Reading The Gross by Peter Bart all day today, about the summer 1998 movie season that changed how Hollywood goes about its business, I was thrust into memories of my own experiences during that summer, in the section in which Bart, the now-former editor-in-chief of Daily Variety, analyzes the box office take from week to week.
Reading "WEEK FIVE Monday, June 8," I remembered wanting to see The Truman Show, because I was a huge fan of Jim Carrey. In 1995, at Regal Sawgrass 23, right against the Sawgrass Mills mall in Sunrise, Florida, I saw Ace Ventura: When Nature Calls, and liked it better than the first one. I knew that Jim Carrey would not be the slapstick comedian he was there, but I was prepared, curious to see what he could do as a dramatic actor. And, seeing it at Regal Sawgrass 23, three years later, he was incredible in it, helped along greatly by preeminent director Peter Weir and the screenplay by Andrew Niccol, which gradually showed the cracks in Truman Burbank's manufactured world. I was stunned at the end, knowing I had seen a truly great movie. I still believe that.
However, that experience doesn't compare to the opportunity I got later that summer, in August. An aviation enthusiast since 11 years old, I was 14 when I had the chance to go to a weeklong summer camp at Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University in Daytona Beach. I would be among like-minded enthusiasts who all had an eye toward a career somewhere in the industry, two as pilots. In fact, Philip, one of my campmates, was going to start classes there after the summer camp was over.
I loved it. I remember the nights that Russell, Evan, Philip, and a few other names I've forgotten discussed all aspects of aviation, poring over navigation maps, talking about our favorite aircraft. One of our campmates had flown in on the Boeing 777 and we were all envious. We sat in classes and learned about the basics of aircraft and of flying, and we flew from the Daytona Beach airport to a small grass strip in DeLand, two roomates to a plane, along with an instructor, switching places on the way back. I got the route on the way back, but permitted to fly only for a few minutes, not the entire time.
In the Student Center across the street from the dorms, I remember being introduced to Semisonic when Philip played the first bars of "Closing Time" on the piano in the rotunda. There was a significant echo in that space and it made those bars all the more haunting, and that memory lasted me for years, until the beginning of "Clocks" by Coldplay.
One of my fondest memories was on Friday, August 14. I remember the date specifically because in The Gross, in "WEEK FIFTEEN Monday, August 17", Bart mentions that the box office take for Halloween: H20 dropped 48 percent, and I still have the binder from that summer camp, including the activities scheduled for each day. On that day, one of our campmates was leaving, having chosen the half-week package, and we had a luncheon for his departure, and then in the evening, after dinner, we went with our RA to the Daytona Beach boardwalk.
This was after long, late nights we all spent discussing various facets of aviation. We had energy, but not a consistent supply. Or at least I didn't.
I don't remember what the movie theater was called in that area, but according to Fandango, there's one called R/C Ocean Walk Movies. Certainly if this is indeed the theater I'm thinking of, it had to be a lot smaller and more reserved back then. We were there to see a movie, the choices for us being Halloween: H20 and Saving Private Ryan. I had never seen any of the Halloween movies, still haven't, but I didn't mind what it was. I just loved being part of a group that loved what I loved, and I thought I was the only one, since neither Mom, Dad nor Meridith were interested in aviation.
We didn't seem like the types who would go for Halloween: H20, so Saving Private Ryan it was. And one of our campmates sprung for the tickets for all of us, so he got to call shotgun for the final days whenever we went somewhere in the van.
The movie wasn't until 10 p.m., however, so we spent a few hours wandering the boardwalk. Not a typical walk, though. We acted like we were air traffic controllers and pilots, giving our location, requesting clearance, taking off from runways, and on approach to airports. I was in the best company. Couple that with Daytona Beach itself, walking along the shoreline, and there was a deep beauty in the world that night.
We went back to the movie theater, and got seats next to each other. I remember the opening sequence, all battle, all gruesome violence, but everything else was sporadic or not at all. I got as far as the scene where the men are talking in the bombed-out church and the next thing I remember, the credits were rolling. I had fallen asleep, and not only that, but my campmates told me that I had been snoring and had to be poked a few times. I wasn't embarassed. Better them, who cared enough to try to keep me quiet, than someone potentially pissed off at the noise.
Reading those particular sections, and what the studios had put into these movies for the summer, I wasn't as interested in the behind-the-scenes details then as I am now. I didn't know anything about how Hollywood worked. There were all those figures in Hollywood worried about how their movies would fare, how much profit they could expect, and there I was, 14 years old, in a movie theater in Sunrise, seeing The Truman Show, and at that Daytona Beach theater, which was the furthest you could get from Hollywood. It didn't seem like the kind of theater that those who compile box office statistics would call often to get the per-screen total. It was the next year that I would begin writing movie reviews and learn so much about Hollywood itself that it seemed like as soon as I understand what I thought was everything, there was still more. And here I am now, hoping to use this knowledge to my advantage. My favorite movie experiences include that night, when I didn't know anything about Hollywood, and I sometimes prefer that now, but not being a film critic anymore, I'm happiest studying Hollywood in the 1930s because nothing can change what happened then. It's concrete, whereas the business of Hollywood today is always fluid. There's a feeling of comfortable security in that.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Monday, November 7, 2011
Can I Write Books Like This Forever?
I couldn't be lazy when What If They Lived? was handed to me, when I was given a general deadline for when my half of the book had to be completed and sent to Phil by e-mail so he could put it in the manuscript. As soon as I agreed to it, the research began. Every single day was given over to getting as much information I could about the actors I was writing about, but expediting it so I could give equal close attention to the writing, which was most important with it being my first book.
Today, I began research for my second book, centered on aspects of 1930s Hollywood. It took me weeks to get to this point. Not for time spent figuring out what books to read for this, what other resources I need to be sure I have all the information I need, but for sheer laziness. I'd think about starting the research over one weekend, and that weekend would pass because there were other books I wanted to read more. It's not that I don't want to write this book; I really do because it fits right into all the time I spent as a teenager reading every movie book I could find, thick biographies about directors (Directors are my favorite Hollywood personalities to read about), tours through the histories of the various studios back in the 1930s, and the odd biography of an actor. I loved looking at behind-the-scenes photos in these books, and I was always staggered by the long shelves of movie books at the Main branch of the Broward County Library system in downtown Fort Lauderdale on those occasional visits. I wanted to either take all those books home, or live in that library for a few weeks to eat up everything in sight on those shelves.
Perhaps the laziness was well-deserved. After all, I had been at work on What If They Lived? up to about a month and a half before its publication date, checking the proofs, making sure that what had been blessedly rewritten by Phil (because I severely overwrote a few introductions out of sheer nervousness over this being my first book) hewed to how I wanted it to read, and making sure that all of it read well besides. What If They Lived? was released in March, and at the time I was thinking that maybe I should start researching for my second book, it was mid-to-late October, getting comfortably into late October. So nearly 7 months had elapsed in between.
But I also have a personal goal: I want to be published again by the time I turn 30. That means I have a cushion of a few months right now before my 28th birthday on March 21, and then two years left after that. No more time to waste.
I began with The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West, which I remembered checking out once from the Valencia library, and I ordered it alongside other books that popped out at me, including one about the creation of Universal Pictures, another about all of the movie studios back in the 1930s, and a biography of Louis B. Mayer by Scott Eyman. There are others besides these, but they'll remain others.
The Day of the Locust was useful for the atmosphere I'm seeking for my book, getting the feeling down pat of these studios hard at work with their various assembly lines, as movies were made back then. I got many paragraphs of that, as the main character, Tod, weaves through a few productions filming on the lot. It matches what I'm hoping I can do in my own work.
I finished that earlier this evening, and am now reading The Gross by Peter Bart, which would seem to be an unusual choice considering that I'm focusing on the 1930s, but it gives me a structure to study. The way Bart wrote this book, flitting about from movie to movie in each chapter, is possibly how I want to write mine. Also, I get solid background on the workings of the industry circa late 1997 to 1998, and can contrast that to the industry in the 1930s as I read those books. I know the basics, I know the styles of each studio back in the 1930s, but it gives me more to mull over as I figure out where I'm going with this book.
Most importantly, I feel comfortable with this. I did a lot of research for What If They Lived?, that deadline gradually getting closer, and I was snippy to my parents and sister at times, but without that experience, I wouldn't be here, having learned what research entails, how to go about it, what works for me as I work. I'm not as nervous now. What If They Lived? is out in the world, and all I can do for myself and hopefully for my future writing career is just to keep reading, and just keep writing and see what sticks, and most importantly, write what I'm passionate about, which is why I have four books in mind after I finish this one.
I don't have a publisher for this one, so that will be a challenge, but one I'm ready for because the challenge the first time was writing a book, especially writing 10 pages and more compared to the mere sometimes-1,500 words I wrote for each Film Threat review. Screen It helped a lot with that too, making me write more than I was accustomed to, and I appreciate that I was pushed like that. It had to happen some time.
And I love not having a deadline of sorts, at least not a publisher's deadline. Of course I say that because two years and a handful of months feels like a lot of time to me. There's still an immense amount of work to be done, though. I'm enjoying it, so that's a start, especially the opportunity to read these books, to not have to write one word until I'm certain that I have everything I need, every source, every record, every piece that will be fitted into this book. This will also be the first time I'll make an outline. I didn't have to for What If They Lived?, because I was told what each essay had to contain.
I hated outlines in school because it never felt like they led to anything useful. I didn't need them for study aids, because I could understand whatever historical period we were studying without "A" being this, and "A-1" talking about this, and "B" referencing this, and, ugh, it just felt like bureaucracy inside a classroom. This time, the outline will lead somewhere, to more of what I'm happiest doing in my life. Plus, I feel so relaxed, so excited to see what these books contain for me to use for my own (with proper credit in a bibliography, of course, and credit after quotes when necessary). All I need soon enough is a full-time job that lets me keep doing all this. If I can read and write steadily for the rest of my life, then I've lived my life well.
Today, I began research for my second book, centered on aspects of 1930s Hollywood. It took me weeks to get to this point. Not for time spent figuring out what books to read for this, what other resources I need to be sure I have all the information I need, but for sheer laziness. I'd think about starting the research over one weekend, and that weekend would pass because there were other books I wanted to read more. It's not that I don't want to write this book; I really do because it fits right into all the time I spent as a teenager reading every movie book I could find, thick biographies about directors (Directors are my favorite Hollywood personalities to read about), tours through the histories of the various studios back in the 1930s, and the odd biography of an actor. I loved looking at behind-the-scenes photos in these books, and I was always staggered by the long shelves of movie books at the Main branch of the Broward County Library system in downtown Fort Lauderdale on those occasional visits. I wanted to either take all those books home, or live in that library for a few weeks to eat up everything in sight on those shelves.
Perhaps the laziness was well-deserved. After all, I had been at work on What If They Lived? up to about a month and a half before its publication date, checking the proofs, making sure that what had been blessedly rewritten by Phil (because I severely overwrote a few introductions out of sheer nervousness over this being my first book) hewed to how I wanted it to read, and making sure that all of it read well besides. What If They Lived? was released in March, and at the time I was thinking that maybe I should start researching for my second book, it was mid-to-late October, getting comfortably into late October. So nearly 7 months had elapsed in between.
But I also have a personal goal: I want to be published again by the time I turn 30. That means I have a cushion of a few months right now before my 28th birthday on March 21, and then two years left after that. No more time to waste.
I began with The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West, which I remembered checking out once from the Valencia library, and I ordered it alongside other books that popped out at me, including one about the creation of Universal Pictures, another about all of the movie studios back in the 1930s, and a biography of Louis B. Mayer by Scott Eyman. There are others besides these, but they'll remain others.
The Day of the Locust was useful for the atmosphere I'm seeking for my book, getting the feeling down pat of these studios hard at work with their various assembly lines, as movies were made back then. I got many paragraphs of that, as the main character, Tod, weaves through a few productions filming on the lot. It matches what I'm hoping I can do in my own work.
I finished that earlier this evening, and am now reading The Gross by Peter Bart, which would seem to be an unusual choice considering that I'm focusing on the 1930s, but it gives me a structure to study. The way Bart wrote this book, flitting about from movie to movie in each chapter, is possibly how I want to write mine. Also, I get solid background on the workings of the industry circa late 1997 to 1998, and can contrast that to the industry in the 1930s as I read those books. I know the basics, I know the styles of each studio back in the 1930s, but it gives me more to mull over as I figure out where I'm going with this book.
Most importantly, I feel comfortable with this. I did a lot of research for What If They Lived?, that deadline gradually getting closer, and I was snippy to my parents and sister at times, but without that experience, I wouldn't be here, having learned what research entails, how to go about it, what works for me as I work. I'm not as nervous now. What If They Lived? is out in the world, and all I can do for myself and hopefully for my future writing career is just to keep reading, and just keep writing and see what sticks, and most importantly, write what I'm passionate about, which is why I have four books in mind after I finish this one.
I don't have a publisher for this one, so that will be a challenge, but one I'm ready for because the challenge the first time was writing a book, especially writing 10 pages and more compared to the mere sometimes-1,500 words I wrote for each Film Threat review. Screen It helped a lot with that too, making me write more than I was accustomed to, and I appreciate that I was pushed like that. It had to happen some time.
And I love not having a deadline of sorts, at least not a publisher's deadline. Of course I say that because two years and a handful of months feels like a lot of time to me. There's still an immense amount of work to be done, though. I'm enjoying it, so that's a start, especially the opportunity to read these books, to not have to write one word until I'm certain that I have everything I need, every source, every record, every piece that will be fitted into this book. This will also be the first time I'll make an outline. I didn't have to for What If They Lived?, because I was told what each essay had to contain.
I hated outlines in school because it never felt like they led to anything useful. I didn't need them for study aids, because I could understand whatever historical period we were studying without "A" being this, and "A-1" talking about this, and "B" referencing this, and, ugh, it just felt like bureaucracy inside a classroom. This time, the outline will lead somewhere, to more of what I'm happiest doing in my life. Plus, I feel so relaxed, so excited to see what these books contain for me to use for my own (with proper credit in a bibliography, of course, and credit after quotes when necessary). All I need soon enough is a full-time job that lets me keep doing all this. If I can read and write steadily for the rest of my life, then I've lived my life well.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Disappointment Gradually Turns into Satisfaction
Start with a disappointing morning, finding out that Andy Rooney died at 92, not long after retiring from 60 Minutes, which makes me stop short of wanting to write the five books I have in mind thus far, because if I don't, then I'll live forever. Rooney did absolutely what he wanted to do in his life, and having left it, he left.
A few times, I had the idle notion of writing a letter to him to express my appreciation for his work, for inspiring me to become a writer and teaching me about writing style when I was 11, when I tried to write like him and found that I couldn't. He may have appreciated such a letter, but I always got the impression from him that though he was happy with his life's work, he never really wanted such praise. However, I intend to write to his children, including Brian Rooney, who is based in Los Angeles, to tell them of what their father did for me through his books.
Because our regular groomer is seven months pregnant and her doctor told her to rest from this point prior to giving birth, we went to a place called Precious Pets a little after 10 this morning, dropping off Tigger and Kitty, and being told that they could be picked up between 3 and 4, which turned out not to be the case, because, as Mom explained later, they called earlier, wondering when Tigger and Kitty were going to be picked up. One person told us one thing when we dropped the dogs off, and another person told Mom something else when they called, but no matter, because the groomers there did a phenomenal job. Tigger and Kitty didn't even have to be brushed when they got back. They were completely free of extraneous hair.
My disappointing morning wasn't only because of learning that Andy Rooney had died. Yesterday, I started reading All My Friends are Going to Be Strangers by Larry McMurtry, which was published in 1972. I like McMurtry because when he describes a situation, a character trait, an insecurity, he shows it. You are right inside that character's head, their body, experiencing their developments vividly. That's true of Danny Deck in this novel, whose novel will be published, who has a girlfriend who wants a baby, and a lusty next-door neighbor, and all of this could be interesting if it hadn't been so ponderous. McMurtry has Danny thinking about everything, turning over in his mind every single feeling he's having for pages and pages. It was interesting to me because of Danny's encounters at a pool party, but reading more this morning, I couldn't stand it. And worse than that, I hadn't gone with my first instinct last night, ditching it when I was watching The Ed Sullivan Comedy Special from PBS more than I was reading. I also didn't bring with me Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, which I was thinking about before we left the house. Remember, kids, especially those bibliophiles: If you're going out, and you're reading a book that isn't quite working, yet you want to stick it out for a few more pages, bring a backup book.
I was in a gloomy mood because of this, compounded by stopping at Edwards Valencia 12 for me to get a ticket for Tower Heist, which I wanted to see because of Eddie Murphy doing again what he should have been doing all these years, and Alan Alda, who I've always liked. I thought of going to the noon showing, the first one of the day, but Mom said 2:30 might be better, because we could go to the Target on the other side of the valley, then go somewhere for lunch, and then I could go to the movies.
My thinking is that we were right there, it was a little after 11, and I wouldn't have minded waiting until 12:30, despite the fact that I didn't have a book with me anymore. Certainly the noon showing would be the least crowded, and I could get exactly the seat I wanted: First row in the middle, the one with the quarter-wall in front of it that I could put my feet on. (Fortunately, I got it at the 2:30 showing, standing right next to that theater a little after 1:30)
(As I write this, CBS 2 here in Los Angeles, not having any other programming after football on a Saturday night, is showing Heaven Can Wait starring Warren Beatty. I've no complaints, since it's a good movie, but it's very, very unusual to see this at any time, let alone in the barren TV desert of Saturday night. Good thinking, whoever decided this.)
So 2:30 it was, and I wasn't happy when we got to Target in Golden Valley. I could have gone to the movie, and been done earlier in the day than when the 2:30 showing would have let me out. But gloomy moods soon improve, especially on a Saturday, and so it was that when we were looking in the $1 section near the entrance at that Target, I found a wall calendar of comics from The Argyle Sweater, which were very funny, especially a doctor telling one pinata that the one in the hospital bed will make it, but suffered such a severe beating.
Later in Target, looking at the books, I thought of maybe buying a book, just to read while I was waiting for Tower Heist to start. Nothing. And I still complain that Target took out Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain too fast, which I had almost entirely read there, save for 30 pages that I had intended to finish the next time I was at Target back in June. Gone.
However, the day perked up when I learned that Mom wanted to go to Wienerschnitzel for lunch. A pastrami sandwich and "Ultimate Chili Cheese Fries" do wonders for me, and they did yet again. This particular order of chili cheese fries felt particularly weighty, and there was the sour cream, as expected, and the diced onions and tomatoes, so maybe it was the sour cream, or maybe there was more cheese on it than there had been in previous times.
Tower Heist was funny, but it felt like shallow entertainment, which was probably its intent. Something to laugh at and move on, but I wish more movies were made during the year that stick, that have a little more to them. Tea Leoni had nothing to do beyond looking hardened. It was nice to see Ben Stiller get a movie that suits him, where he doesn't play the one who's humiliated all the time. He was strong in this, and, since it was filmed entirely in New York, got to employ a slight accent. It was very enjoyable to see Eddie Murphy back as what he should have been all this time, but it doesn't seem like he'll go back into that full force like he did in the '80s. This is a more modulated Eddie Murphy, and in fact, he's only part of the ensemble here, not as big as the trailers have been playing him up. Gabourey Sidibe was very, very good, and I always like seeing Alan Alda (This was the first of his three-picture deal with Universal, which has Wanderlust with Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston next (The trailer was released recently), and whatever comes after that), who is able to go from playing presidential candidate Senator Arnold Vinick on The West Wing to a genuine bad guy in this one. And he doesn't change much. There's vocal inflections and facial expressions he relies on, but not to a great degree. It takes very little for Vinick not to be there anymore and I'm always impressed.
After the movie, what to do next? I called Mom, Dad and then Meridith, who was the only one who answered her phone, and she said they were at Walmart Supercenter. That takes a while, and after I left the movie theater, I thought about going to the mall, to Puzzle Zoo to see not only if they still had the Beavis and Butt-Head bobbleheads, but also if they had anything else interesting, maybe figurines of Groucho Marx or Mark Twain, like they had of Mark Twain some time last year, when I bought one.
But why the mall? I'd been there many times already. I needed to do something useful with my time. I needed to go to Barnes & Noble, to find a copy of Medium Raw and finish the last 30 pages. I called Meridith, told her I was going to walk to Barnes & Noble, and 20 minutes later, I went searching for Medium Raw. I found it with Kitchen Confidential and The Nasty Bits, took a copy and went to the movie books section, since there was a chair right in front of it. I sat down, and finally finished reading Medium Raw. Unlike other books I still have to continue reading, that I likely won't see again until I have a Henderson library card, I remembered exactly where I left off in Medium Raw, because it was so good, so entertaining, so detailed in the writing and yet still so fast-paced.
By this time, I'd forgotten the slight disappointment I felt with Tower Heist. Finishing Medium Raw had been far more worthwhile, yet for Alan Alda and bits of Eddie Murphy's old schtick, I didn't feel like I had wasted $9.50. And Meridith had not only put Kitchen Confidential in the car for me, and All My Friends are Going to Be Strangers in the Goodwill box at home, she also wrote on an index card what I had gotten in the mail: A few book packages, and a bookmark I had ordered that was made from the side of the VHS box for The Breakfast Club (There's a seller on Artfire who makes bookmarks out of old 35mm film and the sides of tape boxes: http://www.artfire.com/ext/shop/studio/CultureRevolution). I got home, and found out that inside two of the book packages were Living Out Loud and Loud and Clear, two books of Anna Quindlen's columns, as well as How Reading Changed My Life, also by Quindlen, which I had read last year, but before I knew who Quindlen was.
There was also a box from McSweeney's, containing Maps and Legends, Michael Chabon's first book of essays, Fever Chart by Tom Cotter, and The Better of McSweeney's, Vol. 2, which had been offered for free alongside other books being offered the same way, by putting in the promo code "BETTER" upon checkout, all part of a massive sale McSweeney's is having to try to encourage customers to start early on their Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and whatever else shopping.
Oh, and in another package, A Pound of Paper: Confessions of a Book Addict by John Baxter, which I had read excerpts of in Buried in Books: A Reader's Anthology by Julie Rugg. So in a stack right now are Maps and Legends, A Pound of Paper, and Living Out Loud. I still want to read Kitchen Confidential next, after reading the short How Reading Changed My Life, but it now has some formidable competition.
Such are the hardships of being a bibliophile. Such are the wonderful results, from a day beginning with disappointment that becomes quietly satisfying, exactly how I like it.
A few times, I had the idle notion of writing a letter to him to express my appreciation for his work, for inspiring me to become a writer and teaching me about writing style when I was 11, when I tried to write like him and found that I couldn't. He may have appreciated such a letter, but I always got the impression from him that though he was happy with his life's work, he never really wanted such praise. However, I intend to write to his children, including Brian Rooney, who is based in Los Angeles, to tell them of what their father did for me through his books.
Because our regular groomer is seven months pregnant and her doctor told her to rest from this point prior to giving birth, we went to a place called Precious Pets a little after 10 this morning, dropping off Tigger and Kitty, and being told that they could be picked up between 3 and 4, which turned out not to be the case, because, as Mom explained later, they called earlier, wondering when Tigger and Kitty were going to be picked up. One person told us one thing when we dropped the dogs off, and another person told Mom something else when they called, but no matter, because the groomers there did a phenomenal job. Tigger and Kitty didn't even have to be brushed when they got back. They were completely free of extraneous hair.
My disappointing morning wasn't only because of learning that Andy Rooney had died. Yesterday, I started reading All My Friends are Going to Be Strangers by Larry McMurtry, which was published in 1972. I like McMurtry because when he describes a situation, a character trait, an insecurity, he shows it. You are right inside that character's head, their body, experiencing their developments vividly. That's true of Danny Deck in this novel, whose novel will be published, who has a girlfriend who wants a baby, and a lusty next-door neighbor, and all of this could be interesting if it hadn't been so ponderous. McMurtry has Danny thinking about everything, turning over in his mind every single feeling he's having for pages and pages. It was interesting to me because of Danny's encounters at a pool party, but reading more this morning, I couldn't stand it. And worse than that, I hadn't gone with my first instinct last night, ditching it when I was watching The Ed Sullivan Comedy Special from PBS more than I was reading. I also didn't bring with me Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain, which I was thinking about before we left the house. Remember, kids, especially those bibliophiles: If you're going out, and you're reading a book that isn't quite working, yet you want to stick it out for a few more pages, bring a backup book.
I was in a gloomy mood because of this, compounded by stopping at Edwards Valencia 12 for me to get a ticket for Tower Heist, which I wanted to see because of Eddie Murphy doing again what he should have been doing all these years, and Alan Alda, who I've always liked. I thought of going to the noon showing, the first one of the day, but Mom said 2:30 might be better, because we could go to the Target on the other side of the valley, then go somewhere for lunch, and then I could go to the movies.
My thinking is that we were right there, it was a little after 11, and I wouldn't have minded waiting until 12:30, despite the fact that I didn't have a book with me anymore. Certainly the noon showing would be the least crowded, and I could get exactly the seat I wanted: First row in the middle, the one with the quarter-wall in front of it that I could put my feet on. (Fortunately, I got it at the 2:30 showing, standing right next to that theater a little after 1:30)
(As I write this, CBS 2 here in Los Angeles, not having any other programming after football on a Saturday night, is showing Heaven Can Wait starring Warren Beatty. I've no complaints, since it's a good movie, but it's very, very unusual to see this at any time, let alone in the barren TV desert of Saturday night. Good thinking, whoever decided this.)
So 2:30 it was, and I wasn't happy when we got to Target in Golden Valley. I could have gone to the movie, and been done earlier in the day than when the 2:30 showing would have let me out. But gloomy moods soon improve, especially on a Saturday, and so it was that when we were looking in the $1 section near the entrance at that Target, I found a wall calendar of comics from The Argyle Sweater, which were very funny, especially a doctor telling one pinata that the one in the hospital bed will make it, but suffered such a severe beating.
Later in Target, looking at the books, I thought of maybe buying a book, just to read while I was waiting for Tower Heist to start. Nothing. And I still complain that Target took out Medium Raw by Anthony Bourdain too fast, which I had almost entirely read there, save for 30 pages that I had intended to finish the next time I was at Target back in June. Gone.
However, the day perked up when I learned that Mom wanted to go to Wienerschnitzel for lunch. A pastrami sandwich and "Ultimate Chili Cheese Fries" do wonders for me, and they did yet again. This particular order of chili cheese fries felt particularly weighty, and there was the sour cream, as expected, and the diced onions and tomatoes, so maybe it was the sour cream, or maybe there was more cheese on it than there had been in previous times.
Tower Heist was funny, but it felt like shallow entertainment, which was probably its intent. Something to laugh at and move on, but I wish more movies were made during the year that stick, that have a little more to them. Tea Leoni had nothing to do beyond looking hardened. It was nice to see Ben Stiller get a movie that suits him, where he doesn't play the one who's humiliated all the time. He was strong in this, and, since it was filmed entirely in New York, got to employ a slight accent. It was very enjoyable to see Eddie Murphy back as what he should have been all this time, but it doesn't seem like he'll go back into that full force like he did in the '80s. This is a more modulated Eddie Murphy, and in fact, he's only part of the ensemble here, not as big as the trailers have been playing him up. Gabourey Sidibe was very, very good, and I always like seeing Alan Alda (This was the first of his three-picture deal with Universal, which has Wanderlust with Paul Rudd and Jennifer Aniston next (The trailer was released recently), and whatever comes after that), who is able to go from playing presidential candidate Senator Arnold Vinick on The West Wing to a genuine bad guy in this one. And he doesn't change much. There's vocal inflections and facial expressions he relies on, but not to a great degree. It takes very little for Vinick not to be there anymore and I'm always impressed.
After the movie, what to do next? I called Mom, Dad and then Meridith, who was the only one who answered her phone, and she said they were at Walmart Supercenter. That takes a while, and after I left the movie theater, I thought about going to the mall, to Puzzle Zoo to see not only if they still had the Beavis and Butt-Head bobbleheads, but also if they had anything else interesting, maybe figurines of Groucho Marx or Mark Twain, like they had of Mark Twain some time last year, when I bought one.
But why the mall? I'd been there many times already. I needed to do something useful with my time. I needed to go to Barnes & Noble, to find a copy of Medium Raw and finish the last 30 pages. I called Meridith, told her I was going to walk to Barnes & Noble, and 20 minutes later, I went searching for Medium Raw. I found it with Kitchen Confidential and The Nasty Bits, took a copy and went to the movie books section, since there was a chair right in front of it. I sat down, and finally finished reading Medium Raw. Unlike other books I still have to continue reading, that I likely won't see again until I have a Henderson library card, I remembered exactly where I left off in Medium Raw, because it was so good, so entertaining, so detailed in the writing and yet still so fast-paced.
By this time, I'd forgotten the slight disappointment I felt with Tower Heist. Finishing Medium Raw had been far more worthwhile, yet for Alan Alda and bits of Eddie Murphy's old schtick, I didn't feel like I had wasted $9.50. And Meridith had not only put Kitchen Confidential in the car for me, and All My Friends are Going to Be Strangers in the Goodwill box at home, she also wrote on an index card what I had gotten in the mail: A few book packages, and a bookmark I had ordered that was made from the side of the VHS box for The Breakfast Club (There's a seller on Artfire who makes bookmarks out of old 35mm film and the sides of tape boxes: http://www.artfire.com/ext/shop/studio/CultureRevolution). I got home, and found out that inside two of the book packages were Living Out Loud and Loud and Clear, two books of Anna Quindlen's columns, as well as How Reading Changed My Life, also by Quindlen, which I had read last year, but before I knew who Quindlen was.
There was also a box from McSweeney's, containing Maps and Legends, Michael Chabon's first book of essays, Fever Chart by Tom Cotter, and The Better of McSweeney's, Vol. 2, which had been offered for free alongside other books being offered the same way, by putting in the promo code "BETTER" upon checkout, all part of a massive sale McSweeney's is having to try to encourage customers to start early on their Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and whatever else shopping.
Oh, and in another package, A Pound of Paper: Confessions of a Book Addict by John Baxter, which I had read excerpts of in Buried in Books: A Reader's Anthology by Julie Rugg. So in a stack right now are Maps and Legends, A Pound of Paper, and Living Out Loud. I still want to read Kitchen Confidential next, after reading the short How Reading Changed My Life, but it now has some formidable competition.
Such are the hardships of being a bibliophile. Such are the wonderful results, from a day beginning with disappointment that becomes quietly satisfying, exactly how I like it.
Friday, November 4, 2011
The Garner Files
I spent yesterday eating up the few details revealed during the press conference for Skyfall, the 23rd Bond movie (as well as the press release that provided the most intriguing plot for a Bond movie in a very long time), and reading the rest of The Garner Files by James Garner and Jon Winokur.
It was worth the wait since March, when I pre-ordered it from Amazon. At the end, in the "Films" section where all his movies are listed, Garner not only writes briefly about each, but rates them, and is not biased toward any of them, pointing out which were crap, which were done only because he was under contract. It makes me respect him even more than I already do.
Reading about My Fellow Americans, which I still hate, despite the presidential aspect, I always suspected this about director Peter Segal, because none of his movies are any good, save for parts of Tommy Boy: "I wish the director were so professional. He was a self-appointed genius who didn't know his ass from second base, and Jack and I both knew it. He had no idea where to put the camera, he didn't know what he wanted, and he was a whiner. The movie could have been a lot better."
The script by E. Jack Kaplan & Richard Chapman and Peter Tolan didn't help either.
It was worth the wait since March, when I pre-ordered it from Amazon. At the end, in the "Films" section where all his movies are listed, Garner not only writes briefly about each, but rates them, and is not biased toward any of them, pointing out which were crap, which were done only because he was under contract. It makes me respect him even more than I already do.
Reading about My Fellow Americans, which I still hate, despite the presidential aspect, I always suspected this about director Peter Segal, because none of his movies are any good, save for parts of Tommy Boy: "I wish the director were so professional. He was a self-appointed genius who didn't know his ass from second base, and Jack and I both knew it. He had no idea where to put the camera, he didn't know what he wanted, and he was a whiner. The movie could have been a lot better."
The script by E. Jack Kaplan & Richard Chapman and Peter Tolan didn't help either.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Anthologies: The Sampler Platter of Books
I love anthologies. They're the sampler platter of books.
Take late this morning, after I had breakfast and decided that I didn't yet want to brush the dogs, preferring instead a few minutes in my room, looking at all the stacks of books around me. I found Attachments by Rainbow Rowell, an entirely e-mail-flavored novel, and put that in an accessible stack. Then I found Buried with Books: A Reader's Anthology by Julie Rugg which is U.K.-based, since that's where the author is, and so countless British writers get space here in such topics as "Degrees of Bibliomania," "'the good practice of buying a book a day'," "Books' lives," and "'An early taste for reading'."
Naturally, I had bought this one and then forgotten about it a few weeks later. Here it was again. There I was, waiting for the mail to come today, bearing The Garner Files, James Garner's memoir which was released yesterday and was shipped to me yesterday from Amazon (I pre-ordered it in March). Sure I was also reading One More Time: The Best of Mike Royko, but it had been months since I had read an anthology that triggered me to copy titles onto a yellow legal notepad. I love anthologies for that reason, that you get samples from authors that you might want to read in full later on. You can pluck at will what you want to read and go from there.
It's why I also love the Best American series. Best American Nonrequired Reading, Best American Short Stories, Best American Travel Writing, always the promise that if not every single piece, there will be at least one piece that'll slam you to the wall and make you shout for more. Another series, Best Food Writing, is where I discovered Anthony Bourdain through an excerpt of Kitchen Confidential in the 2000 edition. And after being violently shaken up, down and upside down from it, I ordered Kitchen Confidential, which I still haven't read yet, but I ought to put it in the same accessible stack that Attachments is in.
The Garner Files arrived, as I expected, and in another package that also came, another anthology: Modern American Memoirs, edited by Annie Dillard and Cort Conley. Naturally, I was ordering another book when I found this one, and seldom do I read memoirs unless I'm interested in the person who wrote it, such as James Garner, Jane Fonda, or Shania Twain in the case of her From This Moment On. With this, I could explore the writings of such giant names as Wallace Stegner, Cynthia Ozick, Frank Conroy, Malcolm X, Richard Wright, James Baldwin, and Ralph Ellison, and see if I'd want to read their memoirs as well.
The only problem I have with anthologies is that there are always titles I find that I want to read right away. After Mom got off the computer, I ordered from abebooks.com Hopscotch & Handbags, The Reluctant Bride, and My Family and Other Disasters, all by Guardian columnist Lucy Mangan (spurred on by excerpts from book-themed columns of hers featured in Buried in Books), as well as Book Book by Fiona Farrell, A Pound of Paper by John Baxter, Leave Me Alone, I'm Reading by Maureen Corrigan, A Reading Diary by Alberto Manguel, and Library Confidential by Don Borchert. Other titles I copied onto my notepad aren't as important as these and can wait either until interest piques by what else I find out about them, or until I have a library or two or three after we move to Henderson.
I still have to read the rest of Buried in Books, and I'm crossing my fingers that I don't come upon any more I-need-it-NOW titles. The Garner Files is waiting, but I don't want to rush right into it. I'll finish this anthology and then mosey on in. I'm sure Jim Rockford would do it the same way.
Take late this morning, after I had breakfast and decided that I didn't yet want to brush the dogs, preferring instead a few minutes in my room, looking at all the stacks of books around me. I found Attachments by Rainbow Rowell, an entirely e-mail-flavored novel, and put that in an accessible stack. Then I found Buried with Books: A Reader's Anthology by Julie Rugg which is U.K.-based, since that's where the author is, and so countless British writers get space here in such topics as "Degrees of Bibliomania," "'the good practice of buying a book a day'," "Books' lives," and "'An early taste for reading'."
Naturally, I had bought this one and then forgotten about it a few weeks later. Here it was again. There I was, waiting for the mail to come today, bearing The Garner Files, James Garner's memoir which was released yesterday and was shipped to me yesterday from Amazon (I pre-ordered it in March). Sure I was also reading One More Time: The Best of Mike Royko, but it had been months since I had read an anthology that triggered me to copy titles onto a yellow legal notepad. I love anthologies for that reason, that you get samples from authors that you might want to read in full later on. You can pluck at will what you want to read and go from there.
It's why I also love the Best American series. Best American Nonrequired Reading, Best American Short Stories, Best American Travel Writing, always the promise that if not every single piece, there will be at least one piece that'll slam you to the wall and make you shout for more. Another series, Best Food Writing, is where I discovered Anthony Bourdain through an excerpt of Kitchen Confidential in the 2000 edition. And after being violently shaken up, down and upside down from it, I ordered Kitchen Confidential, which I still haven't read yet, but I ought to put it in the same accessible stack that Attachments is in.
The Garner Files arrived, as I expected, and in another package that also came, another anthology: Modern American Memoirs, edited by Annie Dillard and Cort Conley. Naturally, I was ordering another book when I found this one, and seldom do I read memoirs unless I'm interested in the person who wrote it, such as James Garner, Jane Fonda, or Shania Twain in the case of her From This Moment On. With this, I could explore the writings of such giant names as Wallace Stegner, Cynthia Ozick, Frank Conroy, Malcolm X, Richard Wright, James Baldwin, and Ralph Ellison, and see if I'd want to read their memoirs as well.
The only problem I have with anthologies is that there are always titles I find that I want to read right away. After Mom got off the computer, I ordered from abebooks.com Hopscotch & Handbags, The Reluctant Bride, and My Family and Other Disasters, all by Guardian columnist Lucy Mangan (spurred on by excerpts from book-themed columns of hers featured in Buried in Books), as well as Book Book by Fiona Farrell, A Pound of Paper by John Baxter, Leave Me Alone, I'm Reading by Maureen Corrigan, A Reading Diary by Alberto Manguel, and Library Confidential by Don Borchert. Other titles I copied onto my notepad aren't as important as these and can wait either until interest piques by what else I find out about them, or until I have a library or two or three after we move to Henderson.
I still have to read the rest of Buried in Books, and I'm crossing my fingers that I don't come upon any more I-need-it-NOW titles. The Garner Files is waiting, but I don't want to rush right into it. I'll finish this anthology and then mosey on in. I'm sure Jim Rockford would do it the same way.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The Santa Ana Winds Blow In, and With Them, I Change
I like bringing the garbage and recycling bins back to the garage after dark because of the different feel of the atmosphere, far quieter than during the day, nothing else going on, nothing urgent to be taken care of, nothing else to think about. The day is done, the evening is here, and it's only time for reflection of what the day has done and looking to what the evening can do.
I hit the garage door button, waited as it went up, and saw that the tops of the trees were being blown to a flattop style. The Santa Ana winds have officially returned after small fits in the weeks before that didn't even register enough to say that they had arrived. A little late in the year for them, but here they are, and the feeling of the world around me has changed. In a few weeks, December will come, it'll get colder, I will reluctantly have to start wearing sweatshirts even though I swear I can get by with a white t-shirt under a short-sleeve t-shirt and a thick jacket over that, but I will feel empowered.
I always get this way in December. It's cold enough to the extent that no one really wants to do anything. There are jobs to go to and they will do only that and then rush right back home to the warmth of a fireplace (If they have one, and a few do, judging from that smoky smell in the neighborhood) or the heater spurting 80+ degrees throughout the house.
Me, I'm ready because the winter gives me what I want: I feel an impatient drive to get to work, to read a lot more, to research now, to see finally where this next book will take me. By this time last year, I was long finished with What If They Lived?, save for reading over the proofs before the new year and making sure my essays were exactly as I wanted them to read, and that whatever was rewritten conformed to my writing style.
I have not yet begun to read the books I have bought for this first round of research, and even so, those books will not be the only ones necessary for this project. For just these next few days, I'm getting back into the discipline of reading for long hours. You might think I do with how much I express my deep love for reading, but every day, there are chores, occasional shaves and showers, errands during the weekend. There's not a great deal of interruption (I bring whatever book I'm reading into whatever store we're at because I've seen these stores so many times over these past eight years. There's nothing new), but reading comes in fits. I need to get back to reading for hours, and including taking notes while reading. It won't be hard to get back into the groove of that, but I need it to run smoothly.
Of course, there's an ulterior motive to it, being that The Garner Files, James Garner's memoir, which I ordered in March, was released today and I got an e-mail from Amazon saying that it shipped. It'll be here tomorrow. I think I'll practice on that.
Fortunately, my research will start off well. I plan to read The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West first to get a feel for the book I want to write, and West captures the atmosphere I want. Not how he writes it, but that background.
Let winter come. I'm ready to be industrious again.
I hit the garage door button, waited as it went up, and saw that the tops of the trees were being blown to a flattop style. The Santa Ana winds have officially returned after small fits in the weeks before that didn't even register enough to say that they had arrived. A little late in the year for them, but here they are, and the feeling of the world around me has changed. In a few weeks, December will come, it'll get colder, I will reluctantly have to start wearing sweatshirts even though I swear I can get by with a white t-shirt under a short-sleeve t-shirt and a thick jacket over that, but I will feel empowered.
I always get this way in December. It's cold enough to the extent that no one really wants to do anything. There are jobs to go to and they will do only that and then rush right back home to the warmth of a fireplace (If they have one, and a few do, judging from that smoky smell in the neighborhood) or the heater spurting 80+ degrees throughout the house.
Me, I'm ready because the winter gives me what I want: I feel an impatient drive to get to work, to read a lot more, to research now, to see finally where this next book will take me. By this time last year, I was long finished with What If They Lived?, save for reading over the proofs before the new year and making sure my essays were exactly as I wanted them to read, and that whatever was rewritten conformed to my writing style.
I have not yet begun to read the books I have bought for this first round of research, and even so, those books will not be the only ones necessary for this project. For just these next few days, I'm getting back into the discipline of reading for long hours. You might think I do with how much I express my deep love for reading, but every day, there are chores, occasional shaves and showers, errands during the weekend. There's not a great deal of interruption (I bring whatever book I'm reading into whatever store we're at because I've seen these stores so many times over these past eight years. There's nothing new), but reading comes in fits. I need to get back to reading for hours, and including taking notes while reading. It won't be hard to get back into the groove of that, but I need it to run smoothly.
Of course, there's an ulterior motive to it, being that The Garner Files, James Garner's memoir, which I ordered in March, was released today and I got an e-mail from Amazon saying that it shipped. It'll be here tomorrow. I think I'll practice on that.
Fortunately, my research will start off well. I plan to read The Day of the Locust by Nathanael West first to get a feel for the book I want to write, and West captures the atmosphere I want. Not how he writes it, but that background.
Let winter come. I'm ready to be industrious again.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Here's the Inside of My Head
Remember the kids science show Beakman's World from the '90s? I grew up on that. I had a Saturday morning bowling league when my family and I lived in Coral Springs, Florida, and Don Carter Lanes was just over the city line into Tamarac. It was on at 12:30 on CBS, so I always made sure to tape it just in case I wasn't home by then.
Watch at least this first part of The Best of Beakman's World: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7QvOKFm3wg
See those backgrounds, all that space filled up with all those props and those set designs? That's what the inside of my head looks like.
Watch at least this first part of The Best of Beakman's World: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G7QvOKFm3wg
See those backgrounds, all that space filled up with all those props and those set designs? That's what the inside of my head looks like.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)