Avatar: the visual feast that doesn't quite satisfy

I first knew Avatar as "that movie that forced the film adaptation of an animated show I really like to change its title by dropping everything but the subtitle, The Last Airbender", to be released next summer. James Cameron had been off my radar for years, since he hasn't directed a film since 1997, and I honestly thought he was washed up. But then I heard about all of his technical innovations, the amazing visual effects, etc. Which fortunately did not disappoint. Avatar was my first 3-D film, and is hands down the most stunning visual experience I've had at the movies. Too bad the story isn't of the same caliber.

I'm assuming everyone is already acquainted with the premise.

Avatar has a lot in common with Cameron's other films, at least the ones I've seen. A simple, straightforward story with characters that aren't complex, but are compelling enough to keep you invested in the next two or three hours. Also true to Cameron's form, there is a lot of cheesy dialogue, but the acting is natural and direction solid enough that the badness doesn't stick out as much as it would under George Lucas another directorial hand. The unfortunate part is the politically correct, cliched storyline with villains with no more dimension than the first Terminator.

The film has a lot going for it. Not only the visual effects, but the narrative style is excellent. The editing is impressive; I didn't feel like a moment of camera time was wasted. The documentary style of flipping between Jake Sully's experiences and his recordings gives the film the gritty feel it needs to succeed. This is no Transformers. And the shift between Jake's avatar identity being a sort of dream world, to his primary identity is very well done. One could feel a flicker of his confliction about the double role he was playing--but no more than a flicker, because this is a James Cameron film. Characters are more like archetypes rather than living, thinking people. Cameron's magic is in how he gets the audience to identify with those types, immersing ourselves more fully in the world he created than if we were watching someone we could sit down and have a conversation with. But with any archetype, you often know the decisions they're going to make before they make them, and if there's cracks in the world, it doesn't quite make it.

It's the middle section that sags into Dances With Wolves-meets-Fergully-meets-Pocahantas. And that's boring.

The third act is definitely an improvement--what an exhilarating battle! It makes full use of the gadgets and alien species that were set up at the beginning. The Transformer/Iron Monger robots are effective, because they make sense and look much more realistic than their comic book cousins. The CGI animals are surprisingly lacking in the hokeyness you expect from alien predators in most science fiction movies; they look like they really belong in the ecosystem you see. Everything--the organic and machine, the live-action and CGI, meshes perfectly well.

Even with the cliche story, it would have worked for me had there been more to the opposition than white supremacy, corporate greed, and military warmongering. Surely Cameron could've at least tried to come up with something better in the decades he was working on this project!

The acting is solid. I've never seen Sam Worthington in anything else, but what a voice! And Zoe Saldana sure had a good year with this, in addition to Star Trek. I always enjoy Sigourney Weaver, and Giovanni Ribisi did what he could to make his dumb role entertaining. I didn't expect to like Michelle Rodriguez, but her part was actually pretty funny. The most pleasant surprise was Wes Studi (aka Magua) as the Na'vi chief. Too bad he wasn't there to argue when Jake made his speech via interpreter to the Na'vi, very reminiscent of The Last of the Mohicans.

James Horner's score is serviceable, but mostly recycled. There is a particular triple grace note played by a solo trumpet, that has been around since Willow at least, that appears so often during sinister moments in Horner's scores that it seems to have become his personal Wilhem scream.

By all means see Avatar, if you haven't already, for the experience. But only expect goodness, not greatness.

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Creamy Shrimp Scampi

also known as PJ Shrimp, or Shrimp Scandalously Delicious!

My roommate and I were at Walmart at nearly midnight last night trying to decide what we wanted to make for Sunday dinner as a precursor to It's a Wonderful Life and tree decorating. All I could think of at the late hour was how sick I was of chicken, salmon, and how I shouldn't eat beef and am not partial to pork. We settled on shrimp and angel hair. On the way home this afternoon though, we tried to figure out what exactly we could concoct with the things we had in the house. This is the invention that Allison, Sam, Garrett, and I came up with, and it was a winner!


Ingredients (measurements are approximate):
Angel Hair Pasta

Sauce
1 8ou Block of Cream Cheese
2 T Butter
1 c. Milk
1 t. Garlic

Shrimp Mixture
2 T. Olive Oil
1/3 c. Chopped Onions
2 lbs. Shrimp, thawed and shelled
2 T. Lemon Juice
salt
pepper
lemon pepper
cayenne pepper
1 Roma Tomato, diced
1/4 c. Scallions

To make the sauce, melt the cream cheese and butter in a pot, stir until creamy, about 10 minutes. Stir in garlic and milk, simmer for 3 more minutes. Add more milk or cornstarch to change consistency, if desired.

To cook the shrimp mixture, heat the olive oil in a skillet. Saute onions and garlic, then add shrimp. Season to taste with salt, pepper, lemon pepper, and cayenne. Cook 2 minutes, then add lemon juice. Continue cooking until shrimp is pink. Stir in tomatoes and scallions until heated. Remove from heat.

Mix the sauce with the shrimp, then toss with the pasta. Garnish with more scallions. Serve with garlic bread and salad, and enjoy!


I won't detail our failed asparagus experiment, due to the vegetables being too old.
Note: the beverage in the photograph is Apple Cranberry juice.

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The Handsome Stranger

I had heard of The Vicar of Dibley, but never watched a bit of it, having heard enough about the content typical of English television shows to want to avoid them. But in the comments of Austenblog I stumbled upon a conversation about the merits of Richard Armitage in roles other than his smoldering John Thornton of North & South. If he was even better in a guest appearance on the Vicar of Dibley, I was so there. So I watched the final two episodes (available in a set on a DVD called "A Wholly Happy Ending") of the show for the shallowest of reasons. Was I ever less disappointed!


The first five minutes of "The Handsome Stranger" was only mildly amusing to a viewer with no investment in the characters. All I knew about the premise was that it was about a female vicar in a small town. The next scene was really funny, while rather sacrilegious in it's discussion of The DaVinci Code. But when the title character, Geraldine Granger, decides to pay a visit to a new townee fresh from London, intending to tell him to take his city ways back to where he belongs, the real laughs begin. Out walks Richard Armitage, not only tall and handsome, but also practically perfect in every way. I am not even kidding. His sole purpose is to be the dreamiest man imaginable for our feisty vicar, and does he deliver! They flirt adorably, misunderstandings ensue, and then the inevitable happens, each scene making me laugh more than the last.

Not only is this episode absolutely hilarious (the best part being a hysterical reference to Emma Thompson's Sense & Sensibility), but it is refreshing to see "the fat girl" with an awesome personality getting a picture perfect man. I really wish I could detail all of the comedy, but you should really just watch it for yourself.

After this episode I was ready to watch all ten seasons of the show. I was laughing so hard I either didn't notice, or promptly forgot most of the more adult dialogue. The next episode however, "Vicar in White", is another story. It so disgusted me with one raunchy gag after another that I now have no desire to watch any more. It didn't stop me from making my sister watch "The Handsome Stranger" with me, though--which does just fine as a stand-alone. Although it was no less funny the second time around, I did realize how very PG-13 it is. Still highly recommended, and required viewing for Richard Armitage fans!

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Emma 2009

English period films are one of my specialties. Unless I see universally negative reviews, or have a fear of becoming suicidal (thank you Tess Durbeyfield, but I will never watch another one of your incarnations) I almost always catch the latest offerings on PBS or Netflix. With Jane Austen adaptations though, I can't even seem to wait until they are legit in my region. Part of that is because I know her books better than ever so many others, but also because, being the source of the modern day romantic comedy structure, they lend themselves particularly well to adaptation. So yes, I have seen Emma '09, to be broadcast on PBS in January, starring Romola Garai, Johnny Lee Miller, and...Michael Gambon!

I had mixed expectations. Emma is my least favorite Austen novel (even being aware that in some ways it is her most accomplished), but I have a strong affection for Romola Garai and of course Michael Gambon. I'm becoming weary of the trend to sensationalize classic stories these days but I also enjoy seeing a fresh take, which the early reviews indicated there was much to be had in this one--not necessarily for the good. Altered dialogue and modern manners galore!

I’m not someone who cares overly much that dialogue is changed, providing the new insertions are good (Sense & Sensibility '95, anyone?). But this was not the case with Emma '09. I have a mostly love/slightly annoyed relationship with North & South, and appreciate Jane Eyre '06, even while it bothers me how much Sandy Welch changed and modernized (bland-ized?) things in both. I think the difference between those two and Emma, is that the previous two are all Victorian-repressed-passion-threatening-to-burst-any-moment, while Emma is supposed to be a light, witty comedy. Most of the comedy in this version fell flat. It was disappointing to be reminded of the Gwyneth Paltrow version scene after scene, of how superior the comic timing is in that one–especially when I can’t stand Paltrow’s affected performance! Sandy Welch should really stick to manipulative dramatics, rather than attempting humor.

Part of that problem was the direction, though. There were a LOT of missed opportunities for visual humor, and if the direction was better some of the dialogue might have come off funnier. The direction just sucked, in my opinion. There were so many awkward pauses and transitions where the actors looked like they didn’t know what to do with themselves. The pacing plodded from time to time, which might have been helped if they’d done a 3 hour production instead of 4. No sense in including every scene from the book if they’re boring to watch on film.

I liked both Romola Garai (even though she overdid it at parts) and Johnny Lee Miller, although I did have to remind myself a few times to not think of Jeremy Northam's almost universally favored Knightley '96. Miller's Knightley is most certainly not the same character of the book. I think the filmmakers have begun to extend Fanny Price syndrome to Knightley--a perfect gentleman (translate: stodgy) in his late thirties cannot possibly be appealing to modern audiences, much less an exciting match for a girl of *gasp* twenty-two! Altered Knightley nothwithstanding, most of the actors were fine (Harriet Smith was terrible, and this Jane Fairfax couldn't hold a candle to Olivia Williams pitch-perfect performance in the other 1996 version), but hardly a standout performance for any of them. Oh, and it bothered me that Emma and Harriet’s coloring was exactly the same. By the time Mrs. Elton showed up I was almost blinded by the abundance of platinum blondes!

Now for the things I did appreciate. As I said, I'm on the lookout for a fresh take, and this one did have its moments. A dinner scene early on where Emma kept trying to get Mr. Knightley’s attention was really funny. And I loved the parts where Emma did everything she could to ease the tension at various gatherings, particularly between Mrs. Elton and John Knightley. That hit home to me, because I feel like I have to do that sometimes. I usually resort to stupid jokes that certainly don’t reflect well on me, but it’s better than dealing with the alternative.

Finally, the Box Hill scene was every hostesses nightmare. Everyone was in a bad mood, and the party just wasn’t getting off the ground. As a person who has never been the life of the party, I am often afraid of hosting anything for fear that no one will have a good time. The planning it takes to make something like that successful–inviting people you know will get along, but restricting it to a manageable number without leaving anyone out–is such a relevant issue even today. It struck me for the first time how much more difficult it was in that situation because Highbury was so isolated, and Emma even more so because of her class. She literally had to be friends with the Eltons because she didn’t want to alienate everyone else in her circle. Even worse for Jane Fairfax, who didn’t have any apparent friends. Anyway, I could easily identify with Frank and Emma’s tragic attempts to start a lively conversation.

My verdict on the whole production is: bland, but enjoyable. As I said before, Emma has never been my favorite Austen story and honestly, having witnessed two Austen revivals, I’m relieved to not have another miniseries to add to my shelf that I’ll never have time to watch. It does however, make me interested to reread the book. If I make it a priority it may just happen in the next two years.

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Lost in Austen

There are two kinds of Jane Austen fans: those who like her stories because people like Mr. Darcy make their hearts go pitter-patter, and those who love her tongue-in-cheek narrative voice; characters with clearly defined, yet universally identifiable traits; and some of the wittiest social interactions ever written. I fall somewhere in the middle, relying on the books for the second pleasure, and the films for a mixture of the two. I do tend to fall on the critical side as an Austen adaptation consumer, as is evident both here and in my next post.

Lost in Austen, a fan-fiction fantasy come to screen, is definitely for the first kind of Austen fans only. I watched it about eight months ago, and am only now reviewing it at the request of the good el Seco. Lost in Austen introduces us to Amanda Price, a typical modern-day English girl with modern-day morals (or lack thereof), but who yearns for the peace and order and romance of her beloved Pride & Prejudice (the 1813 version). What does she awaken to find one night, but Elizabeth Bennet in her bathroom! As it turns out, there is a secret passageway between Amanda's apartment and Longbourne. To make things short, Amanda and Elizabeth switch places, Amanda is stuck in Regency England trying to justify her presence and manners, and to contain her strange lusts and disgusts for Mr. Bingley and Mr. Collins, respectively. But a tale of pure wish fulfillment such as this can only revolve around one man...Edward Cul--I mean Fitzwilliam Darcy! Amanda watches as her Pride & Prejudice unravels around her. Characters make the wrong marriages, secrets are unearthed that Austen wisely censored from the original documentation. But while watching her perfect dream world crumble around her, Amanda wonders if it is really Elizabeth she wants to reunite with Mr. Darcy.

The production values of this series is not very high, to say the least. The acting is mostly on the goofy side, the plot runs mostly on gags. It would have been so much more worthwhile if they'd cut an hour to make it feature film length. Three hours is just too long to watch Pride & Prejudice be massacred, literally and figuratively. One particular gag however, is what makes the entire thing worth watching. I don't want to give anything away, but what girl, when she gets her very own Darcy, wouldn't lure him into a pond so he can resurface à la Colin Firth?

And yes, two worlds have collided. Elizabeth Bennet is a Bond girl.

The ending rubbed me the wrong way, for the simple reason that I read too much into things that shouldn't be read into. Pride & Prejudice is a story. A great one, but a story nonetheless. Darcy is a character--a character rather limited in facets, at that. *SPOILER*And we're supposed to buy that Amanda has been in love with him through the book for years? I'm sorry, that's just so...Twilight. I for one, wouldn't be caught dead in Regency England, privileged or non-privileged, with its restrictive rules, limited choices for women, invaried society, ultimately BOREDOM! So I found her choosing wish fulfillment, shallow romance and cheap escape at the end, instead of living her life the way she dealt it to be rather disappointing.*END SPOILER*

Lost in Austen is a fun romp, but the fun wears thin after a while--especially when you wish it could have been a postmodern commentary on fan-fiction and fanaticism. Recommended only for non-purists who have lots of time on their hands.

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A (not so) mini update

I felt the need to express my healthy vitality online, but don't have much to write about without having too much to write about. Meaning, there are too many details to life right now to even begin. I go through phases of wanting to shrink into a hole or run to another state, and happier phases. It's usually during the negative times when I feel like writing, but those are also the times when I have too much to do to devote the time to a post.

The last couple of weeks have been a little rough. A lot has been going on a both church and work. I've discovered how very flawed I am, not in ways that matter only to me personally, but in ways that matter to the work I have to do, the people I am trying to work for. I'm trying to be better. The good thing is, at least it's a concrete busy, not a I-know-I-should-be-doing-something-but-I'm-not-exactly-sure-what busy like at the beginning of the summer. For instance, a whole slew of new people have moved into my branch, who need to be made welcome, and given something to do.

Last week I assumed leadership of a team at work. That, in addition to being chair of a committee. That makes three leadership positions I'm in, all over the course of four months. I never thought I would be able to handle such responsibility, but I am shocked at how well things have come together over the past few months, even though I've made a fool of myself more than once in different capacities.

It's an interesting feeling to look forward to the week so that you can catch up on sleep, rather than the weekends. It's also an interesting feeling to think "What a laid back day this is! No meetings, just one instruction session" when a few months ago I would break into a sweat at the thought of an instruction session. Also, the disconnect between the week and the weekend hasn't gone away. I still have to think for a few minutes when on Monday mornings someone asks me what I did over the weekend. Or someone on the weekend asks me how my work week was.

The other thing that happened is that one of my best friends, the best friend I've had where I live, just finished her thesis and moved. I'm actually really glad I have the distraction of being obligated to be friendly with other people, because this would be extremely hard otherwise (the pain of separation has been somewhat gradual, since she has lived with a family member and been rather antisocial the past few months). As it was, I still cried after I said goodbye to her yesterday. Then I read The Only Alien on the Planet and cried some more.

See, I've realized that, even though I don't consider myself a socially inept weirdo anymore, I still feel different from others. Does everyone feel as different as I do? Perhaps. Most people have interests or passions or traits that are outside the norm. I wonder if I just have too many of them. And I realized just recently that not a lot of people get my sense of humor. I mean, the sense of humor I only show with people I'm close to. In one particular instance, it was a mostly-joking intellectual snobbery. Do I need to weed my mind of all snobbish thoughts? Are they really that bad? (I'm only critical in generalizations--I have never thought less of a person just because they didn't possess some trait I considered smart or cultured) Or do I just need to be careful who I voice them around? The reason I found myself in this position was because recently I've become comfortable with a lot more people than I've ever been comfortable with before. I'm not as afraid to show my real personality, but suddenly showing my real personality isn't just a matter of people thinking I'm a complete dork, but getting the wrong idea altogether about my mind and heart. I think I'll just have to stick with a filtered version.

One of the things I appreciated most about my friend was that we didn't always agree, we didn't always like the same things, but she understood that I consciously spout nonsense. She does the same thing, but usually hers is a scientific explanation for something she doesn't understand, where mine is usually some stupid generalization that is pretty off, but helps me make sense of reality, or at least my reality. I could also be an intellectual snob around her occasionally, because our perceptions of the "finer things" in life aren't too different. And even when we aren't talking, the silences are fun. That's the mark of a true friendship, I think. Or just being able to be in the same room with someone while doing your own thing, without a planned activity.

People are so odd. I really think it is amazing that we are able to get along, that we're able to find something in common, just smile and laugh and have a good time, with others in completely different walks of life than we are. And I've experienced some of that amazement this weekend. When I'm focused on getting to know others and serving others, it doesn't matter that I'm not understood. Who cares? I can have as good a time finding out things I didn't know about new acquaintances or laughing over casual games as I can lit-bashing, analyzing characters, dancing to Indian music, and holding entire conversations in movie quotes. It's all about balance. But then again, sometimes I do miss the closeness I don't have with most people. The bane of being an introvert.

That's enough rambling. Now that my weekend's obligations are over, and tomorrow is a holiday, I feel HAPPY!! I'm totally going swimming.

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Cleaning House #3: Aamir's Eyebrows

I indulge in posts of this kind so infrequently that I hope you'll bear with me.

One of the things I appreciate most in an actor--which I didn't realize until I found it in abundance in Asian cinema (both East and South)--is the ability to work the eyebrows. I mean, would Guran be GURAN without those EYEBROWS?

I think not.

Of my two favorite Khans, even though Shahrukh has "eyebrows like two tildes escaped from a Galdós novel," I'd have to say that Aamir easily outdoes him in the eyebrow department. Shahrukh's eyebrows help him emote a great deal, but nothing matches the intensity of Aamir's eyebrows when he's angry...or earnest, or surprised, or confused, or any expression, really.

What but Aamir's eyebrows could elevate this look of lonely dejection above the commonplace pout? Below are some exhibits from my two favorite of Aamir's films.

Exhibit A: Lagaan

Will the evil Captain get away with killing deer in my woods? Not if these eyebrows can help it.

Their charms even send village belles into fits of distress.

The 'ceps may momentarily distract...

But they know not to mess with the eyebrows

Concentrate Willow...

Courage, Willow....I mean Captain Russell, if you pause a minute to look at my eyebrows, you'll know like the rest of us that you're going down.

Just for fun

Exhibit B: Dil Chahta Hai

Enough already, Aamir. Do try to keep your eyebrows in check.

No! They really don't impress you? Because I'm strangely in awe...nguish over those beads you're wearing.

Just watch the opera...

But I still can't take my eyes off those weird beads.

Or I just may have found a pair of eyebrows to match the awesomeness of mine.

Don't mess with the eyebrows, man.

Exhibit C: Post-2001 Eyebrows

The presence of Toby Stephens and and a moustache doesn't diminish the eyebrows in Mangal Pandey: The Rising.

This picture is what made me decide to watch Fanaa. We won't include any stills from the first half of the film, as the awfulness of the hair actually does eclipse the glory of the eyebrows.

Still got the touch, even in this 30 second cameo, one of the high points of Luck By Chance.

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Adventures in Amarillo!

Was it ever pronounced "Ama-rio"? Just wondered.

I put off writing about this trip because I needed to process the experience. Luckily jojoba did a post on the trip first, so I don't have to recount everything--just what she missed. For some reason which I couldn't fathom, Jo wanted to take a day trip to Amarillo, and it took us about two months to actually bring it to pass. I hadn't realized that Amarillo is apparently where it's at in West Texas until she gave me a bunch of places she wanted to go. First on the list was of course the Cadillac Ranch, a row of Cadillacs sticking out of the dirt in a field, with layers of spray paint so thick that the cars seemed more like paper mache than metal. Instead of showing the real thing, here's an abstraction courtesy of Pixar.

Cadillac Ranch proved to be the least interesting part of our voyage. Jo wanted to see the Amarillo Ramp, an earthwork designed by Robert Smithson, of the Spiral Jetty fame. Apparently he was killed just as they were about to start building the ramp. I'm easily scared off from seeing interesting things on private property and by appointment only, but Jo made the appointment for a driver to pick us up in a bank parking lot, and all was well. Or so it seemed. We waited about five minutes under the bank tower when the screeching of tires alerted us to the arrival of a candy-striped white truck in the parking lot. The truck whipped around the parking lot, screeching a few more times before coming to an abrupt stop in front of us. I should credit LBK--that was our tourguide's name--for giving us an initial display of what kind of a ride this would be. The door of the truck was thrown open to reveal three unbelted kids (when I say kids I mean adults younger than me) billowing cigarette smoke, and a string of profanities emerging from the radio.

My first impulse was to not get into the truck, but Jo made up my mind for me. If she was brave, so could I be. We slid into the back seat. Trash was all over the floor, and Jo found her knees knocking a rifle. LBK (standing for Long Board Kid) proceeded to toss it onto the dashboard (found out later it was a BB gun when LBK tested its powers on a giant and mud-covered stuffed Panda). Soon enough, we discovered the middle seat belt was the only one that worked. So I looped it through Jo's cross belt before buckling it on my other side. Good thing too, because I've rarely been in more need of a safety belt. In town driving, country highways, bumpy dirt roads and mud--I don't think we ever went slower than 20 miles over what would've been prudent. Again and again I saw in my mind the truck slipping off the shoulder while our driver was preoccupied with his iphone, and us flipping out of creation. Or getting stuck in the mud we were plowing through.

Aside from the fact that I feared for my life every 5 seconds, the cigar smoke picking up soon after the cigarette smoke was gone, and the fact that our driver required a constant barrage of questions to keep the crude music down, it was an enjoyable ride. LBK was able to tell us a lot about the art in Amarillo, including traffic signs placed all around town with the most random slogans painted on them, and various pieces of art on land owned by Stanley Marsh, who LBK works for, and who is responsible for most of the art around the city. I was also amused to discover a little later that our tourguide will jam just as enthusiastically to Mozart as to hard rap.

When we finally made it alive to the ranch where the Ramp is, LBK relieved us by saying that we would forego a game which usually results in a cactus-covered truck and sometimes ends with blown tires. The Ramp itself, well...the history of it was more interesting than the structure itself, although it is visible on Google Earth. The Ramp used to be over 20 feet at its tallest point, but it has now sunk to 14. It used to be surrounded by a lake, but since the lake was dammed, its only company has been mesquite. When we arrived, LBK pointed out the green "fungus" on some of the rocks. With my gullibility I was working out in my mind how fungus could turn rocks neon green, when Jo leaned over and notified me that it was spray paint. Would Smithson consider that recently added spray paint as the equivalent of painting underwear on all of Michelangelo's figures in his Last Judgement? Who knows. The most interesting thing I found in the area was the former bank of the lake, at the foot of which was a 4-ft stuffed panda which, as I mentioned before, provided some sport for the BB gun.

After that adventure we drove through historic route 66, also recently of Pixar's Cars fame, and to the aforementioned Cadillac Ranch, after a failed attempt to find an interesting place to eat that looked respectable.

So I don't know that "processing" this trip resulted in a better post, but that's all I'm going to write. I'm sure jojoba's review, if she gets around to the second part, will be more comprehensive and balanced. I'm glad to have friends that make me do things I wouldn't normally.

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Pride & Prejudice & Zombies

No, I haven't read it. Despite owning the book from a whim, I have serious doubts as to whether I ever will. But this "review" of the book written (by Cynthia Kartman) as if it were from Jane Austen herself, made me laugh. An excerpt:

All of us here in the Pantheon are surprised and many of us not a little jealous that you, by modifying one of our works, have made the enormous sums of money that eluded us in our earthly lifetimes. Mr. Dickens, in particular, is distressed; anything touching royalties sets him off. One might think that we would be beyond jealousy here; but sadly, it is a truth pantheonistically acknowledged that there is no such place in the universe.

...I have also passed the book around the Pantheon, where it has generated great excitement. My dear friend Mrs. Nicholls begs that you not turn Bertha Rochester into a zombie, tempting as that would be; she feels Edward Rochester has suffered enough. Miss Emily Bronte, however, is in great hopes that you may soon drench the Yorkshire moors with all the gore a zombie Heathcliff can wreak upon them; hers is rather a bloodthirsty nature, I’m afraid. Miss Evans was mildly amused and seemed almost to regret not having created Mr. Casaubon as a zombie when she had the chance. Mr. Trollope, likewise, seemed amused, but felt confident you would never touch his work for two reasons: first, because his novels are already so stuffed with characters that there would be no place to fit zombies in; and second, because inserting zombies to interest the few scores of readers who have heard of Barchester could hardly be worth the time or trouble. But I beg you once again to leave Mr. Dickens alone. As difficult as A Tale of Two Zombies must be to resist, I firmly believe if you made a penny off it you would at last break his poor heart.

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Camille Saint-Saens, where have you been all my life?

How many times have you passed someone repeatedly in a place you both frequent, and simply smiled, or exchanged commonplaces, without bothering to find out who they are, or what they're all about? Then you finally do have a real conversation, and find out that they're pretty cool, wishing you'd taken the trouble to get to know them months before.

I've never had the pleasure of taking a music class. My only knowledge of classical music is from my dad's serviceable collection, Disney's Fantasia, and my band directors bi-weekly lessons on music history for a year or two in high school. There are pieces I've loved from childhood (The Nutcracker, Mozart's Requiem, Vaughan Williams [who I still listen to nearly every Sunday morning], Canon in D, Polovetsian Dances, Bolero, Gershwin, some Bach and Beethoven), and ones I grew to love from high school through college (more Tchaikovsky and Beethoven, some Rachmaninoff, Rimsky-Korsokov, Chopin, Stravinsky, and few others).

Most of the reason what I learned in high school has stuck with me--aside from the fact that it's fascinating and I like classical music--is because I like to note the parallels between the development of music, and architectural styles through time. A Baroque building looks like a Baroque musical composition. True Classical (as opposed to classical) music shares some characteristics with Neoclassicism in architecture, as do Romantic and Impressionist music with their artistic, literary, and architectural counterparts (there's no Impressionist architecture, but I might count Art Nouveau).

So now I'm asking myself why I never sought out more classical music to listen to. Did I think what I knew was sufficient to raise my brow high enough? Did I think it not worthwhile to pursue a taste for something that virtually no one else my age shares? Probably a bit of both, and the fact that I'm too lazy to look into pieces I would have to listen to repeatedly to appreciate their value.

A couple of weeks ago a friend and I drove to Amarillo (more on that later). We've been discovering for some time that our musical taste doesn't overlap a whole lot. Neither of us runs a lot with the mainstream, but we're both particular about what we like--she likes catchy tunes, I like emotional connections (needless to say when it comes to classical music, I like the Russians more than she does). So we switched iPods several times during the course of the trip to give each other samples. When we were almost home, she delved into her library of Camille Saint-Saens.

Why has no one introduced me before?

Regrettably lacking a musical education, I can't describe how wonderful Danse Macabre is without descending into sentimentality unworthy of it's subject. And I've heard it before!--just don't know where. You'll just have to listen to it for yourself. The finale of Carnival of the Animals I did remember from Fantasia 2000. Then my friend pulled out "The Aquarium". I know I've never heard that before, because I would surely have recognized the uncanny similarity the "Prologue" and "West Wing" portions of the Beauty & the Beast soundtrack. Another example of a soundtrack composer being inspired by the greats, which is perfectly fine by me.

There are two other reasons I love Camille Saint-Saens. The first is the mutual animosity between him and Claude Debussy (for the entertainment value--I like Debussy as well).

said Saint-Saens: "I have stayed in Paris to speak ill of Pelléas et Mélisande." (a Debussy opera)

said Debussy: "I have a horror of sentimentality, and I cannot forget that its name is Saint-Saëns."

The second is a quote from Saint-Saens from a letter to Camille Bellaigue, 1907:

What gives Sebastian Bach and Mozart a place apart is that these two great expressive composers never sacrificed form to expression. As high as their expression may soar, their musical form remains supreme and all-sufficient.*

Saint-Saens certainly doesn't seem to throw his arms about as wildly as other composers of the Romantic era. I wonder if that observation could apply as a critique of today's architecture and literature as well--in reference to the "formless" postmodernism.

So in short, as long as I'm attempting to expand my horizons where contemporary music is concerned, I might as well go the other direction as well. How many lost treasures are waiting to be discovered?

*All quotes are from Wikipedia without references so I can't guarantee their authenticity

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Cleaning House #2: Daniel's Dilemma

Gwendolyn: Who does that fine face belong to?

Why Gwendolyn, that's Daniel Deronda!

Daniel likes to boat.

...and admire his best friend's artwork.

...and listen to others' problems.

...and search for answers to them.

Daniel is an all-around caring and sensitive guy.

And does he look the part.

Oh.

Case in point: Mirah Lapidoth.

Could that lovely girl I just caught a glimpse of possibly be an abused and depressed runaway determined to drown herself because she has no reason to live and is on the verge of starving anyway?

Better turn around and make sure she's okay.

My intuition never fails me!


How can I thank you enough for rescuing me?(--In my previous cinematic incarnation I threw myself off a cliff to escape the clutches of an evil warmonger who had just knifed the man I loved but had never actually spoken to.)

I must not be smitten; there are massive cultural and economic differences between us, not to mention my need to play the benevolent gentleman in this odd situation.

And Daniel remember, you're supposed to be interested in me—Gwendolyn. It matters little that I'm already engaged.

At least I didn't think it would. Perhaps I should've taken a closer look at those steely eyes and grim jaw for an indication of my fiance's real character.

I'm so confused, but I expect a nice shave will clear my mind.

I'm not quite happy either.

I yearn for guidance in my life.

It's time to take matters into my own hands...

...if only to apply to Daniel for help.

But everyone wants Daniel's help!

And what about my life? How does this all fit together?

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Cleaning Out the House #1

I have many posts that I started writing and never finished. Most of them are stupid, but I'm going to post them just for kicks, starting today. This one, I wrote back in 2007 when I was spending too much time on the internet, and hadn't yet stopped trying to live in a world of fiction. What it really is is my personal manifestation of this comic.

One of the great things about this day and age is, when you think yourself a huge fan of an author (or any kind of artist/celebrity—but in my case only authors), you just need to take a look at what’s on the internet to put your fandom into perspective and realize that it's nothing compared to the morons who spend hours on end building online shrines to the author and their work. You're relieved to find you’re not that stupid, and it checks out with the self-esteem, so you cruise on to the author’s website, maybe their blog, thinking, “I’m not a fanatic, I just understand the true intellectual and emotional depth of this writer’s work.” You think for a week or two that because that author is putting personal thoughts and details about their life online, you will gain some keen insight into their craft and thought processes. Until it dawns on you that what they put on their website isn’t personal, because personal things are things you either keep to yourself or share with special persons you know in person, and that anything anyone puts of themselves online is an exterior abstraction of whatever true or false projection of themselves that they are comfortable with potentially the entire technological world knowing. Then you read what other readers have written as comments–exactly what you were going to write. You realize there’s no point in writing a letter to your favorite author because it will simply be one amongst five million. You realize what an idiot you are for spending so much time online when you could be creating something wonderful of your own. You also realize that even if you knew this person in person, the relationship would consist of nothing but embarrassing, unfulfilling hero-worship (unless of course, you were brilliant enough to have work that they were just as enamored of as you were of theirs). Realizing that you really don’t need to immerse yourself into the psyche of a brilliant writer in order to enjoy their art, you delete the bookmark to their site, put their books on the “been read” shelf of the bookcase thinking that they will be fun to revisit in five more years, and then browse the local library, bookstore, or perhaps simply go with the author’s recommendations, for the object of your next obsession—effectively putting off the development of your own creative talents because you simply can’t bridle your passions.

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