Girl Detective

Tender at the Bone by Ruth Reichl was Book 22 in my 50 book challenge for 2005. I’ve had this sitting on my TBR pile for years, having picked it up along with her second memoir, Comfort Me with Apples, which is a quote from the bible’s “Song of Solomon.” Reichl’s third memoir, Garlic and Sapphires, was just released, reminding me that the first two memoirs languished on my shelves. Reichl is a strong writer, and intersperses her personal history of her relationship with food with recipes that relate to the tale. Like her writing, the recipes are clear and inviting. In the end, though, I felt something was lacking. I consciously admired the book, but it did not move me to affection. Must all memoirists have crazy mothers, I wondered as I read, in this case a manic-depressive whom Reichl dubbed “The Queen of Mold” for her tendency to use outdated food. Reichl found what humor she could in their relationship over the years, but eventually it becomes too painful, and the quick redemption she finds at the end seems like a small bandage on a gaping wound. Another reason for my perceived lack of closure might be the two other memoirs that carry on the narrative. I’ll read Comfort Me with Apples, certainly, since I already own it, and use that as the litmus to decide whether to read Garlic and Sapphires. My hope is that the reading of Reichl’s second memoir will stand on its own, as well as retroactively enhance my reading of the first.

The lack of sleep that started during my pregnancy and continued after our son Drake was born wreaked havoc on my previously formidable vocabulary. I’ll often find myself in conversation, slack-jawed as I frantically scour the corners of my mind for a word. Even before pregnancy and motherhood, the idea of games as a way to sharpen my mental faculties appealed to me. I’m not sure why this is. I often don’t enjoy games, and am not very good at them. I am easily distracted and frustrated, more so when I am fatigued. I have a habit of doing things on impulse just to complete my turn. This usually precludes strategy, and was not at all useful to me or endearing to a partner when I used to play bridge (the rules of which I have completely forgotten.)

I’ve been wanting to pick up crossword puzzles again, since they don’t involve strategy, but we no longer subscribe to the newspaper. Book collections are woefully out of date (I found a 1977 NYT book on my last visit to the bookstore.) The NYT has an online subscription to the crossword puzzles, but it’s not compatible with our Linux OS and free software applications, so I’m out of luck there, too. For the moment, then, I’ve given up on crosswords.

I’ve tried to learn chess several times, but have have never yet persevered with it. Chess is not a game that favors the beginner. Each attempt left me feeling clumsy and inept. I’d set chess aside in frustration for just enough time to forget the rules, then try again with the same results.

One of my grandmothers was a lifelong Scrabble fiend until her death, which was due to complications from Alzheimer’s. At her memorial service, one of my uncles laughed ruefully and said that during his last visit, her attention came and went but she was still able to beat him at Scrabble. I will always associate Scrabble with the laughter, love, and sadness of his story.

Until this month, though, I had never played Scrabble. I finally got the opportunity earlier this month when I visited my sister Sydney, an avid fan of the game. I am unsurprised that there is a cult following. Its combination of luck, knowledge and strategy felt very manageable, and its rules aren’t complex enough to forget. My husband G. Grod and I picked up an inexpensive travel set. We can play a little, fold it up, and begin again later without mess or fuss. This new hobby has me eyeing my dictionary and Chicago Manual of Style. As I perused the former, I noted that the Hebrew and Greek alphabet letters are considered words (I don’t know if they are in the offical Scrabble dictionary, but the new one isn’t coming out till June 1, so I’m not buying one till then.) I learned the Hebrew alphabet years ago, when I was considering a conversion to Judaism, but all that remains are Aleph, Bet, Hay and Gimmel, the dreidel letters.

If G. Grod and I are in the middle of a game, is it cheating to look up the Greek and Hebrew alphabets online? I’ll print them out for both of us to review. Two wrongs might not make a right, but they are easier to rationalize.

What were you thinking, asked people when I exclaimed over how huge the Sistine Chapel was.

“A little room, 20 feet square maybe, with a six foot ceiling. You know, a ceiling that you can actually imagine someone painting.”

How big did you think he was going to be, asked people when I stared up and up at David’s statue in the Accademia in Florence.

“Seven feet, tops. Bigger than life, sure, but not more than double!”

As I mentioned in my oil-change story, there are a lot of things that I simply don’t know until I experience them myself.

I was reminded of these gaffes when I went to the library yesterday. Over the past several months, references to Don Quixote have been accumulating in my mind, making me ever more aware of this gap in my cultural literacy. Terry Gilliam made “Lost in La Mancha,” a documentary that detailed his failed attempt to make Don Quixote into a movie. A new translation of Don Quixote was published to much acclaim, and a weblog was created in response. My friend Duff recommended The True and Outstanding Adventures of the Hunt Sisters in spite of its cover; it features a fictional attempt to commit Don Quixote to film.

It’s time, I thought. I reserved it from the library, and was bursting with excitement when I went to pick it up. Then I literally picked up the Neal Stephenson”•sized* volume. I had NO IDEA that Don Quixote was such a long book. My enthusiasm evaporated.

Until I read the translator’s note, that is.

The extraordinary significance and influence of this novel were reaffirmed, once again, in 2002, when one hundred major writers from fifty-four countries voted Don Quixote the best work of fiction in the world….

And his writing is a marvel: it gives off sparks and flows like honey. Cervantes’s sytle is so artful it seems absolutely natural and inevitable; his irony is sweet-natured, his sensibility sophisticated, compassionate, and humorous. If my translation works at all, the reader should keep turning the pages, smiling a good deal, periodically bursting into laughter, and impatiently waiting for the next synonym (Cervantes delighted in accumulating synonyms, especially descriptive ones, within the same phrase), the next mind-bending coincidence, the next variation on the structure of Don Quixote’s adventures, the next incomparable conversation between the knight and his squire.

My enthusiasm returned, more cautiously this time. Maybe, I thought, just maybe I can read Don Quixote. I can give up my “one book at a time” rule while I do, so it isn’t the only thing I’m reading. And if I read 50 pages a day, I can finish in three weeks.

Am I brave or foolhardy to take on this tome? Will I fail? Readers, I will let you know.

Works mentioned here:

*Copyeditor’s note. To be precise, I am using an en dash in an adjectival phrase consisting of an open compound (here, a proper name) to another word. The Chicago Manual of Style only mentions this use with prefixes, though. As the CMS notes, this is a bit fussy, but I’ve spent so much time looking it up that I’ve included it.

Economist Steven Levitt discovered a connection between legalized abortion and a reduced crime rate. He writes about this and more in his new book Freakonomics, link from Arts and Letters Daily, a collection of links from The Chronicle of Higher Education, recommended by my friend Blogenheimer.

Freakonomics is not published yet, but the queue for the first copy from our library was already fifteen by the time I put in a request. I’m not sure my math-geek husband G. Grod is going to be able to wait that long. He just finished Everything and More: A Compact History of Infinity by David Foster Wallace, and is in the midst of Incompleteness: The Proof and Paradox of Kurt Godel by Rebecca Goldstein, whose first novel was The Mind-Body Problem, a book I very much enjoyed. It centers on a philosophy student who marries a math prodigy, as Goldstein did herself.

Yesterday I wrote on a salad I’d made with arugula, shallot dressing, strawberries, toasted almonds and honeyed goat cheese. (My spidey sense said that hazelnuts would have been better than almonds, but the latter were what I had on hand.) Balance of flavor, texture, and amount of dressing is key to a successful salad. I worked with a woman who shared her favorite combination one day as we waited in line at the salad bar: spinach, grape tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, asparagus, kalamata olives, garlic croutons, and shaved parmesan in a Caesar dressing. Here are a few more combinations I recommend.

Granny Smith apples, gouda cheese, and almonds
Fuji or Braeburn apples, Roquefort or goat cheese and walnuts
D’anjou pears, Roquefort cheese and pecans
Pomegranate seeds, Roquefort cheese (no nuts necessary; the seeds have crunch)
Mandarin orange segments, slivered almonds and raspberry dressing over butter lettuce (no cheese with mandarin oranges)
Segmented oranges, buffalo mozzarella, almonds and balsamic dressing over spinach
Peaches or nectarines, pea-sized dabs of mascarpone, pecans or almonds

Roquefort is my favorite blue to use. I pop it in the freezer while I assemble the other ingredients, then use the vegetable peeler to shave thin slices over each salad.

One of the most common ways to ruin a good salad is to overdress it. It is best to dress the salad just before serving, pouring on a little at a time, then fluffing or tossing with your hands for the best distribution. Add more in small amounts only as necessary. Most of the items I mentioned–fruit, cheese and nuts–should be added to indidual servings once the greens are dressed.

There’s a new episode of Veronica Mars on tonight, Tuesday April 19 at 9 p.m. Eastern/8 p.m. Central. Last week’s episode had a kiss between Veronica and Logan. What will come of it? Watch tonight; maybe we’ll find out.

And the vegetables, they are plentiful. I exclaimed aloud twice in the produce section while grocery shopping on Saturday. First in dismay at the astronomical price of organic asparagus. ($7.49 a pound! I went on to buy frozen.) Then in surprise and delight when I saw something I hadn’t come across in months, fresh arugula. (Only $1.99–take that, organic asparagus!) I went on to fill my basket with all sorts of lovely fruits and vegetables, and I breathed a sigh of happiness that spring is finally here, even in the produce aisle.

It took me a long time to come around to the peppery, distinctive flavor of arugula. Now it is one of my favorite greens, and a staple in one of our favorite easy recipes, grilled flank steak with shaved parmesan served over arugula salad with a lemon-y dressing.

Joy of joys, though, we had leftover arugula, which I was able to incorporate into a salad the following night. I made a shallot dressing and topped the greens with sliced fresh strawberries, toasted almonds and Capra goat cheese with honey. It has taken me some years of experimenting with salads to acquire a sense for them, since the potential ingredients of lettuce, dressing, fruit, cheese, nuts, etc. can clash so wildly. This combination, though, was a success.

Friday afternoon, and concentration is hard to come by. I know that a list seems like the LCD (lowest common denomiator) of blog entries, but I wouldn’t post on reading and watching lists if I didn’t think they had merit. When I read weblogs over time, I am able to determine similarities in media likes and dislikes. I pay attention to those people whose tastes run similarly to mine, especially those people who have more time and money than do I to more thoroughly explore what’s out there. I also have (mostly) stopped making to-do lists of books and movies, and instead rely upon an accumulation of recommendations to make something stand out in my memory unaided.

Is anyone out there besides me doing a 50 book or 50 movie challenge for a year, or am I talking to myself? I know that for many of you, 50 isn’t much. For me, though, as my son Drake approaches his second birthday, it’s meant reclaiming and re-integrating into my life things I love, like books and movies. I hope that I’ll trounce both goals handily, but even if I squeak in close, it will be a vast improvement over last year.

19. What You Wear Can Change Your Life by Trinny Woodall and Susannah Constantine. I’m a fan of both the BBC and TLC versions of this show. This is an easy, breezy book that nonetheless contains a lot of practical advice on beauty and fashion. Woodall and Constantine are the sometimes fearless models of what not to wear, though they are vindicated in the more flattering “do” shots as well. It includes photos of them pregnant, and post-baby with soft tummies. I was reminded that looking after one’s appearance is a supreme form of self-validation. Letting things go on the outside usually means that one’s esteem is low on the inside. With canny advice like theirs, dressing and looking well can be a rewarding challenge. I noticed a few oopsies in the book, like the repeated misspelling of the word “fuchsia,” and one photo that was used to illustrate both do and don’t for blush. An additional quibble I have is that the book limits its fashion advice to the particular foibles of Woodall and Constantine. Together they do have most of the common body complaints that women try to dress around, yet Woodall’s physique is far from common. She has short legs and a cushy bum, but she’s 5′10″, so while a dress over pants looks well on her, those of us of average height can’t carry it off.

20. Lying Awake by Mark Salzman. An absolute gem of a book, whose story is made more beautiful still by the addition of several woodcut illustrations. A cloistered nun takes strength and inspiration from her spiritual visions. When she learns what might be causing them, she must wrestle with whether to give them up. Spare, moving and lovely.

21. Carnet de Voyage by Craig Thompson. This is a travel journal of Thompson’s three-month trek through Europe. The drawings are compelling, and Thompson is a self-aware and modest narrator, apologizing more than once for the slight nature of the work. It cannot compare to the strength and power of his two previous graphic novels, but it’s not meant to. This is an enjoyable and beautiful travel memoir, but if you haven’t read either of his previous novels, I urge you to seek out Goodbye, Chunky Rice and Blankets.

I’m a sucker for a good marketing campaign. When Gillette introduced the Sensor for men in 1990, I bought both the product and the marketing. Its two blades were spring mounted for extra manueuverability, and the handle had sticky grips for better traction in the shower. In 1992, Gillette introduced the Sensor for Women, and I happily plunked down the additional cash. The Sensor for women featured a unique, wide ovoid handle that was easy to use. In 1993, I began to get suspicious, as the Sensor Excel for men was introduced; 5 microfins were added to the two blades for a closer shave. Was Gillette mastering planned obsolescence, introducing a new variation on the product every few years, offering the men’s first because women would buy it too? They gave credence to my theory when they rolled out the Sensor Excel for women in 1996, then the Mach 3 for men in 1998 followed by the 3-bladed Venus for women in 2001. Since then they have added the Mach 3 Turbo, and the M3Power for men, and the Venus Divine for women.

With each introduction, the features, not just of the blade but of the handle, are enhanced. Gillette has been careful that more than the appearance of the handle is changing. Yes, their marketing still trumpets silly-sounding features like “single-point docking,” but the blades, their mounting, and the handles have been evolving continuously. Gillette has also been careful in their intervals. By waiting a few years, rather than a few months, they ensure a long period in which people can adopt their product, rather than waiting a few months to see if the next one will come out, like the special editions of some DVDs.

As each razor was introduced, I became a more reluctant consumer, wondering if the additional blades and features really were resulting in a closer shave. The costs mounted with the new models; the Venus refills cost almost $2 apiece! I did not purchase any Mach 3 or Venus variations. After I used my last Venus refill, I put my skepticism to the test. When warm weather finally came to my upper midwest state, I looked for the simplest, cheapest disposable there was, and found that I could get 14 (!) Bic Silky Touch disposables for about $2–a little more than the cost of one Venus refill. The Silky Touch had 2 blades, a non-pivoting head, no lubricating strip and a colorful plastic handle. These’ll be fine, I thought, angry at having been duped by Gillette for so many years.

My next shave was not a pleasant one. I had to use a lot of shaving cream, the razor kept slipping out of my hand, and I got both cuts and burns. It turns out that some of those Gillette features are useful and contribute to a better shave.

What to do now, then? Keep trying inexpensive disposables? Buy a new set of Venus refills? Pick up the newest offering on the market from Gillette arch-rival Schick, the Quattro for women, with four blades? (Gillette attempted to sue Schick over patent infringement when the Quattro debuted. They were denied.) Before I started writing this entry, I thought the Quattro was the newest offering from Gillette, probably annoyed because Schick interrupted their product introduction interval by offering the Quattro before whatever will be the Gillette men’s 4.0, which is sure to be followed in 2 to 3 years by the women’s.

I am certain that there is some balance in razor-land between super-expensive four-blade-plus-the-kitchen-sink refillables and super-cheap, two-blade disposables. I’ll let you know when I find it.

The swank new appearance is a benefit of the upgrade to WordPress 1.5, also used by the much-more-famous-than-I Warren Ellis, whose site I won’t link to because the last time I did I saw something I wish I could erase from my memory. My tech-spouse G. Grod has been muttering for some time (weeks? months? they all run together) about making the change to 1.5. He was spurred into action this weekend after the site got blasted by blackgammon spam. I again have a blurb, as I did at the old Girl Detective. I’m not sure I like the electric blue, but the new typeface is much better and easier to read. I’m sure I wasn’t the only one annoyed that “cl” looked like “d”.

I’m wavering about keeping the comments. There have been some fun discussions, as on messiahs and favorite fictional characters, but reader use is sporadic, and they do make me a target for the evil spammers.

As for the tagline, “needs more penguins,” it was something that G. Grod threw onto the template to see if it worked, which it didn’t until the upgrade. Now it does, but it’s pretty random, and perhaps only funny to G. Grod, me and friends who may have been with us (?) at its inception.

Feel free to email or comment any thoughts, on comments or on penguin taglines. Heck, feel free to make up an origin story for the tagline, as long as it’s not (too) naughty. This is a family weblog, after all.

I followed a Bookslut entry link today about teen chicklit. This seems strangely familiar, I thought, even before getting to the damning quote by Sarah Mlynowski about wanting to be in the same company as Christopher Pike and the Sweet Valley books.

Oh, yeah, I have read this before, and linked to it in this entry on crossover books, but the Houston Chronicle no longer has the earlier article available. The original link came from Bookslut, here.

The Star Tribune piece notes that there is a growing market for teen chicklit. What it fails to note is that while it’s popular and selling well, it’s complete crap, following a formula that teen-fiction expert Michael Cart nailed about ten years ago in his excellent critical analysis From Romance to Realism: 50 years of Growth and Change in Young Adult Literature, 1996, which also happens to be book #18 in my 50 Book Challenge for the year.

Take one teenage protagonist (fifteen or younger–usually younger); give her/him a story to tell in her/his first-person voice. Keep the number of other characters to a bare minimum and develop their identities sketchily (no room for complexity, you know). Limit the story’s time span to a year or less. Fold in an undistinguished setting in a sentence or two and don’t refer to it thereafter. Add a lot of pop culture references and brand names. Stir briskly–no time for reflection or introspection–using lots of dialogue and a simple, unadorned, straightforward, colloquial style. Keep it short–no more than 200 pages; kids have short attention spans, you know. Hang the plot on a problem that can–after lots of hints of impending doom–be resolved satisfactorily by the protagonist without adult interference. The experience will change the protagonist forever–and for the better, please. Because downbeat endings are definitely not welcome. Cook until half-baked. (p. 243-4).

If you’re interested in teen fiction, ignore those books cited in the Star Tribune article and instead pick up any of Michael Cart’s anthologies, three of which I wrote about here. They contain well-written, provocative works that eschew the above formula.

Yesterday my nineteen-month-old son Drake and I welcomed five other toddlers and moms into the house. The gathering was one of mediated chaos. As the morning waned and things ostensibly wound down, the little ones discovered the front porch, with its mini-slide. Wild delight ensued as they went up, down, and around. Drake introduced two of his compatriots to another feature of the front porch, the mail slot. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing out with rapt attention, as Drake held up the flap. Light from outside played across their faces.

Seconds passed. Another mom laughed. “What a picture that is.”

I looked over at her and smiled. “I was just trying to remember where I left the camera.”

Then the boy on the end shoved the one in the middle, who screamed, causing Drake to pull away.

The moment was gone. We made our separate ways into the afternoon.

Please, God, for the last time. Jane Austen and the Brontes were not the godmothers of chick lit. They were the godmothers of good writing. Pride and Prejudice is not the “original chick lit masterpiece,” no matter what Jennifer Crusie says. It is, however, a good book. Jane Eyre is a good book. Babyville is an offensively awful book that took Jane Green probably all of a week to write. I understand that chick lit writers would like to legitimize themselves by claiming Jane Austen as one of their own, but she is not their ancestor. Their ancestor is Mills & Boone. Jane Austen gave birth to Arundhati Roy, Kazuo Ishiguro, and, you know, literature. So stop it, seriously. You’re only hurting yourselves.

Jessa Crispin at Blog of a Bookslut makes an impassioned plea to end the sloppy referential blurbing, although she previously linked to this piece on Charlotte Bronte in The Guardian with this:

Enough of the Bronte industry’s veneration of coffins, bonnets and tuberculosis. It is time to exhume the real Charlotte - filthy bitch, grandmother of chick-lit, and friend.

Attempting to economize, I have been delving into the large stash of beauty swag accumulated over the years from cosmetic gift-with-purchases (GWPs). I’ve not given up on the idea of putting some of it up on Ebay, but for now it seems a reasonable thing to use what I can. This has again confirmed for me how rare are the products about which I can exclaim, “I can see a difference!” It has also got me thinking of how to encode this in a beauty rating system.

F: Ugh. Wouldn’t use it if it were free.
D: Eh. It’s fine. Doesn’t bother me too much.
C: Decent. I like something about it–the scent, texture, packaging–but I don’t notice a difference.
B: Good. I like the product, and I can see some difference.
A: Great. I like it, and I can see a big difference.

Pluses and minuses for other considerations, like bang for the buck.

Body Lotions

Caudalie Vinotherapie Nourishing Treatment for the Body. A GWP from a Neiman Marcus (NM) beauty event. A strong scent that I did not find offensive, but can’t quite call pleasant, either. Did a reasonable job of moisturizing. I would not pay for this product, but was fine with using it having received it for free. $35 for 8.8 oz. Grade: D.

Kiss My Face Honey Calendula Moisturizer. A thick texture and a light, pleasant, sweet scent. Does not absorb easily. I’ve bought it a few times because it was on sale, but would probably not pay full price for it. $10 for 16 oz. Grade: C.

Natura Bisse Diamond Body Cream. A NM GWP. A good-sized sample. Thick texture, easily absorbed, mild scent. Supposedly firming, but I’m not sure how I’m supposed to tell a difference with only the few applications from the sample. Again, I would not pay for this product but was fine having received it for free. Cannot imagine paying the full retail price for this product, which is $210 for 9.5 oz. Grade: C.

Kiehl’s Baby Body Lotion. For the most part, babies and toddlers do not need lotion, in spite of what Johnson & Johnson have cleverly raised us to think. My toddler Drake, though, tended to get red, chapped cheeks during cold weather, and this helped. It is a light lotion with a light, natural scent. $19.95 for 8 oz. See Paula Begoun for other ratings of other baby products. Grade: B.

Fresh Lemon Body Lotion. This smells like lemonade, sweet but not cloying. I found it a good stand-in for perfume. The lotion is fine but unremarkable in texture and moisturization. $32 for 10 oz. Grade: C.

Weleda Calendula Baby Lotion. I bought this for Drake but ended up using it myself. It didn’t do much for his chapped cheeks. A medium-strong scent. Unremarkable. $12 for 6.68 oz. Grade: D.

Eye Makeup Removers

Clinique Naturally Gentle Eye Makeup Remover. I did like that it was a tube rather than a liquid, thus easier to travel with. This is supposed to be non-irritating, with the same Ph as tears. I found it very irritating to my eyes. $14.50 for 2.5 oz. Grade: F.

Neutrogena Oil-Free Eye Makeup Remover. “Effective and gentle.” I also found this irritating to my eyes, which are sensitive and I wear contact lenses nearly every day. Less expensive than the Clinique, but no less irritating. About $5.5 for 5.5 oz. Grade: F.

Face Treatments

Neutrogena Visibly Firm Lift Serum. A medium perfume and a strange Neutrogena-brand periwinkle blue color, but I noticed a difference when I began using this serum in addition to my morning and evening moisturizers. My skin looked firmer and better hydrated. About $18.49 for 1 oz. Grade: B.

Neutrogena Visibly Firm Night Cream. Again with the perfume and the light blue, but I also noticed a difference when I began using this–firmer and better hydrated, as above. About $18.49 for 1.7 oz. Grade: B.

Creme de la Mer Moisturizer. I received this from a very kind person in my life. I had previously used it in a sample and had not seen results, but had not received the instructions to warm it before applying it, and to pat it, rather than rub it, on. I am now easily able to see a positive difference in the appearance and texture of my skin. It looks and feels less wrinkled and more healthy. A thick, comforting texture with a clean, classic scent. A great product, though expensive. Grade: A-.

More reviews from my self-imposed 50-Movie Challenge.

10. Bad Santa. 2003. Directed by Terry Zwigoff. So dark that it often goes beyond the reach of humor. Weird, uncomfortable, sometimes quite funny. Sad for John Ritter that this was the last thing he worked on, because the unfunny scenes with him and Bernie Mac were reportedly tacked on in order to extend to movie’s running time.

11. Confessions of a Dangerous Mind. 2002. Directed by George Clooney. Sam Rockwell plays Chuck Barris, creator of cultural icons like The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, and The Gong Show, who claimed in his autobiography that he moonlighted as a hitman for the CIA. Barris later recanted, and Clooney’s movie does an excellent job with this amibiguity. The casting of megastar Julia Roberts as a spy, along with interviews with former Barris associates, contribute to the “is it real?” vibe. The film also slyly reminds us that reality TV is not a recent phenomenon.

12. Mean Girls. 2004. Directed by Mark Waters. Had some good commentary on how girls undermine other girls. Avoided many cliches, and had some laugh-out-loud moments.

13. Destry Rides Again. 1939. Directed by George Marshall. Jimmy Stewart is charming. Marlene Dietrich is funny. Great catfight. Tons of fun.

14. Second Sight. 1999. Directed by Charles Beeson. Not a film, but rather a Mystery miniseries starring my boyfriend Clive Owen as a detective who is going blind, but trying to hide the fact to protect his job. It veers occasionally into the realm of cheese, but is overall a good story, well acted.

15. Sin City. 2005. Directed by Robert Rodriguez and Frank Miller. Dark with a capital D. A stunning visual adaptation of Miller’s graphic novels, but one that replicates their flaws: simplistic, violent, misogynist, and hyper-fetishized. Rosario Dawson is the only performer who falters. The others are able to bring some dimension to their reductive characters, all the more impressive since the movie was filmed almost entirely in front of a green screen. My boyfriend Clive Owen’s accent is flattened, but not obliterated.

I wrote previously here on why I blog. Simply put, blogging has enabled me to adopt a consistent writing practice. A tougher question, though, and one I didn’t become conscious of for a long time is this: why do I blog about those things about which I blog?

For the long time my topics were whatever leapt out of my head and onto my keyboard. Often, this was a hyper stream of consiousness, or worse, a daily list or diary without commentary or insight. Provoked by something I read at Mental Multivitamin, though, I took a long look at what I’d been writing about. Why was I making private things public? I reaped a benefit from blogging of writing practice, but what potential benefit to readers was some mundane snippet from my life?

I wrote at length here on my decision not to chronicle any further gripes about motherhood. Since then, I have become increasingly aware of mothers who use their kids as grist for their writing. Meg Wolitzer, who has a new book out, wrote on this at Salon here.

The notion of parents mortifying their children is nothing new… But the children of writers are given a mortification all their own. It reaches beyond the hokeypokey and deep into regions unfamiliar to the children of management consultants and travel agents.

In its most common form, the embarrassment occurs when a writer is simply doing his or her job: describing the world in an unflinching, candid manner, and casually borrowing recognizable bits and pieces from real life. Occasionally, a writer borrows much more than that. This was the case with A.A. Milne, who used his son Christopher Robin as a character without asking. The child grew up and was left to languish in bitterness, loathing the father who left him frozen in a kind of twisted, eternal moppethood. It seems clear that writers who use their children to advance their own work are guilty of some kind of unsavory pimping, and that those children — those trapped-in-amber, beloved figures from picture books and novels — have a right to feel furious.

While this quote has not scared me enough to stop writing about Drake at all, it did confirm that I can keep the grumbly bits, both his and mine, to myself. No need to immortalize those in ether. So writing in detail about my kid was no good. What, then, of my measly life was worth putting out there for public inspection? At this point, I was reminded of a story.

I was a junior in college, and begged my parents to let me have a car at school. They relented, perhaps based on the “it’s for my job” part of the argument, which was actually true. I drove that car hither and yon. After a while, its performance waned. I took it to a service station and received a call soon after.

Knowing how inadequate my answer was, I doubt I kept the upspeak out of my 20-year-old voice. “Uh, no one ever told me I had to do that?”

The spirit of that story is why I blog what I blog. I can’t know something till I learn about it. In the spirit of my girl-detective forebears, I like to follow clues and links. I blog about things that I find informative or interesting, in the hope that someone else will, too. I’m hardly an early adopter, so most of what I write here won’t be ground-breaking or trend-setting. Perhaps it will simply be one more small voice that helps you make a decision about what movie to watch, what book to read, or what have you. There is a danger, though, that I might state the obvious, which I’ll illustrate with another story.

I was visiting my sister Sydney some years ago. She had just gotten a kitten, sleek and black with bright green eyes. He zoomed about her house, provoking the dog and charming me by pouncing around my room and sneaking up into the box spring under my bed. I was impressed by how cute, spirited and clever he was. Later, I related his antics to friends of mine who have cats. They looked at me oddly. “Uh, Girl Detective? All kittens do that.”

Please forgive me, then, when I post something obvious. One person’s kitten is another person’s oil change.

I sit, frozen in front of the screen, careering around the internet, struggling to write a word. It has been some time since I blogged. I don’t know where I picked up the construction in the title, but it’s one of my favorites. I will state the obvious. Travelling can be difficult. But it is good to see family.

It is also good to be home.

I won’t be writing for the next several days. Thanks for visiting and reading, and I hope to see you back at the end of next week.

There is a new episode tonight of Veronica Mars on UPN at 9 p.m. Eastern, 8 p.m. Central.

The front page of Salon today had features on the show and its creator Rob Thomas, both of which I’ve written about previously.

If you didn’t believe me, believe Salon. Veronica Mars is good. Check it out.

This entry at litblog Collected Miscellany draws an interesting and, I think, quite valid distinction between book reviews, written for newspapers and amazon.com, and book criticism, written for academic or scholarly purposes. Describing the latter, he uses that quintessential grad school word “unpack”.

I’ve been reading Collected Miscellany for some time, and have been remiss in not adding it to my list of links yet. There are a handful of contributors, all of whom write on specific books and other book-related commentary. It’s quite well done.

I find Collected Miscellany a good companion to Conversational Reading, which has a good intro posted today. Conversational Reading is a single-author litblog, recommended to me by Blogenheimer.

And while I’m on the topic of litblogs, I will mention again how much I enjoy Blog of a Bookslut. The short, bantering entries are informative and fun to read.