The Gloved Ones

Nessie's BACK!

Check out the video from CNN (so you know it's TRUE ;) So....what do you think Nessie really is? A 50 foot long eel?

A review of "The Pale Blue Eye: A Novel"

The Pale Blue Eye: A Novel

by Louis Bayard

I am really in a slump here people. I am apparently plagued with the ability to pick out books with great premises that are never brought to fruition. This is what, the third book in a row that I made 3/4 of the way through and didn’t finish? I’m starting to think it’s not them, it’s me…nah, it’s them. The plot has a great set up in the beginning: cadet Edgar Allan Poe is brought in to help solve a twisted murder at the US naval academy crica 1830. Then for the rest of the book, nothing happens. There is no trail of clues to follow, and only one vilain to consider (well, maybe two). Instead we are punished by extended authorial excercises in character voice. Edgar Allan Poe as written couldn’t be more of a linguistically ostentatious twit. Less talky, more plotty, ok?

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In The Navy

Sometimes I think I have shameful hidden addictions just so I can have the pleasure of disclosing them on this blog; I am more than a little bit knowledgable about TMZ, shall we say. I try really hard to keep my fascination with it on the down low, but Harvey Levin just has a way of surprising you with info that you didn't know you wanted to know. In this particular post, I am confessing that a) I read TMZ on an hourly basis, and for my efforts, look what I get blessed with. And b) the cat's out of the bag! I watched The Bachelor this season (the finale is tonight!) and I really don't want Bevin to win.

But does there really have to be a finale? Can't we just keep an hour and a half of prime time a week devoted to Lt. Dr. Andy Baldwin? Why does it have to end?

Would it interest you to know...

That I've only ever sung 5 karaoke songs in my life? For those of you that know me, I'm sure that's pretty hard to believe, but it's true. They are:

1. I Will Survive by Gloria Gaynor at Club Omni, Provo UT, 2001
2. Amanda by Boston at Coyote Bar and Grill, Carlsbad, CA, 2004
3. In Your Room by The Bangles at Palos Verdes Bowl, Torrance, CA, 2007
4. Ready To Take A Chance Again by Barry Manilow (same)
5. Diamonds Are Forever by Dame Shirley Bassey (same)

A review of "The Janissary Tree: A Novel"

The Janissary Tree: A Novel

by Jason Goodwin

This book started out promisingly. It’s abundantly clear that the author has a profound knowledge of Turkish history and culture and a light comic touch when it comes to characterization. Unfortunately, the plot, although interesting enough at first, was hampered by the choice (and I don’t know if it was authorial or editorial) of using very short chapters that always ended with a dramatic cliffhanger, but were followed by a new chapter that involved different settings and characters. A little of this is usually alright, but used with such consistency here it had the effect of confusing me and making me forget where the action had left off once returned to a scene. It reminded me of reading the Woman in White by Wilkie Collins, which was first serialized in a magazine before being published in book form. There Collins had to use cliffhangers so readers would buy the next issue. Here, the technique just made me feel manipulated. With with 80 pages to go, I realized that I really didn’t care whodunnit or why, which abruptly put an end to this visit to Istanbul.

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Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!

This will take some effort, but the payoff is worth it. The funny part of this clip begins 4:56 in, so press play, let the buffer load, and zish to that point.

Are you talking?

So I pretty much think that Julie Christie is a goddess, OK? I loved her in Darling, Far From The Madding Crowd, Petulia and Dr. Zhivago (which I just saw for the first time like a week or two ago.) I also thought she was the best thing about McCabe and Mrs. Miller and Afterglow (shut up, I saw it back when I was in my crush on Jonny Lee Miller phase). She even brought some class to Troy, a flick I enjoyed for more prurient reasons having to do with biceps and the like.

I am even really stoked to see her new movie, Away From Her, which I just saw the trailer for. It looked particularly good, which is not something I ever thought I would say about a Canadian romance about Alzheimer's. That's why I was sadly brought back to earth by a short piece in the recent New Yorker in which she made a statement that shocked me:

Told that she should see “The Lives of Others,” the award-winning movie about East Germany, Christie paused, then re-plied, “I’m not sure I can bear to see a film they gave the Oscar to, that tells you what awful people Communists are.” And with that she laughed, unlocked her bike, and pedalled off into the sunshine.

I was just flabbergasted. As with most actors, from her generation especially, I naturally assume that they're left-wing, until proven otherwise. You don't get to be Warren Beatty's paramour for 7 years in the 60s and 70s if you're OK with the likes of Margaret Thatcher, one would assume. But I am astonished that she so ardently still admires Communism, after all we know know of all the millions murdered and and such rampant abuses of power, and the total failure of it as a political system.

If Ms. Christie could be bothered to watch The Lives of Others as I have, she would have seen a frightening portrayal of what it is to live in a Communist state where lover is pitted against lover for political gain, where neighbor spies upon neighbor and reports to the Stasi, where there is no freedom of press, and where you literally cannot tell a joke amongst friends at lunch without losing your job. That is the life that she apparently wants for all of us; that's her ideal.

Also I think it's telling that she tacitly implies that in the Julie Christieverse, Oscars would be given to films based primarily on their political message, with "artistic" achievement apparently a distant consideration. As an aside, this just makes one wonder who the Oscars are really for? If Middle America doesn't go see the five Best Picture nominees, as has been reported, and the Hollywood gliterati are disappointed in who gets the awards, then who IS, outside of the winners, pleased with the films that get honored?

When I watched Dr. Zhivago recently, I was most struck at the end, when Komarovski and Lara leave on the sleigh for China, leaving Zhivago behind, and Komarovski comments that Zhivago is foolish for not leaving with them, to which Lara replies something to the extent of, "Yuri will never leave Russia." I had to laugh. Surely, the thought life as an emigré in Paris with Lara and their child was more torture than could be borne by Dr. Zhivago. Why leave Russia when you could starve AND freeze to death or be killed for asserting the right to live in your own property?

I mention this experience because I am amazed that after filming that movie, in which the ravishes of Communism were put into such relief, that Julie Christie would continue to see Communism as an ideal worth pursuing. Of course movies are not life, but if I was confronted day in, day out over months of filming with the realities of that era and had to participate in the re-tellings of such horrors, they certainly would have made impressions on me that were obviously lost on Ms. Christie. I guess in that sense, she 's never going to leave Russia either.

Amuses-bouche

Just when you thought I couldn't get any more obsessed...I go and discover Pâtisserie Chantilly. It's tucked away in a strip mall, you wouldn't ever know it was there. But I found out. Boy did I ever. My first trip there I sampled their signature piece, the choux aux sésames, , and I was floored. Sesame isn't exactly a flavor I think of when I think dessert. But I am hard pressed to think of a more delightful dessert than this. And the size of the choux makes it just right for that elusive dessert we all seek (well at least in my family): just a little sweet after dinner, substantial enough to sate the sweet tooth, but not enough to regret it.

Next I had lemon madeleines. They were ok, not the best I've ever had. I ended on the caramel machiatto, a confection created to look like a cup of espresso, but made entirely of pastry. Next time around I'm going to try the tarte aux fruits...and maybe some of the items that were sold out (there were quite a few of those!)

In front of me in the line at the counter were two mothers and their children. What nice moms! My mom would have never taken me to a pastry shop "just because". She also would have never spent $74 on pastries like these moms did. It was worth it, I'm sure!

Certified Geekdom

I got a link to this video this morning and I admit I was drawn in. It's the Bayeux Tapestry, animated.

A review of "Tinisima"

Tinisima

by Elena , Poniatowska

Tina Modotti is a fascinating 20th century character whose life was stranger than fiction. Elena Poniatowska, journalist and author, allegedly spent 10 years researching Modotti, and this novel is the fruit of that labor. It’s difficult to understand why she chose to write a novel instead of a biography. Her training as a journalist is evident throughout this book, much to its detriment. Modotti’s life is intricately plotted: first she did this, then she did that. We get a well-researched timeline of events that would be laudable in biographical form, but we never quite come to understand Modotti.

Why would such a vibrantly voluptuous spirit, the center of bohemian Mexico in the 1920s, who tried so hard to create beautiful forms in both art and life consciously subsume and excise all remnants of her unique personality from her life to become a drab gray Comintern agent, abandoning her appearance and her art? Why would she go from a sybaritic plethora of male admirers to obsessing over a pro-Stalinist assassin that just couldn’t be bothered to pay her attention? How was her automatic love of mankind and the idealism it engendered tricked and blinded by the evils committed in the name of Communism? If there were no answers to these questions to be found in all Poniatowska’s biographical research, than certainly a novel might be the ground for examining these questions. It would allow the author to venture with imagination to answer what is left unknown. But Poniatowska creates a Modotti so opaque that psychological understanding becomes impossible.

Modotti crosses paths with hundreds of people in this book. The work is peppered with names of people that are just randomly inserted, possibly to give events context but without context of their own, making it impossible to tell to the reader if a) the person is fictional or b) the person really existed. I get the feeling that most of the people named were real, however Poniatowska gives next to no information about them, so their addition becomes blather. Additionally, as there is no internal examination of Modotti herself, there is no examination of her interaction with these people that would help us understand anything about them. Weston did this, Mella did that, Rivera said this, Vidali went here…we don’t know why, they just did, and we stop caring. I couldn’t be bothered to finish the book with 50 pages to go.

I’m sure Modotti’s life would make a fascinating biography. That’s what I should have read instead of this.

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Synchonized Swimming Contest Routine

This is from Girls' Camp, and these are all peeps I know. Unfortunately I wasn't a counselor that year, but thank goodness we have video!

Oh the Humanity!

I've thought a lot about whether I should write this post. Since the shootings at Virginia Tech, there's been a lot of discussion about showing evil in the media. Some say that by looking into the eyes of pure evil we can educate ourselves and thus protect ourselves. Some argue evil can exert such influence that acknowledging or studying it gives it more power. I normally am all for not giving evil any power, but I feel that we citizens of planet earth have not been sufficiently warned about this particular evil. No photos will be posted here, no extensive description proffered. Those who want to look can look. Those who are afraid what damage might be wrought on their eternal souls can choose not to view it. I just wanted to give evil a human face. Well, I guess it's not human, but as close to human as the guy who gave Michael Jackson his first seven referals to plastic surgeons could look...

I was talking to my friend this past week and she commented that I "wouldn't be me without [my] obsessions." I guess that's true, but I've always been to busy obsessing about my latest obsession to make that self-realization. So I thought I'd share with you my new obsession: I was a Crabcakes Benedict virgin till last week. This is the second Saturday in a row that I had them for brunch, the first at Good Stuff, the second at Misto. They were even better the second time around. Don't they look delectable?

It's a family tradition we have that we make homemade Eggs Benedict for my Dad for Father's Day. I can only handle that about once a year, though because hollandaise is tricky to make (LOW HEAT), and I'm a well-intentioned yet sometimes not great cook. I might order them once a year at a restaurant, but usually it's an infrequent treat for me, and I'd never had them made with crab!

So has anyone else noticed the ascension of crabcakes on the social scene over the last 4-5 years? Now you can buy a fabulous gourmet crabcake from Trader Joe's where as I'm sure the only grocery store version available in the past was probably Kentucky Fried Smells Like Real Crab patties. So maybe I'll have to try these at home!

It's official, I'm OLD!

Did you know it's Dirty Dancing's 20th Anniversary? You do now...coming soon to a screen near you.

I sense a theme running through your work...

I was born in the 70s, LIVED the 80s, but secretly, I think my heart belongs to the early 60s. And I think it has to do with the clothes. You're shocked, I can tell. One of the unsung staples of the 20th century well-dressed man, a crisp, single-breasted suit of a pearly dove's breast was never done better service than by Cary Grant as the daredevil plutocrat-cum-adventurer Roger Thornhill in North by Northwest...



or rumpled with such phsyicality and insouisance as the ones Jean-Paul Belmondo seemed to wear in all his early 60s flicks. In this picture from Pierrot le Fou he wears a divine Prince of Wales check...



This photo is a still from OSS 117: Le Caire nid d'espions, the 2006 French espionage farce set in 1955 that I finally saw this past week. The star of the film, Jean Dujardin (pictured below), rocked the suit like he was discovering the new world, splitting the atom and landing on the moon all in one stride across the lobby of Cairo's best hotel. It made me yearn. Yes, Kramer, to answer your question, I YEARN! I yearn for a time when every man wore cuff links when he left the house. Is that so wrong?

If anyone is interested, Kilgour of Saville Row is doing a bespoke tour of the USA...grab a dude and drag him down to get his measurements taken!

DODGERTALK

Did you know Alyssa Milano has a blog about the Dodgers? NEITHER DID I! I have never been a fan of hers, not that I was overtly anti-Alyssa, but this is certainly a startling turn of events. That Justin Timberlake is such an early-adopter! I will certainly keep an eye on the blog and more importantly on the Blue Crew this year, as the LA Times and Sports Illustrated have both named them as likely to be in the world series this year. Watch this space.

I know what I'm getting Dominick Dunne for Christmas...

Dear Vanity Fair,

When A. M. Homes calls something "slightly naughty", I believe her. One of our more subversive modern authors, who has mentioned more than once in interviews that she had sexual feelings about her biological father when she first interacted with him as the result of a search for her biological parents, if SHE thinks something is indecent, I'm sure Tipper Gore is drafting a bill to put through congress right now to save us all from it.

So, you crazy content creators at vanityfair.com, looks like I fell for one of your nasty lexical tricks. You put Lilly Pulitzer and "naughty" as a tease for an article and I'm thinking sock garters and horsewhips for stockbrokers available in a flamingo pink or billiard table green. These ties are more like what Stanford Blatch from Sex and the City would use to distract you from the awful eyeglasses he wears.

I am willing to concede that maybe I don't have a firm grasp on what passes for modern masculinity these days (c.f. my comments about the inaugural issue of another Condé Nast publication, Men's Vogue on this blog.) Hell, I'd wear them if I didn't think women-in-ties a dangerously tricky sartorial move only best attempted by someone at the top of their game or in a Billy Idol video, which I admittedly at this juncture am not. But I do have what I will christen my McQueen Masculinity Maxim which when stated as a mathematical proof looks like this:

If Steve McQueen is THE MANLIEST MAN OF ALL TIME, then everything he does is masculine.

Ergo, if Steve McQueen would not do X, then X is not masculine.

Q. E. D. Masculinity can be determined by answering the question, "Would Steve McQueen do X?"

According to my calculations, that makes these ties less than virile. However, the Grande Dame of Palm Beach apparently disagrees with me. When Homes queries Pulitzer about her target market, "who is the Lilly man?", she responded thus:

"He's confident, of course. He's walking down the street wearing pink and green elephants," says 75-year-old Lilly Pulitzer Rousseau

I admit it would take nigh on to McQueenian confidence to do something like that.

What exactly does Lilly Pulitzer have on you, Graydon Carter?

Baby, you can drive MY car!

This pic I came across is from a promotion that's almost a year old and I don't even care. It's of one of my many Britboy crushes, Rupert Penry-Jones modeling for my lovely Aston Martin.
To quote Her Madgesty, as I am wont to do..."If I was a car, I’d be an Aston Martin." Give those guys in marketing a raise, they got me.

This is the photo I am sending with my Christmas cards this year. This is me and my lovely RPJ overlooking the Firth of Clyde, he in his lovely cashmere coat, me in my snuggy cable knit. We are so in love with the performance of our new Aston Martin!

A review of "Selected Poems"

Selected Poems

by Joseph Brodsky

Hrm. These poems are obviously translated from the Russian, and I wonder what kind of translation it was…literal, word for word, or did the translator take license to try and replicate the tone of the poem with out the precision of meaning. I guess I can’t just help but feel that I’m missing something here. THESE are the poems a man was exiled over? For what? Maybe I’m just too American, meaning I don’t question a person’s right to dissent, but there hardly seemed to be any criticism of the Soviet Regime AT ALL. There are some poems that deal with atomic power, boats, his exile. But most talk of nature, and the towns he has known, and maybe a few long-ago loves. Hardly the stuff to make you wanna expel him from your country.

More knowledge of context on my part probably would have increased my appreciation. This was admitedly an intro to Brodsky for me.

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