with Isaac one morning a couple of days after Mother's Day. I tried to load it as a private video to YouTube, but for some reason we were unable to grant access to the people (mostly family) who we wanted to see it. If you are a friend simply checking in to see if I've written anything lately, you may not be interested in the video--although he really is cute, and this is an opportunity to see him smile.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Update on Isaac
I realized this morning how way far behind I am with this thing. Isaac has not been swaddled in months, he shares a room with Parker now, and last night I dropped his late evening feeding. This morning I tried some Rice Cereal on him, and I gave him a little bit more at lunch time. I don't know whether he liked the rice cereal or not, but he opened his mouth for it, and his tongue thrust reflex is gone. This means I finally have a use for all that milk I pumped in the first few weeks after we brought him home from the hospital, if I take the time to pick it up out of my friend's freezer. Now if I can get him down to three predictable naps every day I'll be happy, happy, happy.
Pictures
Monday, April 20, 2009
Cars
My mom keeps asking me what was wrong with my car last post. We took the van in for an oil change last week and found out that the oil pan needs to be replaced. Speculatively we think we have damaged it on the part of our driveway that has been damaged by a giant tree root. If we're careful we don't have to run over it, but the damage has already been done.
Our other car has a transmission leak. I had an adventure with it on my way home from the library Sunday night. I realized around 8:00 p.m. that my library books had been due back the day before, so out I went.
Michael has been supplementing it with transmission fluid regularly, but I guess it was a little low Sunday night because it decided, on McFarland Boulevard, to stop changing gears. I was stuck going about 40 until I could pull over, while the engine sounded like it was trying to tow a house across some railroad tracks on an incline. Actually, it was probably in second gear. I thought it was funny as I pulled over the my left foot was searching for a clutch.
I turned the engine off, and then back on, and it got me home, but I did have to release the gas pedal at times to get the engine to change gears. We'll get it fixed as soon as we can.
Friday, March 6, 2009
The Healing Power of Milk; or What's Wrong With My Car?
I tried to post pictures yesterday, but it didn't work out. Sorry, Mom!
I bundle Isaac up and swaddle him every night for bed. He sleeps better, it seems, if his hands are not free to wake him up since he sleeps on his back. Early this morning he was awake. When I got up to check his little bare feet were kicking and he was cooing to himself. At one point Michael went in to cover Isaac, and I heard a happy Isaac laugh. How cute is that?
Now I haven't yet seen a book that tells you what to do when your baby is sleeping too hot or too cold in the middle of the night and you want to make him more comfortable without inducing the need to feed. Any ideas?
I've been having trouble sleeping lately--it hits me every other night. I called the doctor yesterday to find out what I can do to help me sleep without impairing my ability to nurse Isaac. Dr. Edwards recommended warm milk, to our surprise. It isn't the first time milk has been recommended. Dr. Blum told me to try milk once when I was having more severe problems, yet still we were surprised. I guess I had forgotten.
I bundle Isaac up and swaddle him every night for bed. He sleeps better, it seems, if his hands are not free to wake him up since he sleeps on his back. Early this morning he was awake. When I got up to check his little bare feet were kicking and he was cooing to himself. At one point Michael went in to cover Isaac, and I heard a happy Isaac laugh. How cute is that?
Now I haven't yet seen a book that tells you what to do when your baby is sleeping too hot or too cold in the middle of the night and you want to make him more comfortable without inducing the need to feed. Any ideas?
I've been having trouble sleeping lately--it hits me every other night. I called the doctor yesterday to find out what I can do to help me sleep without impairing my ability to nurse Isaac. Dr. Edwards recommended warm milk, to our surprise. It isn't the first time milk has been recommended. Dr. Blum told me to try milk once when I was having more severe problems, yet still we were surprised. I guess I had forgotten.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Two Movies for Review
I started this post weeks ago.
Movie the First. Quiz Show
When I first heard Ralph Fiennes name, I thought the pronunciation was ridiculous, (I've since learned that his is a common pronunciation.) but after seeing this movie I decided he had done such a good job that he could pronounce his name anyway he liked.
The movie is, in one of my professor's words, not the kind of film you want to rent with your friends on a Friday night, but I watched it again a few weeks ago, and was reminded of how much I like it. I'm not very good at film reviews, so I'll just tell you what I like about it.
This isn't a suspenseful film, so I see no need to avoid giving away certain plot points. Maybe you're on pins and needles over what will become of the television industry, but considering these things happened more than fifty years ago, it's doubtful. Perhaps Robert Redford considered taking poetic license with the outcome (I'm sure he did to some extent), but surely that doesn't extend to pretending the grand jury investigation to place in an alternate universe (although that might have held a certain interest for me).
I like that John Turturro's character gets what he wants in the end, the exposure of Charles van Doren's participation in a fraud, but finds that what he wanted isn't at all satisfying. I like that it shows van Doren's reluctance to participate in fraud at first, though is reluctance is quickly subsumed by the lure of fame and popularity. I love the portrayal of Charles's father, Mark van Doren, who is crushed by his son's loss of his teaching job. I like that Charles is lauded for eventually telling the truth, but that he isn't ultimately allowed to avoid of the consequences of his dishonesty--because his conscience could never have been satisfied by getting away with it in the end. I don't love that these things happen, but I love what they show about reality.
The movie has its funny points, but it's that wordy sort of humor I like so much, like when the van Doren family quotes Shakespeare around the birthday table, or when Charles says that if they give him the questions but let him look up the answers on his own, it might be less egregious. Hank Azaria as Albert Freedman: "What's 'egregious'?"
Quiz Show is in my top movies.
Movie the second. Pushing Tin
Somehow my parents wound up with a copy of this film, no idea how. And I really can't put my finger on why I enjoy this so much. For some reason I am fascinated with Billy Bob Thornton in this film--deepset eyes and high cheekbones have something to do with it. His character is a melancholy one. He doesn't easily fit in with the social norm although he is excellent at his job. The risks he takes are somewhat juvenile, but in that terribly creative way that makes me feel protective of him as a fictional character. Weird, huh? Angelina Jolie appears with him in this film as his young bride. His acting in this film is only so-so, but we do get to hear him sing, and at one point in the film John Cusack's character literally kicks him in the butt.
The movie is cleverly written as John Cusack's movies generally are. Honestly, I don't always get the humor. The movie is about the destruction of a marriage, guilt, and the power of unrestrained obesession with being the best. Cate Blanchette is in this one too.
Eventually perhaps I'll figure out why I'm willing to sit through this film over and over again. Melanie once said that when Parker enjoys the same activity or book or movie over and over again it may mean he's trying to work something out about it in his mind, and I think that's what I'm doing with this film. Or maybe it's just about Billy Bob Thornton. I don't know.
Other movies I've enjoyed with him in them: Intolerable Cruelty and The Apostle.
One of the interesting things about Billy Bob Thornton is his versitility. Sometimes it is difficult to recognize him from film to film, The Apostle being a case in point.
Movie the First. Quiz Show
When I first heard Ralph Fiennes name, I thought the pronunciation was ridiculous, (I've since learned that his is a common pronunciation.) but after seeing this movie I decided he had done such a good job that he could pronounce his name anyway he liked.
The movie is, in one of my professor's words, not the kind of film you want to rent with your friends on a Friday night, but I watched it again a few weeks ago, and was reminded of how much I like it. I'm not very good at film reviews, so I'll just tell you what I like about it.
This isn't a suspenseful film, so I see no need to avoid giving away certain plot points. Maybe you're on pins and needles over what will become of the television industry, but considering these things happened more than fifty years ago, it's doubtful. Perhaps Robert Redford considered taking poetic license with the outcome (I'm sure he did to some extent), but surely that doesn't extend to pretending the grand jury investigation to place in an alternate universe (although that might have held a certain interest for me).
I like that John Turturro's character gets what he wants in the end, the exposure of Charles van Doren's participation in a fraud, but finds that what he wanted isn't at all satisfying. I like that it shows van Doren's reluctance to participate in fraud at first, though is reluctance is quickly subsumed by the lure of fame and popularity. I love the portrayal of Charles's father, Mark van Doren, who is crushed by his son's loss of his teaching job. I like that Charles is lauded for eventually telling the truth, but that he isn't ultimately allowed to avoid of the consequences of his dishonesty--because his conscience could never have been satisfied by getting away with it in the end. I don't love that these things happen, but I love what they show about reality.
The movie has its funny points, but it's that wordy sort of humor I like so much, like when the van Doren family quotes Shakespeare around the birthday table, or when Charles says that if they give him the questions but let him look up the answers on his own, it might be less egregious. Hank Azaria as Albert Freedman: "What's 'egregious'?"
Quiz Show is in my top movies.
Movie the second. Pushing Tin
Somehow my parents wound up with a copy of this film, no idea how. And I really can't put my finger on why I enjoy this so much. For some reason I am fascinated with Billy Bob Thornton in this film--deepset eyes and high cheekbones have something to do with it. His character is a melancholy one. He doesn't easily fit in with the social norm although he is excellent at his job. The risks he takes are somewhat juvenile, but in that terribly creative way that makes me feel protective of him as a fictional character. Weird, huh? Angelina Jolie appears with him in this film as his young bride. His acting in this film is only so-so, but we do get to hear him sing, and at one point in the film John Cusack's character literally kicks him in the butt.
The movie is cleverly written as John Cusack's movies generally are. Honestly, I don't always get the humor. The movie is about the destruction of a marriage, guilt, and the power of unrestrained obesession with being the best. Cate Blanchette is in this one too.
Eventually perhaps I'll figure out why I'm willing to sit through this film over and over again. Melanie once said that when Parker enjoys the same activity or book or movie over and over again it may mean he's trying to work something out about it in his mind, and I think that's what I'm doing with this film. Or maybe it's just about Billy Bob Thornton. I don't know.
Other movies I've enjoyed with him in them: Intolerable Cruelty and The Apostle.
One of the interesting things about Billy Bob Thornton is his versitility. Sometimes it is difficult to recognize him from film to film, The Apostle being a case in point.
Movie Quotes, and a New Name for the Blog
So I need a new name for my blog now that I have two. Any suggestions? Today I started thinking about doing one of those silly "How to..." titles, because:
A couple of weeks ago I followed Kathy Bates and Rene Auberjonois to a movie called My Best Friend is a Vampire a/k/a I was a Teenage Vampire. Information about the movie referenced the fact that this was one in a series of films with "I was a..." blank blank sort of title. You may remember that one of Michael Landon's first films (or was it his very first?) was I was a Teenage Werewolf. Vampire also starred Robert Sean Leonard. It was fun and amusing, but generally awful.
Maybe the title of my blog should have something to do with the birds nest inhabiting the light on my front porch. Something about the birds watching us.
Isaac occasionally looks gloweringly at us, which Michael says means he's judging us. This is a reference to the movie America's Sweethearts.
Kiki: Nobody hates you.
Gwen: Oh yes, they do. I was in a store the other day, you know that great store on Melrose? And there was a baby in a stroller and he was looking up at me and he was judging me. The whole world is judging me for what I did to Eddie.
(copied of of the IMDB page for this film)
This is one of those films we often quote. Particularly (in a whiney voice):
"It's so hard being the only person who cares about other people."
A couple of weeks ago I followed Kathy Bates and Rene Auberjonois to a movie called My Best Friend is a Vampire a/k/a I was a Teenage Vampire. Information about the movie referenced the fact that this was one in a series of films with "I was a..." blank blank sort of title. You may remember that one of Michael Landon's first films (or was it his very first?) was I was a Teenage Werewolf. Vampire also starred Robert Sean Leonard. It was fun and amusing, but generally awful.
Maybe the title of my blog should have something to do with the birds nest inhabiting the light on my front porch. Something about the birds watching us.
Isaac occasionally looks gloweringly at us, which Michael says means he's judging us. This is a reference to the movie America's Sweethearts.
Kiki: Nobody hates you.
Gwen: Oh yes, they do. I was in a store the other day, you know that great store on Melrose? And there was a baby in a stroller and he was looking up at me and he was judging me. The whole world is judging me for what I did to Eddie.
(copied of of the IMDB page for this film)
This is one of those films we often quote. Particularly (in a whiney voice):
"It's so hard being the only person who cares about other people."
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