A Few Things

It's been a busy couple of weeks. We spent most of last week in Beulah, Michigan on the shores of the appropriately named Crystal Lake. Suzanne's family reunion was held there and, except for Shauna's two sons, everyone was able to come. The kids loved digging in the sand, hunting for snipes, riding around in Uncle Jeff's boat, and rehearsing skits to perform for the family. The rest of us loved sitting around, telling stories, eating food prepared by the other Uncle Jeff, watching the kids play, competing at ladder ball, and just generally enjoying one another's company. The thing I am always struck by when I spend time with Suzanne's family is how much I like them. I always like them, of course, but when I actually get to interact with them face to face, I end up liking them that much more - which is pretty nice. Most people don't get that when it comes to in-laws.



It was particularly fun to meet a few family members for the first time - the smiley Tate Norman and the Goddess of Awesome, Maia Norman. It was also a great pleasure to see the lovely and charming Aunt Vicky again. It had been too long.

So now we're back and my summer classes are on the downhill slide. Summer term ends on August 11 and Fall semester starts on August 17. Sigh. Busy, busy, busy. I find myself actually looking forward to this semester though because #1. it won't be as monumentally busy as Spring semester was, #2. I get to teach an Art of Film class, and #3. after sweating like a warthog trapped in a tin shed all summer long, the idea of cool fall days sounds like the greatest thing ever.

It's been a while since I've given an update on my mom. Frankly, I wish the news were better. Mom's struggling with some depression and loneliness. My brothers, their wives and children and my dad do a lot and spend time with her every day (they are heroic), but when you spend 23 hours of the day in bed, it's hard to feel connected with the world, I think. Plus, her speech and cognitive abilities seem to be suffering right now. In addition to basic forgetfulness, she's having a tough time (at times) making sense when she speaks. I had a rough conversation with her last night during which there were a couple of moments when I honestly didn't know how to respond because I didn't understand what she was talking about. I don't know what all this means. My dad says her most recent brain scan came back clear and she's still getting her regular maintenance chemo - but she won't eat much and her energy and balance are as questionable as ever. I don't know what any of this adds up to. I hope I'm just being unnecessarily alarmist.



Anyway, the days roll along. Maryn and Avery have had a good summer full of softball games, art camp, cousins, play dates, swimming, and fun. Suzanne and I have both been able to visit family and friends as well as get away here and there together. Despite the fact that it feels like it's raining heat outside, summer can't last forever. It will be over before we know it.

Will To Live

It's 90 degrees outside right now with 70% humidity.
I should be grading papers.
Or reading books for my dissertation.
Or switching out the laundry.
Or dusting.
Or playing with my kids.
Or cleaning the bathroom.
Or something else useful and productive.

But I'm not. I'm sitting here right in the blast of the AC, barely moving. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to do a thing. I'd kind of like to take a nap. My will for positive, forward movement has been sapped for today and I feel like not doing a freaking thing. Maybe things will change once the sun is lower in the sky. Maybe I just need to eat an early dinner. Maybe some of the cookie dough in the fridge would help. I don't know. All I know is that my ten fingers moving across this keyboard is about all the physical activity I can muster at this moment. I'll let you know if this changes today. Don't hold your breath though.

Foiled Again - Or At Least Delayed

I've missed at least two chances to see U2 live in concert - once in Nashville, Tennessee and once in Salt Lake City. Both times I felt the bitter sting of a joyous, life-altering experience hurling past me like a semi on a wet, windy highway. Earlier this year, I decided it was time to finally break the cycle - to see my favorite band of all time in person. I bought a couple of tickets, one for me and for my girl Suze-a-loo, and fully planned to be somewhere in the nosebleeds on July 5 of this year.



That date came and went but no concert. Why, you ask - because Bono, singer, lyricist, activist, and cool-guy-extraordinaire is what we experts call an "aging rock star." He hurt his back during rehearsal and canceled a ton of concerts while he recovered. I don't fault him. I hope his diminutive Irish back recovers soon and that he's able to go on helping third world countries get their debt forgiven, raising funds for AIDS research, and generally rocking out.



But when I received the following e-mail this morning, I took a moment to think a little the worse of Bono and U2 and back injuries and fate and everything else that seems to stand in my way when it comes to checking this little item of my Bucket List:

"Attention ticket holder!

We just learned that your event has now been rescheduled:

U2
Soldier Field
Tuesday, July 6th, 2010 New date: Tuesday, July 5, 2011 at 7PM!"

Yup. I'll still get to see them --- in a YEAR!

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. The world does not hate you. The world does not hate you.

Another Movie

David Bordwell, a prominent American film scholar, suggests that the whole purpose of American film narrative is to "unite the romantic couple." In other words, movies are just there to get the guy and the girl together. Now obviously that's a pretty broad generalization and it doesn't apply to lots of films but, on the other hand, it does apply to lots of others. Think about your favorite movies. How many of them involve the "boy-meets-girl, boy-loses-girl, boy-wins-girl-back" structure? A lot of them, right? Nothing wrong with that.

When Suzanne and I were watching Garry Marshall's Valentine's Day the other night, my first thought was "This movie is so lame, it needs crutches and orthopedic shoes." But then I decided that it was actually the ultimate culmination of what Bordwell is talking about. It's like your standard American romantic comedy but on steroids. It is the Costco of romantic comedy. It has everything for everyone and in bulk.



Every kind of boy-girl coupling you can imagine is represented here: young and dumb (Taylors Lautner and Swift), old and wise (Hector Elizondo and Shirley Maclaine), straight and gay, mother and son, "I never realized the perfect person was right under my nose," and so on. The film is thick with pretty people in pretty settings and characters doing highly unlikely and improbable things. Larry Miller's airport worker giving Ashton Kutcher a free pass to any gate in the airport? Really? I know it's a romantic comedy but am I supposed to suspend all disbelief? Am I supposed to assume this movie takes place before 9/11? What about all the standing around and doing nothing George Lopez and Ashton Kutcher, two professional florists, seem to be doing on Valentine's Day of all days? The restaurant owner who allows Jennifer Garner to humiliate one of his customers and make a scene in his place just because she's a scorned woman? Really? What about Jessica Biel's character being alone and unloved? I'm not saying a pretty woman can't be alone or feel unloved but her neurotic schlub in 900 dollar shoes act wasn't very convincing.

Anyway, the point is that the movie tried to give everything to everybody and, therefore, ended up not giving much to anybody. It tries too hard to cover every possible angle and ends up creating flat, underdeveloped characters caught in vague, low-pressure predicaments that get resolved in obvious, trite ways.

I don't think this movie really represents what filmgoers want to watch. I like to think people are smarter and a little more discriminating than that. I do think, however, that it is what some marketing bunch in Hollywood thinks we want. And that's a shame. Hopefully, the film's critical drubbing and the subsequent box-office drop-off will let studio heads know they need to produce better than this.

P.S. With Redbox, I feel a lot better about renting movies like this. If I had paid Blockbuster's ridiculous 4.99 per movie price, I'd be a lot more feisty about this.

Books and Movies, Movies and Books

As we drove out to Idaho a few weeks ago, I listened to The Lost City of Z by David Grann. Grann is a journalist who, casting about for a story, came across accounts of Colonel Percy Fawcett, one of the last great Victorian Explorers with a capital "E." Fawcett believed that all the rumors about Coronado, the legendary South American city of gold, had to have existed in some fashion or another. So he dedicated the later half of his life to finding evidence of it. He disappeared into the Amazon jungle in 1925 and was never heard from again. Eighty years later, David Grann became fascinated with Fawcett and set out to discover what had happened to him.





I think listening to a book creates a different experience than reading it so I'm not sure how I would have reacted to it had I encountered it that way. Either way, I enjoyed it quite a bit. The story weaves back and forth between a biography of Fawcett, the history of Victorian exploration, legends of Z (inexplicably, the name Fawcett gave to this mythical city), and Grann's efforts to track down his story. While the writing lacks the crazy, passionate enthusiasm of other journalist-on-a-mission books that I've read and loved (Chasing Che, Into the Wild, The Island of Lost Maps), it's still a really interesting book. It was a good traveling companion for 10 hours on the road.

The other night, I finished the last story in Letting Loose the Hounds by Brady Udall, Boise State MFA professor, writer, and Mormon. His latest novel, The Lonely Polygamist, just came out and, in preparation, I decided to read his book of short stories. Contemporary literary short stories, I have found, can either be devastatingly powerful or the reading equivalent of having a damp, dingy dishrag limply dragged over your face. It's definitely something - but not necessarily a pleasant or useful something. I was pleased to find that Udall has a nice sense of language and a compassionate heart for his characters. There were moments when I laughed out loud while reading and that's always a nice thing. The characters were fresh without being looney, wacky, or unnecessarily quirky (another failing of some contemporary literature).



I appreciated each story and felt like my time was well spent. However, one aspect that I really like in the best short stories is that punch-to-the-face feeling you get when it's over. Ever read Edith Wharton's "Roman Fever" or Flannery O'Connor's "Good Country People?" Jhumpa Lahiri's "Sexy" or John Cheever's "The Swimmer?" At the end of each of those, I feel as though I've been smacked in the face with pleasure. My only qualm with Udall's book of stories is that not one of them left me with that feeling. They were all cozy and enjoyable but not one of them smacked me in the head. There are a couple I enjoyed more than the others and I'll probably use at least one of them in my creative writing class this fall - but when I read a short story, I want to feel as though a sniper of literary joy has lined me up in his (or her) sights and fired.

Speaking of which, we took the girls to see Toy Story 3 yesterday. We got a babysitter and were able to enjoy an entire movie uninterrupted by the need for a bottle or a diaper change. It was easily the best movie I've seen this year. It was smart, sweet, lovely, laugh-out-loud funny, and touching. How many movies can you say that about these days? As with a lot of fiction, I come away from a lot of movies feeling vaguely (sometimes not so vaguely) dissatisfied and empty. I came away from this movie feeling as though I was better for having seen it. Again, how many movies can we say that about these days? Most of you have probably already seen it or read about it, but for those who haven't done either, I won't spoil anything. I'll simply say, no other movie (or tv show or book) has ever gotten so much comedic mileage out of a tortilla. I'll let you find out what I'm talking about.

Lazy Sunday

We drove to Streator last night for its annual fireworks display. It was a really good show and surprisingly easy to get into and out of. We went with friends from church and just had a really lovely evening. We met for desserts and talk at 6:30 and then headed out for the show around eight thirty.

Parker was very patient through the whole thing and watched most of the show. Here and there she was more interested in the people around us than in the sparking showers in the sky. But for a ten month old, to sit through most of a loud, bright fireworks show without so much as a real squawk is pretty good.

Needless to say, church came awful early this morning. The bed felt awful good. Nevertheless, we got up and attended anyway.

As I write this, Suzanne is napping and the rest of us (including Parker who is trying to help me type) are watching The Other Side of Heaven. It's warm outside and this is an excellent day to stay near the A/C and do next to nothing.

How Cool Is This?

As an Idahoan and a recovering poet, I loved today's Writer's Almanac poem:



In Praise of the Potato

Potato, sojourner north, first sprung
from the flanks of volcanoes, plainspoken kin

to bright chili and deadly nightshade,
sleek eggplant and hairy tobacco,

we could live on you alone if we had to,
and scorched-earth marauders never bothered you much.

I love you because your body's a stem,
your eyes sprout, and you're not in the Bible,

and if we did not eat your strength,
you'd drive it up, into a flower.


David Williams



I mean, really, there simply aren't enough poems about root vegetables these days. Long live the potato.