Thursday, January 14, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Practical Magic to snare an Ideal Husband
I love Alice Hoffman. I really, really do. I think The Blue Diary is this hot, sweaty, sticky book -- the sort of lustful, crazy-intense, rollercoaster ride of a book that absolutely captures what a humid Massachusetts summer is like. The colors of the air, the way it can drive you mad. And the story just unfolds so languidly and yet, it doesn't occur to you that it's moving slowly because it feels exactly like that summer; the days are long and the months are short.
Anyway, my first Hoffman was Practical Magic and I'm pretty sure I read it very early in my high school experience. She has such an ethereal voice, such a way of making the ordinary seem magical, and this book is a really excellent example of that.
Anyway, in the book, one of the characters decides she never wants to fall in love again and so she vows never to fall in love again unless she meets this very specific man that she is certain is absolutely impossible. There's no way he can exist.
The first time Sally falls in love, it happens like this:
Anyway, Sally's list. I'm going to try to find it. [Musical interlude while I scour book for specific passage.]
[Except I just found this and it breaks my heart.]
In describing how Sally felt when faced with the prospect of losing Michael, who she loved so very much, Alice Hoffman writes,
I can't find the passage in the book, but the quote from the movie is this...
Man, I love Aidan Quinn. My point is, I'm making a Practical Magic list. One with one hundred items. So that he is impossible and I will never find him and never die of a broken heart.
Anyway, my first Hoffman was Practical Magic and I'm pretty sure I read it very early in my high school experience. She has such an ethereal voice, such a way of making the ordinary seem magical, and this book is a really excellent example of that.
Anyway, in the book, one of the characters decides she never wants to fall in love again and so she vows never to fall in love again unless she meets this very specific man that she is certain is absolutely impossible. There's no way he can exist.
The first time Sally falls in love, it happens like this:
"The man Sally fell in love with was named Michael. He was so thoughtful and good-natured hat he kissed the aunts the first time he met them and immediately asked if they needed their trash taken out to the curb, which won them over then and there, no questions asked. Sally married him quickly, and then moved into the attic, which suddenly seemed the only place in the world where Sally wished to be.Anyone else think SMeyer ought to hand over the Twilight Saga to be rewritten by someone who knows about the magic of first love? Not some submissive wretch of a woman who thinks that love is about giving up who you are -- or about lacking a personality to begin with? Those passages are phenomenal. If I could write like that, I wouldn't be writing blogs. The best description of a girl who breaks hearts?
"Let Gillian travel from California to Memphis. Let her marry and divorce three times in a row. Let her kiss every man who crossed her path and break every promise she ever made about coming home for the holidays. Let her pity her sister, cooped up in that old house. Sally did not mind a bit. In Sally's opinion, it was impossible to exist in the world and not be in love with Michael. . . His kisses were slow and deep and he liked to take off Sally's clothes with the bedside table light turned on and he always made certain to lose when he played gin rummy with one of the aunts.
"When Michael moved in, the house itself began to change, and even the bats in the attic knew it and took to nesting out by the garden shed. By the following June, roses had begun to grow up along the porch railing, choking out ragweed, instead of the other way around. In January, the draft in the parlor disappeared and ice would not form on the bluestone path. The house stayed cheery and warm . . . Throughout the night, it sounded as if a river were flowing right through the house; the noise was so beautiful and so real that the mice came out of the walls to make certain the house was still standing and meadow hadn't taken its place."
"Gillian broke hearts the way other people broke kindling for firewood. By the time she was a senior in high school, she was so fast and expert at it that some boys didn't even know what was happening until they were left in one big emotional heap."Ugh. My jealousy cannot be contained.
Anyway, Sally's list. I'm going to try to find it. [Musical interlude while I scour book for specific passage.]
[Except I just found this and it breaks my heart.]
"What had she thought, that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, just to play with? Real love was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn't let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake."Seriously, who writes like that?
In describing how Sally felt when faced with the prospect of losing Michael, who she loved so very much, Alice Hoffman writes,
"Now whenever he kissed her, she cried and wished she had never fallen in love in the first place. It had made her too helpless, because that's what love did. There was no way around it and no way to fight it. Now if she lost, she lost everything."So good, so true. Love makes you helpless. And it's the best reason I've ever heard for not falling in love. Except, there are even more compelling reasons for why one SHOULD fall in love. The roses and the river and the meadows, and all that.
I can't find the passage in the book, but the quote from the movie is this...
"He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. . . He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvelously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he'll have one green eye and one blue. . . That's the point. The guy I dreamed of doesn't exist. And if he doesn't exist, I'll never die of a broken heart. "But he does exist. And he looks like this.
Man, I love Aidan Quinn. My point is, I'm making a Practical Magic list. One with one hundred items. So that he is impossible and I will never find him and never die of a broken heart.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
... in the meantime
I'll avert my eyes and pretend I don't see, put in my headphones and pretend I don't hear.
I graduate May 22, 2010. I don't know what comes next, but it's not more of the same, so that's a good thing. That's the only thing right now. I have all these people in my life that I don't talk to, or that I can't talk to, and that I don't feel safe around. People I'm supposed to trust and love and I've tried so hard for so long to find that trust and love -- but I just can't do it anymore.
I tried the "Fake it 'til you make it" campaign. The fact is, I was trying to make it to something I'm not sure I ever wanted. And I know they don't understand how it could be so difficult for me to find words, but I've felt like the woman in the song for as long as I can remember. I feel like people are trying temporary cures for a permanent problem -- the problem being me -- and they're trying to keep me here not because they want me here, but because they will otherwise feel like failures. But they want me to go back to being something I don't think I ever was. They want me to open up to them, to let them be a part of my life, but only insofar as that life fits with what they want from me, so long as that life is the tidy little package they want for me.
They want things for me that do well for them, but that don't do well for me.
And at some point you have to choose. Because you can't have both. And I think the world is saying it's my time.
So what's it gonna be? Roots or wings?
I graduate May 22, 2010. I don't know what comes next, but it's not more of the same, so that's a good thing. That's the only thing right now. I have all these people in my life that I don't talk to, or that I can't talk to, and that I don't feel safe around. People I'm supposed to trust and love and I've tried so hard for so long to find that trust and love -- but I just can't do it anymore.
I tried the "Fake it 'til you make it" campaign. The fact is, I was trying to make it to something I'm not sure I ever wanted. And I know they don't understand how it could be so difficult for me to find words, but I've felt like the woman in the song for as long as I can remember. I feel like people are trying temporary cures for a permanent problem -- the problem being me -- and they're trying to keep me here not because they want me here, but because they will otherwise feel like failures. But they want me to go back to being something I don't think I ever was. They want me to open up to them, to let them be a part of my life, but only insofar as that life fits with what they want from me, so long as that life is the tidy little package they want for me.
They want things for me that do well for them, but that don't do well for me.
And at some point you have to choose. Because you can't have both. And I think the world is saying it's my time.
So what's it gonna be? Roots or wings?
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Ashes, ashes... we all fall down.
I didn't think about what it would look like if there was no wind. In my mind, there was always wind. But when it comes time to go through with it, the only thing that moves the water is the current of the river. When it comes time to watch the wind pick up the ashes and carry them over the water of the springs, there is no wind.
He falls into the water and sinks -- bone chips and carbon soot side by side -- and I wonder that I do not fall with him. The blues and greens of the Florida autumn reflect off the water like a a lyric in a James Taylor song, the sort that always makes me want to cry when I'm driving north, into the city, on 93 with my father. But a manatee reaches its snout up toward the sky and there's an insect hum behind me in the trees and everything feels so peaceful for a moment that it doesn't matter that the pale, pinkish ashes are smudged on my fingers and the last of him is creased into the sides of an Ikea tupperware.
I wish there was an alligator, to add an air of menace, or desperation. The manatees feel so normal, the large, soft angles of their scarred bodies rippling beneath the water that is always exactly seventy-two degrees. Manatees break so easily, chilled by cooler water or sliced by propellers, and their bodies show every white scar like military stripes on a young man's corpse. When I was a year old, they said he would never learn to walk again, that he could not train his legs to work on land or sea. I never knew him out of braces, without a wheelchair close by -- just in case! -- and a slow, crooked walk. But I never knew him not to walk.
I will pretend it was his left hand that I lost today. Perhaps at some point later on, I will lose his right hand, or his foot, and like that, piece by piece, he will disappear from me. Someday, I will lose his gash of a mouth, his coarse gray beard, his tired, slanting eyes. The braces will fall off his legs and he will hobble around, blind and deaf, but with me. Until eventually, all that I can keep from him will be the sound of his voice, the crack in my own as I say for the last time, "I love you; you have no idea how much." And when I lose that echo, when his, "Hello, dear!" finally fades away, then I will fall into the water with him and become silt. Still, but for the currents.
He falls into the water and sinks -- bone chips and carbon soot side by side -- and I wonder that I do not fall with him. The blues and greens of the Florida autumn reflect off the water like a a lyric in a James Taylor song, the sort that always makes me want to cry when I'm driving north, into the city, on 93 with my father. But a manatee reaches its snout up toward the sky and there's an insect hum behind me in the trees and everything feels so peaceful for a moment that it doesn't matter that the pale, pinkish ashes are smudged on my fingers and the last of him is creased into the sides of an Ikea tupperware.
I wish there was an alligator, to add an air of menace, or desperation. The manatees feel so normal, the large, soft angles of their scarred bodies rippling beneath the water that is always exactly seventy-two degrees. Manatees break so easily, chilled by cooler water or sliced by propellers, and their bodies show every white scar like military stripes on a young man's corpse. When I was a year old, they said he would never learn to walk again, that he could not train his legs to work on land or sea. I never knew him out of braces, without a wheelchair close by -- just in case! -- and a slow, crooked walk. But I never knew him not to walk.
I will pretend it was his left hand that I lost today. Perhaps at some point later on, I will lose his right hand, or his foot, and like that, piece by piece, he will disappear from me. Someday, I will lose his gash of a mouth, his coarse gray beard, his tired, slanting eyes. The braces will fall off his legs and he will hobble around, blind and deaf, but with me. Until eventually, all that I can keep from him will be the sound of his voice, the crack in my own as I say for the last time, "I love you; you have no idea how much." And when I lose that echo, when his, "Hello, dear!" finally fades away, then I will fall into the water with him and become silt. Still, but for the currents.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
I know my life would look all right, if I could see it on the silver screen
They are remaking East of Eden for a new generation of teenyboppers (am I the only one who still calls them teenyboppers and not the insidious and infuriating "tween"?)
Let's be clear about this. They are remaking an epic, multi-generational story of sibling rivalry and whorehouses that originally starred one of the most tragic and beloved movie stars of all time? (That's James Dean, for my peers who are woefully ignorant of film history -- even those film students whose exposure to him consist of seeing the "Chicky run" clip during a film class freshman year of college.)
A movie that was made into a mini-series starring Jane Seymour and the Bottoms in 1981 -- a mini-series that just doesn't hold up?
This story has more plot than Pride and Prejudice [the BBC version] and Titanic combined. And they've decided to remake it. To reboot it for a generation with the attention span of a gnat. It's a bold and brazen undertaking and I don't envy the producers or the screenwriters on this project.
One thing is certain: Casting is crucial. Casting will make or break this movie and determine whether or not one of the most iconic performances of all time remains shining and glorious in the Pantheon or if it is sullied by any foolish association to this new endeavor.
So I'm putting forth my suggestions for the casting directors.
Cal- Robert "The Scowl" Pattinson -- after all, the entire first half of Cal's story is basically, "ScowlscowlBEANSscowlscowl"
Aaron- Robert Pattinson (Hey, they're TWINS, right?), alternately, Michael Cera if producers are afraid that two Pattzies on screen at once might give teenage girls heart attacks
Adam- Tom Cruise.. he knows all about religious fervor.. alternately, John Travolta... I've always wondered what Adam say if he said it in song...
Charles- James Franco, natch... we really haven't seen him in any serious or intense roles and I think he's up for it. I'd like to see him push himself, emotionally. Plus, he thinks he's James Dean... Or Zac Efron. Whichever is good.
Lee- Is Mickey Rooney dead yet? Mickey Rooney it is!
Abra - Rewritten as twins, Abra and Kadabra, played by the Olsens, alternately, Lindsay Lohan as both Abra and Kadabra, if the Olsens' classes at NYU keep them too busy
Cathy- Megan Fox, OF COURSE... there's really no other option for the sociopathic, borderline personality disordered Cathy Ames...
Faye - (the madam that Cathy destroys) Heidi Fleiss -- it's time she was forgiven, I think
Sam Hamilton- Robin Williams, with a brogue
As for who should write the screenplay, I think the answer here is obvious: Jun-- I mean, Diablo Cody.
If this were fifteen years ago I would be angling for a screenplay by the Boston dreamteam (Ben and Matt) and arguing that they should play the twins, as well... but it's not. It's 2009.
Did you not believe me when I said James Franco thinks he's James Dean? Dammit, here's your proof:
All that savory goodness just a little too much? Need some medicine with that sugar? I offer you this study in contrasts.
Let's be clear about this. They are remaking an epic, multi-generational story of sibling rivalry and whorehouses that originally starred one of the most tragic and beloved movie stars of all time? (That's James Dean, for my peers who are woefully ignorant of film history -- even those film students whose exposure to him consist of seeing the "Chicky run" clip during a film class freshman year of college.)
A movie that was made into a mini-series starring Jane Seymour and the Bottoms in 1981 -- a mini-series that just doesn't hold up?
This story has more plot than Pride and Prejudice [the BBC version] and Titanic combined. And they've decided to remake it. To reboot it for a generation with the attention span of a gnat. It's a bold and brazen undertaking and I don't envy the producers or the screenwriters on this project.
One thing is certain: Casting is crucial. Casting will make or break this movie and determine whether or not one of the most iconic performances of all time remains shining and glorious in the Pantheon or if it is sullied by any foolish association to this new endeavor.
So I'm putting forth my suggestions for the casting directors.
Cal- Robert "The Scowl" Pattinson -- after all, the entire first half of Cal's story is basically, "ScowlscowlBEANSscowlscowl"
Aaron- Robert Pattinson (Hey, they're TWINS, right?), alternately, Michael Cera if producers are afraid that two Pattzies on screen at once might give teenage girls heart attacks
Adam- Tom Cruise.. he knows all about religious fervor.. alternately, John Travolta... I've always wondered what Adam say if he said it in song...
Charles- James Franco, natch... we really haven't seen him in any serious or intense roles and I think he's up for it. I'd like to see him push himself, emotionally. Plus, he thinks he's James Dean... Or Zac Efron. Whichever is good.
Lee- Is Mickey Rooney dead yet? Mickey Rooney it is!
Abra - Rewritten as twins, Abra and Kadabra, played by the Olsens, alternately, Lindsay Lohan as both Abra and Kadabra, if the Olsens' classes at NYU keep them too busy
Cathy- Megan Fox, OF COURSE... there's really no other option for the sociopathic, borderline personality disordered Cathy Ames...
Faye - (the madam that Cathy destroys) Heidi Fleiss -- it's time she was forgiven, I think
Sam Hamilton- Robin Williams, with a brogue
As for who should write the screenplay, I think the answer here is obvious: Jun-- I mean, Diablo Cody.
If this were fifteen years ago I would be angling for a screenplay by the Boston dreamteam (Ben and Matt) and arguing that they should play the twins, as well... but it's not. It's 2009.
Did you not believe me when I said James Franco thinks he's James Dean? Dammit, here's your proof:
All that savory goodness just a little too much? Need some medicine with that sugar? I offer you this study in contrasts.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The other side of the craziest night of my life *updated*
You may remember way back in February when I wrote a rather mean-spirited blog about the craziest night of my life. (Seriously, the entire thing was basically nothing more than out-of-body experience. 70-30, all-man, little fingers, etc.) Well, what I ought to have written about was the charming, lovely, little jewel that I discovered (for myself, not the world) that night.
You see, Tift Merritt is like a little doll. She wears pretty, floaty dresses and has blond ringlets. She plays the piano a bit like my guy - Jackson, that is - and has a truly beautiful voice. Her lyrics are just as timelessly endearing as her style.
I think what I love most about her is how solid she seems. So many female singers and writers nowadays seem like a good gust of wind would blow them and their music right into the clouds. Her lyrics are light and her music is upbeat, but it's also substantial stuff -- there's meat on the bones of her songs, whereas a lot of those recording artists who are so popular now barely have bones. More like some paper-thin skin. None of the Regina Spector breathy girlchild nonsense. She doesn't conform to what seems like the norm nowadays, which is to say she looks like a doll, but not a porcelain doll. There's nothing fragile about her, but she's very feminine and that's refreshing. You mean an artist who is both a girl and not angst-ridden or come-hither? Shocking. Even her songs about being broken-hearted aren't really about being broken. Illustration 1.1:
Her piano is jangling and dance-happy; these are songs you can't play sitting down. Folk undertones, striking notes both bluesy and jazzy with her surprisingly soulful voice, and seeming every bit the girl-next-door that I think she is aiming to be -- albeit the girl-next-door with a real knack for metaphors.
After the show, when we were all Whistle Binkies, she joined us for a bit and I turned to her and told her I loved her music.
"You remind me of Jackson Browne, the way you play piano," I said.
"Oh, my god! I love Jackson Browne!"
We then embarked on a brief discussion of how beautiful Jackson Browne is. And really, isn't he? As Mummy says, "Your favorite topic, Ashley!"
Favorite songs by Tift Merritt:
"Broken"
"Good-Hearted Man"
"Something to Me" (lyrics in sidebar)
"I Know Him, Too."
Anyway, when she came out during the Teddy Thompson portion of the show for their duet, it really was the nicest part of the night. Their voices blended so beautifully together and they both seemed to be having a fantastic time singing together. All I can say is that I'm not really sure how she's managed to fly under people's radar for quite so long. Or rather, my own radar. Either way, she's right in the middle of it, now.
Also, to the Shetlanders, I am so glad that Screenplay 2009 was such a rousing success for everyone and I miss you all very much. I'm stoked that you all had a great time and hope that I might be able to make it to a Screenplay festival someday....! Maybe 2010?
You see, Tift Merritt is like a little doll. She wears pretty, floaty dresses and has blond ringlets. She plays the piano a bit like my guy - Jackson, that is - and has a truly beautiful voice. Her lyrics are just as timelessly endearing as her style.
I think what I love most about her is how solid she seems. So many female singers and writers nowadays seem like a good gust of wind would blow them and their music right into the clouds. Her lyrics are light and her music is upbeat, but it's also substantial stuff -- there's meat on the bones of her songs, whereas a lot of those recording artists who are so popular now barely have bones. More like some paper-thin skin. None of the Regina Spector breathy girlchild nonsense. She doesn't conform to what seems like the norm nowadays, which is to say she looks like a doll, but not a porcelain doll. There's nothing fragile about her, but she's very feminine and that's refreshing. You mean an artist who is both a girl and not angst-ridden or come-hither? Shocking. Even her songs about being broken-hearted aren't really about being broken. Illustration 1.1:
Gather me in like a rainstorm,
Again and again and again,
Again and again and again,
Again and again again,
I think I will break but I mend.
Her piano is jangling and dance-happy; these are songs you can't play sitting down. Folk undertones, striking notes both bluesy and jazzy with her surprisingly soulful voice, and seeming every bit the girl-next-door that I think she is aiming to be -- albeit the girl-next-door with a real knack for metaphors.
After the show, when we were all Whistle Binkies, she joined us for a bit and I turned to her and told her I loved her music.
"You remind me of Jackson Browne, the way you play piano," I said.
"Oh, my god! I love Jackson Browne!"
We then embarked on a brief discussion of how beautiful Jackson Browne is. And really, isn't he? As Mummy says, "Your favorite topic, Ashley!"
Favorite songs by Tift Merritt:
"Broken"
"Good-Hearted Man"
"Something to Me" (lyrics in sidebar)
"I Know Him, Too."
Anyway, when she came out during the Teddy Thompson portion of the show for their duet, it really was the nicest part of the night. Their voices blended so beautifully together and they both seemed to be having a fantastic time singing together. All I can say is that I'm not really sure how she's managed to fly under people's radar for quite so long. Or rather, my own radar. Either way, she's right in the middle of it, now.
Also, to the Shetlanders, I am so glad that Screenplay 2009 was such a rousing success for everyone and I miss you all very much. I'm stoked that you all had a great time and hope that I might be able to make it to a Screenplay festival someday....! Maybe 2010?
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