Gunns, Germs, and Steel

It is not a secret that a good man is hard to find. Let it be said that Tim Gunn is a good man. He, along with Kate Moloney, has published Tim Gunn: A Guide to Quality, Taste and Style, an exquisitely stylish yet practical how-to tome. There is effusive language, dishy asides, and an immaculate collection of must haves. The authors speak to the reader not as one addresses a wayward, unenlightened child but as one speaks to a flower yet to blossom. That's right, this book will have you making such analogies as you type in your ballet flats, charcoal slacks and blouson top. I can't recommend it more; if you like him on PR or if you were fortunate enough to catch his own show (Tim! Loved the Magic Closet!!), then you should do yourself the favor of reading his book. Good for delightful, chic instruction.

I am Madame X, by Gioia Diliberto, is germinated in the identity behind of one of Art's more enduring portraits. It's set in Paris, bien sur, and the lady in question is a questionable lady. She's an American, penniless, beautiful and yet somehow (here's the metaphoric wink wink) she captures the heart of powerful men, becomes a fixture of high society, and sits for the talented but difficult John Singer Sargent. Diliberto is an adequate writer, her stage is filled with enough Parisian grandeur and pomp for most appetites. Her characters fall a little flat, however. Her Madame X is somewhat listless and boring if not beautiful; her life's work, little domestic details such as parties and lovers, alternate between voyeuristic and offhand objectivity. If the questions of beauty, morality, and identity are going to be asked from someone with a famously doubtful character, why not plump up her failures or successes instead of relying on her ennui? Good for beaches, or rainy afternoons.

Pearl S. Buck can rightfully take her place in the pantheon of American writers. She is confident, spare, and compassionate. I loved the Good Earth, and so I read The Mother thinking I would have more of the same. I did. It took some time settling into her prose which comes off stiff and old fashioned; the characters speak as though they lived in Jolly Olde pre-revolutionary China. This is a minor complaint, though. The Mother (we never discover her name) is a loving sketch of a woman, abandoned by her pretty and selfish husband, who must take up the mantle of responsibility for her children. She changes as she does so, becoming less a soft girl and more of a steely woman even as her interior girl pops up now and again to wreck havoc. The Mother falls into various traps as she struggles with her difficult circumstances, and like all Buck books there is an unexpected plot twist that levels the playing ground for all of the characters. Good when one needs substance, or a book report for Comp.

The Bookseller

When they were younger, my parents had a variety of kooky money making schemes. There was the construction company that my dad ran; good for the family larder, not so great for quality dad time as dad was never home. Also under this heading: my mom as full time career gal. Good for Rosie the Riveter morale, but bad for parental patience when the father figure is absent (see above). Then there was the dad as college student poverty days, dad as cattleman/child labor boss, dad as a high school art teacher who could finally bond with children even if they were not his own. Ah, childhood. My favorite, as well as the briefest of these episodes, was the bookstore. My parents are bookphiles, a good and great thing for people to be. I am one myself.
It is difficult for second hand booksellers to make a profit, a lesson as a family we learned first hand. Books are lovable but not bankable. Knowing this as I do, I cherish the independent bookseller. I'll choose a preowned book before a new one, simply because I know of the struggle people endure just to open the doors to business. I do not, however, like this feeling of loyalty to be taken advantage of. Point in case, Gardners. One million books! An acre of store space! Eccentric employees! This is literally an emporium of used books. Everything under the sun can be found here if one is diligent in their search, and I am nothing if not ruthless in my quest for an exceptional personal library.
Today my library may shed a tear because today I was ripped off by Gardners. I was overcharged for the last time today ($8.95 for a chewed up copy of the Tao te Ching. Shameless!). I have carried the cross of affection too long for this store, arguably the best and certainly the largest of its kind in Tulsa. I am overcharged every time I go in there. I don't mind a little padding because (see above) I love books, but come on! Enough already. Damn it. This means I'll have to start buying new books, which means less books. What does the Tao say to comfort me in my distress?
Men are born soft and supple; dead, they are stiff and hard. Plants are born tender and pliant; dead, they are brittle and dry. Thus whomever is still and inflexible is a disciple of death. Whoever is soft and yielding is a disciple of life. The hard and still will be broken. The soft and supple will prevail.

Rom-Com-Drom's

Last Friday night I stayed up late (midnight!), and because my husband and children were asleep I had control of the TV. I was a little surprised by the offerings, but then again I was into the whiskey and the heady combination went to my head and I had an epiphany. Friday night is Girls' Night on cable. Jennifer Lopez, Sandra Bullock, the Squinty Eyed One who plays Bridget Jones, and their men (nice/assholish Texans, Brits, and other assorted types), also girly 80's movies like Footloose and Ferris Bueller! Girls in love! Girls locating identity! Girls!
In general I avoid the romantic-comedy-dramas-musicale that is the Chick Flick. I don't get, but then again I hated being a 14 year old girl. I hated mooning and pining under clouds of Aquanet. I did not practice french kissing on the doorknob. I did not participate in singalongs. But I am female, and then, as now, I find myself...sighing over love. Gross!
All of this introspection made me recount my own beloved girly shows. The movies where I liked the females, liked the males, and yes, I swooned. Did I want to marry (i.e. the country girls' admission of sexual desire) any of these dudes? No. Well, except one...or seven. Anyway, observe this clip from one of my favorite chick flicks:
Stupid Ashley! Ashley is stupid. Scarlett is wild. She is indomitable, except when it comes to her emotions, and then she's a mess. I never got the Ashley thing until my own Ashley, so to speak, and you can bet that I didn't throw away my Rhett over him. Lesson learned: a tree that does not bend breaks in the wind.
I also really like a good cry now and then. If you can watch this film without tearing up, you are without a soul. Sorry.

Lesson Learned: Broken hearts cannot be healed. I forget I'm watching a movie with this one. God, that scene is so sad. There should be disclaimers before this film; Warning! Some viewers will have their hearts is torn from their chests while crying until the point of collapse. Discretion is advised.
On the other hand, I enjoy a good romp in the hay. Much is banked on the chemistry of the lead characters; sometimes it is there but most of the time it's off or simply not present. To ensure a quality sex scene-they are making love, you know-the actors have to yearn for it. Like these two, for example.
Close your eyes...gagon. Gagon. Lesson learned: Spaghetti arms!
To be a girl means that deep down inside of you (some more than others) there is a love for conspicuous consumption. I really like the idea of spending a ton of money on myself. In the movies, there are one of two ways characters placed in this situation can go: bitchy or playful. Either way is good for me, so long as they buy outrageous things.
Good times. Lesson learned? Spending money is fun, but can be hazardous to your health.
Last but not least there is just good, old fashioned fun. It's good for the spirit to see something happy and free, even if it's make believe.
Lesson Learned: Sing loud, sing proud.

Yea! Let's Go Outside!!!

It's 85 degrees, the sun is shining....it's spring. Finally!!!
This year I'm going to try to grow chicks and hens, more lavender, corn, and of course tomatoes. Maybe this will be my year!

More Spring Break Trash

So, in retrospect, maybe my love for music videos was a little like the love one has for their bad boyfriend. It's never really satisfying, but it is...what? Romantic? Dramatic? Satisfying? It can be hard to tell, but dammit I miss music videos. I remember my first. We didn't have cable when I was a little girl, but my grandma did and she let us have the run of the place (hi grandma!). When it was my turn to have control of the TV I watched MTV. I remember watching a camera skid across an open, purple room filled with birds and oddly a bathtub. Then a little serious man stood up from this tub and extended his hand to me! Just beats and pompousness and purple. I was hooked. In any case, I could not have foreseen the collapse of the romance between myself and music videos; money holds the strings now and money is boring. So, in retrospect, a collection of the happy times.
When Doves Cry
Thriller
All Through the Night
Faith
West End Girls
Express Yourself
You Got the Right Stuff
Smells Like Teen Spirit
Closer
Just
Hit Me Baby One More Time

Rainy Day Spring Break

I'm bored. There are so many things that I should be doing, but I've been taking online personality tests, finding out about my horoscope, and painting a reproduction of a ukieyo-e print. It's only after noon. Ah. So, here are my results:
INTP: The Architect (also the Thinker). "Of all the role variants, Architects have the greatest ability to analyze the world in depth.Of all the role variants, Architects are the most logically and verbally precise. This can make Architects seem arrogant to others." I used to be the Scientist, what gives?
Sagittarius: The Archer (western horoscope). "Sagittarians are usually modest and often spiritual, with strong values. They are profound thinkers, and are gifted with foresight and good judgment..prone are anger - they tend to flare up over trifles."
The Dragon (eastern horoscope): A symbol of good fortune and sign of intense power, the Oriental Dragon is regarded as a divine beast. Because they are confident, fearless in the face of challenge, they are almost inevitably successful. However, Dragon people be aware of their natures. Too much enthusiasm can leave them tired and unfulfilled.

Wow, you are a Ninja! It's easy to picture you hiding in the trees for hours at a time, flying through the air to uppercut the bad guy, or maybe just stealthily replacing the toilet paper when it runs out. You're that kind of awesome.

The Sex Test: The results of the test suggest that you are very open-minded when it comes to sexuality. You seem to welcome new experiences within the realm of sex and even if you aren't comfortable with a particular ingredient of sex, you are very nonjudgmental of those who indulge themselves.

The Bluest Eye

Have you ever seen a Devil's Claw? According to Wikipedia, "Harpagophytum procumbens, most commonly Devil's Claw, is a plant of the sesame family, native to South Africa. It got its name from the peculiar appearance of its hooked fruit....Devil's claw can be used externally to treat sores, ulcers, boils and skin lesions."

I only bring up the devil's claw because it grows wild where I grew up; now and again my sisters and I would be walking along a cow path in the pastures and one would be clinging to our socks unbeknownst to us. They're ugly as hell, and tough to extract from footwear, but we kept them nevertheless in mason jars or ziplock bags once we got home again. The devil's claw has a powerful form and is a wonder to behold, for all it's ugliness. The Bluest Eye is like that.

Now, as a white person, I was a little put off by the insistent, pervasive, and hateful attitude of the characters toward my my kind. I was not, on the other hand, surprised by it. I suppose I'll never never be black in this life thusly I'll never, as Obama's minister so eloquently put it, be called a nigger. Even so, I am in possession of an imagination, and rage is good to purge. Like vomit, or enlightenment, a bowel movement, an orgasm, or the tiniest bubble of epiphany this book gives, and gives, and gives some more. Until the end. Then the dear little being who wants the bluest of all eyes is destroyed. Like a pig to slaughter. Ah, I know this happens everyday, but it's rarely this well done. The author is a custodian, a medium; how else can it be done? Surely this work isn't hers. People don't choose difficult, albeit honorific, journeys like this do they?

It's funny that you find those old devil's claws after they find you. Now and again I'll read this book just like now and again I'd look at those twisted black roots. I shook them out of their confinement on really windy days just to watch them sail back into the prairie. I'll likely take this book to my bookseller in the end. They were never mine, you know?

The Other Boleyn Girl

I like Anne Boleyn. I always like an ambitious girl, and after all this one died when she was only 27, so a girl she remains. I could care less if she was a bitch, or manipulative, or uncaring, or selfish. So what? One girl, one story. But, this particular girl led an interesting life, one whose actions are still felt hundreds of years later, and I would feel, were I the filmmakers, somewhat remiss in shrouding Anne in gossip and innuendo. Then again, I was only a member of the audience. And I got up and walked out! Laughing!

I experienced a fairly heady bodice-ripping phase in my literary adventures. Velvet and pearls thrown askance in passion is nice. This film is very velvet and pearls. Very candlelit love making to the sovereign on taffeta stuff. I know my way around this genre, and The Other Boleyn Girl came up lacking. I would venture that the filmmakers involved should at least focused on character development as they did costume development, but I am not in the business of selling films.

A word about the lead actresses. This is a silly film, one filled to the gills with stupid, ancient rumors. It preys upon the feminine weakness for beauty and righteousness, the same way some male films prey on violence and revenge. These are young women, Natalie and Scarlett, who can know their motives? The elder actors are making boat payments, some of the younger are trying to be seen (Jim Sturgess! Jude!) But I did get up and walk out laughing, and it was because of the incest thing. I know how Anne began, was crowned, and ended; all else is English/Spanish nonsense. Anne was not stupid, she did not throw it all away nor was she perverted. It was not a fluke that her daughter was one of the greatest monarchs that little island ever knew. So now, as then, money talks and Annie walks. May peace be on you Anne Boleyn, even if you would have stepped on my neck to be the Queen.

Just for Giggles

Too many times I've posted stuff that I faintly disapprove of, in my passive-aggressive way, so today I'm posting stuff that I think is super. For instance, this photoshopped picture of Prince. The adverts on the register read Pull Off. Come In! This couldn't be funnier in real life, but it would be immeasurably more awesome.
I also like a good costume on a cat. Without going into details be assured that I have had some experience in this department, and let me tell you, it's not easy getting a cat to wear a wig. But I don't just like American silliness, I'm tres international, Cherie.

Juno

Yeah, I'm not feeling this one.
It is a great script, great actors, well directed, good sets, sounds (though not the soundtrack-what the hell are kids listening to these days?!). Jennifer Garner surprised me by the depth she was able to give her character. And I love Allison Janney in whatever she does. She could be performing a recitation of Word Origins: An Exploration and History of Words and Language and I would be spellbound. J.K. Simmons played Juno's dad very well. Jason Bateman-my crush from 1988 resurfaced when watching your performance! Yea!
But I don't like hipster doofuses and Juno is a hipster doofus. I have a hard time liking a movie when I don't like the main character and, um, I didn't like little Juno. She's too....or not enough....she's got a tobacco pipe. She's an obnoxious 16 year old knocked up girl who, fortunately, is surrounded by an idyllic support system. The whole thing is just too pat. There are far too many cute little quotes from Juno, but how could there not be when this is yet another teen movie written by a thirty year old. Oh how wise this child is! How brave! How funny! Well, yeah, "Diablo Cody" is twice as old as Juno. There is something disingenuous about this little movie, and I think that maybe it tries too hard to be cool.
I admit, I had a few tears. A few laughs. I'm glad that everyone in the film acted like human beings and not weirdo Hollywood humanoid concoctions. They just spoke to each other in a strange and affected manner, which really isn't that bad of a critique; they say that sort of stuff about Shakespeare.
Apparently there is some "Juno Backlash" out and about on the webs. I wish to distinguish myself in that I recommend this movie even if I won't see again myself. It's cute and well told. Like my neighbor said, it makes you believe in the goodness of life. It's just too hep for my blood, homeskillet.

The Culinary Dictates of Oklahoma

I have it on good authority that to be Oklahoman, one must consume small game. Maybe California wasn't so bad after all...

Opossum
If possible, trap 'possum and feed it on milk and cereals for 10 days before killing. Clean, but do not skin. Treat as for pig by immersing the unskinned animal in water just below the boiling point. Test frequently by plucking at the hair. When it slips out readily, remove the possum from the water and scrape. While scrapping repeatedly, pour cool water over the surface of the animal. Remove small red glands in the back and under each foreleg between the shoulder and rib. Parboil, page 132, 1 hour. Roast as for pork, page 407.
Serve with:
Turnip greens
The Joy of Cooking, 1971

Hard Candy

I'll be honest and admit that I miss the old Madonna. I thought she was really fun and smart and inspired. But I read the writing on the wall the day when I saw this coverpage. Since then, she's gone from being the lovably fucked up fuck me fuck you Madonna I knew and cherished to a....boring and tiresome older woman. Where did your funk go, Madonna? Can one not age gracefully, while maintaining some sort of continuity? I understand that people change, but Madonna is not a person like you and I. She is the invention of a lonely, repressed, exhibitionist kid from Michigan and apparently that kid is now a cranky hag (my heart!). Children's Author? Kabbalahist? African Adopter? Happily Married? Madge? Esther? Hoo doo Madonna. Hoo doo. Now she's got another album coming out and I, because I can't let go, will go out and buy it.
This is my prayer: Please, please let her overcome her trite politics. Please, please, let someone give her some warm tapioca, Tivo'd Wheel of Fortune, and a large diamond encrusted mirror so that we will be spared her vanity, may she be at peace.
Poor is the man whose pleasures depend on the permissions of another.

No Country for the Coen Boys

The country is a funny place. I think a lot of times it scares most people to death; being alone out there surrounded by nothing. What if something happens to you? No one will hear, no one will help, likewise no one will be there to share in your good fortune. Just clouds and sky above, dirt and rocks below. If you're in Texas anyway. I tend to avoid films or books that dramatize the horror vacui people experience in the open country. But I had to see this one.
West Texas is a common metaphor for barren ugliness in Oklahoma. "Well," people will say, "At least it ain't west Texas.". To think that someone would go through the trouble of making a movie out there. And it's as impeccable, sparse and empty as it should be. The air gun? Brilliant. My father is a cattle rancher; I have no illusions as to the fate of his herd. Air guns are (so I've been told, repeatedly) a humane and painless method of destruction. To use this device on humans is diabolical and richly ironic. To be executed in such manner by someone so inscrutable, driven, and fearless as the character of Anton gave me a glimpse of what the cattle must think before they perish. No Country is an engrossing and strange story of Nature, one I will likely not see as often as O Brother or Raising Arizona or even Fargo, but I appreciate that the Coens scooped up a handful of west Texas for us to contemplate before the wind blew it all away.