September 19, 2006
In praise of white linen.
I just finished the wonderful Nora Ephron Collected, which provided a take on the 1970s women’s movement I have never found elsewhere- that of the skeptical feminist with a sense of humour. I enjoyed it. It also made clear that nothing ever changes, which was apparent upon reading Ephron’s essay about the very first reality television program. Now reading The Afterlife of George Cartwright (for school), which takes place at that ground upon which I used to stomp- Nottinghamshire. Cartwright’s family’s house was where the Marnham Cooling Station stands now, and we used to go by it on the train! The book is a bit boyish for my liking, but I’m enjoying it.
~Where war and wrack and wonder/ By shifts have sojourned there,/ And bliss by turns with blunder/ In that land’s lot had share.~ I’m sad about violence in Budapest. It comes at a funny time, as the fiftieth anniversary of the Hungarian Revolution is coming up and it would be nice to have a happier ending to that story. I had a fascinating visit to Budapest in 2002 and whilst there, I inadvertantly fell into the middle of a political demonstration, which is one of the stranger things that have ever happened to me. (But not as strange as when a kiosk fell on me. Also in Budapest). I had gone to see the parliament buildings, and a crowd was gathered there, protesting dubious election results, if I remember correctly. Police moved in with riot gear. It was surreal and I couldn’t believe I was standing in the middle of it. Sometimes calm in Europe is so easy to take for granted, and we can forget what a lack of precedent there has been for sixty years of peace(ishness) there. It’s just as complicated as anywhere else in the world. And Thailand too, another place that features heavily in my personal map of the world. Of course, I think about bad things that happen everywhere, but I think that as a North American, one gets so accustomed to bad things happening “over there” that when “over there” is close to home, it makes a difference. Right or wrong.
Margaret Atwood’s new book does well in The Guardian. On mainstream poetry. The CBC Chair resigns for talking about bowel movements and bestiality (we wondered if someone had been evesdropping on us by mistake). And The Long Pen tries again, this weekend at The Word on the Street. How exciting! echolocation is going to be there too. Drop by for a free bookmark!
September 17, 2006
I wish mine enemies
Today was good because it was a Trinity Bellwoods day. And because the newest book from Pickle Me This Press is now on sale for $5 per copy. Today is still good because we are roasting a chicken for dinner, and because that sunshine was not just a rumour.
September 17, 2006
But there's no fight in him.
I took a creative writing course six years ago, during my third year in university. I came across one of my former classmates last week, and we were reminiscing, and so as a result, this morning I looked through the anthology of poetry our class produced that year. What I noticed is that the more self-referential amongst us (and there were quite a few, this was a creative writing class after all), in our poetry frequently advertised our ages, which were twenty or twenty-one years old at that time. It was a bit fascinating to notice; I remember doing that, and it meant something then, but I can’t remember what now. I can’t imagine writing “I am twenty-seven” and expecting it to mean anything, and I don’t know if that’s because twenty-seven actually means nothing, or if I’m just less obsessed with the wonder of my own existence.
In Saturday night news, we got to hang out with Erin Smith (who has a new blog), and eat Greek food in her ‘hood. It was fabulous, but moreso because after we went home and did Sing Along With Annie from her Annie DVD. Her cat got upset during “Tomorrow” because it hates high pitched noises. It got increasingly agitated during “Hard Knock Life”, and sat beside me on the arm of the sofa, meowing. The cat lost the plot during “Well, how about Champion?” and while we were singing “Rover, why not think it over?”, the cat lifted up its paw, and punched me in the head. I didn’t let the assault get in between me and my music. Rover was a perfect name for that dumb looking dog.
September 15, 2006
A Big Storm Knocked It Over
I loved A Big Storm Knocked It Over by Laurie Colwin. It was a light read, and I finished it in one rather busy day. It would probably fall into the “chick lit” genre, but in a more “You’re a woman, ergo you’ll probably like this” way, than “This is chick lit, ergo it’s crap.” I’m not sure what the difference is. I did read this in a hardcover library copy as opposed to a pastel paperback, which might have left me more open-minded at the outset. It was written in the early nineties by an author with twenty-five years experience, as opposed to a cookie cutter text turned out by a journalist-turned-novelist during the past couple of years, and you can feel the difference. It’s not for everyone, but I loved this book because it was deliciously happy. It was about a woman who loved her husband and loved him still at the end, and he was a good guy all the way through (a novel premise!). The main character surprised me throughout, with her neuroticisms, quirks, intelligence and funny inner monologue. The snark and the daring was just perfectly spread. Sadly, Colwin died before this, her final book, was published, but she’s written plenty of others and I intend to make my way through them over time. And aren’t her titles fabulous?
The problem with finishing a draft of manuscript is that as much as I have all that, I have nothing and have to start all again. That starts today, after the laundry. Yesterday I read through it, and much of it pleased me, but it’s still a long road ahead. Now rereading The Double Hook, which I like a lot second time around. Also reading Nora Ephron Collected, which is fabulous. And still ahead this weekend, dinner in Greektown tomorrow, and they’re calling for sun, for the first weekend in over a month.
September 15, 2006
Curious
I am curious as to why the recent shooting in Montreal has provoked debate once again about bullying in schools, the social ostracization of young people, and what would drive one to become such a monster. The murderer was twenty-five years old, an age at which a person would normally take responsibility for their own behaviour. There is no excuse for what he did; I refuse to sympathize with this fully grown man stuck in a pathetic prolonged adolescence. High school is tough, but I’ve found that there is a place for almost everybody in adulthood (frighteningly so, sometimes) and that when one can’t find their own way, society isn’t always the problem.
September 14, 2006
Currently fascinated by…
The Shell Oil Tower (aka Bulova Tower) at the CNE, 1955-1986.
September 13, 2006
Long List
Upsetting revelations have included that I recently became the sort of person who stows tissue on their person and then forgets about it. Does that make sense? It was devastating. It was definitely a one-off, and I promise not to do it again. Otherwise, it’s all back to school and I am reading and learning, and I finished my summer job today so that I could do that absolutely properly. I recently read A Perfect Night to Go to China and I didn’t like it much, which is significant, because you don’t often hear me say that about a book. I also read Angel by Elizabeth Taylor, which was very Nancy Mitford. Now reading (for school) The Double Hook by Sheila Watson, which is intriguing. Next up (for fun) is A Big Storm Knocked it Over by Laurie Colwin. And I got my TA reading list today, which means a dream has finally come true and someone is paying me to read books. Oh yes, and The Giller Long List here. Plus, sign up for your copy of I wish my enemies were Russians, the new release from Pickle Me This Press. Copies should be bound this weekend and on sale next week for $5 each.
September 10, 2006
Finished. For now. Until tomorrow when I start again.
I’ve been wary of taking too much satisfaction from sheer volume, ever since the teacher librarian at my elementary school informed me that it was “Quality, not quantity” that was important when evaluating one’s grade three report on cats. But when “just getting the thing done” has been the whole object, I can’t help but be satisifed with 143501 words, and 400 pages, and a beginning, a middle and an end. The rest, I can take care of later. A draft this summer was my goal, and school starts tomorrow. Otherwise, this all means the weekend sort of fell by the wayside. I knit a lot, and read the newspaper, but mostly I just wrote. This afternoon, I went to the now-annual CW bbq, and was reunited with many familiar faces, and found some new ones. After days shut away, slogging away at this tale of mine, the stimulation was a bit much, but I really enjoyed myself and I am so in that fall-jacket, bonfire, back to school mood.
I loved the headline for the Margaret Atwood article in The Globe yesterday: The Priorities: first writing, then the laundry, as I sit here on the cusp of my temporary new incarnation as student/housewife. I also cannot wait for Atwood’s new book. Also excellent, Rex Murphy on satire, and everything I never knew about the Bloor Street Swiss Chalet. Stephanie Klein in The Guardian. Ian Rankin on surprising parallels between fact and fiction. A tribute to Roald Dahl. Calvin Trillin in The Globe (and his Alice Off The Page is going to become a book).
September 9, 2006
Papa's bank book wasn't big enough
What transpired yesterday was an absolute miracle. Shockingly so. Yesterday afternoon we completed our Christmas Shopping for the British Family, as last December I vowed we would while we traipsed around nightmarish shopping malls seeking that perfect something for Stuart’s dad, and then spent a small fortune sending it all by air. Best of all, all the gifts are excellent, and they’re going to be wrapped and packed this week and sent by sea with plenty of time. And it was an altogether pleasant afternoon, in the uncrowded shopping mall. A bit of a waste of a sunny day, but worth it. It was a combination Christmas/Back to School shopping venture, and we got a whole mess of new clothes. Last Fall, we were too poor to buy clothes and the year before that we lived in the land of the pygmy peoples, and as a result, we’re even more raggedy than can be expected from people with our lack of fashion sense. No longer however. New jeans, and a replacement hoodie for the one I bought in August 2002, and best of all a wonderful autumn jacket of my dreams, brown with a green cordoroy collar and I have started a matching scarf already. Stuart also got some new clothes, and when we got home we overhauled the closets and Stuart threw away anything he wore in first-year university, as that was in a previous century. And we also cleaned up my desk area for back to school, and now everything is tidy and orderly and there is a choreless weekend straight ahead.
