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At the end of a long week, and of a February that just won't die, I bring you the best distraction ever:
Food Fight: The History of War Told Through Food
Beyond silly! Yet still provocative! Is that supposed to be goulash?! I can't really keep track of what the hell is going on!
Do you think the Midwest could persuade spring to get sprung by just, I don't know, collectively thinking chirpy thoughts for a few magical minutes?
Yesterday I wore the most eastery outfit: shiny silver-green shoes, daffodil tee, light stripey cardigan. I slathered on lip gloss, munched on jelly beans, included Round Robin in storytime, and read Liz's email about the bounty of blossoms in California. I also shivered on my commute, had a clogged-sore throat, ate root veggie stew for dinner, and went to sleep staring at falling snow.
Not only do cats rule and dogs drool and all that, but having cats around will also save your life.
Hah! Go watch this. Apparently, some news channel in Buffalo accidentally aired studio background noise over the tail end of the Oscars telecast. So when No Country For Old Men won Best Picture, viewers heard these random, bitchy voiceovers.
I often blog about how I should be working on my book but am doing something else. Why do I say “should”? Am I on deadline? Is there an agent waiting for more chapters? Was I promised an inheritance if only I become a published author?
Course not. I should be working on my book because it’s my book. I came up with the idea (which I still like), had enough faith in it and myself to finally produce a first draft, and know that it could have a chance of being plucked from some publisher’s slush pile. Just yesterday, I was encouraged to read this. These children’s editors don’t seem dead-set against the sort of book I’d hope to send to them.
But I need more than encouragement—I need to swiftly kick my own ass. Writing is hard; I don’t like doing stuff that’s hard. I often convince myself that if I were really a good writer, it’d be easier. It’s bullshit but very persuasive bullshit when I’m faced with my wonky first draft.
My other biggest obstacle, perversely, is my semi-expertise in the area. I know what great children’s fiction is, I read a lot of it, and I’m intimidated by trying to produce my own.
I wouldn’t usually describe myself as lazy or faint-hearted, but…I just did. What a drag.
Claire, Kim and I watched Soylent Green last night. None of us had seen it, and Kim was game for a mindless distraction while he Facebooked. Claire and I simply wanted brain cleanser after watching some terrible dreck called The Jane Austen Book Club.
Soylent doesn't qualify as quality, but it is creepy (well before its "twist" ending). An overpopulated, overheated future that offers no hope of return to lushness or even sustainability? People pathetically unaware of their food's origin or consequences? A chasm between resources and need? This film gets less sci-fi every year.
I'm sorry, but if you've noticed these already and haven't bought me a few boxes, I'm not sure we're friends.
At first I thought this story was fascinating. But it's really just terribly sad, right?
Long after I thought we were in for the evening, Kim suddenly wanted to get out of the apartment on Saturday, “have a little adventure.” He didn’t elaborate, so I threw out some ideas—the one he took me up on was a driving lesson. Our newish Honda is mostly his, but it could be more ours if only I knew how to drive stick.
Kim had an idea of his own—that we drive down to the Back of the Yards and conduct our lesson there. I half-wondered whether it was private property (we’d been kicked out of a DHL parking lot before I even learned where the neutral gear was), but it wasn’t. It was deserted, though, and full of long blocks and stop signs. Perfect.
Miraculously, I wasn’t an awful student, nor was Kim an awful teacher. We agreed that two practices a week for a month or so would probably get me road-ready. What we didn’t agree on—and probably never will—is how great manual transmission is. His take: it’s great. My take: it’s so NOT great. I know all the arguments, but I’ve got my own, baby.
You get better gas mileage. Nah, you don’t. Maybe you do if you’re a professional driver and never get lazy with the shifting and are always engine breaking and can handle the vehicle with impressive finesse. But you can’t, so you’re wasting just as much gas as us Automatic-for-the-Peoplers.
You have more control over the car. Who the fuck wants “more control”? If the car can do something, I’m going to let it do it. They don’t have cars that offer “manual braking” or “manual gas injection.” Oh, you can speed up quicker with a man trans? You shouldn’t be speeding anyway, loser.
Automatic cars are more expensive. That’s because transmissions are NICE TO HAVE.
You can start a manual auto with a dead battery by just rolling it down a hill. Cripes, how is that a plus? Especially in the Great Hill-less Wonder that is Chicagoland?
You have more fun with a stick shift. I really don’t get the clutchophiles on this one. How is it more fun to have more to do? To be less able to change the radio station or easily reverse and let your pals borrow your car?
I don't care what mostly everyone says: the Oscars are not typically boring. Sure, the broadcast is longer than it could be, and sure, the whole concept is a big circle jerk, but I think the producers mostly make it a fun few hours. Not last night. What a dull show. They obviously didn't want to plan anything too elaborate, in case the writers' strike killed the ceremony. But, come on! We need some spectacle! Not even the dresses dazzled.
2007 had wow in abundance. Ellen, last year's host, isn't above a gimmick herself, and she had a lot of splendidly dorky stuff to introduce. Like the sound effects chorus, the shadow puppet intros for "Best Picture" nominees, the costume dioramas, and the Jack Black-Will Ferrell-John C. Reilly song about comedy. And the 2007 opening montage of nominees from all categories sharing their favorite movie quotes/moments/songs/whatever was terrific (if a bit too "Mac ad"-inspired). This year we had...John Travolta spinning some woman around.
But there was still a few wunnerful moments. My favorite was Glen Hansard's and Marketa Irglova's performance of the now-Oscar-winning song "Falling Slowly." The way he kept looking at her! And they were so happy when they won! But then the Evil Academy didn't let Marketa say her thanks! And then Jon Stewart unexpectedly brought her back after the break, so that she could speak! And then she was every so sweet and lovely! Swooooon.
