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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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4:55 p.m. - 2004-08-04
Gahh! I can’t find my favorite copy of The Good Earth!!!!! What am I going to do? It’s time to read about Wang Lung and O-lan again. I own 3 copies. I compulsively re-read one and the other two are disappointing clunky hardbacks. MY Good Earth is a Cardinal paperback edition from the mid-50’s. Small type on cheap pulp paper, the printing is dense. Far from making it a daunting read, this immersion into the story is satisfying. I am not jerked out of China by distracting illustrations and airy, too much white space chapter breaks. The book’s small size is good too. Very portable. That book has been read on a beach in Cancun, a mountain top overlooking the Hudson, and in at least 20 airports. I will be seriously freaked if it doesn’t turn up. Over and above the stories inside, I become attached to the books themselves. The now woefully battered copy of Charlotte’s Web I got from the SBS Book Club in 2nd grade. The library edition of Look Away Beulah Land I’ve signed and dated on the flyleaf each time I’ve read it since buying it at a library sale in 1975. So many of my books are artifacts. I take proper care of the first editions and other ‘valuable’ books. It’s the responsible thing to do. But my most valuable books have zero market value. They are smudged, initialed, torn, dog eared and mine. Even my wedding ring doesn’t have as much sentimental value as some of my books. I’d better find my Good Earth or there will be hell to pay. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I drove to the salon this morning. Yes I did. Felt good. I just got a trim and an eyebrow wax. I skipped the color and highlights. Didn’t want to push my luck. Sitting under the dryer to cook my foils wears me out. It’s the heat. I cannot tolerate heat anymore. Having my head in a convection oven for 35 minutes is neither wise nor comfortable. No matter how many trashy gossip mags I get to read. Despite the physical pain involved, going to the salon is an orgy of self-indulgence. I wear sloppy comfortable clothes. I do things I don’t have to share. (I swear, I haven’t eaten more than half of my own french fries since I had kids.) And while I’m at the salon I read junk. Trash. Fluff. A cornucopia of brain candy in which the ‘weightiest’ read is Jane. It’s delicious. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Next on my movie hit list is Manchurian Candidate. I’m not against re-makes. The new Sabrina and the new Ocean’s Eleven are better than the originals, so it’s possible Candidate is re-told in a relevant fashion. If anyone can out-do Angela Landsbury’s superb creepy/doting/greedy/evil characterization it’s Streep. However, Denzel Washington is too good looking to be allowed. The man turns me to jelly. I don’t think I’ll be catching the more subtle nuance of his craft, I’ll be too busy drooling. It’s been 40-odd years since the original was shot. 2 generations worth according to sociologists. There’s a whole new audience now and the producers do them a huge disservice by giving away too much of the plot in the trailers and commercials. To most of the under-30 crowd this is a NEW movie. What’s with all the spoilers? Why do movie people insist on blowing things for us? When I review a movie or book I try and stick with the craft. What happens is almost secondary to how the story is told. With the exception of the drubbing I gave Spider-man 2 and deliberately telling you what happens (so you’d stay away from this stinker), I do my best to avoid giving things away. I hate that one guy, (Kurt Honeycutt, I think) who tells you the entire movie in his ‘review’. Aren’t the commercials bad enough? Some dopey ‘critic’ has to do a line-by-line analysis, telling us every joke, every twist and turn, sucking away surprise and discovery completely? “Well thanks, bud. Now I don’t need to go, do I? You very cleverly denied me a fun night out, you blabbermouth.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I guess I should go back and explain why my remark about my wedding ring wasn’t as callous as it sounds. (Though I’m guessing there’s more than a few of you who thought, “With her marriage? It shouldn’t mean a damn thing.”) We’ve never been into the wedding shackles. My ‘engagement ring’ was VW Micro-bus. Our original wedding bands were $5 cheapies from Woolworth’s. We wore them until the ‘gold’ wore off then put them in my jewelry box. Didn’t buy replacements until Alex was over a year old. Simple (real) gold bands. Again, we wore them for a while then into the jewelry box they went. Not trying to hide our status. Mine chewed my finger and Mike’s was a job hazard. Feh, who needs this? The rings were just not that important. Mike got me the ring I wear now for our 11th anniversary. It’s a wide band of filigree silver. It was made in Nepal. Engineer BIL once told me it didn’t look ‘official enough’ to qualify as a wedding ring. Quite the little rule follower my BIL, isn’t he? I laughed and shot back that a gorgeous ring given to me by my husband on our wedding anniversary was quite official enough for me, thankyouverymuch. Happy Hump Day, y’all. ~LA
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