Girl Detective

#46 in my 2007 movie challenge was Orson Welles’s The Lady from Shanghai. He co-starred with then-wife Rita Hayworth to raise money for the project he really wanted to be working on, a stage production of Around the World in Eighty Days.

Welles is an Irish bad boy with a shady past who falls literally in the path of Hayworth’s femme fatale, married to a rich, cruel, older, disabled man. With a bleached, short hairstyle that ages and homogenizes her striking looks, Hayworth is appropriately chilly as the removed object of Welle’s unwilling passion and sympathy. Like many noir works, the plot is not the thing, while the atmosphere is, and this film has lots of it. There is a claustrophobic boat cruise followed by twists and turns of loyalties and the truth. The end features a striking scene in a house of mirrors that may have been the first of its kind.

There is a curious lack of chemistry between Welles and Hayworth, which made sense when I learned they were soon to be divorced. Hayworth is not portrayed in a flattering light, either in appearance or character. In the end, Welles’s bitter, young loner finds that beauty and money aren’t meant to be his, and he is lucky to escape with his life and hard-earned experience. I can’t help but suspect that Welles was drawing from his own life in making this movie.

There is a remake in pre-production, slated to be directed by Wong Kar Wai (In the Mood for Love and Chungking Express) and rumored to star Nicole Kidman.

When I lived by myself after college, I had few belongings, and I cleaned my apartment weekly. It was usually both tidy and clean.

After I married, I cleaned bi-weekly, and usually kept things tidy.

After I had my first child, and after the first sleep-deprived, bewildering months, I cleaned about once a month, and had trouble keeping things tidy in our small apartment. The influx of baby clothes and toys made things more difficult. Our place was mostly clean, but cluttered.

After I got pregnant with a second child, things really went south. Cleaning fell to the bottom of the priority list. We’d moved into a two-story house with a finished basement. While we didn’t have a lot of square feet, it was still double what we’d had before. We had more clothes, and more toys. We’d accumulated more things, since we had more space to put it in. Our house was neither clean nor tidy.

After I was diagnosed with post-partum depression, my sister Sydney kindly offered to help by paying for a cleaning service. I gratefully accepted, though I was stricken with guilt. Shouldn’t I clean my own house? But since I was struggling inwardly with my emotions and outwardly with parenting, I decided to accept whatever help was offered, and try NOT to feel guilty about it.

Then, as my depression lessened with treatment, my guilt crept back. Shouldn’t I be able to clean my own house? Especially since I now would have a few days to myself with the boys at daycare? I decided to have someone in once more, and see how it went.

It went beautifully. She cleaned while I organized. I got around to projects I’d put off for years. I realized why I’m so bad at cleaning my own house: I can’t just clean. I stop to put things away, or I do laundry AND clean, or I slow down when I have to figure out what to do with something. The benefit of having someone else clean was I could set the priorities (bathrooms, then kitchen floor, then dusting, then vacuuming) and she did them efficiently in that order. She had no connection to what was in her way. I could spend time on the things that usually interrupt my attempts to clean while she cleaned. It was a good combination.

I still feel unreasonably guilty that I am not able to cook, clean, read, write, and care for the boys even if just part time. But seeing that it’s a tandem working relationship, with me organizing while someone else cleans, feels like a much better, and healthier, interpretation.

Thanks, SFP! (at Pages Turned)

Here are a few female friends who I think rock

Becca

Rock Hack rocks both literally and figuratively

Sars at Tomato Nation

Lisa at The Rage Diaries

Dawn at Avenging Sybil

Camille at Book Moot

Link thanks to SFP at Pages Turned:

This rating was determined based on the presence of the following words:

* hell (3x)
* sex (2x)
* ass (1x)

More discouraging recall new for parents. Veggie Booty, a staple snack in our family that Guppy particularly loves, has been linked to cases of Salmonella. Throw out any bags of Veggie Booty in your house, and keep an eye on your little ones for symptoms.

We have no Booty in the house right now, and though 16mo Guppy has eaten it regularly for many months now, he hasn’t gotten sick.

For the past several years, and the past three domiciles, I’ve wanted to get organized, and catch up on all the magazines, and bibs and bobs of paper and photos that have accumulated over the last decade (ulp!) or so. Two moves and two children made getting my act together all the more difficult. I’ve got boxes full of drifting and shifting piles.

I am beginning to suspect that if I am ever to make a dent in the backlog, I’ll just have to throw all the old stuff out without looking at it or reading it, and then more fiercely police what comes into the house. Already I’ve reduced our magazine subscriptions to four, I recycle whatever we can, I donate frequently, and I take superfluous books to Half Price Books. On bad days, it feels as if I’m barely making a dent, which is further reason for me to consider a virtual fire of all the old stuff, and start anew.

During my recent Arizona vacation, I had the opportunity to ride a cute pink bike that belonged to my friend Becca . I bought a cute pink helmet and I got on a bike for the first time in over fifteen years.

I enjoyed it so much I visited Behind Bars Bicycle Shop with my husband when I got back to Minnesota, and I got a cute bike of my own. G. Grod has been giving Behind Bars much of our disposable income since last year when he bought a bike and began commuting the 13 miles each way to work a few times a week, though not during winter (Nov. to Apr., approximately).

Our family now has four regular vehicles: a Nissan Maxima, a Mountain Buggy Urban Double stroller, G’s bike (a Redline 925) and my new bike, a yellow Sun Retro Aluminum Cruiser. Our one-car life is working out even better now that I have wheels of my own.

Sars at Tomato Nation writes about the perfect orange/vanilla ratio. Like Sars, I’m a longtime fan of all things Creamsicle-y.

From Wikipedia:

Creamsicle is a brand name, also owned by Unilever, for a frozen dessert which resembles an ice pop, with a center composed of vanilla ice cream, and an exterior layer of flavored ice frozen around a wooden or plastic stick. Popular flavors for Creamsicles include orange and raspberry.

American National Creamsicle Day is celebrated on 14 August annually.

I loved the Hostess orange cupcakes far more than their chocolate counterparts. Homemade orange cupcakes with cream cheese frosting are a healthier version of them. I recently made a float of Sonny’s blood orange sorbet in a glass of Natural Brew Vanilla Creme Ale. The orange scones at Au Bon Pain and Barnes and Noble have helped me when I’m craving that orange/vanilla combo. I haven’t gone as far as Sars did to pursue orange/vanilla perfection, but I can empathize with the worthiness of her quest. I am now off to make a Creamsicle Smoothie, recipe from Cooks Country, 8/2005.

Creamsicle Smoothie

Makes 5 1/2 cups
1 (12-ounce) can frozen orange juice concentrate
2 small bananas , roughly chopped (about 1 1/2 cups)
1 1/2 cups vanilla yogurt
1/2 cup orange juice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Mix all ingredients in blender until smooth.

I recently took a three-week vacation. My sons Drake and Guppy stayed with G. Grod’s kind, brave parents. I went to an Arizona spa for a week, spent a weekend with a friend and her sister, then the remainder of the week on my own in their AZ condo, and returned to MN for a week with G., sans kids. It was part of my recovery process from the depression I became mired in after Guppy was born, sixteen months ago.

Both during and after this vacation, I felt more balanced, happy, and possessed of clear insight than I have ever in my life. This vacation was life changing.

Three Things:

1. I was burned out after three years as a full-time caregiver, first for Drake, and later with Guppy.

2. I became burned out as a full-time caregiver because I am

a. Introverted: small children have many needs, which don’t allow for much down time.
b. Irritible: small children scream, fight, and defecate frequently. It may be normal, but I still find it irritating.
c. Intellectual: caring full-time for small children leaves little time for my own intellectual pursuits, though my book and movie challenges remind me to keep trying.

3. Finding balance involves no longer being the full-time caregiver for my kids. We are trying a nearby 3-day-a-week home daycare that is off to a promising start. This will allow me quiet time to pursue work in writing and teaching. It also enables me to better enjoy the time I do have with my family.

Since I’ve been back we’ve played more, laughed more, and hugged more. There has been far less frustration and yelling on everyone’s part. The time away, which some might view as selfish and overlong, has had an enormous positive impact on all of us.

The Wall Street Journal details the new industry around baby names, and credits some of the rising demand to the internet. (Link from Arts & Letters Daily.) I don’t think it’s out of line for parents to care deeply about choosing a good name for their child(ren). Names are important, and they’re difficult and costly to change.

When we were expecting our first child, my husband G. Grod and I never bought a baby name book, but we did search the internet for ideas. I had one hard, fast rule: no names after living relatives–too confusing, and prone to hurt feelings. I had a strong preference to use names to connect to family heritage. G. Grod wanted names with hard consonants, since he has none in his surname. He also wanted to consider the name of the Philadelphia Eagles quarterback, Donovan. We made a list, and told anyone who asked what was on it, even though we were pretty sure what the name was going to be. We got lots of feedback, but it didn’t change our decision one jot.

We waited until Drake was born to confirm his name. His first and second names are family names of both G. Grod and me, his third name is my last name, as I didn’t take G’s when we married, and his fourth name is G’s surname. (No hyphens.)

We did things a bit differently when we were expecting our second child. As before, we chose to find out the sex (FYI, gender is NOT the same as sex) at the 20wk ultrasound. They didn’t have to look hard; both boys were exhibitionists. I had hoped for a girl, if only because I really liked the name I’d picked: Judith (after my father’s late sister, who died young of breast cancer) and Mariah (the middle name of my maternal great-grandmother, a strong willed woman who outlived three husbands.)

Once we knew it was a boy, we picked possible names, but didn’t share them, since I didn’t want to know what others thought. We first picked names we liked, then checked to see if they were on family trees; they were. Guppy’s first name is one that a few people I knew had chosen as a middle name. It was also the name of one of my maternal grandfather’s brothers. His second name is the pseudonym of an author G. and I both admire, whose real name is shared by both my sister and a dear friend. It was also a name from G.’s stepfather’s family tree. Again, his third name is my surname, and his fourth is G’s surname.

I like the names we picked. The names work well in full, or shortened. Interestingly, Drake often tells us his name is Donovan, so perhaps we made the wrong choice after all.

Like Lauren at television blog Everybody Loves Saturday Night, I’m very much missing Bravo’s Project Runway, but Top Chef is ably filling my guilty pleasure of reality television. Like PR, TC has a room full of artists who are given escalatingly inventive challenges each week. They face time and budget constraints. In the end their creations are judged by a panel that includes chef Tom Colicchio, Padma Lakshmi (married to Salman Rushdie, and who flaunts a long scar on her right arm that she got from an auto accident), Gail Simmons of Food & Wine magazine, and a guest judge, most often Ted Allen, formerly of Queer Eye. The TC judges panel is nowhere near as snarky as that of PR, but there’s still lots of criticism that might not be entirely constructive.

The first two shows’ eliminations weren’t suprising. Both Clay and Sandee were much less experienced than other chefs in the competition. While Tre seems to be an early favorite (not unlike Michael Knight of PR3), I think Hung might be the chef to beat.

What engages me about both shows is how creativity and performance can either bloom or wilt under pressure. I couldn’t do what they do, but I enjoy watching what they do.

In the Twin Cities, Northwest Airlines has a lock on the market. This often means decent prices, sometimes means awful prices (my family always gripes; they urge me to move to the hub city of a better airline), but doesn’t leave us much choice. It does, though, allow for nonstop flights almost anywhere, a bonus when traveling with kids. My NWA experiences have been better than not, but this recent piece at Freakonomics has me concerned about upcoming travel.

Edward Copeland creates a top 100 list of his own that I find much better than AFI’s. (Link thanks to A List of Things Thrown Five Minutes Ago.) While Copeland’s list does include the Coen brothers’ Miller’s Crossing, I still found some of my favorite films missing. I feel a list of my own percolating, though I’m not sure if I have the stamina or follow through to come up with 100.

The New York Times joins the book weeding discussion. There are some good suggestions, but I have a few others.

1. Give away your books in the easiest way you can. I take mine to Half Price Books. If they want them, they give me money. If they don’t, they recycle them. Selling, sending, giving some books here and others there is a fine idea. But it’s going to take more time and effort just to rid yourself of something you’re done with already.

2. Most used books won’t bring much, if any money. Why? Because if you don’t want them, chances are others won’t, either. Don’t argue with the person at the used book store. They are not living in a mansion on the profits from your National Geographics.

Weeding books now, and not missing them later, are wonderful things.

For Fathers Day, I got G. Grod a chimney starter for the charcoal grill our neighbor kindly gave to us. Since I’d never used a chimney starter, and all recipes said they took 20 to 30 minutes to ready the briquettes, I figured I should start prepping before G. Grod got home from work, or we’d be eating past Drake and Guppy’s bedtimes.

I had this lovely, rose-tinged picture in my head that Guppy would play quietly in the backyard, while I got Drake to help with the briquettes, and then both would be well away by the time any fire was involved.

I can be such a moron.

First, I didn’t realize the grill was full of ash. Both Drake and Guppy were fascinated by this. I tried to involve Drake in the cleanup, but while my attention was diverted, Guppy rushed in, grabbed a handful of ash, and stuffed it in his mouth.

Unwilling to abandon my mission, I started throwing balls across the yard to get Guppy to chase them. Yes, like Seth Rogen did in Knocked Up, I was playing fetch with my child.

Drake loves numbers, so I asked him to help me count out the briquettes. He so enjoyed throwing them into the starter, though, that he quickly lost count. Further, when he discovered that his hands were blackened by the charcoal (”Cool!) he rubbed his arms and legs with briquettes. I did finally manage to get the starter filled, and keep Drake and Guppy away while I lit it. I then hustled them both inside.

I snapped at Drake not to touch anything till we got to the shower to wash him off. No surprise, there were little black handprints all the way to the bathroom. I did get him clean eventually.

By the time G. Grod arrived, the briquettes were ready to go. He looked at me in disbelief.

“I didn’t expect you to start it till I got here.”

Somehow, I was not able to summon any pride in the accomplishment.

“We’re never grilling again,” I spit out, to his amusement.

One of many insights from my recent vacation:

There will ALWAYS be too much to do.

Choose not to. Instead, be. Spend a day a week (why not Sunday?) trying NOT to do tasks. Instead, read, rest, nap, play, think, laugh, love.

The to-do stuff will be there on Monday, and I’ll be more willing to wade into the fray if I’ve given myself a break.

(With a nod of thanks to M. at Mental Multivitamin, who often expresses this sentiment in different ways.)

Yes, I know you have that joke elsewhere, too.

There are lots of road closings for construction in the Twin Cities area this weekend and beyond, so plan your routes in advance. (Thanks to Jim Walsh for the heads up.)

There’s a kerfuffle about the AFI’s updated list of the 100 Best American Movies. Like all lists, it is a tool to foment discussion, not to define tastes. I’ve written before about the stupidity of lists, and the propensity of we bloggers (us bloggers?) to get our undies in a twist

I don’t agree with Roger Ebert about Fargo. I’ve only seen it once, and since I live in the mocked MN, I should see it again, but I remember it as prohibitively violent for my medium-delicate sensibilities.

That the Coen Brothers are not represented is the thing to me: O Brother Where Art Thou, Miller’s Crossing, and their first, Blood Simple, all impressed me greatly. Where are other of my favorite directors, like John Sayles, and Terence Malick? Added later: Michael Mann? Steven Soderburgh?

It’s not a great list; I think it confuses popularity or cultural relevance with greatness. Also, I’m interested in how many women were on the voting panel. This seems a very guy-oriented list. Yes, like literature guys have had the power, so the best-ofs will be weighted in their favor, but there are women making good movies. I agree with Carrie Rickey about Clueless, which I found surprisingly substantive.

Time Out’s Centenary Top 100 is my favorite film list; I wish they would’ve updated this one. I buy the Time Out film guide annually, and I check the Time Out online site for reviews of current movies.

Jon Carroll of the San Francisco Chronicle is getting rid of books, (link thanks to Pages Turned) and feels the same way about John Burdett’s Bangkok 8 and Bangkok Tattoo as I do:

“Bangkok Tattoo” by John Burdett. Here’s an interesting phenomenon. I thought Burdett’s previous book, “Bangkok 8,” was just wonderful. I was eager to read his second book. It’s exactly like the first book, only not as good. It’s like seeing a magic show twice in one night — you know what to look for, and it begins to feel like a cheat. But hell: One good book is more than I’ve ever written.

Unlike Carroll, though, I haven’t got rid of BT. I’ve written before about the difficulty of weeding. A few questions help me:

1. Am I likely to read it again?
2. Am I likely to refer to it again? (This learned after giving away my Hegel and Heidegger texts. D’oh.)
3. Is it out of print, difficult to find used, or not at the library?

If I answer yes to any of those, the book stays. I’ve made mistakes over the years (I’m currently wishing I hadn’t given away my copy of Bharati Mukhergee’s The Holder of the World) yet I can count on my fingers the number of deacquisitions I’ve regretted, in contrast to the gazillion I am glad to be rid of.

#20 in my 2007 book challenge was the 1474-page A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth.

But I too hate long books: the better, the worse. If they’re bad, they merely make me pant with the effort of holding them up for a few minutes. But if they’re good, I turn into a social moron for days, refusing to go out of my room, scowling and growling at interruptions, ignoring weddings and funerals, and making enemies out of friends. I still bear the scars of Middlemarch. (p. 1371-2)

My friend Thalia recommended A Suitable Boy to me to me at least a decade ago; it was so huge that I couldn’t work up the gumption even to buy it. But since Thalia was instrumental in helping me realize a recent three-week vacation (more on this, soon), I figured it was past time to honor her recommendation.

A Suitable Boy centers on a number several families and their criss-crossing lives. It’s set in post-Gandhi India. Family ties, and the tension between the Muslim and Hindu citizens of the newly independent country are two of the many themes that structure this complex, enriching and satisfying novel. I not only enjoyed the experience of reading ASB, but I also learned a great deal about a critical juncture in India’s history.

I also acquired an appreciation for the practice of bringing only one very long book on vacation. It allowed me a deep, focused reading experience and helped to situate me in a simple, relaxing, few-decisions-to-make, one-thing-at-a-time groove. All my reading life, I’ve fretted over what and how much reading material to bring on trips. I did the one-big-book-for-vacation thing once before, with Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon, and had a similarly joyous reading experience. It takes some care, and some trust in the recommender, to choose the book. But it’s low risk, since bookstores, and other book sources (like informal resort libraries, personal collections, or other reading vacationers who are happy to pass on their just-read items) are often at hand. For my next trip, I’m considering Middlemarch, Mansfield Park, Bleak House and Anna Karenina.