Girl Detective

Outer Life did a typically thoughtful and funny entry on book binging, and book purging. He notes that genre books are an easy target.

As a practicing purger, I recognized the value of the genre tactic a while ago. Like OL, I got rid of all my McDonald Fletch books, even though the first and second were really good. I got rid of my Anne McCaffrey dragon books that were so compelling when I was a teen. Ditto with a bunch of bodice rippers.

I’ve done a pretty good job of borrowing books from the library rather than buying them; this has significantly reduced my book expenditures.

I wonder if book binging coincide with general upswings in the retail market, and hopeful feelings of consumers for the economy? Or, more interesting, could it have an inverse relationship?

#62 in my 2007 movie challenge was Superman II. I was pleasantly surprised at how well the first movie stood the test of time. I didn’t feel the same about the sequel, though it was mostly well reviewed.

The Kryptonian villains introduced in Superman are released from their virtual prison, and terrorize the earth. They do this at the exact time that Lois Lane uncovers Clark Kent’s secret identity. The scene in which Reeve switches from his Clark Kent persona to that of Superman as he reveals himself to Lois is a wonder. In an uneasy sequence, he readily gives up his powers, though Lois looks far less certain that he’s done the right thing, even before he gets his ass kicked in a diner. Eventually he contrives to restore his powers, and is conveniently able to cause amnesia in Lois with a kiss.

I found this movie much sillier and unbalanced than the first. I don’t know if it’s because Richard Donner was removed as director half way through, or if the end result simply wasn’t to my taste. But I found myself cringing many times during the movie, and not at scenes that were intended that way. Luthor’s plan and arrogance, the myriad and shifting powers of the Kryptonians, the ridiculousness of the several super-breath blowing scenes all detracted from what I felt to be the strengths of the film: the awkward vacillation between humanity and heroism, the chilling villains played by Terence Stamp and Sarah Douglas, and the doomed romance between Kent and Lane.

A Richard Donner cut of the film was released in 2006, since he shot much of the footage for the second simultaneously with the first film. This included all of Hackman’s scenes; Hackman did not return for the second film, even though he plays a prominent part. Also conspicuously absent are both the voice and visage of Brando, so the filmmakers could try to exclude him from profits. He sued, and they failed. Some of this footage was used in Bryan Singer’s 2006 Superman Returns, and is included in the Donner version of SII.

#62 in my 2007 movie challenge was the Christopher Reeve Superman, still one of the best superhero movies, ever. The more recent Superman Returns pales in comparison, proving that special effects are no compensation for the lack of the original’s compelling casting of Reeve, Kidder, and Hackman.

The beginning of the film sets the stage for the next film, and details the destruction of Krypton. Brando is a commanding presence, but his flat delivery hints at a paycheck. It is a full fifty minutes until Reeve appears in Metropolis as Clark Kent, meeting Kidder’s Lois Lane soon after. And it’s finally at the 1:10 mark that we see the title character himself, and the film takes off with him. Reeve does a fabulous job switching between the bumbling Clark Kent and his alter ego. The chemistry with Kidder is palpable, and nowhere more evident than in the rooftop interview, one of the most romantic movie scenes ever made. Unfortunately, it is followed by the cheesy Kidder voiceover as he takes her flying, set to the strains of “Can You Read My Mind,” which went on to become a high school band staple in the 80’s.

The DVD extras are worthwhile, especially Reeve’s screen tests. A relative unknown, his looks and charisma made him suited to the suit, not ridiculous in it. They also hint at the strength of character he would be known for later in life.

With apologies to Nora Ephron, and thanks to my friend A for the joke. I think I’ve pulled a muscle in my neck. I’m not sure if it was carrying a tantrum-ing Drake to the car after preschool, or struggling to pick up and hold a crying, arching Guppy in the middle of the night, but my neck, back and shoulder have seen better days.

Yesterday I went to get a massage. That afternoon, he said he wanted to watch a video.

“I think it will help your back feel better, Mom,” he announced, cannily.

Drake later announced to G. Grod that we’d been to the gym because I had a “cricket” in my back.

Today, he kept asking me if he could look at something, but I couldn’t understand his word through his lisp.

“Quick?” I guessed. “Click?” So he pulled out the back of my blouse, looked down and seemed satisfied that he’d seen something that was the “crick” in my back.

Having learned our lesson last week, our family went to the usual pizza place for dinner. After consuming a bottle of San Pellegrino Aranciata and maybe one piece of pizza (as opposed to last week’s pizza AND A HALF), 4yo Drake looked down at his distended belly and announced, “I’m fat!”

Drake has consistently been in the bottom third of weight percentiles, so he’s hardly that. G. Grod and I looked worried at one another about where he’d picked up this “fat” business, and immediately started damage control.

“No, you’re not fat. Your belly is full,” etc. Drake continued to repeat the word fat all the way to the car, so unfortunately we overdid it. Just as I gave a high sign and a whisper to G. Grod that we should drop it, Drake started chanting, “Fat, fat, fat, fat, fat!” at the top of his lungs while G. Grod and I stifled our laughs.

Wouldn’t you know it, but 19mo Guppy then joined the chorus, “Fah! Fah! Fah!”

Just when things started to settle down and I thought we were out of the woods, Drake changed subjects. He picked up the Justin Timberlake CD in the back, and crowed, “Sexy!”

G. Grod and I continued to swallow our grins, but we didn’t say a word. And because we ignored it, he stopped.

Edward Copeland explains the process in an introduction to a top-100 list of non-English language films. He kindly includes a list of the 22 runners up. (Links thank to ALOTT5MA)

Roger Ebert says the best way to become film literate is to go see great films. Thanks to Minneapolis’s Oak Street Cinema and my friends Big Brain and Blogenheimer, I’ve seen 21 of the top 100, and 6 of the 22 runners up. My love of film has grown along with my experience of it. Many more of these are languishing on our Tivo hard drive, or on our DVD shelf. I hope this list spurs us to finally watch them.

“Manhattan Project” SPOILERS AHEAD: Like Anthony Bourdain, I thought last night’s Top Chef ep was the best of the season thus far. Phil at ALoTT5MA also liked it a lot, and has good commentary. The contrasts between Casey and Hung were well highlighted, in both the quickfire and elimination challenges. Hung is the most cutthroat of the remaining competitors. He is classically trained, as he often snottily reminds us. Casey is not classically trained, but does a good job of executing modern dishes with classic influences. She is much more likeable than Hung, and she’s demonstrated over the past several episodes that she’s a talented chef.

The contrasts between the two of them and the other three were also well depicted. Brian clearly could have been either at the bottom of the tops, or the top of the bottoms, but he was squarely in the middle. And no matter how likeable Dale is–”I’m a big, gay chef, and I’m gonna outcook your a$$!”–that doesn’t account for the significant lapses he’s had, like forgetting a plate on the plane, and forgetting the sauce on his duo. Also, was he present earlier in the season when the judges derided one of the candidates for doing duets? And didn’t he learn a lesson from the boat episode, that one simple item is better than two complicated ones. To his credit, though, I don’t doubt that it’s hard, and I’m in a comfy viewing spot the day after the show and on my couch, not in a kitchen with professional chefs staring at me, and the most illustrious judging panel waiting for the dish.

I was relieved to see Sara eliminated rather than Dale, if only because he’s such a gigantic personality. Her dish looked good but sounded terrible, though I wondered if the couscous was good; I only heard it called underseasoned.

I very much enjoyed Casey’s comment on being a woman in what has been, and still largely is, a men’s club. Nowhere was this more evident than in the quickfire judge, Sirio Maccioni, saying that he’d like to pick her instead of Hung as the winner, because her dish was good AND she was pretty. Yet she faced down the stony-visaged kitchen chefs and stepped up to do a great job in both challenges. That indicated to me that she deserves to be there.

Does anyone else wonder how Lia and Tre would be doing, if they were still around? They seemed the most talented previous eliminations, to me.

The geek world celebrates Stephen Fry, a long-time gadget wonk, but a first time blogger about it. Am I the only one imagining him reading at least part of this entry aloud on Youtube?

Apparently the much-hyped Blade Runner Director’s Cut of the 90’s was no such thing. James Christopher at the Times Online (link thanks to Blogenheimer) wonders whether we needed a third version of Blade Runner, this one actually edited by Ridley Scott.

Should not such writing be subject to punishment?
–Thomas Mann, after reading Martin Heidegger

In grad school, I liked reading about Heidegger more than I liked reading Being and Time. I could tell, though, that great ideas lurked in the long, convoluted, translated-from-German sentences, which, apparently, weren’t any easier to read in German. The idea of an individual plunging into and out of the “them” of society held me in thrall. Later forgotten, that idea rose up the first time I saw The Matrix, and said, “Remember me?” I pulled down Being and Time, blew off the dust, and thumbed through for familiar sentences.

Heidegger, deservedly more than even Nietzsche, was often dismissed and derided in later academia because of his collaboration with the Nazis. This disturbing alliance also troubles Leland de la Durantaye, in an essay for Cabinet Magazine online. (link from Arts and Letters Daily) M, who blogs at Mental Multivitamin, has long favored considering work separately from its creator. Can Heidegger’s work–how can his work?–be considered apart from the political environment in which he created it? The thoughtful beauty in it, though, begs recognition on its own terms.

I visited my sister Sydney over the weekend, and she introduced me to the bizarre VH1 show, The Pick-up Artist. (Weren’t they worried that people might confuse it with the wretched Molly Ringwald/Robert Downey, Jr. movie of the same name?) The show is so sexist and staged that it’s hard to believe. A guy named Mystery instructs a cadre of young nerds in the tactics of seduction. Mystery is pierced and sports both eyeliner and black nail polish. He’s not my idea of a dream catch, but apparently he does well enough, since he has his own show and a book, too. Then again, I doubt I’m in their target market.

Each week the nerds are given a different assignment to impress women. The nerds I saw included a cute but antisocial Indian guy, an overweight but attentive guy, a good looking but painfully shy guy, and a fourth whose niche I couldn’t determine, but he seemed similar to “good looking but painfully shy” guy. The internet research I’ve done suggests the show is for real, or at least as “real” as reality-based shows get. Not recommended, unless you’re looking for a car-wreck type viewing experience.

For my husband it’s football season. For me, it begins with Entertainment Weekly’s Fall TV Preview. Since I’m a subscriber this year, it was delivered to my home, and I didn’t have to spend fruitless weeks scanning the shelves at Target, and harassing the booksellers at Barnes and Noble to see when it hit the stand.

This year, though, I’ve let a lot more TV-critic cooks in the kitchen of my what-to-watch debate. I started out with a long list. I pared it down to a short list. I think I’ve rebounded back up to a long list, though perhaps a slightly different one.

Aiding and abetting me in my Fall TV nerdish obsessing:

The girls at Everybody Loves Saturday Night

The vidiots at TeeVee

Maureen Ryan’s The Watcher at The Chicago Tribune

The new Variety television blog Season Pass, especially its geek-tastic critic’s pick chart

Returning shows I’m going to watch:

How I Met Your Mother (I picked this up in summer reruns; it’s hilarious)
Heroes
Bones
House
My Name is Earl
The Office
30 Rock (also started watching this summer; it’s also hilarious)
Friday Night Lights (can’t fight the acclaim any longer; I’ll start watching this fall)

After much rumination, I think I’m going to audition these new shows for my roster:

Monday, I’ll have to choose among The Big Bang Theory, Chuck, and Aliens in America, since my Tivo can only record two shows at once. (Oh, hardship.)

Tuesday has The Reaper.

Wednesday, I am geekily excited for Bionic Woman; Jaime Summers was one of my first childhood heroines. Even though reviews have been mixed, I’m hoping for a Battlestar Galactic-like reboot. Pushing Daisies is also getting mixed reviews, but sounds so divisive I’m wondering which end I’d fall on. And Peter Krause in Dirty Sexy Money seems like a no brainer.

Thursday I might check out Big Shots, because Veronica Mars creator Rob Thomas was brought on as a producer.

And Friday’s Women’s Murder Club might have potential.

The moment of truth: if I watch all these shows every week, my total weekly TV consumption will be, drumroll please….

Fourteen. Ack. An average of two hours per night. Forget it. I need to read, too. If only I can restrain myself, and leave others to uncover the trash and treasures, I may still make my book challenge by the end of the year.

I was surprised to find that I couldn’t find a list of the ten essential wardrobe items prescribed by Tim Gunn, on his new show Tim Gunn’s Guide to Style. Fortunately, the list wasn’t hard to find elsewhere, thanks to the Budget Babe. (I don’t call myself Girl Detective for nothing; Google is my friend.)

After my sister Sydney helped me rock Value City over the weekend, I own one of everything on this list except a trench coat. I think this short list could meet almost all the dress up/dress down occasions in life.

Tim Gunn’s 10 Essential Items Every Woman Needs
- Basic black dress
- Trench coat
- Classic dress pants
- Classic white shirt
- Skirt
- Blazer
- Day dress
- Cashmere sweater
- Jeans
- A comfortable alternative to a sweatsuit

Anthony Lane gushes over Leica cameras at the New Yorker, while Scott Beale from Laughing Squid anoints the Fuji Finepix F50SE as his favorite digital point-and-shoot model, ahead of the Leica-lensed Panasonic Lumix. (Links from Arts and Letters Daily and Boing Boing, respectively)

in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.

The Guardian reprints an excerpt of an interview with F. Scott Fitzgerald, who is so sad and garrulous he could be a character in one of his own books. (Link from Bookslut)

Is it me, or does this designer resemble Fitzgerald and his wild hair?

Meanwhile, 4yo Drake got bored with the Guppy on a Swing Show, so he went inside. Minutes later I heard a crash and a yell. I rushed to the porch. Drake was standing next to an upended shoe rack, which he’d obviously climbed up on and fallen off of.

Me: Are you OK?
Drake: Yes.
Me: Why were you climbing on the rack.
Drake points at the duster I’ve put up high.
Me, puzzled: What were you going to do with the duster?
Drake, looking at me as if I’m an idiot: Dust, mom.

Good for me that “sheesh” and “duh” are not in his vocabulary, yet.

19mo Guppy loves to swing. Last week he was on the jungle gym, and yelled, “Stah!” for stop, so I halted the swing. He grinned at me slyly, then said decisively, “Fing!” I began to push him again. He continued to exercise his will over what I did, with me in full collusion. We went through this cycle about a half dozen more times, then I laughed and asked him if I was a clown for his amusement.

He shook his head, “No, Da-yeh.”

“Dad is a clown for your amusement?” I asked to clarify.

He nodded his head twice, and said “Mmm-hmmm!”

#61 in my 2007 movie challenge was Hairspray, the movie musical. This is one of those movies that exemplifies how the “Oh, I don’t like so and so” reason for skipping a movie can result in a real loss. The director, Adam Shankman, has worked on some terrible films. I don’t like Johh Travolta, and the thought of him donning a fat suit and playing a woman was a significant deterrent to my seeing this movie. Imagine my surprise, then, when I liked both the movie and his performance, which was a touching portrait of a shy woman who became a recluse after she became severely overweight. Her daughter Tracy, played radiantly by Nikki Blonsky, draws her out of her shell, and both go on to a happy ending that isn’t marred by contrived weight loss. Christopher Walken and Michelle Pfeiffer were also great, and looked like they had a great time. This movie was a lot of fun. The songs were catchy, the dance numbers well choreographed, and the characters engaging.

#60 in my 2007 movie challenge was West Side Story, a long-unwatched movie gathering dust on our Tivo hard drive. It’s understandable we’d put it off; it’s not often we have enough time and energy for a three-hour movie. We split it into two nights. WSS is a riff on Romeo and Juliet, set in 50’s America and substituting racial tension for the rival families of the original play. It’s a film that I’m glad to have seen for it’s importance to my film literacy, but it wasn’t one I enjoyed a great deal. I found Natalie Woods’s accent especially irritating. Some of the musical numbers were great, and it’s important to note that musical movies simply weren’t done that way prior to this film. I liked the opening number, Natalie Woods’s “I Feel Pretty”, and Rita Moreno’s “America”. These were early on, though, and most of the following ones were not as lively. The studio freaked out when the original director, Jerome Robbins, choreographer and director of the Broadway show, looked to go over budget. They fired him after he’d completed four numbers (”Cool” in addition to the above mentioned three), and hired Robert Wise to complete the film. Both directors eventually shared the Best Picture Oscar. The result is a dated musical that occasionally sparkles with the possibility of what might have been.

ALoTTFMA compiled reader votes to come up with their top ten songs of the 90’s. I think they did a good job. For me, “Nothing Compares 2U” was a song from the beginning of a relationship, “You Oughtta Know” was the anthem for the end of it, “One” is the song that my next boyfriend and eventual husband G. Grod claimed was “they best song on the best album ever,” even though he’s a huge fan of Pearl Jam and “Jeremy”. And my best friends were REM geeks who so loved “Losing My Religion” that they learned to sing it in French, and did so at their favorite corner bar in Philly, Dooby’s. (They did that even when they weren’t drunk.)