Lit Geek update # 22: recently read books

A Pale View of Hills (Kazuo Ishiguro):
This is a novel that is very quiet on the surface but is extremely disturbing, underneath. Most everything is undertow. It left me thoughtful, piecing things together, dipping my hand in the water and feeling the current draw me in. Masterfully understated. Definitely another Ishiguro coup de maitre.


Bel Canto (Ann Patchett):
The ending was another "The French Lieutenant's Woman" moment for me. I was completely disillusioned by the epilogue, hence, I went back to the paragraphs prior so that the ending that stayed with me was the one that came before the actual one. We always have a choice; and I chose how the story would end for me. Otherwise, I found the novel beautifully written. Another testament to music's power of transcending all the ugliness in the world.

My 4th Almodovar:

My 3rd Almodovar:

What I ate and did not

Now, let's see.

Thursday, in the office, I had a plateful of baked macaroni. Which i finished, by the way. It was M--'s birthday, too, and I was treated to lunch at Cibo, where I had yummy Pasta Veneziana with wheat bread. In the evening, I had cheesecake with my double tall mocha latte.

Friday morning, I looked in the mirror and groaned. My shoulders were ballooning again--they're always the first to rise up to the occasion once the calories start loading in.

Saturday morning, I started dieting: zero to minimal rice and carbs, protein and veggies only, and the occasional finger food (translate: chips).

Today is Tuesday and, so far, I have been successful.

My friend, S--, told me helpfully, "if that's what makes you happy, dear, then go for it."

Hee.

The 7 Von Trapp Children...

...all grown up.


I got this from an e-mail my dad sent me. There was a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart when I saw these pictures. I must've seen "The Sound of Music" a hundred times.

Well, okay, maybe less.

Red yellow honey, sassafras and moonshine...

I've been raving about Laura Nyro for close to a week now.

The only sad thing was that none of the people I've asked if they knew her knew her. A few of them knew Joni Mitchell, and even fewer, Janis Joplin, but none of them knew Laura Nyro. Such a shame because she was a really talented musician. Though I've probably just been asking the wrong demographic (been asking people my age--Nyro was a 70's gal). Plus, she had never been popular as a performer, mainly because she'd always shunned the limelight (yup, a female version of JD Salinger we got here). The limelight had always tried to chase her, though, because she was songwriter to a lot of hits by other artists like The 5th Dimension, Peter, Paul and Mary, Carole King, etc. She had reportedly been chased by talk show writers/researchers to be a guest on their shows but had repeatedly turned them down.

I am so loving her songs, mostly the ones she had penned in her early years as a songwriter, songs like "Stoned Soul Picnic" (my absolute favorite, hands down!), "Timer", "Eli's Coming", "And When I Die", "Sweet Blindness", "The Bells", and "Blowing Away", among others. Her voice has got lots of power and soul and her music is a hybrid of jazz, rhythm and blues, rock, and pop (of the 70's, that is).

Her elusiveness (both then and now) has completely spiced up how I see her. Having a jazz trumpeter for a dad and a mom who listened to Billie Holiday and Debussy must've helped her figure out what it was she wanted to be, what it was she wanted to do. Listening to her music transports me to her era and, at the same time, keeps me more grounded to mine, because here was a woman who knew, from the start, the direction she wanted to take and didn't allow anyone, and anything--neither limelight, shadow, nor broken marriage--from straining her.

She died of cancer at 47, another one of those incredibly talented people who died relatively young. Such a pity. She could've written more, sang more. Though, as it is, she had been a prolific songwriter and her cache of works is really pretty impressive.

Talk To Her

Pedro Almodovar, 2002

That human beings--here, two men--could be this unselfish: "Habla Con Ella" dares problematize this tritest--and most sensitive--of themes.

Leo, Leo

I watched Edward Zwick's "Blood Diamond" and Martin Scorsese's "The Departed" this week, and I thoroughly enjoyed both. Though, on hindsight, "enjoyed" might not be the perfect word considering the length of time with which I had my heart on my throat from all that suspense. Okay, let me rephrase, then, and say that I was much affected by the scenes, the themes, the exposition, the lines, and the acting. It's difficult to write about a movie when one isn't well-versed in film criticism lingo.

I know, I know, I'm being apologetic again. Defensive, even. Sorry.

Anyway.

I confess to never having been a Leo fan prior to watching the above movies. He, for me, belonged in that same category as Brad Pitt and Aga Muhlach, with everybody (or the girls, at least) gushing about how good-looking they are and I never really getting what the fuss was all about. The film I most associated his name with (in those times) was "Titanic" and, yeah, in terms of acting, Leo doesn't really get far with that.

Then along came "Revolutionary Road", which made me do a double-take. He was good there. Though his role and portrayal of it was not as memorable as what he did and how he did in "The Departed". His role as Billy Costigan clinched his acting caliber for me. Still dazed from the suspense and thrill I got from the movie, I went, like, yeah, this guy does have something to offer.

I still haven't finished the book. =(

It's been a circus, yep, that's how things have been. Call it a circus. I tend to repeat things when I'm floating. And sometimes I don't know what I'm saying. Well, most of the time, I do. You might say that. I might say that. I think I've learned to mull things over first before giving a thought free reign. You might say I've learned to hold my tongue. What a cliche. If I counted how many cliches there are in what I've typed so far, I'd probably be appalled.

But, whatever.

I'm a little tired, that's what I am. Probably more than a little tired, I'm not entirely sure. "Probably" is such a safe word. There's safety in the probable. There could be danger, too, though, come to think of it.

And now I'm telling myself don't look back. It's nothing melodramatic; I meant don't look back on what you've written, so far. Well, I probably should've typed don't look up the page, keep your eyes on the cursor. Was I supposed to use parentheses? I think, yeah. Or, probably, I could've clicked on the italics icon.

But I'm staying where I am. Or, rather, I'm keeping my eyes here.

Here.

Right here.

Found:

Sublime!

Lit Geek Update/What I'm Reading Now:

Halfway done...
=)

Map Quiz

Geek friend and I looking at a live satellite feed of the typhoon:

Me: this is some scary shit.
Geek Friend: See this? Shows you where the wind is.
Me: I know, I know! Let's have a map quiz!
Geek Friend: You sure?
Me: This is... Japan, this is... Malaysia?
Geek Friend: Nope.
Me: Let's go to that later. How about this one. This is... China? Right?
Geek Friend: Not big enough to be China.
Me: (getting disappointed with myself) That's India! And this one's China, I'm sure!
Geek Friend: Good, good. How about this one?
Me: Easy. That's Mongolia.
Geek Friend: Good, good. Now let's go back to this one.
Me: Is that... Taiwan?
Geek Friend: Hm, well, close.
Me: Tai...pei?
Geek Friend: Close, close!
Me: Tai...two?
Geek Friend: What the...?! Close, close!
Me: Thailand!
Geek Friend: Very good!
Me: Now let me look for Nepal...

Dear City,

Permit us to refresh your memory: what comes from heaven is always a blessing, the enemy is not rain. Rain is the subject of prayer, the kind gesture of saints. Dear City, explain your irreverence; in you, rain is a visitor with nowhere to go. Where is the ground that knows only the love of water? Where are the passageways to your heart? Pity the water that stays and rises on the streets, pity the water that floods into houses, so dark and filthy and heavy with rats and dead leaves and plastic. How ashamed water is to be what you have made it. What have you done to its beauty, its graceful body in pictures of oceans, its clear face in a glass? We walk home in the flood and cannot see our feet. We forget to thank the gods for their kindness. We look for someone to blame and turn to you, wretched city, because we are men and women of honor, we feed our children three meals a day, we never miss an election. The only explanation is you, dear city. This is the end of our discussion. There is no other culprit.

-Conchitina Cruz, from Dark Hours-