Cinema Italiano

Here's a little hump day pick-me-up...

Kate Hudson's dancing debut in Nine. Sadly it was the only good part of that film, aside from the irresistible Penelope Cruz, whose acting has permanently transformed for the better since Woody Allen tapped her inner crazed femme in Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

The plot of Nine was borderline insulting it was so dull, especially considering the caliber of the cast. Daniel Day-Lewis? Try emaciated faux euro with two hours of a terrible Italian accent. (Very unlike his lead in There Will Be Blood, which will forever leave me fondly reminiscing Daniel Plainview and his son, H.W.) I'm through with Nicole Kidman, a.k.a. Hollywood's matriarch fembot, and Fergie frankly freaked me out. As always, Marion Cotillard went down like a glass of champagne, but honey you aren't getting any Oscars from my academy playing a scorned ex-lover.

Kate Hudson, however, owned the only part of the movie worth watching: the Goldie-Hawn-gene-pool-meets-Bollywood dance piece. I can't seem to find the entire thing on youtube but here are some highlights:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_P-Fn6cXqE

The perfect Friday night

Picture posting inspired by a fellow foodie- I am obsessed with Julia Child and all things francais...after enjoying her memoirs (not to be confused with Julie and Julia), I received volume 1 and 2 of Mastering the Art of French Cooking from Santa Claus and can't get enough of her delicious recipes. Though, come to find out, they are not the secret key to sensational weight loss.

Classic move

I'm not going to write about how much I love facebook because I understand how lame that seems (in reality it is not lame if you value reconnecting with old friends who live back home when you are far away); but I will share the following stunt I fall for every time without fail:

Old Friend (via FB message): "OMG!!!! How are you?!?! What have you been up to the past few years? How did you end up in DC? Catch me up!!!!!!*"

*Please notice the subtle difference between the above overuse of punctuation and the Susan T. Sholtes-style over use. In the latter, there is a premature removal of the shift key resulting in something resembling: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111111.

Me: "Hello Old Friend! It's been such a long time- I hope you are well!" (Long, thorough, time-consuming message reply ensues that would probably average 2 type-written pages "catching up" old friend on my life and what I've been up to) "So that's my story, how have you been? What have you been up to for the past few years?"

(crickets)

[Old Friend is gone and (1) is laughing hysterically that I actually took the time to "catch him/her up"; and (2) immediately forgets this ever happened and doesn't have the wherewithal to reciprocate.]

WITSH? (What In The Sam Hill?) How do these people sleep at night? Why do I continue this destructive and embarrassing behavior?

I cannot help myself. I am an over-sharer.

Dear Type-A Parent

I recognize that the Economist is the ultimate source of weekly international affairs, but I just couldn't take it anymore. I had paid its ungodly subscription fee for over a year (part of my larger Economist subscription pattern, which was subscribe for a year, get fed up and don't for the next year, repeat pattern), I was exasperated from the never ending 9pt font of political minutia and couldn't bear the thought of another 4-page spread on Burma's indefinitely tumultuous state of affairs. I just don't need to know the details anymore. Life is too short for me to read a fourth article on the straw that broke the Icelandic economy's back (in a publication who endorsed Barack Obama, no less).

So I took a stand for my weekly publication rights. I swapped out my Economist subscription for the New Yorker (which came highly recommended from a reliable source). While, as a result, some may classify me as an intellectual lightweight ("some" including my former self who did subscribe to the Economist), they may be right: it turns out my tastes are much more suited for a weekly publication which minimizes its political dabbles and maximizes its content regarding random, useless information such as the availability of human cryogenics services in Michigan or a cross-cultural comparison of how the press treats Roman Polanski. Mix this with a briefing of NYC cultural goings-on (I lied, the information is useful) and a consistently clever parody of some class of people (see discussion below), and I can honestly say I haven't looked back.

The reason for this post is the class of people parodied a few weeks back: the "type-A parent," providing a bolstering argument against my reproducing because (1) I can't stand these people, much less the thought of integrating them into my social circle; and (2) my offspring would inevitably be subject to some of the pitfalls caricatured in the following as I am, without any doubt, a type A personality: http://www.newyorker.com/humor/2010/02/08/100208sh_shouts_mccall

Book Review: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen

Having been moderately obsessed with Jane Austen in high school, I was very quick to recommend Mansfield Park as my book club choice for this month (confession: I am in two book clubs. Nerd alert. This particular book clubs is very small- only 6 people- and we are devoted exclusively to the classics. How does the other half live?) Perhaps having just come off the high of reading Lady Chatterly's Lover, the girls were all for another dive into a formidable piece of brit lit. Although this pick waned in popularity compared with D.H. Lawrence's sex thriller, I thought it proved classic Austen and well worth the read.

The protagonist, Fanny Price, is a young girl from a poor family, raised by her rich aunt and uncle, but treated more like the hired help by everyone except for her cousin, Edmund. He and Fanny are most virtuous in their own personal and social lives, while the rest of the family and friends suffer from a number of character flaws, including being vain and spoiled. Fanny's two female cousins, Maria and Julia, closely resemble Cinderella's evil stepsisters, and without spoiling the book (for all of my imaginary readers who no doubt have Mansfield Park next on their reading list), much like Cinderella, good triumphs over evil.

And that's really it. Because as any of us who have read Austen know, she thoroughly develops her characters for the entire plot and only writes the book's ending in the last two pages (really my only criticism of Austen). But ah the character development! Her writing is truly a pleasure and while sometimes dense with running sentence structure, her prose make such a comprehensive narrative.

As for Fanny Price, her upstanding character is the subject of much of the book's criticism: namely, she's just too good to be true. She is timid, keenly aware of even the slightest ill motive and very disapproving. It's hard to relate to perfect Fanny Price, but her character is endearing all the same as she does a likable job at serving as a near-biblical example of how we should act and treat others.

Gainesvegas

Not quite sure why, but I've been so homesick lately. Actually, I think I know what may have instigated it...thoughts of running the Five Points of Life marathon (or what's more likely, the half) back in Gainesville next year. My mom suggested it and she's right- would make for a great trip home during what is the most miserable time in the Northeast- FEBRUARY. Blech. I looked at the race course online- it goes through all of the Gainesvegas highlights and my head spins just thinking about the Sonny's pork-on-garlic waiting after the finish line.

It made me realize that even though I've gone back home for the holidays for the past approximately 3.5 years, I really haven't spent time doing anything more than rushing around from family event to family event (and by event I of course mean meal after meal during which I challenge myself to consecutive eating contests). Because my parents are divorced, and all four of my "parents" have medium to large-sized families in the area, my trips home are a mad dash to see as many people as possible. We're talking quantity, not quality. In the past few years I have managed to do (what I would consider to be) tons of foreign and domestic traveling in addition to making it home for holidays, graduations, etc., which means my trips back to "the 'Ville" have been painfully brief. I am longing for some time in Gainesville somethin' fierce. How ironic?! I have spent most of my life trying to get out of Gainesville and see the world. Not exactly a settle-down-in-my-hometown kind of girl. In fact I have recently decided that the nation's capitol is just a little too small potatoes and am studying for NY bar exam in July to consider moving to an even bigger pond in Manhattan (ok, forget the size of the potatoes, the truth is I'm in love with an Irishman in that zip code).

I can't honestly say that I don't ever think of moving back home. The thought has crossed my mind but it is, and continues to be, the result of some fleeting nostalgic moment. Some contributory factors: the mid-Atlantic winter from hell, the tempting glitz and glam of being a big fish in a small pond, maybe running for office in Florida, and, most importantly, being closer to Susan T. Sholtes et al. But I know myself well enough to say that I would outgrow Gainesville all over again and it would take me a lot less than 25 years this time.

So for now I'll turn on the "local" news consisting of scenes from Senate hearings (instead of Paige Beck updating on a GPD bust), I'll polish the hardwood floors in my 600 square-foot condo that cost more than the average single family estate in Alachua County, I'll cheer for Georgetown's basketball team (the only thing remotely close to a college sports experience), hop on the metro to get to French class at the embassy (instead of at Cafe Gardens over a beer), and take my granny cart to Whole Foods to spend the other half of my paycheck on organic avocados and champagne (when I'd truthfully just prefer some chicken 'n dumplings and sweet tea). Not my natural habitat, but not exactly roughing it...