It's Oscar party time! Please join me for my yearly soirée at 6:30 p.m. this Sunday, February 29. An invitation is attached. This year, the Academy has moved the Oscar ceremony up a month in an attempt to reduce the amount of time and money studios spend on electioneering. At least there are a sizeable number of indie pics nominated this year—we'll see if the new time levels the playing field for the smaller films.
As usual, I encourage the wearing of creative and/or outrageous get-ups, costumes, and other miscellaneous finery by awarding a prize to the best dressed. If you come during the red-carpet coverage, you'll have a chance not only to gawk at what the celebs and other party-goers are wearing, but also to pile some snacks on your plate, have a drink, chat with friends, check out my usual array of Oscar-related quotes, ads, and posters, and most importantly, get yourself a good seat for the big show. I will have printed ballots for you to fill out with your take on the evening's winners. A prize will be also be awarded for the most correct guesses. I'll also include a list of this year's featured drinks.
February 24, 2004
Oscar Party 2004
A look at my 2004 Invitation:
February 10, 2004
Finding Fish, Finding Justice
I woke up at 2 a.m. with a terrible pinched neck, and couldn't sleep, so I got up and read a book for a while: "Finding Fish," Antwone Fisher's memoir. He also wrote the screenplay for the movie that bears his name. It makes me want to volunteer to be a social worker and visit foster children and make sure they're happy and being treated well. I think a lot of crime would be prevented if child abuse could be eradicated. Convicted D.C. sniper John Muhammed and all his siblings were beaten regularly within an inch of their lives. His uncle actually beat a mentally retarded teen to death at the state school. How can you be a productive member of society when you come from that kind of terror and misery?
When I think about how many people are just aching to have a child, and then how many children are unwanted, and treated that way, it just makes me sick. But obviously, there are no easy answers. Even though I was wanted, and my parents were well educated and reasonably enlightened, somehow, it just wasn't in my mother's nature to intervene on my behalf with my father, even though treating a 7-year-old like an adult, and making her stay inside and study for hours at a time was completely inappropriate. I don't know why educating people about how to, or maybe more importantly how not to raise children isn't more important. Shakespeare is wonderful and inspiring, but child development classes would also really be useful for a lot of people with kids. I guess everyone wants to be free to raise their kids in their own way, but whatever religion you follow, and however else you want to indoctrinate your kids, you shouldn't be beating them or telling them they're no good.
It seems that parents who attend child-rearing programs should get some kind of tax break. Why can't the Health and Human Services administration come up with guidelines on what should be taught—basic coping skills for different situations and for children with different personalities. Not a simple task, I know, but what is more important? School teachers shouldn't be expected to do the parents' job. And you can't do much with a child whose parents refuse to get involved. I feel so impotent; I just wish our priorities in this country would change. How can we be talking about sending people to Mars when we're not getting things right here on this planet? It seems a lot like having dessert before you've finished your vegetables. Why do politicians keep skipping the meal?
When I think about how many people are just aching to have a child, and then how many children are unwanted, and treated that way, it just makes me sick. But obviously, there are no easy answers. Even though I was wanted, and my parents were well educated and reasonably enlightened, somehow, it just wasn't in my mother's nature to intervene on my behalf with my father, even though treating a 7-year-old like an adult, and making her stay inside and study for hours at a time was completely inappropriate. I don't know why educating people about how to, or maybe more importantly how not to raise children isn't more important. Shakespeare is wonderful and inspiring, but child development classes would also really be useful for a lot of people with kids. I guess everyone wants to be free to raise their kids in their own way, but whatever religion you follow, and however else you want to indoctrinate your kids, you shouldn't be beating them or telling them they're no good.
It seems that parents who attend child-rearing programs should get some kind of tax break. Why can't the Health and Human Services administration come up with guidelines on what should be taught—basic coping skills for different situations and for children with different personalities. Not a simple task, I know, but what is more important? School teachers shouldn't be expected to do the parents' job. And you can't do much with a child whose parents refuse to get involved. I feel so impotent; I just wish our priorities in this country would change. How can we be talking about sending people to Mars when we're not getting things right here on this planet? It seems a lot like having dessert before you've finished your vegetables. Why do politicians keep skipping the meal?
October 10, 2003
Trapped in John Cage
D.--
Do you really like John Cage? I mean, the idea is intriguing, but the execution is usually excruciating. Merce Cunningham's troop performed at Wellesley one time, and I went, and somehow managed to endure the whole evening, even though there was a Cage protégé there performing live Cage-like "music" to accompany the dancing. There was absolutely no passion or sense of humanity in the dancers' movements, since they were counting, and the music sounded like rattling chains and stomach noises. For two hours! Out of respect for the performers, I stuck it out, but most of the audience left after 30 minutes. "Aleatory" was the kindest thing that could have been said about the show. And it's funny, but I saw that word (or maybe it was aléatoire) in a CD player manual a couple of years ago, and managed to figure out its meaning all by myself, by remembering the Latin phrase Alea jacta est.
I try to be open minded, but if I get zero pleasure or enlightenment from a performance, I think it wiser to tell the Emperor he's naked, rather than pretend he's wearing Prada. I agree that the movement in which "art" is more about making a statement than creating beauty or providing an outlet for true inspiration has run its course, as far as I'm concerned. I remember a chamber music piece composed by a Wellesley senior that was performed at our baccalaureate service, and it was a mass of discordant flutes and strings. Perhaps there was some kind of mathematical reason for its existence, but in my mind, there was no justification for subjecting us to 15 minutes of pure torture. Right afterwards, my friends Marie and Susie and I got up and performed Gilbert & Sullivan's "Three Little Maids from School" to thunderous applause. I think our audience was even more enthusiastic because they had been delivered from so-called "modern" classical music.
Do you really like John Cage? I mean, the idea is intriguing, but the execution is usually excruciating. Merce Cunningham's troop performed at Wellesley one time, and I went, and somehow managed to endure the whole evening, even though there was a Cage protégé there performing live Cage-like "music" to accompany the dancing. There was absolutely no passion or sense of humanity in the dancers' movements, since they were counting, and the music sounded like rattling chains and stomach noises. For two hours! Out of respect for the performers, I stuck it out, but most of the audience left after 30 minutes. "Aleatory" was the kindest thing that could have been said about the show. And it's funny, but I saw that word (or maybe it was aléatoire) in a CD player manual a couple of years ago, and managed to figure out its meaning all by myself, by remembering the Latin phrase Alea jacta est.
I try to be open minded, but if I get zero pleasure or enlightenment from a performance, I think it wiser to tell the Emperor he's naked, rather than pretend he's wearing Prada. I agree that the movement in which "art" is more about making a statement than creating beauty or providing an outlet for true inspiration has run its course, as far as I'm concerned. I remember a chamber music piece composed by a Wellesley senior that was performed at our baccalaureate service, and it was a mass of discordant flutes and strings. Perhaps there was some kind of mathematical reason for its existence, but in my mind, there was no justification for subjecting us to 15 minutes of pure torture. Right afterwards, my friends Marie and Susie and I got up and performed Gilbert & Sullivan's "Three Little Maids from School" to thunderous applause. I think our audience was even more enthusiastic because they had been delivered from so-called "modern" classical music.
September 15, 2003
Girasol
Cuando sale el sol
Y veo tus ojos sonriendos, pícaros,
Pero llenos de ternura,
Mi corazón sale tambien,
Deseando acercarse al tuyo.
Y veo tus ojos sonriendos, pícaros,
Pero llenos de ternura,
Mi corazón sale tambien,
Deseando acercarse al tuyo.
March 20, 2003
Oscar Party 2003
In March, 2003, the U.S. was on the brink of going to war in Iraq, and it was possible that the Oscar broadcast would be pre-empted by war coverage.
It's Oscar party time, but despite the more serious events currently playing out on the world stage, and barring any postponements, I'd like you to join me for my yearly soirée at 6:30 p.m. this Sunday, March 23rd. An invitation is attached.
If you come during the red-carpet coverage, you'll have a chance not only to check out the stars' outrageous outfits, but also to show off your own threads, chat, mingle, nosh a little, have a cocktail, check out quotes from nominated films, and fill out a ballot with your best guesses on the evening's winners. (Prizes will be awarded for best dressed and best guessed, so now's your chance to wear that great outfit from the back of the closet or to dress up like a movie character - recent or vintage.)
If somehow the show is postponed due to world events, I'll let you know my plans, although anyone who'd like to come over and hang out, watch the news or just be with friends would certainly be welcome.
There have been some news reports of a would-be boycott of French food and wine, but if you'd like to register a protest of your own and express support for France's résistance, why not bring something French? To quote from a Salon.com article, "Indeed, a nice Champagne may make a pitiful talisman against encroaching barbarity, but as America goes mad, who doesn't need a drink?" (Read the whole article.)
Hope to see you chèz moi!
January 21, 2003
Achtung, Baby
I love a good discussion--whether spoken or written--with a clever sparring partner, and the emergence of email as a means of correspondence has meant that I do do quite a bit of writing, and that I’m much, much better about corresponding than I was in the days of snail mail. And I almost always spell everything out, and use proper punctuation and capitalization, and only occasionally rely on emoticons to convey tone of voice. It is unlikelier now that friends' prose will go completely unrequited with me, but if I have an engagement to run off to, I sometimes don't have the time to devote to a full and complete response to whatever issues are raised.
I'm can be wary of spending too much time on email, however. Two years ago, I carried on an intense email correspondence/ flirtation with a soi-disant poet who was pursuing me, and over the course of a couple of months, we exchanged about 400 emails, all told. I put my heart and soul into the thing, wrote him poetry, spent hours writing and thinking up witty multilingual puzzles for him to decipher, and he gave me the whole poetry/ flowers/ where have you been all my life shebang. I sat and listened to his whole "my marriage collapsed and I didn't even get any on my wedding night” spiel, but the minute, and I mean the minute I asked for the tiniest bit of support (it was the one-year anniversary of my father's death), he pretty much admitted he was just using me, and was zipoutthedoor. I was broke down. I felt so raw all over, it was like my skin had been peeled off and the exposed flesh rubbed with a nutmeg grater.
I am not going there again. Nuh-uh. And by that I mean that I’m not going to make that kind of effort for someone until I find out who they are, what they want from me, if they’re a good person, and if they are going to have violent objections to any of my personality quirks and blow me off for some bulls**t reason at the worst possible time. That doesn't mean I am never going to trust anyone again, or be giving to anyone again, but I don't have the time and emotional energy to spend on getting over a train wreck I could have avoided by being just a little more aware. The most recent man I met said, “I don’t want to use you,” but he also said, “Some people will tell you I’m a real jerk,” and although I have my theories about it, until I know why, I am going to tread very carefully, because there is something about him that says, “Achtung, baby.”
I'm can be wary of spending too much time on email, however. Two years ago, I carried on an intense email correspondence/ flirtation with a soi-disant poet who was pursuing me, and over the course of a couple of months, we exchanged about 400 emails, all told. I put my heart and soul into the thing, wrote him poetry, spent hours writing and thinking up witty multilingual puzzles for him to decipher, and he gave me the whole poetry/ flowers/ where have you been all my life shebang. I sat and listened to his whole "my marriage collapsed and I didn't even get any on my wedding night” spiel, but the minute, and I mean the minute I asked for the tiniest bit of support (it was the one-year anniversary of my father's death), he pretty much admitted he was just using me, and was zipoutthedoor. I was broke down. I felt so raw all over, it was like my skin had been peeled off and the exposed flesh rubbed with a nutmeg grater.
I am not going there again. Nuh-uh. And by that I mean that I’m not going to make that kind of effort for someone until I find out who they are, what they want from me, if they’re a good person, and if they are going to have violent objections to any of my personality quirks and blow me off for some bulls**t reason at the worst possible time. That doesn't mean I am never going to trust anyone again, or be giving to anyone again, but I don't have the time and emotional energy to spend on getting over a train wreck I could have avoided by being just a little more aware. The most recent man I met said, “I don’t want to use you,” but he also said, “Some people will tell you I’m a real jerk,” and although I have my theories about it, until I know why, I am going to tread very carefully, because there is something about him that says, “Achtung, baby.”
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