July 17, 2008
Thursday A.M.
You know when you're writing a blog post for a client and all of a sudden you find yourself sticking a lame Andy Rooney quote in the lede and then you decide that maybe you're not quite as good at your job as you like to believe you are so then you take up huffing?
No?
Just wondering.
Posted by Bree at 10:05 AM | Comments (0)
June 05, 2008
POTD (Phrase of the Day)
Spit the bit
As in my boyfriend's surprise that a male friend of ours had not "spit the bit" and broken up with his girlfriend.
Spit the bit
Posted by Bree at 10:44 AM | Comments (0)
June 04, 2008
Top Chef/Bottom Pronouncer
I'm watching a Top Chef rerun, and it's driving me crazy because they're cooking with plantains and EVERYONE is pronouncing it "planTAIN." Which is incorrect. The right way to say the word is "planTIHN," like mountain or captain. Of course, when it comes to esoteric pronunciation, it's sometimes best to just go with the flow and not sound like the one asshole making a mistake. Your call, but it's always recommended one knows the rules before one busts 'em. (This coming from the girl who still has to pause and consider before saying the word "oregano.")
Posted by Bree at 08:08 PM | Comments (1)
May 29, 2008
POTD (Phrase of the Day) Part II
"[He/she] wouldn't say shit if [he/she] had a mouthful of it."
As in my friend's assertion that a mutual acquaintance "wouldn't say shit if he had a mouthful of it."
"[He/she] wouldn't say shit if [he/she] had a mouthful of it."
Posted by Bree at 03:16 PM | Comments (0)
POTD (Phrase of the Day)
Swinging dick
As in my boyfriend's assertion that each time he gets a haircut he, "looks just like every other swinging dick in town."
Swinging dick
Posted by Bree at 03:13 PM | Comments (1)
May 26, 2008
A Good Reminder
A Late Aubade by Richard Wilbur
You could be sitting now in a carrel
Turning some liver-spotted page,
Or rising in an elevator-cage
Toward Ladies' Apparel.
You could be planting a raucous bed
Of salvia, in rubber gloves,
Or lunching through a screed of someone's loves
With pitying head.
Or making some unhappy setter
Heel, or listening to a bleak
Lecture on Schoenberg's serial technique.
Isn't this better?
Think of all the time you are not
Wasting, and would not care to waste,
Such things, thank God, not being to your taste.
Think what a lot
Of time, by woman's reckoning,
You've saved, and so may spend on this,
You who had rather lie in bed and kiss
Than anything.
It's almost noon, you say? If so,
Time flies, and I need not rehearse
The rosebuds-theme of centuries of verse.
If you must go,
Wait for a while, then slip downstairs
And bring us up some chilled white wine,
And some blue cheese, and crackers, and some fine
Ruddy-skinned pears.
Posted by Bree at 10:04 PM | Comments (0)
May 22, 2008
Unclear Antecedent Alert
First sentence of a short article in the Denver Post today:
Phillip Chavez beat to death a man who hit Chavez's car on the side of the road in March, killing his two stepchildren, according to police.
I had to read the whole article to understand what the fuck that meant. (And I'm lazy, so that's saying something.) Maybe you're quicker on the draw than me, but for those in the back row: it seems a man hit Chavez's car. The accident killed Chavez's two stepchildren. Chavez then beat the man to death.
The grammatical problem stems from the "his" in the parenthetical clause. His? Who's his? Chavez? Or the man (which is how I initially read it)? Avoid this dilemma when using pronouns by steering clear of the unclear antecedent. If you (or the reader) can't make an obvious and quick connection between the subject and the pronoun, then repeat the subject's proper name...or rewrite the sentence.
Posted by Bree at 11:20 PM | Comments (3)
May 09, 2008
Brouhaha Lite
In response to the semi-interesting piece The New Yorker just published about some guy who possibly retouched the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty ads, and the semi-interesting semi-nonexistent semi-backlash against Dove and Ogilvy and Annie Liebovitz and WHATEVER - everything's fake people, let's not fool ourselves - my former employers just released this:
Statement from Dove about The New Yorker Article
Dove's mission is to make more women feel beautiful every day by widening the definition of beauty and inspiring them to take great care of themselves. Dove strives to portray women by accurately depicting their shape, size, skin color and age.The "real women" ad referenced in recent media coverage was created and produced entirely by Ogilvy, the Dove brand's advertising agency, from start to finish and the women's bodies were not digitally altered.
Pascal Dangin worked with photographer Annie Leibovitz (Ogilvy has never employed Mr. Dangin on the Dove Campaign for Real Beauty), who did the photography for the launch of the Dove ProAge campaign, a new campaign within the Campaign for Real Beauty. There was an understanding between Dove and Ms. Leibovitz that the photos would not be retouched - the only actions taken were the removal of dust from the film and minor color correction.
"Let's be perfectly clear - Pascal does all kinds of work - but he is primarily a printer - and only does retouching when asked to. The idea for Dove was very clear at the beginning. There was to be NO retouching and there was not," confirmed Annie Leibovitz, commenting on the ProAge campaign.
Mr. Dangin responded, "The recent article published by The New Yorker incorrectly implies that I retouched the images in connection with the Dove "real women" ad. I only worked on the Dove ProAge campaign taken by Annie Leibovitz and was directed only to remove dust and do color correction - both the integrity of the photographs and the women's natural beauty were maintained."
So OK. Sounds great. These women don't have a zit or scar or bruise or cellulite dimple amongst them. If I wasn't allergic to every single product Dove makes (true), I'd be all up in that (false). Swears (also false).
But the real question remains (and what the press seems to have distressingly overlooked): is it ever advisable to use an apostrophe s in connection to a brand name? I mean, sure, if you're not representing them - who cares - but I seem to remember that that's a big no-no. Especially in first reference. That sentence could have easily been rewritten to avoid that (just look at the next one, no apostrophes there), and just seems a bit sloppy to me. I can't picture any of my old department heads letting that one slide, especially on a release of this magnitude that was obveez gonna get picked up by all and sundry.
I am so disappointed. I think I am going to go put on my white underthings and prance around the neighborhood yelling, "La la la, real women have strange allergies to soaps and lotions and appreciate proper PR punctuation!" until I feel better. C-U-LATE.
Posted by Bree at 12:37 PM | Comments (2)
April 06, 2008
Official Moratorium
"I just barfed a little bit in my mouth."
Posted by Bree at 08:58 PM | Comments (0)
April 03, 2008
WOTD
Chingalera - little fucking thing over there, esp. inanimate object. spanish slang.
Hand me that chingalera over there.
Posted by Bree at 07:43 PM | Comments (0)
March 24, 2008
Glued
If you're looking for me, I'll be the one Gorilla GLUED to the pages of Paul Auster's New York Trilogy (a birthday gift received from Marie). Yes, already on page 102 despite having started it late last night, I am in awe of the work's seeming ability to interfere with a widespread assortment of career development, home decoration and physical fitness goals.
But I've nattered on long enough.
Posted by Bree at 05:31 PM | Comments (0)
February 25, 2008
Negative Cool Points
After a wine-fueled discussion about The Secret and that new book Oprah's all crazed about, Margo, Marie and I have decided (nay, VISUALIZED) a long-distance-don't-call-it-a-book-club to see if this seeming bullcrappy is worth devoting any time to. I have a host of unread new-agey self-help books (two) gathering dander on my shelves, but am interested to see if these actually do lend any sort of guidance or advice that I can use to make my life...er...complete. Completely naff, perhaps, but complete all the same. Besides, having just read back-to-back books by Slash and Motley Crue, I think it's time to scrub out the ho/heroin/ho brainstain and do some thinkin' of a deeper sort. Or at least pretend that's the case, as I definitely feel like this is the literary version of the Atkins diet.
Posted by Bree at 10:11 AM | Comments (2)
February 11, 2008
Two Unrelated Grafs*
I'm a fan of lingual permutations and colloquialisms being accepted into the lexicon and any other ways I can say slang is A-OK but, still, I do like to know the genesis of the phrases I bandy about. I'm biblical like that. So were you aware that card shark might actually have begun as card sharp? And chomping at the bit might more accurately be described as champing at the bit?
In other news, I woke up this morning as piece #2 in a four mammal spoon: Matt, me, Deuce, Walter. That's right: Walter was pressed up to Deuce's stomach, lying on his back and only occasionally reaching over to swipe my face or Deuce's corn dog. Deuce, in turn, was pressed up to my stomach, with her anus less than a foot from my nose. Matt was on the far side, shivering with no covers and half a food of bed space (I have a policy not to ask Deuce to move; Deuce has a policy to sleep on her side, straight-legged, in the middle of the bed). It was so sweet, I lay there in bliss - thinking all I needed was an insulin transfusion and a camera and...well, new socks, but that's a different story. Then Deuce let go a relatively modest poot, and I was up and out of that room like Jesse Owens.
* Yeah, grafs. That's what they call paragraphs in the editorial armpit. It's soooo swanky to hear "Massage grafs three and four and redo the subs and boilers and send it out to all the KOLs by EOD...or COB, if you're running behind." and realize - Wow! Your bosses must be fucking wicked important to be able to dismember language like that in a professional setting. Oh good times.
Posted by Bree at 10:33 AM | Comments (0)
February 06, 2008
Cool Resource
I was looking at notes from that Joe Duffy lecture last year, and came across this URL: www.visualthesaurus.com. Very excellent stuff, with an exciting visual process, but alas - my Roget's does me just fine for $0.00 a year.
Posted by Bree at 08:39 PM | Comments (0)
January 30, 2008
Dear Everyone,
See my point?
Thanks!
Bree
PS "Impactful" and "Impactfulness" are NOT words. Grrrrr.
Posted by Bree at 12:21 PM | Comments (0)
January 29, 2008
Dear Everyone,
Please do me a favor and STOP inserting two spaces after a period. Modern type formatting does not require this. Additionally, it is a pain in this editor's ass to go into your documents and fix it.
Other tips:
In AP usage, it's "Web site."
Punctuation is always within quotation marks.
Write out numbers one through nine; use the numerical equivalent for anything above nine unless you're using a number to start a sentence.
ALWAYS write out "percent." There is never a cause to use the % key in proper writing.
Capitalize any title word with four letters or more.
i.e. means "in other words." e.g. means "for example." Always place a comma after both i.e. and e.g., (i.e., like that).
Enormity is not synonymous with immensity, rather it implies a magnitude of immoral behavior or action.
Punctuation in bulleted lists is a personal matter; use when you feel it's appropriate (e.g., when you are bulleting full sentences). Another option is to not put a period after any bulleted item until the very last one.
Thanks!
Bree
Posted by Bree at 02:17 PM | Comments (7)
January 28, 2008
Good Stuff (Thanks, Dad!)
The Future by Wesley McNair
On the afternoon talk shows of America
the guests have suffered life's sorrows
long enough. All they require now
is the opportunity for closure,
to put the whole thing behind them
and get on with their lives. That their lives,
in fact, are getting on with them even
as they announce their requirement
is written on the faces of the younger ones
wrinkling their brows, and the skin
of their elders collecting just under their
set chins. It's not easy to escape the past,
but who wouldn't want to live in a future
where the worst has already happened
and Americans can finally relax after daring
to demand a different way? For the rest of us,
the future, barring variations, turns out
to be not so different from the present
where we have always lived--the same
struggle of wishes and losses, and hope,
that old lieutenant, picking us up
every so often to dust us off and adjust
our helmets. Adjustment, for that matter,
may be the one lesson hope has to give,
serving us best when we begin to find
what we didn't know we wanted in what
the future brings. Nobody would have asked
for the ice storm that takes down trees
and knocks the power out, leaving nothing
but two buckets of snow melting
on the wood stove and candlelight so weak,
the old man sitting at the kitchen table
can hardly see to play cards. Yet how else
but by the old woman's laughter
when he mistakes a jack for a queen
would he look at her face in the half-light as if
for the first time while the kitchen around them
and the very cards he holds in his hands
disappear? In the deep moment of his looking
and her looking back, there is no future,
only right now, all, anyway, each one of us
has ever had, and all the two of them,
sitting together in the dark among the cracked
notes of the snow thawing beside them
on the stove, right now will ever need.
Posted by Bree at 08:24 PM | Comments (0)
November 19, 2007
WOTD
Pooning (verb): The act of soaking a super-sized Tampon in water and throwing it at a wall or car in order to make it adhere. Pooning.
Posted by Bree at 04:49 PM | Comments (0)
September 20, 2007
I Knew It!
Carting a book called Infidel on my last flight gave me a little delirium tremens, I ain't gone lie, and now: my deepest suspicions confirmed, nay VALIDATED. Luckily for me, I guess, the screeners at Southwest were too busy looking for boobs and buttcheeks to heed my scandalous (read: totally anti-Islam and pro-lady, democracy, etc.) text.
Posted by Bree at 12:43 PM | Comments (0)
September 18, 2007
Poem from my Da (Cue: Sniffles)
For My Daughter
When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.
When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.
- David Ignatow
Posted by Bree at 09:27 PM | Comments (0)
September 12, 2007
This is an Interesting Piece
I find it to be more than a bit strident at times but - aside from the whole Gerson limelight stealage brouhaha - the insight offered on the political speechwriting process is like a big plateful of Stouffers for word nerds like me.
Read it.
Weeping is nonmandatory.
Posted by Bree at 08:52 PM | Comments (0)
August 26, 2007
Today in Spin
From an article about the new David Adjaye-designed Museum of Contemporary Art in Colorado Homes & Lifestyles: "Limited parking will encourage museum-goers to walk, ride their bikes, or receive a public transportation discount..."
Hee. Giggles.
Nice one.
Ten bucks that was the rationale used to get beyond the zoning requirements for on-site parking..."But if you take another look at our lack of adequate accomodations for visitors, you'll see that we are actually helping to cut down on traffic congestion and save the environment. Oh and you're welcome."
Posted by Bree at 05:07 PM | Comments (0)
August 23, 2007
Is It a Bad Sign...
when a perceptive friend recommends you buy this little tome?!
Her review: Seriously good book. Meant for therapists, not for laypeople, so it's not some retarded chicken soup for your crotch-hairs bullshit.
Sold!
Posted by Bree at 12:56 PM | Comments (0)
July 13, 2007
Perhaps Not So Unique
I am having an eerie experience in reading The Namesake by Jhumpa Lahiri. There is a character in it who reminds me of myself, in both flattering and not-so flattering ways. This did not strike me when I watched the movie, but the details of her, her relationships with her family and boyfriends, her interests and way of expressing herself and background...it's all, if not directly parallel, at least a faithful and realistic interpretation of how things could have gone had my parents stayed in the city. This paragraph in particular made me furrow at the similarity:
Maxine is open about her past, showing him photographs of her ex-boyfriends in the pages of a marble-papered album, speaking of those relationships without embarrassment or regret. She has the gift of accepting her life; as he comes to know her, he realizes that she has never wished she were anyone other than herself. This, in his opinion, is the biggest difference between them, a thing far more foreign to him than the beautiful house she'd grown up in, her education at private schools. In addition, he is continually amazed by how much Maxine emulates her parents, how much she respects their tastes and their ways. At the dinner table she argues with them about books and paintings and people they know in common the way one might argue with a friend. There is none of the exasperation he feels with his own parents. No sense of obligation. Unlike his parents, they pressure her to do nothing, and yet she lives faithfully, happily, at their side.
She swears a lot too. And likes bread and coffee. The first time she is described, it is as, "at once strident and flirtatious, she is a little bit drunk." Case rested.
Posted by Bree at 07:33 AM | Comments (0)
July 11, 2007
Sensitive Subject
I was looking through my e-mails today for a work phone number in New York, and stumbled across this lovely missive saved from when I was writing for Tr*jan's launch of its Mint Tingle condom. Yes, this is an actual, undoctored e-mail I sent to my boss, the VP of my department:
--------------------------------------------------
From: Bree
Sent: Friday, February 25, 2005 9:36 AM
To: Joe
Subject: Tr*jan Release
You know, I was thinking about it and what Christine wrote yesterday re: not wanting to position it as the blow job condom, and was wondering if I went too far in that regard?
All the info they gave us (the CDC stuff, the deck, etc.) focused on oral sex, so that's how I wrote it—but now I'm not sure if I didn't concentrate enough on the rest of the Mint Tingle…possibilities. But, to be realistic, it totally IS the blow job condom. I mean…there is NO other reason why it would be flavored/colored… Anyway, perhaps something to consider as we go into round 2.
Good morning, Joe!
Thanks,
Bree
Posted by Bree at 06:50 PM | Comments (0)
May 08, 2007
Apostrophy Wife
When it comes to indicating possession with proper names that end in "s," - call me crazy - but I always place an apostrophe before a second "s." None of this: "Marcus' wife is a lovely lady" biznitchy. It's all Marcus's - all the time.
Oh woe. I've fought the s's battle again et again, and hell, will even admit to sometimes bowing to the pressure and sticking with the one "s" thing, but now - now the mystery to where this inane belief was born from is solved! It's a Chicago Manual of Style recommendation. Granted, and in opposition to what my resume says, I only have used NY Times and AP guidelines in any sort of professional capacity so assume this usage is also floating around in one of those.
'tevs.
I do fear them's some boring shit's I just wrote up there. Can you tell I'm tired and cranky and want to go back to work as a writer?
Oh woe is oh wright.
[insert grumble.]
Posted by Bree at 11:17 PM | Comments (0)
April 15, 2007
Po'try
Check out this action poetry site for U.S. poet laureate Billy Collins.
No seriously. It's well worth your clickage.
Posted by Bree at 06:57 PM | Comments (0)
March 03, 2007
Book Review(s)
Going through my things, I found a little notebook wherein one (me, presumably) is intended to write thoughts on his or her reading. Seeing as diary-keeping ain't my forte, I only used it twice. Both for good books though, so here you go:
The Devil's Larder by Jim Crace
12/29/2003 - Christmas gift from Jenny. 64 short works about food - shockingly good. Amazing how he crafts these narratives that are so rich, so evocative with such a muscular and judicious choice of words. The last one was simply, "Oh honey." - which is just a diving board for the reader's imaginative process. Really impressive. Definitely want to read more by him. [Have also read Gift of Stones. Devil's Larder is WAY better. - Ed.]
Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford
1/7/2004 - It's taken me ages - and several other books concurrently - to get through this one -> fascinating woman and story. Take some issue with Milford's style of never reintroducing any one of the 1,000's of acquaintances Millay had. Also, great swaths go untold (Millay was extremely interested in WWII but no word on her reaction to liberation?), but all in all a thorough portrait of a troubled talent.
Posted by Bree at 03:29 PM | Comments (0)
February 08, 2007
TONIGHT
Tonight: I'm going to meet my idol, James Salter. The level of nervousness and jackdom and excitment is at about the same level it would be if I found out I was about to get backstage with Guns n' Roses circa '89. And - to boot - the reading is at CC...which means I might run into some former professors. I think I need a Xanax.
!!!!!!!!!
JAMES SALTER
!!!!!!!!!
Reading: Screenwriter James Salter - Brilliant fiction writer and screenwriter (of "Downhill Racer") whose books include "A Sport and a Pastime," "Solo Faces" and "Burning the Days." Part of the Visiting Writers Series. Sponsored by CC alumnus John Ebey and the U.S. Air Force Academy.
7 p.m., Gates Common Room, third floor of Palmer Hall, 1025 N. Cascade Ave. (east of Tutt Library), free
I'm totally wearing my "getting laid" jeans. <- Rick, you have been warned. They are IRRESISTABLE.
Posted by Bree at 04:07 PM | Comments (0)
February 04, 2007
I Didn't Write This...
But man, I would totally do the guy who did [*especially if #7 and/or #9 come(s) to fruition]:
Good Ideas I Have Had In The Past Year
* Kobe tuna - fish raised in a tank of dilute beer and massaged on the hour
* Moon-dried tomatoes
* Downloadable car alarm ring tones
* Extra-virgin baby oil
* Pandas genetically engineered to eat only koala bears
* Flavored latex gloves for dentists (teriyaki? mesquite?)
* Astrobraü - the beer that doubles as a sexual lubricant (This would be #7 - Ed.)
* On MLK day Martin Luther King comes down chimney, brings presents
* Birth-control pilsner (And, of course, #9 - Ed.)
* Brooklyn pride parade in Puerto Rico
* "Steakation" beef-themed group tours to Argentina
* Sushi by the inch (extrudable)
Posted by Bree at 08:45 PM | Comments (0)
Word.
Agora: (n) : a place for gathering; a marketplace, especially in Classical Greece.
(Obvs of the same route as agoraphobic, but I had never heard this before.)
Definition care of Ninjawords, a new online dictionary that beats Webster with a sockful of Merriam (um...but in a Ninja-type way. Like in a mask. And stealthily.) Also check out Ninja.com, a Google-based search engine (with sleeker design) that can give you a Ninja.net e-mail addy. All hail the land of the rising sun!
Posted by Bree at 10:55 AM | Comments (1)
January 16, 2007
Have I Mentioned Recently That CC is the Best College in America?
'cause it is.
Check this SWEETNESS(!!!!):
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Lecture: Camille Paglia: "Religion and the Arts in America" - The electrifying critic whose books include "Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson"; "Sex, Art, and American Culture"; "Vamps & Tramps: New Essays" and "Break, Blow, Burn," presents the 2007 Colorado College Cornerstone Arts Lecture.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Reading: Screenwriter James Salter - Brilliant fiction writer and screenwriter (of "Downhill Racer") whose books include "A Sport and a Pastime," "Solo Faces" and "Burning the Days." Part of the Visiting Writers Series.
I really, really, really, really, really, really, really am really psyched.
And, while I wouldn't miss the Salter reading for all the tea in Whole Foods, check out who else is coming on the 8th:
Lecture: Michael Pollan: The Omnivore's Dilemma: Searching for the Perfect Meal in a Fast-Food World - All creatures are defined ecologically by how they fit into a food chain. For humans, food industrialization has obscured this once-plain fact; most Americans are only dimly aware that their food represents their most profound engagement with the natural world.
And to think, I came thisclose to actually starting The Omnivore's Dilemma this week. THISCLOSE!
Posted by Bree at 06:06 PM | Comments (0)
January 14, 2007
A.M. Poetry Break
Dirge without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.
The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
(c/o "Taken by the Tide," a near-perfect op-ed in the Times last week.)
Posted by Bree at 09:11 AM | Comments (0)
January 10, 2007
why did you go...
A friend of my father's lost his son when he was just a baby. This E. E. Cummings poem was read at the funeral. (NB: As for the capital Es and C, that is NY Times style, right there.) It's always meant a lot to me, and showed up in my mailbox unexpectedly today. Thanks, Da. I'm thinking of you too.
why did you go...
why did you go
little fourpaws?
you forgot to shut
your big eyes.
where did you go?
like little kittens
are all the leaves
which open in the rain.
little kittens who
are called spring,
is what we stroke
maybe asleep?
do you know?or maybe did
something go away
ever so quietly
when we weren't looking.
Posted by Bree at 10:07 PM | Comments (0)
January 09, 2007
Reading List
In case you had yet to notice, I sometimes use this blog as a repository for all the scraps of info I have floating around in my life...and in my head. Going through some old files today (evocatively named "Things I like" and "Cool Design!"), I found this old reading list that a professor of Mike's gave him during his semester in England. I'm going to put it after the jump, but it's a nice reference to have next time you're wondering what to pick up at the bookstore.
The professor's intro: "Miscellaneous not-to-be missed reading (a list almost impossible to assemble and full of holes, but with the guarantee that any time spent reading any of the following will not be wasted, and may have a profound effect on your ways of thinking.")
Allende, Isabel: The Stories of Eva Luna
Amis, Martin: Money
Atwood, Margaret: Cat's Eye, Bluebeard's Egg, The Handmaid's Tale
Barnes, Julian: Flaubert's Parrot
Bellow, Saul: Herzog
Calvino, Italo: If On a Winter's Nights a Traveller
Byatt, A.S.: Possession (Bonus five word review for the movie: Sucks so so so bad! - Ed.)
Chopin, Kate: The Awakening
Dickinson, Emily: Poetry
Eco, Umberto: The Name of the Rose
Eliot, T.S.: Poems 1919-20
Ellison, Ralph: The Invisible Man
Gilman, Charlotte Perkins: The Yellow Wallpaper
Hurston, Zora Neale: Their Eyes Were Watching God
James, Henry: The Portrait of a Lady
Joyce, James; A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man
McCullers, Carson: The Ballad of the Sad Cafe (or as we witty punsters of Mrs. Ames' 10th grade English class used to call it: The Salad of the Bad Cafe)
McEwan, Ian: The Cement Garden
Mansfield, Katherine: The Garden Party and Other Stories
Marquez, Gabriel Garcia: One Hundred Years of Solitude, Love in the Time of Cholera
Morrison, Toni: Sula, The Bluest Eye, Beloved - Ed.
Munro, Alice: Short Stories
Murdoch, Iris: The Sea, The Sea
Nabokov, Vladimir: Lolita, Pnin, Pale Fire
Rhys, Jean: Voyage in the Dark
Spark, Muriel: The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
Suskind, Patrick: Perfume
Tyler, Anne: Breathing Lessons, Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant
Woolf, Virginia: To the Lighthouse, Mrs. Dalloway, Orlando, A Room of One's Own
Posted by Bree at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)
January 08, 2007
Pass the Salter
I am on a total James Salter binge of late. Unfortunately, I've motored through all the books I have by him and have had to rely on the kindness of friends to feed my obsession. And - sadness to the extreme - though I had a borrowed version of Burning the Days over Christmas - I managed to LOSE IT. Not once...but twice. Brutal. After striking out at three bookstores, I was finally forced to order a few copies from Tattered Cover the other day. Thankfully, the aforementioned Moehringer has kept me more than occupied - as I've been zipping through his autobio at the speed of (somewhat slothful) light.
To celebrate my love of all things Salteriffic, however, I just logged onto Powells and ordered:
There & Then: The Travel Writings of James Salter
Life Is Meals: A Food Lover's Book of Days
Burning the Days (Hardcover)
Gods of Tin: The Flying Years
Cassada
And, 'cause I'm a girl of my word, I also picked up The New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know by E. D. Hirsch Jr. and James Trefil and Joseph F. Kett.
If you haven't yet dived into all that is the Salter-ino, by God - do yourself a favor and get reading. Solo Faces, Dusk, A Sport and a Pasttime, The Hunters, Last Night - you have got some treats in store, my friend.
How can you not adore a man who comes up with this answer to the old, "How would you describe yourself?" riddle:
"Difficult. Tends to brevity. Seems to be interested in dogs, women, houses, cars, fields. Oddly enough, hasn't given up the feminine in himself" ("Fiction Prize Awarded," The Washington Post, April 30, 1989).
Yeah. In short: the ultimate man.
Posted by Bree at 10:27 PM | Comments (0)
Smarty Pants
My dad - or, as we call him for short, "the former Foreign Service occifer" - sent me an article recently on changes the State Department is making to its famously difficult entrance exam. Interesting stuff, but what really caught my eye was a list of books recommended to all those trying to enjoy the life of a dipso diplo. The life my silly silly dad abandoned to raise two wild children in the woods of Massachusetts. N*elys: not exactly known for our strong decision-making skills. Anys, let's go to the books:
Cultural Literacy: What Every American Needs to Know
The Abolitionist Legacy
Supervisor's Big Book of Lists
The Elements of Style
Psychology and Life
Kosovo: A Short History
Twilight of Amateur Diplomacy: The American Foreign Service and Its Senior Officers in the 1890s
Out of those, I've only tackled The Elements of Style and, truthfully, the only other one that appeals is the Cultural Literacy title. I need to dive into that one post-haste. As soon as I finish the latest Lucky Magazine that is.
Posted by Bree at 04:08 PM | Comments (0)
December 18, 2006
First Times
Since I was a kid, I've had an idea that I could fill a book with abandoned first paragraphs of stories I was working on. Granted, that book would be prrrretttty boring, but it's just about all I could ever commit to. Yeah, yeah...you know me, you know the drill. Unless I have a specific deadline, I'm pretty durned useless when it comes to motivating to write any long-form fiction. To get over this, and take advantage of my uncanny aptitude for typing, I majored in english (rather than art history, classics or TV/VCR repair) and have since taken a few continuing-ed writing classes. But my big excuse over the years has been how difficult it is to pursue something creatively when you do it all day on the clock. That bought me some time (har!), but truth be told, I don't do it because I just don't really like to do it.
Adulthood is such an eye-opener.
What I need to get up on is long-form personal essays a la Didion and her ilk. But before I forever abandon all these minutes of work to the "Random Effluvia" folder in my hard drive, what do you think...would you want to read more than a paragraph of this?
He was a quiet man, who worked when he was supposed to and kept mainly to himself. It had made for a good life, that approach but, loneliness had a way of overstaying its visits these days. When the damp darkness closed around his small house, and the traffic slowed on the access road, memories of few friends and fewer lovers tangled around him like sheets. What people there had been were gone now. A sharp glass of bourbon, news programs on the black and white, Louis L’Amour—small pleasures had once made the time go by more quickly, but now there was frequently a dull taste in his mouth and an ache in his gut.
Eh.
So boring to me.
Love that "gut" linebreak though. Carl, could you be a doll and come fix the kerning? Damn, I'm yearning for your learning!
How's this one?
When I got to my uncle’s house, he had a sandwich made for me. It was cheese and pickles—the sweet kind—and it tasted pretty good after four hours on the bus, but I was feeling tired so I only ate half of it. He wrapped up the rest in wax paper. Who knew anybody still used that stuff? My mom always bought Ziplocs.
Mmmmm, I love pickle and cheese sandwiches. And, apparently, linebreaks.
Last one:
Steps overhead are muffled, or so you will spend a little time imagining. No one walks there now, anyway. You will be alone for as long as you wish.
Sigh. These are bleak. Time to bust out the drawing board and get back to something I'm actually interested in. Gimme fiction? Maybe in another ten years or so. You know, when I finally get some free time.
Posted by Bree at 11:31 PM | Comments (0)
December 05, 2006
Quotey Quotes A Lot
This book I'm reading, The History of Love by Nicole Krauss, is so durned good it's making my head spin. And whenever my head spins - I feel the jones to type. Following the cardiac theme of below, here's some more goodness:
"My heart is weak and unreliable. When I go it will be my heart. I try to burden it as little as possible. If something is going to have an impact, I direct it elsewhere. My gut for example, or my lungs, which might seize up for a moment but have never yet failed to take another breath. When I pass a mirror and catch a glimpse of myself, or I'm at the bus stop and some kids come up behind me and say, Who smells shit? - small daily humiliations - these I take, generally speaking, in my liver. Other damages I take in other places. The pancreas I reserve for being struck by all that's been lost. It's true that there's so much, and the organ is so small. But. You would be surprised how much it can take, all I feel is a quick sharp pain and then it's over. Sometimes I imagine my own autopsy. Disappointment in myself: right kidney. Disappointment of others in me: left kidney...Yesterday I saw a man kicking a dog and I felt it behind my eyes. I don't know what to call this, a place before tears. The pain of forgetting: spine. The pain of remembering: spine. All the times I have suddenly realized that my parents are dead, even now, it still surprises me, to exist in the world while that which made me has ceased to exist: my knees, it takes half a tube of Ben-Gay and a big production just to bend them. To everything a season, to every time I've woken only to make the mistake of believing for a moment that someone was sleeping beside me: a hemorrhoid. Loneliness: there is no organ that can take it all."
(Thanks for the loan, MK.)
Posted by Bree at 09:25 PM | Comments (0)
Brian Doyle Breaks It Down
“So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one, in the end - not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched up by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words ‘I have something to tell you,’ a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mothers papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.“
Above is the last paragraph of the delightfully succint and succulently delectable essay Joyas Valadoras. Get nuts and read the whole piece aqui, or check it out in Best American Essays 2005.
Oh and of course - be sure to pour yourself a Big Gulp of Lange Pinot Noir to enjoy with as our man Doyle is, coincidentally, the author of the book: The Grail: A Year Ambling and Shambling through an Oregon Vineyard in Pursuit of the Best Pinot Noir Wine in the Whole Wild World. And that's the boozy lit that made this Zin-suckling freak finally see the light in regards to "the noble grape of Burgundy."
Yeah. I'm a regular Paul Giamatti over here. Whoooey, Pinot! Whee! Yeah! Allllll right! Etc. (I'm far too overwhelmed to type through all these emotions. Also, I'm totally wasted on Diet Pepsi and string cheese. Don't worry about me; it's nothing I can't blame on altitude.)
Posted by Bree at 12:19 AM | Comments (0)
November 23, 2006
Another Chestnut From the Vault...
Here's a 2002 screed on how to mimimize the after-effects of a hard night out. So young, so learned I was. And considering I dropped $75 at Argonaut Liquors last night in preparation for the festering feast of filetted fricasee we're about to embark on, I think I'll actually be able to put some of this advice to practice immediately following my 7 a.m. skiing wake-up call. How meta can one girl GET?!
Helping the Hungover: My Life’s Work
You know when you go out with your friends, and you’re the only one who has a job—so you end up staying out really late, and maybe even hooking up with some dude in a cab on the way…oh wait, maybe that’s just me. Scratch that. OK, so you stay out really late and the next day you wake up and you feel like absolute hell, yet you called in sick 12 times last month so your boss is definitely gonna know something’s up…It’s time to face facts—you’re doomed. Here’s some advice to consider on this, the most awful of mornings:
Dress for Success: When reflecting on your apparel options, important factors to consider are comfort, ease and odor. Do not put on last night’s clothes. As my friend Zoe says, “The worst part of being hungover at work is being convinced that you have a Diet Coke bottle/ashtray stashed somewhere inside your desk—smelly and filled with black, tar-infested water. What else would smell that badly? Oh whoops—you.” Don’t let Zoe’s wit and mastery of language waylay you from the key message here—you reek.
On days like this, I always like to recycle a full outfit from the previous week—no need to go reinventing the wheel when you can’t even stand up quickly.
Water Sports: Your gag reflex will no doubt be working overtime, so consider chugging quart after quart of the good stuff an interesting and unique challenge. This is the most important step in the post-binge workday, and one that should be treated with a grave and earnest attention to detail. It may help to imagine yourself deep in the Kalahari, on the 10th day of your walkabout, stumbling onto a dingo watering hole as a herd of angry wallabies follow closely behind…or something like that.
(Special note for those of you with expendable income: Gatorade, Pedialyte and other such marketing ploys are no better than water, but they do taste good—so choose your poison.)
The Caffeine Connection: Every bit of hangover remedy advice purports the need to stay away from coffee. Baloney—if you are a normal person and consume coffee, then foregoing it will just make your day suck even harder. You’ll be on the fast train to tired with a prolonged stop at headachy nausea. You just need to make sure you counteract the dehydrating effects with even more water. Also, your normal cup of black might be a little much for your ravaged gastrointestinal system—treat yourself to a heady elixir of coffee, cream and sugar. It’ll go down easier, and the dairy will help coat your bleeding ulcer.
Rx for Rehab: The second you tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour yourself a cup of ambition—or at least, a cup with Alka Seltzer Morning Relief in it. The stuff tastes atrocious, it is truly vomitous, yet effective. Why do you think they call it Alka?
OK, I don’t really know why they call it Alka.
Anyway, Tylenol, Advil, whatever—just take some stuff, it’ll probably help.
Grease? It’s the Word: The number one thing to eat while you’re sitting at your desk, trying not to drip bile onto the keyboard, is a ham, egg and cheese on a toasted, plain bagel—or any variation thereof. I’m talking lard, chicken fetus, pig muscle and starch—in a word, tantalizing. This, more than anything else, will make you feel better—and it’ll also go far to mask the stinky tongue-wool you’re cultivating.
And if you’ve followed my carefully laid out directions and still feel like Mr. or Mrs. McBarfy, fake a migraine and hightail it. Trust you me, bosses don’t like to fool with migraine sufferers. And you certainly look like hell, so it’s all very believable. Cheers.
Posted by Bree at 02:26 PM | Comments (0)
November 22, 2006
Writing, Meet Wall
In an effort to never generate original copy again, I've decided to plum the annals of my hard drive (ahem, plum the annals - that's with two "n"s) and bring you some pieces from a now-defunct web site I wrote for back in the days of the '02. Looking over the expertly crafted wordsmithery, it strikes me that - if I were a meal - I would've been a 24-oz. slab of grouchy au poivre with a side order of surly rabe. Delicious...but a bit tough to chew through.
Forthwith, Top 10 Things That Are Bothering Me This Week c/o a 26-year old Bree:
1. Clear Bra Straps. Ladies, just because they’re clear doesn’t mean they’re invisible. And, not only are they not invisible, they actually draw attention to themselves. Plus they look like they could snap really easily and you probably have to hand wash them so they don’t melt. Irritating.
2. French Tipped Pedicure. Gag. Not only do I have to look at your gnarly toenails, I have to come to terms with the fact that you’ve grown them nice and long for this look. I’m convinced that as evolution continues, toenails will be the first thing to go—we’re not climbing trees with our feet anymore—but you, my friend, are just hanging on to that Australopithecus look. Not good. [NB: Use of word "look" three times. Le Boo. - Ed.]
3. People Who Wear Sunglasses in Non-Sunny Environments. Guess what? Wearing sunglasses on the subway doesn’t make you look cool—it makes you look like a big fucking dork. Plus, I don’t think you’re famous…no, I think you’re a big fucking dork. Or worse, a dork with cataracts. Get over yourself and put the wayfarers back in your pocket, loser.
4. Claus Von Bulöw. I can’t believe the cops have never pinned Sonny’s murder-by-coma on him and worse, I can’t believe our shithole bourgeois society celebrates this douche. (By the way, being bothered by Claus is an ongoing problem for me.) If you don’t know what I’m talking about, go rent Reversal of Fortune or read a newspaper, you ignorant fuck. [NB: I had somehow totally forgotten about my Rage Against the Von Bulöw. But now I'm back. F.U. V. B.! - Ed.]
5. Vacationers. I already took my vacation this summer, way back in the beginning of July. Now, I have to deal with the rest of this painfully hot summer with nothing to look forward to—sweet—in addition to envying/loathing people who take off in August. Basically, I’m just pissed at myself for my impatience.
6. People who say “I don’t know much about art, but I know what I like.” Newsflash: if you don’t know much about art, then I don’t give a shit about your opinion of it. Shut the fuck up. Nothing makes me want to listen to you less. Why do people think they can have an opinion on art without any education on it? Would they think the same on German foreign policy? Right. Buy a book before you open your stupid trap.
7. Obnoxious Store Clerks. I’m sorry, am I tearing you away from solving Third World Debt by wanting to try on this skirt? No? Then why are you acting so fucking annoyed? If you don’t like the job, get another one. Oh and by the way, no one’s impressed by YOU just because you work in a fancy shop—in fact, if you think about it…you’re working. I’m spending money. Hmm.
8. Co-Workers who Recognize my Feet in the Bathroom and Decide to Strike Up a Conversation. Fuck off.
9. Google. Once hailed as the answer to all our search engine frustrations, Google is like that older cousin you had that used to be so cool with her acid-washed miniskirt and her OU812 tattoo—and now she’s just another fat slut with a C-section scar and hairy nipples. Yeah, Google’s just like that.
10. Vitamin Water. At first I was a fan. Now, I’m beginning to feel like a sucker. This is the Dippin’ Dots of the new millennium. It also tastes like bad Kool Aid. Underimpressed.
Posted by Bree at 09:58 PM | Comments (0)
September 27, 2006
Tatonka(c) Tatonka(a) Tatonka(v)
In a classic display from our nation's most cunning linguists, the sentence Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo has been wikied as a "grammatically valid sentence used as an example of how homonyms and homophones can be used to create complicated constructs."
Here's the low-down:
The sentence is unpunctuated and uses three different readings of the word "buffalo." In order of their first use, these are:
* c. The city of Buffalo, New York.
* a. The animal "buffalo", in the plural (equivalent to "buffaloes"), in order to avoid articles.
* v. The verb "buffalo", meaning to confuse, deceive, or intimidate
Marking each "buffalo" with its use as shown above gives:
Buffalo (c) buffalo (a) Buffalo (c) buffalo (a) buffalo (v) buffalo (v) Buffalo (c) buffalo (a).
No word yet on how Buffalo Springfield, buffalo soldiers, that guy up there with the finger horns or beefalo - the Mile High meat of choice - works into this but I'll keep you posted as developments occur.
Posted by Bree at 11:32 AM | Comments (0)