How We Read

An excerpt from an email I wrote to a friend about my reading habits, and partially a review of Fight Club:

I started reading Fight Club. It reminded me of a conversation we used to have frequently—when can you let something go? I'm about a third into it, maybe a bit more, but not quite half. And I am just not into it. I'm not excited at the prospect of reading it. I do not care what the outcome of any of the characters are and I don't care for the style. I should apologize if you love this book. I know a lot of people do. The person who loaned it to me did so under the guise that it was his favorite book and was responsible for him being literate or something. But I'm not into it and it's a chore to read and often while reading it I think of the other things I could be doing that I would enjoy more—napping on the train, napping on the couch, napping at my desk. And of course it doesn't take me long to think there might be something wrong with me if I'm so incredibly bored by this book that a whole bunch of people love and that was revered enough to be made into a movie that a lot of people also love. I'm bored by a fight club. Am I dead inside? Isn't that actually the theme of the book? Shouldn't it speak to me more? Am I more dead inside than the guy who started a fight club to try to feel something? DOWNWARD SPIRAL!

If I recall, you were usually on the side of sticking with it. It was some sort of blend of tenacity, hope, and giving the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it would pull through in the end. I was wondering if this was right and if so if you've ever reconsidered? I lean towards giving up because there's so much more out there. At the same time, giving up makes me feel like a quitter. But if carrying this book around with me for months and reading like 2 pages at a time and in turn denying myself the joy of books I do enjoy is what tenacity looks like, then call me quitter!!

The Fault In Our Stars: A Review.

     I am the only person on the planet who did not like this book. It's been months since I've read it. I put off reviewing it because I knew I was the only person who didn't like it. I'm not saying it was all bad; it just wasn't for me. There was terminal cancer and love and teenagers. Only one of these things interests me, and even then terminal cancer can only hold my attention for so long. Eventually I need it to hold up to its name and end. 
    It was sweet, but dumb. I may be the only one who thinks this, but I'm not backing down from it. Too many things were coincidences and too many things could only happen in a fantasy world. Sure, a fantasy world filled with terminal cancer, but still. Fake make-a-wish foundations and trips to meet reclusive authors are part of a fantasy world. Also, really sweet teenage boys are part of a fantasy world.  
     There were parts of it I liked. Mostly the words John Green uses and the way in which he uses them. It is a nice, easy, pleasant read. I didn't have to flip to an index or keep a dictionary next to me to understand it. It's very accessible. Oh, that's because it's for teenagers. Right. I'm not its target audience so I should stop shitting all over it. It was fine.
     I know we were supposed to care about all of these people so much. It was a book full of empathetic characters; we're supposed to root for all of them and hope beyond all hope that a cure for everything is found and they all get to survive forever. Of course, they can't. They just can't and I think we're supposed to be completely devastated at this realization, but we're naive if we are. It's not a support group for the common cold and sore throats. It's a support group for kids with terminal cancer. We're being setup for heartbreak; you have to really deliver serious heartbreak.
     I just didn't care for it. Also, I'm a bit of a cynic. I do like its title though. It's fun to say.


Also, this exact same review can be found here: http://cannonballread4.wordpress.com/2012/07/28/banannerpantss-cbr4-review-7-the-fault-in-our-stars-by-john-green/

And hopefully, more reviews will be coming!

Sometimes Science Is Hard

    I tried to make the argument that reading was hard, but Mary called me stupid. I suppose it's not the reading that's hard, it's the science. I've been trying to read The Hidden Reality by Brian Greene for about 4 weeks now. It's about 322 pages, so it really shouldn't take me that long. But I can only read about 6 pages at a time before my brain wants to explode.
     It's supposed to be about parallel universes. In fact, I was drawn in by the first few paragraphs and Brian Greene's description of potential multiple electron locations within their clouds equating to potential multiple everythings. If it was possible for an electron to be in one of two places, then it was actually possible for them to be in each place, just in different universes. So if it was possible for me to either make the train or miss the train, it was possible for both to happen, but in different universes. Basically, Sliding Doors could happen, but in parallel universes. Ooooh, intrigue.
     But then Brian Greene goes on and on about string theory. I've read (parts) of his other books, The Elegant Universe and The Fabric of the Cosmos, and it's all just string theory propaganda. The fervent defense of it makes me skeptical of it, where I wasn't at all before. I'm sure there is a bit more nuance to it, but it seems like there are three full books just touting that string theory is the true wave of the future. They can't all say the exact same things, but they're not saying all that much that's different.
     The problem I've been having with The Hidden Reality and Brian Greene is that he claims he's explaining super complicated scientific ideas in everyman ways. He's on a bit of a high horse about his ability to break down the cosmos so the laymen can understand it. I call bullshit. He is not good at analogies. Now, I'm not great at science, but I know some things. Brian Greene attempts to use Archie (from the comics) as an analogy for something in science. If I were to do this, I would say something along the lines of "Archie eats an infinite number of hamburgers. You wonder how he does it, right? He just eats and eats and never gets full. Because it's an infinite amount, he'll never run out of hamburgers. If you tell him to cut down on hamburgers by, say, half, he's still eating an infinite number of hamburgers because half of infinity is still infinity. And in the end both will eventually kill Archie." Or, alternatively "Archie has a really hard time deciding between Betty and Veronica because they're both really hot. Parallel universes allows for him to never have to decide. He can have both, though he won't know he has both because he can't know about the other realities. Also, there is probably another universe where he's with neither of them and instead alone and miserable." Those aren't great, I know. But still, it gave you something to imagine, right? Brian Greene's "layman analogies" go like this: "Imagine Archie had a homework problem where he had to count to 10^155. And then imagine he had a radio telescope and was measuring the temperature of the universe to determine the value of the universal cosmological constant." Brian--that's just what you do. That's NOT an analogy. Saying Archie is going to do it instead of you doesn't help me understand it.
     He does this repeatedly, and I find it frustrating. I don't understand the science any better, and I just get irritated when he drags my favorite pop-culture characters through the cosmological background radiation mud. He's not fun to read, but he thinks he is. He's an arrogant physicist, and I find that insufferable.
     True, I have not finished reading the book. It does seem extra harsh to criticize the book before I finish it. But at this rate I'm not inclined to finish it because I get so distracted by his imperfect analogies. And his overzealous defense of string theory.I've probably missed a huge section of it, but I don't yet see how string theory or not string theory helps explain parallel universes. It seems to me like explaining how farmers deprive chickens of light to get better eggs while teaching someone how to make hollandaise sauce and perfectly poached eggs. (ANALOGY!) I suppose one leads to the other in about 125 steps, but I just want a goddamned eggs benedict. So sure, string theory might explain--or rather, mathematically justify--the forces of the universe and 125 steps later I might get to thinking "oh, so there could be parallel universes?" but I just want a goddamned eggs benedict.
     I know science well enough to have picked up this book and find its content interesting. But without a PhD in asshattery and physics, so much of it was lost on me. I prefer the astrophysics stylings of Neil deGrasse Tyson. He knows how to make analogies and he has a lovely sense of humor.
     Brian Greene can eat my hat. My infinitely large multiverse hat.

Betty White: If You Ask Me. A Review

     This is basically a picture book. The page count comes in at 258, but the margins are wide and the lines spaced far apart, like a burn-out's term paper. The book doesn't offer anything new. If you're not already a Betty White fan, there would be no reason to read this book--it's not an autobiography or historical fiction or even a call to decency. However, if you are a Betty White fan, you already know everything she talks about. So really, it's just a picture book.

     I should be more lenient considering she's a 90-year-old woman trying to write a book that isn't just full or sounds a drool stains. It's a valiant effort and it is her 5th book, and it only covers the past 15 years. Really, it offers what it promises. It's just a collection of short anecdotes. 

     She loves the business she's in, she doesn't like walking the Red Carpet, she talks about Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds more than necessary, and she loves animals, even sexual-harassing gorillas. Also, she was in a movie with Jennifer Love Hewitt and played off-type. I suppose that may have been new information because nobody saw that movie. Also, she promotes the hell out of Hot In Cleveland. That, in a nut-shell, is Betty White: If You Ask Me (And of course you won't).

     I'm being extra harsh because it's really late (or really early) and that's what I do when I'm not in my 7-minute window of kindness. Really, it's sweet that she likes to write books and that she's allowed to do it. I know there's a decent amount of Betty White backlash out there. People are tired of her--they say enough is enough. But I'm glad she still gets work and that she's still good at it. She wrote a little book to say she just likes it when people are nice to each other and to animals. (So maybe it is kind of a call to decency.) It takes about 2 hours to read, so it's not really a waste of time. And again, there are pictures.

Will Grayson, Will Grayson. A Review.

I really wanted to like Will Grayson, Will Grayson. I've heard such wonderful things about it and its authors. This may just be another case of not being its target audience; I'm no longer a YA after all. I didn't hate it and I can see the potential for others to like it. It does have a lovely fun gay message, surely we can embrace that. Also, it was well written. It was decently written, at least. I didn't love the style shift between chapters, but I got used to it. I actually feel bad for not liking it, because I'm sure there are worse books that are more worth my dislike. But I can only give it 2 Stars--an OK book.

Below is my review from Cannonball Read #4: 

The praise on the cover lied to me. I waited a few days after reading it to review it to allow my feelings to settle. I have to keep reminding myself that  am not this book’s target audience and that perhaps the parts I had trouble with are the parts that were the message to its intended audience.  

Will Grayson, Will Grayson is a YA novel written by John Green and David Levithan. They each wrote half the book, alternating the chapters. Each had their own Will Grayson. With that, they each had their own style. On one hand the separate styles further distinguish the Wills from each other—their personalities come through in the way they’re telling their stories. On the other hand, it feels gimmicky; it’s an obvious way to show perspective shift hidden in a clever style-choice. 

There are two Will Graysons. Will Grayson doesn’t seem to be that uncommon of a name, however, I imagine when you meet someone with your exact name, you’re taken aback regardless. The book’s back cover would have us believe that the Will Graysons meeting each other has forever and drastically changed the course of each boy’s life. I find this hard to believe. 

First of all, we know they’re going to meet because 1. it’s almost the title, and 2. it’s the hook printed on the book to draw you in. However, this inciting incident doesn’t actually happen until Chapter 7, on page 110. If this were a David Foster Wallace magnum opus of 1200 pages, page 110 might be early for an inciting incident. This is not the case. 110-pages is almost halfway through the book. Therefore, I believe their meeting wasn’t really the inciting incident to the story at all; it’s a coincidence, an anecdote, a path to a catchy title. Of course, it didn’t do nothing, but it didn’t create cold fusion either. 

The praise on the front cover reads “Funny, rude and original.” I didn’t laugh and I wasn’t very put-off. As far as originality goes, it may be, but not always in the best possible ways. It seems original that Will Grayson #1 is obsessed with Neutral Milk Hotel. They’re a very original band. They released one 11-song album in 1998 that Will Grayson spends hours listening to and parsing apart, even though he doesn’t like all of it, but still, it’s his favorite band. That just seems sad. 

Perhaps it’s the antagonist of the story who is original—Tiny Cooper. He’s really less of an antagonist and more of just an anti-protagonist. In an attempt to not stereotype him, the authors failed to ground him in anything. I failed to connect with him; he remained an amorphous blob to me the entire time.  He is the biggest link between the two Will Graysons.  He’s the best friend and the boyfriend and his presence and subsequent absence in each of their lives is the engine of the story. 

The book isn’t bad, I just found a few parts hard to believe. I’m attempting to suspend my disbelief since I am not a YA, but I still have a hard time believing teenage boys talk to each other that much. Also, I don’t believe the musical described in the pages could have been produced in 9 days for $1000. I was originally critical of the musical itself—it was schmaltzy and over-the-top, and not realistic. At the same time, if I wasn’t such a cynic, I would have thought it was lovely, and its message was actually quite nice. It was about love and appreciating the people who are around you, so I guess I can’t shit all over a YA novel trying to teach that hard-learned lesson. 

Will Grayson, Will Grayson is an easy read and might be really enjoyable for an actual 17-year-old. Rumor has it, however, John Green’s newest—The Fault In Our Stars—is his real triumph. 

Bird by Bird. Not Quite a Review.

     I read Bird by Bird years ago. I think it was 2005; my life was changing in weird ways and a friend gave it to me, insisting it was good advice for writing and for life. And that's what I remember best about it. I remember the anecdote that inspired the title, and I remember the story about what inspired the book itself. Seven years later though, I doubt I could really tell you what it was about, except to say "well, it's a guide to writing and life."
     I'm not much of a re-reader. I recognize that I've read the sentences before, and then I skim over them, in search for something new. I've kept Bird by Bird next to my bed for reference for a while though. I often intend on re-reading, but it of course never happens. However, sometimes I feel like just flipping through it can retransmit the good advice it contained through me, through osmosis.
     I remember that I really liked Bird by Bird. I've recommended it to many friends. I also use it as an answer to interview questions. Some people like to hear that you can multi-task, but I believe the research that posits multi-tasking produces substandard work, and therefore I tackle my work bird by bird--one task at a time. Also, multi-tasking can mean different things to different people, and the right kind of person appreciates the bird by bird approach to multiple tasks.
     I remember that Bird by Bird was sad and funny. In 2005, I was also sad and funny, so it was right up my alley. The friend who gave it to me was neither sad nor funny, and it was up his alley too, so I think it's safe to say it can speak to anyone. It had good advice for being a writer. It also had good advice for running power plants and making movies, things I continue to waft between.
     It's a National Bestseller and it's not very long, so I recommend it. It gets five stars (out of five) in my mind. It's also a book I know a lot of my friends have. I've accused them of stealing my copy. Apparently all of us aspiring writers, moviemakers, and power plant runners read the same book--that must be how it became a bestseller. Also, multi-tasking is not always a virtue. Sometimes it produces shitty work. Just think about it.

Chelsea Handler. Not a Review.

     I just finished reading Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang.  My review can be found here, on the Cannonball Read website.  To save you from too much reading, I did not care for the book.
     I am still fascinated by Chelsea Handler as a person, however.  As I stated in the review, she has three shows on television right now. I fully understand the concept of Chelsea Lately and her sitcom Are You There, Chelsea?  I do not understand the third show, After Lately, a reality-style sitcom, according to a quick Google search.  Actually, the Google search cleared quite a bit up for me.  I watched a few pieces of episodes and I did not know what was happening.  There was an odd mixture of fake and reality that was really unsettling.
     I have defended the comedy stylings of Chelsea Handler to friends in the past.  I enjoyed her first two books.  I enjoyed her brazen, out there, I-don't-give-a-fuck, fuck-em-if-they-can't-take-a-joke style.  I too am a fan of a casual practical joke.  As I listened to her stand-up, there was an undertone of intelligence.
     This is why I'm fascinated by her.  I feel like she panders.  But I don't think she wants to pander, I think she's forced into it.  I wonder what would happen if her show were on a different network and instead of bloggers as panelists and puppies as discussion topics, she had thoughtful yet funny panelists and polysyllabic responses to actual topics.  Maybe it would be a nice blend of The Ellen DeGeneres Show and Rock Center. 
     I think she has more to offer.  I think she knows shit but she's not telling us, and I think she should.  I want to see her in a room with intelligent people.
     My jury is still out on Are You There, Chelsea?  I do think it's weird that Chelsea plays her sister and Laura Prepon plays Chelsea.  I don't think old people will understand that at all.  I also don't think the show's target audience is old people.  But I do think old people are who watches TV on TV.  That is a topic for another time, however.  I watched the first two episodes of the show; I laughed about three times.  The pilot was sloppy at best.  I enjoyed the roommate, Dee Dee.  My initial assessment of the problem is that the sister, Sloane, is the opposite of Chelsea and Chelsea has a really hard time playing so completely off-type.  Chelsea isn't playing Sloane--Chelsea is playing Chelsea playing Sloane.  There's a difference, and that difference kills the character.
     Since it currently plays next to Whitney,--so we know the caliber of show allowed on the air--Chelsea will surely get a season run and be allowed to find its legs.  I actually hope it gets out from under itself.  It could use Chelsea's actual intelligence and humor as the impetus for a solid character and let what I assume is her actual heart propel the stories.  If Chelsea doesn't pander for cheap laughs the way Chelsea does, it might work.        And all of this hypothesizing over who this woman might actually be is why I stay riveted.  She's like the burgeoning biceps starting to shape on my arms--I don't like what they look like now, and they can't lift much, but damn it, if they work hard enough, someday they'll be something really special.      

I Drink For A Reason. A Review.

     David Cross is a comedian.  Eventually, successful comedians write books.

See the rest of the review here: http://cannonballread4.wordpress.com/2012/01/16/banannerpantss-cbr4-review-1-i-drink-for-a-reason-by-david-cross/

Passive-Aggressive or Oblivious?

     In the early stages, obliviousness and passive-aggressiveness look a lot alike.  Various context clues can help determine which behavior you're dealing with.  I don't enjoy overgeneralizing, but often if the behavior is done by a man, it's obliviousness and if done by a woman, it's passive-aggressive.  More specifically, if my mother does it, it's probably passive-aggressive.
     For example: leaving an empty carton of milk setting on top of the trash can.  This was my mother's passive-aggressive way of saying "some asshole in this house drank the last of the milk and left it in the refrigerator.  Come home with more milk, or don't come home at all."  We all learned this when forced to eat dry cereal for a week.  However, if my platonic male roommate left an empty carton of milk on top of the trash can, it would mean simply "I do not know where this should go.  I'll put it here." 
    I came home the other day and my living room was full of books.  Some were in boxes, some were just in piles on the coffee table.  The ones that were in boxes were in open boxes, of course, not the neat sort of book box that would make for easy stacking.  These were the types of boxes that get spread all over.  It looked as though we were at one end of a used bookstore sale- either the local used bookstore went out of business and we were the lucky recipients of their inventory, or we were going to start selling used books from our living room. 
     Currently, because of my impending move, I am living out of a suitcase that sets in the corner of the living room and I am sleeping on the couch.  It's not ideal, but it's better than sleeping in the bus station.  These piles of books boxed in my suitcase and created a sort of crib out of the couch, except instead of bars it was piles of books.  It was late when I came home and I didn't have the time or energy to really deal with what was in front of me.  I pushed a few boxes out of the way to get to my suitcase, and then I crawled into the book-tomb. 
     The next morning I was upset about the books.  An obstacle course had been set up.  I accidentally knocked a stack over and felt a little good about it.  The rest of my day was fueled with a decent amount of rage over it.  The previous weekend I had filled the living room with all of my worldly possessions.  They sat there for about three days restricting access to the room before the movers came to haul them away.  There was a bit of me that thought perhaps the book thing was passive-aggressive retaliation for that.  If my mother had done it, it would have been.  And then I started to think more about the culprit of the book-splosion.
     Obliviousness.  That's all it was.  He had books and he thought "I do not know where these should go.  I will put them here."  That was it.  He was not trying to teach a lesson or prove a point.  The next day he politely asked if they were in the way; he could move them if they were.  I thought that was a bit like a beaver asking if the dam he just built was in the way.  How could it not be in the way?  But he really just didn't notice.  Yes, they're in the way.  I moved some of them and created a path so I could get to my suitcase.  I do still have to sleep in a book-tomb though.      

Combining Things Doesn't Always Make Them Better

      I like science.  I like fiction.  I do not like science-fiction.  The one exception to this is my obsession with The X-Files.  I adored that show, but I think I was more interested in the characters than the aliens.  I liked the battle between science and not-science.  The paranormal and metaphysical could hold my interest because they were grounded in a reality I was familiar with.
     I've never been big on Sci-fi or fantasy.  Apparently, most people are.  Someone recently recommended a book to me and enthusiastically said "It's like Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and Narnia combined." 
     "I do not enjoy any of those things."
     "Oh.  Then you might not enjoy this."  Then it became as though I was not in the room as everyone else gushed over how ah-mah-zing it is.   
     I ended up in another conversation about sci-fi last night.  I had to sit silently trying to figure out what anyone was talking about.  Again, I like science, and I like fiction, but I've never cared much for science-fiction.  And that tends to (far) extend into Fantasy as well. 

      There are exceptions.  I've seen a decent number of sci-fi or fantasy films, especially those considered important in the realm of pop-culture.  I've seen The X-files films a few times each.  I've read and watched Jurassic Park.  One of my favorite movies is Donnie Darko, though I would venture into an argument that it's not really science-fiction.  I saw Sunshine, which I actually quite enjoyed- I credit Danny Boyle for that.  I enjoyed The Matrix a lot and watched it several times.  I didn't watch E.T. all the way through until I was much older, but it was fine.  And I did enjoy the most recent Star Trek.
     And as I started listing these films, another facet of my indignity towards science-fiction culture surfaced.  I am expected to like science-fiction because I like science.  People are appalled when I tell them I don't like Star Wars.  But I don't like it.  I'd be very happy if I never had to see it again.  This might have something to do with watching it every damn Christmas for 14 years.  Even so, I'm pretty effing over it. 
     It's a whole lump of geek / nerd culture that actually really bothers me.  Like science?  Then you are a nerd and must therefore like all of these things that are labeled for nerds.  But I do not like all of these things.  I enjoy very few of them, in fact.  Well, that might not be entirely true, but apparently fewer than most.  And admittedly, I'm lumping Fantasy into the Sci-fi category, which may be unfair. 
     My simple point was that combining two things I enjoy does not mean I will enjoy that one thing twice as much.  Similarly to that Full House episode where Michelle is trying to earn her cooking badge and she makes chocolate pudding with cheese in it.  It was gross.  Michelle was a moron.  Combining things doesn't always make them better.  

Imperial Bedrooms: A Review.

     I didn't love it, but I didn't hate it either.  I had just finished Less Than Zero about a month ago.  Imperial Bedrooms is the sequel, of sorts, to Less Than Zero, set 20-some years later.  Which, since Less Than Zero took place in the mid-80s, was about 4-6 years ago.  The exact date may have even been mentioned, but I don't remember.  That wasn't really an important detail. 
     It was clearly the aughts, because there were iPhones and The Fray.  That's enough for me.  Bret Easton Ellis has a certain style that can force you into the story.  His sentences go on and on with this sense of urgency and stream-of-consciousness that make you rip through the pages.  That works, because the characters are pretty coked out of their minds anyway, so it seems as though that's probably how their thought are going along.
     I was with the story until the end.  Then it lost me; the end felt bland to me.  The thing is, I really still don't get why he cared at all about the girl.  There was the torture-sex scene that we can expect in a BEE novel, but frankly, I expected it earlier.  For some reason, the main character was infatuated with this girl, but I saw no reason for it.  Also, the girl was stupid.  And I hate stupid girls. 
     So in the end a whole bunch of people were dead in pretty horrible ways.  How they were all connected seems to be what was holding this story together.  But really, it never mattered.  There were drugs rings and sex rings and everyone was lying to everyone.  Nothing was real, and I suppose, maybe that was the point. 
     I had higher expectations because I actually liked the Clay in Less Than Zero.  He was an asshole, sure, but there was something about him that was a little bit hopeful.  Apparently, the point in Imperial Bedrooms is that one small glimmer of hope can't persist through 20 years of bullshit.  It dies, just like everything else.
     The plot and the characters are more complicated than I'm making them out to be here.  There is a nice little device that Bret Easton Ellis uses to help explain away any sentimentalism we as an audience may have built up about Clay, or the world of Less Than Zero.  Dismissing it only makes me like Imperial Bedrooms less.  Except for the last line:  "I never liked anyone and I'm afraid of people."  That sums it up perfectly. 

Brighton Rock: A Review.

     Huh.  I guess I just didn't get it.  I was searching for an image of the cover to put up along with this review and I stumbled upon the Wikepedia page and an IMdB page, and a bunch of other pages dedicated to this book and the subsequent films.  It seems people love this book, the story, just about everything about it.  And I'm not trying to say they're all wrong, but I'm not quite in the same camp.
     Brighton Rock by Graham Greene is a character profile.  It was published in 1938 and I think it was probably a much more effective tale back then.  I was drawn in my Graham Greene's style, by his prose.  He indeed knows how to turn a phrase and I would find myself getting lovingly lost in the language.  I just wasn't overly interested in the story.
     It took me too long to read.  It's not a long book, but I kept putting it down and walking away.  I was determined to finish it, but I never carved out the time to do so and often I would drift off while reading.  This isn't entirely the book's fault, but it's also not *not* the book's fault, you know?  I was also oddly distracted by the use of the single quotation mark.  It shouldn't bother me, but it did. 
     My general opinion was that it had unsympathetic characters but it picked up at the end.  According to people a lot smarter than I, I'm wrong.  Except I'm not wrong, that's what it's like. 
     It's a good book.  It is.  But I didn't think it was great and I really wanted it to be great.  I am intrigued enough to watch the films, however, if only to see what the adaptations pulled out of it.  Graham Green himself co-wrote the screenplay for the first film adaptation.  Perhaps he highlighted the salient points.  Also, perhaps a large part of the subtext was too religion heavy for me to really get, or care about.  Oh, you're worried about burning in hell forever because you married a murderer or something?  Huh.  Sure.  It's just a little lost on me. 

Watch Instantly Sunday: A Review

     As I mentioned yesterday, I spend the brunt of the weekend being a recluse.  This is actually one of my favorite activities.  I filled my time with television, movies, and books.  Well, book.  And now, to review.  (I didn't watch anything new, so I'm not going to use spoiler tags.  I believe all of these things are passed the spoiler  statute of limitations.)

Donnie Darko: The Director's Cut.  I love this movie.  It comes in at number four when I'm listing my  four favorite movies.  I like how when it ends you just kind of sit there and go "whaaa?"  It's one of the few films that is over two hours long that I will watch multiple times.  Also, I've never seen the original, theatrical version.  At this point, I don't see how it could be better than this version.  It turns out, the movie is about time travel and saving the universe.  Or about creating a tangential universe and then fixing it, somehow.  It also has a pretty awesome soundtrack.  Admittedly, it's not for everyone.  It's about ten years old by now, and it had been a few years since I had seen it last.  There were a few bits I had forgotten about entirely, like the paths streaming from the chests.  That part seems weird to me, but it's very brief, and it fits in, so it's ok.  There's something that I love about watching the movie, and even rewatching it, not being really sure of what's going on precisely, but still wanting to see what happens.  And then in the end the jet engine falls again, and time was reset and you go "oh.  Wait.  What?  Oh.  Ok."  And then you're left to sit on your couch for a few minutes.

Wishful Drinking.  A book by Carrie Fisher.  The title and cover art are intriguing enough to make you pick it up, and when you do and flip through it, you can figure it should only take a few hours to get through.  It's not a heavy read.  And if it weren't for the fact that she's Carrie effing Fisher, so, incredibly famous already, her style and tone would be insufferable.  Since she is Carrie effing Fisher, her tone makes complete sense,  and, she states, it's basically the written out version of her one woman show.  Oh but to be famous and screwed up enough to get one of those.  It was a fun, easy read.  I suppose if you didn't know anything about her at all, you might find it surprising.  But if you didn't know anything about her at all, you probably wouldn't have noticed the book in the first place. 

Meet The Press.  I don't usually watch this show, because Sunday mornings are reserved for catching up on the week's programming or going to the farmer's market.  But I was especially compelled this particular Sunday, and I actually think the round table discussion was a good one.  There was no yelling.  The yelling is normally what turns me off of shows that feature round table discussions, or present the opportunity for many people to speak at once.  I can't listen to that.  And it's not that I assumed this show was like that.  It's just that it had never occurred to me before to watch it.  I thought it was something you started watching when you turned 65 and really started caring about social security and couldn't understand the jokes on SNL anyway.  Turns out, you can just watch it when you're a little weirded out by what just happened in the country.

Prelude To A Kiss.    I didn't watch the whole thing.  It came on after Joe Versus The Volcano.  I only saw the last 15 minutes of that.  That movie, I love.  I like to say "you didn't get a second opinion?" a lot, though most people can't connect that to the line in the end of the movie.  So I was pulled in to the Meg Ryan glow when Prelude To A Kiss began.  I remember not liking the film the first time I saw it.  Then I was taken aback by how old the movie was (almost 20 years), and how young Alec Baldwin was.  (That's a weird thing to say.  It was 20 years ago, so he was 20 years younger.  Anyway.)  I wasn't as bothered by it this time.  I started getting drawn in by the deliberate dialogue.  Something in my filmmaking brain was intrigued by their words and the passage of time.  Also, I really enjoyed the scene where he meets her parents this time- I don't remember it being anything spectacular the first time I saw it.  But it was on TV, and I do not like watching movies with commercials in it.  It takes me out of it too much.  I actually forget what I'm watching.  I flipped over to Dances With Wolves briefly.  I was struck by the fact that Mary McDonnell is in Dances With Wolves with Graham Greene, and that in Donnie Darko, the class is reading The Destroyers, written by a different Graham Greene.  At the emergency PTA meeting, Mary McDonnell's character, Rose Darko, asks the gym teacher "do you even know who Graham Greene is?"  "I think we've all seen 'Bananza.'" the gym teacher replies.  Sure, it's not ha-ha rofl funny, but there's something to it, I think.  Mary McDonnell knows damn well who both Graham Greenes are.  But anyway, Prelude To A Kiss is only ok.  It loses something near the middle, which is where I turned it off, after realizing I was still watching it.

Upon turning it off, I retreated to by bedroom and turned to my favorite invention of the year in which it was invented: Netflix Watch Instantly.

I'll continue the review of the recluse weekend tomorrow.

A Tome Wrapped in Plastic

     It's the literary event of the year, and I just had to be a part of it.  Of course, before I knew it was such a big deal, and I didn't think it was, well, a big deal.  The Autobiography of Mark Twain was released a few weeks ago, apparently to a much higher demand than was anticipated.  The story was that book stores couldn't keep it on the shelves, Amazon.com was sold out, and the printers couldn't keep up.  Well, this must be good, and I wanted to be a part of it. 
     In a seemingly unrelated series of events, I decided to turn left instead of right out the Metro station on my way home.  My brain was getting mushy from all the *not-reading* I had been doing, so I wanted to make a trip to Kramerbooks.  I wasn't really looking for a book, but being around them often helps feed my soul.  I stumbled across the Portable Jack London reader, Eating the Dinosaur, and also decided to pick up a magazine for my morning commute.  I had spent at least an hour getting bumped and pardoned, so it was time to leave.  There was a moment when I thought "I wonder if they have the Mark Twain Autobiography," but then considered the fact that huge booksellers were out, and I didn't want to appear to be uninformed. 
     I trudged by way to the line and just before handing the cashier my credit card I looked up and saw it: a tome wrapped in plastic.  Something came over me, and for a brief moment I was that person who casually reads thousand page autobiographies.  "Oh, you do have the Mark Twain Autobiography!  Great."  There was another gentleman behind the counter who was also unaware of their existence.   The lovely cashier (bookseller?) informed him they just came in, and indeed, there was a stack of them "over there" on the floor.  He was probably tripping over them.  The gentleman pulled a copy off the shelf and set it on the counter. 
     "So, this too?" the cashier asked.
     I certainly couldn't say no now, after I made such a to-do about it.  Clearly, it was the one thing I had been looking for all of my life.  "Yes, please, that one too."  I closed my eyes and handed over my credit card, knowing that tomes wrapped in plastic are generally not cheap.  It's a good thing I like cheap food. or in this case, perhaps no food at all.  At least my soul will be full. 

     Also, I'd like to note, this autobiography is only Volume One.  There are two more volumes in the works.  From the grave.  The anticipation is palpable.