Internet Lovelies

I didn’t even want to go on the date. That sounds terrible but I just went because I thought, well, he asked and, “Who am I to say no?” That sounds terrible too. I’m a feminist! I mean, come on. The entire time, I thought, “I do not want to be here. I do not want to talk to him. I want to go home.” It’s a situation I’ve been in countless times. I write about it sometimes, this sense of entrapment where I feel unduly obligated to say yes to things...

...He said something “jokingly” and inane about how if he stayed all night we could do some work together. It was supposed to be charming but it was not. I smiled and said, “No thanks.” He said, “Let’s at least finish the movie, the wine.” HULK MAD HULK SMASH MAN FACE! I politely said, “I need to end the evening,” and he was still on his own agenda. He is truly a nice guy (he is, just maybe not good at reading cues). I didn’t know what to do. I felt like… I was speaking English and I did so clearly and somehow that wasn’t translating into whatever the hell language he hears when people speak to him. For now, I am going to call that language DICK.

Roxane Gay, Link

You know that Aaliyah song, "Try Again"? Well men, please don't listen to that. If at first you don't succeed, that's it. Please stop. Because you're coming off as rapey. I'm talking to you, creepers of the library.

When I see a fresh red heart in facebook’s “is now in a relationship” status update, I secretly wait for its full metastasis into a tumor.

Jimmy Chen, Link

I picture a bunch of unsatisfied people in this country, this grand first world country with clean water and dirty Gods, going to a country with dirty water and clean Gods, to negotiate happiness, to bargain for it, to try to find “something” in a world whose atomic constituent was built, literally, upon nothing. And we wonder why we’re empty.

Jimmy Chen, Link

In support of my "save the bookstores" tips from awhile back: GalleyCat reports that the sale of mass market paperbacks is down 41% from last year. If you're a small indie bookstore, you should maybe consider discontinuing selling cheap paperbacks of bestsellers. The consumer type for this market is more likely to own an e-reader. Or will just buy them from the grocery store anyway, along with their frozen burritos. Do you sell frozen burritos in your bookstore? Then stop selling James Patterson.

Remember the VIDA statistics I talked about last year? Well they're just as dismal this year. We're in the future!

I personally was on Facebook for two weeks as part of a piece of journalism I was writing — it seemed sort of dumb to me. Twitter is unspeakably irritating. Twitter stands for everything I oppose…it’s hard to cite facts or create an argument in 140 characters…it’s like if Kafka had decided to make a video semaphoring The Metamorphosis. Or it’s like writing a novel without the letter ‘P’…It’s the ultimate irresponsible medium.

People I care about are readers…particularly serious readers and writers, these are my people. And we do not like to yak about ourselves.

Jonathan Franzen, Link

*cough* *hack* Sorry, just trying to wave away this cloud of 'smug' that materialized from my computer monitor and enveloped itself around me.

Franzen, you don't need to yak about yourself. Freedom was an Oprah's Book Club pick. A writer who uses social media to gain an audience for their work can be "serious." Whatever you mean by that. Although in my opinion being part of Oprah's book club automatically strips you of whatever "seriousness" you once held, in my own interpretation of the term.

I've never attempted a Franzen novel, mostly because he says shit like this all the time. And writes vaguely misogynistic articles about Edith Wharton. I've always found it difficult to separate the artist from the art. No matter how many times the Ender's Game series is recommended to me, my mind keeps going back to the fact that Orson Scott Card is a hateful homophobe. And maybe I'm missing out on some really good books. But there are a lot of good books out there--more than I'll ever have time to read--so I may as well support the ones written by 'good' authors.

I'm a bit on the defense here because I spend a disproportionate amount of each day on twitter; that most "irresponsible medium." I don't do it for recognition or to market myself (what would I even be marketing!?). I don't care how many followers I have. I just enjoy having a creative outlet that's challenging and allows me to be anonymous (translation: this blog has my full name attached to it, so dick jokes are kept to a minimum. Hi future employers!).

I understand what Franzen is saying about "writing a novel without a P." The format of twitter is a gimmick. You get just 140 characters. It's a challenge that he would utterly fail; you can't craft a tweet containing a word like 'semaphoring' and expect it to fit under the limit. But no one's trying to tweet longwinded intellectual arguments--the medium just doesn't support it. That's no reason to completely dismiss it. As Roxane Gay aptly puts it, "It’s like Franzen is saying, 'I cannot swim in my car and therefore my car is not useful.'" I have been introduced to SO many great writers through twitter (albeit ones Franzen probably wouldn't consider Serious™). And they didn't need Oprah to gain my attention. Just great writing.

Middlemarch, book one

I'm determined to read some Big Ass Books™ this year, and right now I'm working on George Eliot's Middlemarch. Here are the passages I marked from "book one"; the first of eight.

Sane people did what their neighbours did, so that if any lunatics were at large, one might know and avoid them.

...a kind Providence furnishes the limpest personality with a little gum or starch in the form of tradition.

We mortals, men and women, devour many a disappointment between breakfast and dinner-time; keep back the tears and look a little pale about the lips, and in answer to inquiries say, "Oh, nothing!" Pride helps us; and pride is not a bad thing when it only urges us to hide our own hurts--not to hurt others.

"Confound you handsome young fellows! you think of having it all your own way in the world. You don't understand women. They don't admire you half so much as you admire yourselves."

Thank you, Eliot.

"He has got no good red blood in his body," said Sir James.
"No. Somebody put a drop under a magnifying-glass, and it was all semicolons and parentheses," said Mrs. Cadwallader.
"Why does he not bring out his book, instead of marrying?" said Sir James, with a disgust which he held warranted by the sound feeling of an English Layman.
"Oh, he dreams footnotes, and they run away with all his brains. They say, when he was a little boy, he made an abstract of 'Hop o' my Thumb,' and he has been making abstracts ever since."

I seriously lol'd at this part. I feel sorry for Casaubon right now. But as the passage below points out, I can see foresee future events unfolding that may change my opinion. So happy to be reading a classic novel of which I don't already know the plot.

But any one watching keenly the stealthy convergence of human lots, sees a slow preparation of effects from one life on another, which tells like a calculated irony on the indifference or the frozen stare with which we look at our unintroduced neighbour. Destiny stands by sarcastic with our dramatic personae folded in her hand.

...correct English is the slang of prigs who write history and essays. And the strongest slang of all is the slang of poets.

In one hundred years correct English will be the slang of twitterers and youtube commenters. Shit is cray. But whatevs.

Book Giveaway

As I tripped over a stack of books in my living room floor, spilling a bowl of blue corn tortilla chips onto the carpet, I thought mid-fall, "Perhaps I have too many books." Also, OH SHIT MY CORN CHIPS, but mostly just the first one.

I don't really own too many books. It's more that I don't own enough shelves, or the wall space to accommodate them. Thus the floor stacks. And the counter stacks, and the nightstand stacks, and the refrigerator stacks (give me time).

I'll be putting a bunch of books up for sale on half.com and for free on BookMooch later this week, but I thought I would give you guys first dibs. So if you see a book you want (limit one per person) in the list below, just leave a comment with your name and the title of the book. Please check that no one else has requested it already (first come, first serve). Then send me an email at scifibrarian (at) gmail (dot) com with your address and I'll mail it out.

Your book will probably come with other goodies too. Maybe a bookmark? Or some lulinternet stickers? This feather that just fell out of my pillow? The possibilities are endless.

Here you go:

When She Woke, by Hillary Jordan. Hardcover. My review here.

The Telling, by Ursula Le Guin. Hardcover. I unknowingly acquired two copies. Like I said, too many books.

The Hunting of the Snark: An Agony in Eight Fits, by Lewis Carroll. Hardcover, illustrated -  a Melville House book. For the kiddies. Or the eccentric adult.

Us, by Michael Kimball. Paperback. My review here.

during my nervous breakdown i want to have a biographer present, by Brandon Scott Gorrell. Again, two copies. My review here.

I Have the Right to Destroy Myself, by Young-Ha Kim. Paperback. My review here.

Mr. Peanut, by Adam Ross. Paperback.

Sin City, by Frank Miller. Paperback. No comment. Okay, comment. I hated it. I'll take Alan Moore over Frank Miller any day. But maybe you'll like it!

I also have two extra copies of Artifice Magazine issue #4. I'll be glad to send one with the book you choose, or just the magazine by itself. A small little journal, but filled with incredible writing.

Anything not claimed by Tuesday, March 6th will be thrown to the rest of the internet.

Roger Ebert: Life Itself

I'm outsourcing my book reviewing! Not really. But below is a syndicated article written by a friend of mine, reviewing Roger Ebert's Life Itself: A Memoir.

This article is reprinted with permission from Movie Reviews by Dusty. You can find the original article HERE.

When hearing the name Roger Ebert, many people picture a short chubby man who argues about movies. Those who follow his work closely (like me) realize that he's also an accomplished writer who provides valuable insight on a range of topics including movies. With the publishing of "Life Itself" both casual viewers and loyal fans of Ebert get a extensive view of the man behind the image.

If you follow Roger's blog, you have a general idea of his health issues. He had cancerous tumors removed from glands in his neck a few years ago. The surgery was more extensive than had been predicted and required Ebert's lower jaw to be removed. After several failed attempts at reconstruction, he has resigned himself to accept his current status. He's no longer able to speak, eat, or drink.

While many people would retire or fall into depression, Ebert has remained active and arguably, is more productive than ever before. In my opinion, Ebert has had a surge of introspection due to his close encounters with mortality. I think the book says this too, but never in such a direct way. His online journal is constantly updated with personal stories and opinions while his following on Facebook and Twitter have never been better. He won the Webby "Person of the year" award in 2010 and was honored with a lifetime achievement award by that association. Though he's lost his voice, he's gained a powerful, inspirational voice in the virtual world.

"Life Itself" is a culmination of Ebert's personal journals. Many of the stories are actually reprinted directly from his blog. Other chapters contain interviews and essays he wrote earlier in his career. This may seem like a cheap way to make a book longer, but when read along with the new material one views the articles with a perspective that is otherwise impossible.

Before reading the book I never realized how well-read and well-traveled Mr. Ebert was. You wouldn't think a movie critic would have the time to bury himself in books. Yet, he does exactly that in both a literal and figurative way. There are so many books in his home office that he barely has room to open a door. With a bit of mortar you could build a life-size replica of the Empire State Building from Ebert's books.

His travels began at an early age. Roger enrolled in a college program that allowed him to spend time in South Africa. He also spends an entire chapter describing every step he ever took in London. There are similar fond recollections of Venice and Cannes. He has truly been a world traveler for his entire life.

The personal details revealed in this book are a testament to courage. Many reviewers have mentioned the passage where Roger describes losing his virginity to a South African prostitute, but it's the emotional disclosures that really impacted me. He talks at length about his alcoholism and its effect on his relationships, many that could have lead to marriage. Though he's never had children, he conveys a great desire to have them. He admits to sending money to a woman claiming to bear an illegitimate child of his. He's not gullible, but has a strong subconscious desire to be a father. Those paternal instincts have been at least partially fulfilled by his full acceptance into his wife's family. His wife is black and Ebert gives us his honest opinions about what it's like to marry into a black family. He refers to them as if they were blood relatives and you get the sense that he also thinks of them that way also.

Ebert's interviews with celebrites are considered some of the best. His style is unique and uninvasive. When he visits with someone like Robert Mitchum, it's truly a visit. He simply spends time with his subject and writes down every action they take along with every word they speak. This allows them to speak on their own terms which usually yields surprising results. He laments that his loss of speech has taken his ability to have a real conversation with people he admires. Though he is content in his current condition, he still desires to have intimate conversations with the current crop of movie stars like he did in his prime.

His celebrity profiles are excellent, but my favorite chapter is a profile of one of Ebert's friends. The man called Billy "Silver Dollar" Baxter turns out to be a bigger character than any movie star. Roger met him at Cannes where "Silver Dollar" was king. He was a beloved figure at the Cannes Film Festival even though he never called anyone by their name and never tipped more than a dollar. This chapter is a reprint from one of Roger's journal entries, but it absolutely belongs in the book. It exemplifies the unique writing style for which Ebert is known. Because it's a online journal entry I can link to it HERE. Consider it an excerpt.

"Life Itself" begins with Ebert's birth and ends in the current year, never sparing a detail. I'm not sure what else you can expect from a memoir. Even though I was already a fan, I found that Roger Ebert's life has a depth of character that most lives will never attain. If you didn't admire him before, you might after reading "Life Itself". If you already admired him, you will do so even more.

Oscar Snubs of 2011

It's my blog and I can talk about movies if I want to.

The Oscars are only a few days away. Normally I would be incredibly excited; the Academy Awards are my Super Bowl, after all.

But this go around, the excitement isn't there. I was severely disappointed with the nominations this year. It wasn't a particularly spectacular, mind-blowing year for film, but there were still plenty of gems. The Academy apparently didn't dig deep enough to find them. Or more likely, they were found, tossed aside, and the loudest, most obvious pieces of fool's gold were chosen instead.

The Best Picture catgory this year is full of feel-good, cliche-ridden, emotional wank fests. War Horse? Really? It was like Spielberg was trying to parody himself. Oh look it's the horse that brings opposing soldiers together and it saves the farm and it's going to save this blind kid and oh here's a dying child. Whenever I watch "horse films" I always imagine the horses being like "fuck this shit" while the humans paw all over them. What I'd really like to watch is a horse movie where the horse is just like a complete asshole. He's completely uninspiring and every person he comes in contact with has a worse life because of him. Call it something like "My Mortal Enemy Flicka."

[EDIT: I'd like to add as a disclaimer that I haven't yet seen Hugo, so please don't take this as an outright complaint against all the nominees. I'm not saying they're all horrible films. I just feel like they're all safe picks, with the exception of Tree of Life.]

There were some Oscar snubs this year of fairly popular films like Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2 and Rise of the Planet of the Apes. Both of which I thought were good films, but not necessarily Oscar-worthy. And there are lesser-known films (which I haven't seen yet) that the Academy has been criticized for excluding, like Melancholia, Shame, and We Need to Talk About Kevin.

But this is a list of films I HAVE seen this year that I felt were unjustly denied nominations.

Martha Marcy May Marlene

Talk about an incredible performance by Elizabeth Olsen. Olsen playes Martha, an escapee from a dangerous cult who seeks refuge at her sister's house. While refusing to discuss her experience, the tension between the siblings steadily grows. Meanwhile, Martha has difficulty separating reality from her dreams, and by the end, so is the audience. I love films that play with the audience's perception of time and reality, and this one turned out the be a mind-bender, though it wasn't advertised as such. Disturbing and a bit creepy, it was nonetheless fantastic.

Nominations it should have received:

Elizabeth Olsen for Best Actress

Nominations it actually received: zero.

Hanna

I love it when a smart, unique action film comes along. Hanna doesn't sport a particularly original storyline -- telling the story of a child hidden and raised in the wilderness to become a warrior -- the film makes up for it in great characterization in the protagonist, played by Saoirse Ronan (Atonement, The Lovely Bones). Hanna is a fierce fighter, confronted by new experiences, new acquaintances, and a world harsher than the frozen tundra where she was raised. If you're tired of action films filled with CGI, constant slow-motion kung fu, and female action stars in leather, you should check this one out. And if you like it, you should also get your hands on a copy of Chocolate, a Thai film directed by Prachya Pinkaew, featuring an autistic girl as the ass-kicking heroine. The fighting scenes in both of these films are phenomenal, and are shot in longer takes, such as in Oldboy. No epilepsy-inducing strobe editing here.

Nominations it should have received:

Best Score. Hanna has an excellent score written by the Chemical Brothers (sample). Most scores aren't noticeable, but this definitely was. Another film's score that should have been nominated is The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, arranged by Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor (sample). I thought it would be a shoe-in, after the Fincher/Ross/Reznor success last year with The Social Network. Instead, The Artist (sample) and War Horse (sample) are nominated in this category. Fun fact: both scores made me want to run out of the theater screaming. I love John Williams, but this wasn't his shining moment. And he's nominated twice this year, also for The Adventures of Tintin. He's like the Meryl Streep of film scoring.

Then again, I've never trusted the Academy on the film score category, since Clint Mansell has never been nominated in it. That...is unacceptable. Have you heard the soundtracks to Moon or The Fountain? Requiem for a Dream or Black Swan? Just, the best. And do you know how long it took to retrieve all the links in the last two paragraphs? Like 15 minutes. You're welcome.

Nominations it actually received: zero.

50/50

I went into the theater not wearing eye makeup, knowing I would bawl my eyes out. And I did. Loosely based on the real life experience of screenwriter Will Reiser and friend Seth Rogen, it portrays a young man's struggle with cancer, and how he and his family deal with the situation. The way the film deals with death felt incredibly real. Death isn't falling on your knees and yelling into the sky "NOOOOO!!!" (cue montage). It's on a hospital bed, saying goodbye to your loved ones, knowing it may be the last time you see them -- a 50/50 shot that you'll never be in this world again (cue me and my friend blubbering in the theater).

Nominations it should have received:

Best Original Screenplay by Will Reiser. It packs just the right amount of humor and empathy, without it becoming an exercise in emotional masturbation (cough warhorse cough).

Best Actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt. An all-around great performance. The fact that he isn't nominated makes me want to kick George Clooney in his handsome face.

Nominations it actually received: zero. I actually went back and checked this like three times to be sure. That's how surprised I am that it wasn't nominated for anything.

Drive

I wasn't as blown away by this film as I hoped I would be, given the rave reviews and recommendations from its fans. But I was still impressed. It had a unique style and pacing, and the soundtrack was wonderful. The protagonist reminded me a lot of Leon from Luc Besson's The Professional, since both are silent, moralistic men working in immoral professions. And I'll have you know it only took me ~45 minutes into it to realize the title was a double entendre. I are a college graduate.

Nominations it should have received:

Most supporters of the film are upset that Ryan Gosling didn't get a Best Actor nomination. But I don't think there was quite enough to his role to warrant one. He was even better in Lars and the Real Girl. I would go more along the lines of Best Editing. The scene when the Driver kisses Carey Mulligan in the elevator in slow motion? Perfect.

Nominations it actually received: Best Sound Editing. If you say so. Wouldn't call myself an expert on this category.

Young Adult

If you asked me to name my favorite film of all time I would laugh in your face. But ask by year and chances are I could answer. And my favorite film of 2011 was Young Adult. I felt like it was criminally underrated, and hasn't been coming up at all in the "best of" conversations. This is a shame.

Directed by Jason Reitman and written by Diablo Cody, the same team behind Juno, it's a character and dialogue-driven film that lives up to their previous collaboration. Marketed as a comedy, it turns out to be a pretty dark film; it's anything but quirky.

Following her divorce, YA fiction writer Mavis Gary returns to her small hometown to steal back her married high school flame. Stuck in a perpetual fantasy land, Mavis is delusional and refuses to accept reality: that she is no longer the prom queen, and that "true love" doesn't always conquer all. Or possibly even exist. It's pretty dark and a bit depressing, without a feel-good ending, which is probably why audiences didn't flock to it like they would, say, Slumdog Millionaire.

Nominations it should have received:

Best Original Screenplay, Diablo Cody. I thought Cody's writing was marvelous. The characters, the dialogue -- let's all just forget Jennifer's Body and focus on the two brilliant pieces she has put forward.

Best Actress, Charlize Theron. It can't be easy playing such a despicable and pathetic character, and still manage to make the audience identify and eventually feel sorry for her.

Possibly a Best Supporting Actor for Patton Oswalt. I admit I'm a bit biased here since I love Patton. But he showed off his serious acting chops in his role as "hate crime" Matt, the loser in high school (and afterwards) who becomes the voice of reason for Mavis.

I can't wait to see this film again when it's released on DVD mid-March. It was the little things that all together made it spectacular. The fact that in high school she was given the "Best Hair" award, and now she wears a wig. The manicure scenes that show the development of her character, and her change of tactics (black when she's on the offense, clear when she's ready to come clean, etc). The KenTacoHut (the combination KFC, Taco Bell, and Pizza Hut). Matt's sister yelling from the kitchen about ranch dressing... it is a comedy too.

My beef with the Academy

A report came out a few days ago that revealed the members who vote on the Oscars are overwhelmingly white and male. Specifically, the group is 94% white, and 77% are men. That is nowhere near an accurate representation of the audiences who watch movies -- or even the people who make them. So is it any surprise that of the nine Best Picture nominees, only ONE features a female lead character? The Help. It's also the only film featuring a lead who is a person of color. Not just lead, come to think of it -- persons of color are almost entirely absent from the scripts of the other eight nominees; unless you count the "savages" in The Artist, and I don't think you want to do that. The Help has come under a lot of scrutiny itself for its portrayal of black women and racism in the 1960s (I won't be jumping into that), so its nomination probably feels bittersweet to many. Such as when Driving Miss Daisy won Best Picture in 1989, while Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing wasn't even nominated. Guess which one you will actually watch in a respectable film class. Regardless of what you think about The Help (I liked it, and I feel like I've been apologizing for liking it ever since), you have to agree that Viola Davis' performance was spell bounding, and I will be crossing my fingers for her Sunday night.

So why do the nominations this year feel so old and stale? Probably because old, stale people are voting for them. With the exception of Tree of Life, the Best Picture noms are exercises in old-fashioned filmmaking. In the case of The Artist, very old-fashioned. I have such a love/hate relationship with the Oscars. On one hand I love to see great films get recognition, where otherwise only those making $100 million plus get any notice. On the other hand films like Crash, Braveheart, and Shakespeare in Love (and nearly The Blindside one year, god help us all) end up winning the top prize. Ten-year-old me loved Braveheart. But the Academy's voter pool shouldn't be made up of ten-year-old me's.

I'll still be watching Sunday night, probably cursing up a storm and throwing things at the tv. I'll be cheering for Emmanuel Lubezki to win Best Cinematography for Tree of Life, Jean Dujardin for Best Actor in The Artist, and Midnight in Paris for pretty much anything. I'll look for Jack Nicholson in the front row wearing sunglasses, and will be sad when he isn't there. I'll probably be laughing at whatever Billy Crystal is saying, and praying he comes back next year.

Then I'll pick up a book, read it in its entirety, and share what I thought about it on this blog. HAHHAHHAAAAHHAHA. Sure.

Ann Patchett and Colbert on bookstores

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I love the end. Don't think I've ever seen Colbert speechless before.

I've always wanted to visit Patchett's bookstore in Nashville. But an 8 hour drive could take me so many other places...I'd rather go in another direction than towards Tennessee.

Psssshttt...like I even have the option anyway. There's $7.24 in my checking account. Here's to possibly affording a ham sandwich for lunch!

one more thing