Girl Detective

#21 in my 2007 movie challenge was Over the Hedge, which we rented from the library and allowed Drake to watch. When I asked him what the movie was about, he answered, “A crash.” So I’m not sure Drake is quite ready for prolonged narratives, even of the animated kind. I liked the movie, too, and thought it was about more than a crash but about natural versus junk food, and the suburban desire to mimic nature while really avoiding it. There’s some very good voice work here by Steve Carell, as Hammy the hyperactive squirrel. Shatner as a daddy opossum does brilliant work playing dead. This is a decent movie for both adults and kids.

But be warned; it gave me a serious craving for Pringles. Oh, excuse me, “Spuddies”.

#20 in my 2007 movie challenge was Brad Anderson’s The Machinist, starring a skeletal Christian Bale. Since I’ve seen both Memento and Fight Club, the reveals at the end weren’t particularly surprising. I was disappointed to see Jennifer Jason Leigh in the thankless role of a hooker with a heart of gold who will leave her job for Bale. What’s compelling, though, is the look of the film. It’s heavily stylized with dark, Hitchcockian flair. Most arresting, though, is Bale’s gaunt physique, and the haunted look this brings to his character. I enjoyed two of Anderson’s previous films, Next Stop Wonderland and Happy Accidents. Both those were quirky romantic dramedies, decidedly different from the dark horror of this film.

#19 in my 2007 movie challenge was The Devil Wears Prada. I couldn’t read the book when it came out. I put it down at the 50-page mark because it was so poorly written, and because the main character was so unlikeable. I wanted to see the movie because I’d heard good things about the performances. Streep, Tucci, and Blunt all bring nuance and dimension to characters that could easily have been caricatures. I’m not sure that the creepily doe-eyed Hathaway did much to redeem the main character for me, though. She was still a fashion-ignorant intellectual snob who underwent a Cinderella makeover and saw the humanity in her co-workers; no surprises here.

Streep’s platinum forelock looked so distinct that I suspect it was a wig. And the gag reel was well worth watching for the many shots of the main characters falling down in their high heels.

#18 in my 2007 movie challenge was Tapeheads. My recent viewing of Repo Man reminded me that I’d never seen this 80’s oddity, even though it starred two favorites of mine, John Cusack and Tim Robbins. I enjoyed this tale of a team of video nerds more than I did Repo Man. Both movies share a similar whacked-out humor, perhaps because both were produced by Michael Nesmith, the smart Monkee and heir to the Liquid Paper fortune. I was amused to see that Robbins’s character could very well be an early prototype of Dwight Schrute from The Office, and some of the movie’s music was done by Fishbone, explaining the provenance of the T-shirt that Robbins sports in Bull Durham.

#17 in my 2007 movie challenge was Michael Mann’s Miami Vice. I loved Mann’s 2004 Collateral, but I found Vice deeply, disappointingly silly. And I am officially over the plot device of putting a woman in danger in order to manipulate a man. It’s a crap cliche, and I’ve had enough of it.

#16 in my 2007 movie challenge was 21 Grams, the 2003 effort by Alexander Gonzalez Inarritu, nominated for Oscars this year for Babel. 21 Grams, like Amores Perros, is a criss-crossing lives story that does not unfold in linear time. Eventually, the story settles into a coherent narrative but it’s the performances by Sean Penn, Naomi Watts and Benicio del Toro that grabbed my attention. Depressing yet redemptive.

#11 in my 2007 book challenge was Breaking Up, a graphic novel written Aimee Friedman with art by Christine Norrie. I’ve admired Norrie’s work on the Hopeless Savages series, as well as her previous book Cheat. I’d not read Friedman before. This is the story of four friends at an arts high school nicknamed “Fashion High”. The friends bicker over boys, then “break up” and get back together. The narrator, Chloe, is a painter. She falls for a geek boy; her friends don’t approve. In the end, everyone is wiser and more tolerant, and Chloe and the (very cutely drawn) geek boy are together. This felt a little like a mishmash of 90210 episodes. And while that inspires affection in me, it also disappoints, because there was little that was new here. The dilemmas the girls faced felt real–desire for popularity, overly strict parents, pressuring boyfriend, inappropriate crush–but more young teen than young adult. I did very much like the sneaky, specific, and cruel revenge exacted on the pretty blond by the popularity queen, whose boyfriend the blond was trying to steal.

I suspect that Friedman’s lack of experience writing for the comics format is what made the prose feel a bit stiff to me. But what made this book stand out was Norrie’s art, and her interpretation of the fairly straightforward teen story. Her art gave the characters depth, made them sympathetic, and added both humor and pathos to Friedman’s story. Norrie did a very good job showing what Friedman was telling. The art infuses the story with a sweetness and empathy for its confused teen protagonists that ultimately elevates this above standard YA fare.

from Behind the Scenes at the Museum, by Kate Atkinson.

Poor Bunty. (12)

….suddenly, an unwelcome note of reality interrupts [her] reverie, somebody’s pulling at Bunty’s dressing-gown and whining in a not very pleasant fashion. (15)

Bunty unclenches the little fists that have fastened on to her hair, and deposits Gillian back on the floor.

Get down,’ Bunty says grimly. ‘Mummy’s thinking.’ (Although what Mummy’s actually doing is wondering what it would be like if her entire family was wiped out and she could start again.) Poor Gillian!

Gillian refuses to be ignored for long–she’s not that kind of child–and hardly have we had our first sip of tea before we have to attend to Gillian’s needs. For breakfast, Bunty makes porridge….

‘I don’t like porridge,’ Patricia ventures to Bunty. This is the first time she’s tried this direct approach….

‘Pardon me?’ Bunty says, the words dropping like icicles on the linoleum of the kitchen floor (our mother’s not really a morning person.)

‘I don’t like porridge,’ Patricia says, looking more doubtful now.

As fast as a snake, Bunty hisses back, ‘Well I don’t like children, so that’s too bad for you, isnt’ it?’ She’s joking of course. Isn’t she? (16)

I’m sure the first time I read Behind the Scenes at the Museum that I pitied the children. But on my most recent reading, it became clear that those children also grew up to be parents, who repeated the sins and omissions they’d been bequeathed through generations. The mothers were less obvious, but nonetheless sympathetic, characters. Every mother had been mothered inexpertly herself. Each generation of mothers was unprepared for the physical demands of motherhood, and ill-equipped for the emotional ones.

It’s tough being a child, but it’s also tough being a mother. Does anyone feel prepared for it, or good at it? Or do we all just muddle through as best we can, with the light we have at the time (as my own mother likes to say)?

Because I haven’t been able to get it, this week. Or if I have, then it was quickly undone the next day: eeny, meeny, miny, moe, bad day, good day, bad day, whoa.

Mrs. Large took a tray from the cupboard. She set it with a teapot, a milk jug, her favorite cup and saucer, a plate of marmalade toast and a leftover cake from yesterday. She stuffed the morning paper into her pocket and sneaked off toward the door.

“Where are you going with that tray, Mom?” asked Laura.

“To the bathroom,” said Mrs. Large.

“Why?” asked the other two children.

“Because I want five minutes’ peace from all of you,” said Mrs. Large. “That’s why.”

This morning I had Drake set the kitchen timer for five minutes. Twice. Neither time did we make it to zero without the boys both screaming. Drake and I both love this book because it is funny and true about the push/pull between kids and moms. Consider this as a Mother’s Day gift for the tired moms you know.

I got this book at Barnes and Noble in the paperback section. I originally saw it recommended at a book blog, though I can’t find the link. (Book Moot, was it you?) I love the paperback children’s book section. I can splurge and not feel guilty for spending $15+ on a book that Drake is just as likely to throw as he is to “read”.

I completed an outpatient hospital program last Friday for post-partum depression and anxiety. It was a brief, intense program designed to help those in a recovery rut who don’t need full-time hospitalization. There are two partial programs in the Twin Cities. The more well known is at Abbott, but they didn’t have space, and the one at Fairview did. I had an excellent experience at Fairview. The combination of group therapy, individual checks, and patient education led me to a variety of insights. I had time and space to learn and think, far more than I’d been able to fit into the brief interstices of full-time care for two small children. My last day I felt full of optimism, and brimming with possibility.

The happy mood passed over the weekend as 14M Guppy became sick and clingy, spiked a fever, and then kept us all up between 1:30 and 4:30 am today. Lots of screaming and little sleep wreak havoc with my anxiety-prone nerves. Additionally, one of my coping strategies, ear plugs, backfired and I got an ear infection. So not only can I not use the ear plugs, but I have to take ear drops. Instead of making a peaceful and leisurely entry into the new week, I had to spend time at the doctor’s office and the pharmacy.

On one hand, it feels like I’m being unfairly punished for the time I took to attend the program at Fairview, and curtailed from following up on the aftercare plans I’d begun. On the other, I have enough perspective to know that all things, good and bad, pass. A friend once joked that they may pass like a kidney stone, but they’re gonna pass. I also know, all too well, that I plan and the universe laughs, and that life sometimes is unfair and difficult. So I’m trying hard not to take the recent setbacks personally and to muster what humor and energy I can to have another go tomorrow.

One of the things I enjoyed most about being at Fairview was its proximity to the North Country grocery cooperative. They had a great selection of deli and takeout food and drink. I tried something new nearly every day. Walking to the coop allowed me both fresh air and exercise. I had spinch/feta, lemon/leek, and mushroom/keff boughatsa and baklava from Gardens of Salonica. I tried the Flex, Radiant, Calm, and Focus flavors of the Airforce Nutrisodas. I made a huge mess when I shook my Kombucha too hard. Both the Gingerade and the Trilogy flavors were very good. From Sushi Express, I had a veggie maki combo. I enjoyed the avocado spring roll so much I got it twice. I also got a slice of tater tot pizza from the Seward Cafe, as well as their Goddess Bar and Ranger cookie. I don’t know where the Key Lime and Sweet Potato Pie tartlets came from, but those were also excellent. The good food and friendly staff at the North Country made my time at Fairview go all the more quickly and pleasantly.

In case you’ve ever wondered how my mind works, here’s an example. One day, a friend had a water bottle with cut-up strawberries and bananas in it. Interesting idea, I thought, but it looks kinda gross. Someone else asked her about it. She said she read that it’s something Katie Holmes does. You know, one of those “diet tips” in magazines to humanize celebrities who probably don’t actually eat fruit, they just use it to flavor their water.

Later in the day at the grocery cooperative, I saw a display of Vitamin Water. “Wow, I wish they still had that lemon-cucumber one,” I thought.

Picture a lightbulb over my head. I bought a lemon, and a cucumber, which together cost less than a bottle of Vitamin Water. Each of the next few days, I put slices of both in my water bottle, refilling throughout the day, and washing thoroughly at night.

This is NOT an example of how I think I’m clever. In fact, I think it shows my mind is working at less than fantastic speed these days, no surprise given my depression. It is, though, an example of how my mind ties together this ‘n’ that, often around food-related things, (gossip magazine + sadness over defunct product + “this experiment doesn’t even require cooking” = “hey, look at me go”) and coughs up something interesting.

Yet another episode of Bones that made me go “meh”. And I don’t even think it was because anyone cried. We fast-forwarded through several scenes. The music was overpowering, the sentiment full of schmaltz, and the mystery both complicated and uninteresting. Not enough banter, and I suspect that episodes about Bones’s parents = bad. Plus there was no Stephen Fry, who is batting a thousand for the eps he appears in. Coincidence? I think not.

Ack, ack, and triple ack. I hated House last week. Two markers of a sub-standard House episode for me are 1. The case is more important than the banter 2. Somebody cries. Add to this that it was an episode about saving a fetus, that the fetus was shown not only in 3-D ultrasound, but also grabbing House’s hand, (Augh! Creepy animatronic fetus! So scary!) I was surprised to find any redeeming factors. On TV, I dislike shows that play the child-in-danger card, and the baby-in-danger card is worse. But for the show to strongly imply a pro-life stance really bothered this mother of two. There was some good banter, and we are now well and truly set up to see poor Chase get his heart broken. I just hope upcoming episodes are both more nuanced as to character, and less political in narrative. And that NO ONE FRAKKIN’ CRIES, ALREADY.

Except maybe Chase when he gets his heart broken by Cameron.

#10 in my 2007 book challenge was Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson. When I first read it, about ten years ago, I thought a reveal near the end undermined Atkinson’s conceit of Ruby as an unlimited-omniscient narrator. I was sure I’d never want to read it again, and gave away my copy. Happily, a new copy wasn’t hard to come by when I changed my mind. (I ask myself two questions when giving a book away: Am I likely to read it again? Will it be easy to get from a library or used book store if I change my mind?)

Three things made me reconsider Behind the Scenes. One was how much I enjoyed Atkinson’s Case Histories last year. Two was the high praise by the author of Mental Multivitamin, whose good opinion is not too freely given. And three was that a good friend of mine was reading it, so I’d have someone with whom to discuss it.

The ending didn’t bother me this time. I was also surprised to find how much I empathised with the character of Bunty, Ruby’s mother. I’m sure I didn’t do so the first time I read it, which was pre-marriage and very pre-children. Perhaps it’s my post-partum depression, but I found all the mothers and all the children very sympathetic on this read.

Bunty makes herself a cup of tea in the kitchen at the back of the Shop, relishing her few moments of morning solitude….My poor mother’s very disappointed by marriage, it’s failed to change her life in any way, except by making it worse. If I listen in on her airwaves I can hear an endless monologue on the drudgery of domestic life–Why didn’t anyone TELL me what it would be like? The cooking! The cleaning! The work!….And as for babies, well…the broken nights, the power struggles…the labour pains!

#9 in my reading challenge for the year was Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. For a long time, I thought Drake didn’t have sibling issues. Then Guppy started to crawl, and everything changed. This book was recommended to me by several parents, and I found it worthwhile. Like many of the people in the book, I wanted ideas to help the relationship between my kids, and the topics brought up a far wider range of relationships. I got insight into the dynamics between me and my kids, between my two kids, and between my kids and other kids. Interestingly, I also got a lot of insight into my relationships with my siblings and parents. I found it affirming to be reminded that parenting in general, and potentially loaded topics like sibling relationships especially, aren’t intuitive. The challenge, as with any self-help book, is to pick some of the advice and practice it. This book has a good number of suggestions, large and small, that are easy to understand and implement.

My husband G. Grod and I went out Saturday night, and a babysitter stayed with the boys. Since we often find dinner AND a movie rushed and stressful, we opted for just dinner, since life lately has been so busy and loud that we would welcome the chance to talk. We went to Midori’s Floating World, which is a lovely oasis of a Japanese restaurant in South Minneapolis. I go there when I’m feeling depleted; its menu is full of restorative gems. I drank the genmaicha green tea from their extensive tea menu, then I had the tempura rice balls, the green forest salad with kombu onigiri (sea vegetable rice ball), and green-tea over rice garnished with emerald flakes of nori. G. had a few nigiri rolls, the tempura California roll, and udon noodles with fried tofu.

After dinner we were well and truly full. Since we needed a little time before dessert, we browsed for watches at Uptown’s Lava Lounge, which is a way-more-hip store than either of us pretends to. But they do carry some fun watches. G. Grod liked this Vestal, the Nixon Graduate with blue face and black band, and the Nixon Banks with orange face. I liked the orange Chalet, and the girlishly impractical crystal Elle, which worked better worn a little large on my wrist.

We stopped next at Crema Cafe, home to Sonny’s ice cream. G. Grod had their signature flavor, Crema, which is espresso infused cream. After sampling the citrus/chili/kaffir lime sorbet, I went with the chocolate fudge ice cream; its slightly dry texture highlighted a good punch of chocolate.

Home again, we stayed up late to watch three episodes from the previous Thursday’s Toby-hosted, HR-nightmares Office marathon. I love the Office. It makes me laugh, though sometimes simulataneously while cringing.

It was a lovely night, but it felt a bit like payback when both boys woke at 4:30 a.m. demanding alternating attention, so each got a short nap later that morning, but neither G. Grod nor I did. We were very grouchy on Sunday.

My husband G. Grod forwarded me Carrie Rickey’s piece on Philly’s Ritz theaters, which may be acquired by Landmark. As with most buyouts of local indies, there’s the usual sturm und drang of “Boo, our independent [insert business type here] is gone and bought out by corporate goons.” While I don’t love Landmark theaters (in fact, I had one of my worst movie experiences ever at the Lagoon), I think they do a reasonable job of keeping up local historic theaters, programming good films, and offering good, albeit over-the-top expensive, concessions. Since I recall feeling similarly about the Ritz theaters, I hope there won’t be much change for folks in Philly.

I moved to Philadelphia sight unseen for my first “real” (i.e., salaried and with benefits) post-college job. I didn’t know anyone, and the Ritz theaters were like my first friends. Though I soon met good folks like JV and Rock Hack, it took a while to get sorted with friends; my job was demanding and required me to work many nights and weekends. Movies, which I’d recently learned to love (see #2), very ably filled the few cracks in my schedule. I was young and insecure enough to feel self-conscious when I went alone to restaurants and to dinner, but I quickly learned to like my own company.

At the time, there were only two Ritz theaters–the Bourse, and the Five on Walnut. (The East opened just before I moved away.) Though the screens were smallish, so were the theaters, which felt intimate. Each weekend, I’d look for the late showing of movies that sounded interesting to me. I was young enough that I could still stay awake for the 10 p.m. show; they weren’t the expensive naps they’ve become in later life. I learned that Chinese films are often depressing, and that Gong Li is beautiful, by watching Ju Dou. My first Alan Rickman movie was one in which he didn’t play a bad guy–Truly, Madly, Deeply. I remember beautiful images and intrusive scores from Marcel Pagnol’s autobiographical films, My Father’s Glory and My Mother’s Castle. I didn’t love every movie I saw at the Ritz theaters, but all were subsumed in my burgeoning love of film, which I continue to honor both by making movies a priority, and by going to see them at local movie houses like the Ritz.