March 30th, 2008
Questions without answers
Is it just my lame neighbourhood, or was it awfully well lit during Earth Hour? Obviously the press says different, but…
Did America’s Best Dance Crew jump the shark with the rollerskating crew?
Why did my nextdoor neighbour’s snow boots, which he always leaves in the hall, have roses in them the other day?
How could I possibly have spent $55 at Kinko’s this afternoon?
Pondering, pondering…
I watch your hand smooth the front of your blouse
RR
November 8th, 2007
Readers reading readers
I am thinking about metaness today, hence the previous post. Partly because I am headed to my brother’s this evening to watch 30 Rock, that hilarious tv show about writing a hilarious tv show. We’re trying to use the structure of the sitcom to help us write our own (sadly, no link [yet]), but also watching the sheningans of the writers gives us (me, anyway) about how writing as a team might go, or at least things we could throw at each other. And then, mentioning the story “Sleep” yesterday put me in mind of the fact that that was a story, in large part, about someone reading, which is very rare.
Insightful Kerry posted this about how important it is to see characters in fiction working if we are to fully imagine their lives, something I so utterly believe. I have been wondering what else that is normally left out would be good to have in? We never see the housework, but perhaps the times in people’s lives most worth immortalizing in story are not the weeks and months when the stove was always sparkling. And maybe the events of novels and short stories often preclude a lot of leisure time for reading, television watching, movie attendance. God knows, a week in which I finish three books is not one you want to read a story about (or even a blog post).
But writers are word creatures and we build our lives as well as our fictions out of words, and I think characters can’t help but reflect this. Yet I am having trouble thinking of concrete incidents of this–who wants to help me make a list of books read by fictional characters? Or even tv shows watched by them–I very much enjoyed in the current New Quarterly when Amelia Defalco’s characters in “Monuments” watched rented episodes of Monty Python and Kids in the Hall as an excuse for time together. That wreaks of real life. Where else have I seen that?
On the other hand, writing about writing, whether on the page or on the screen, gets boring real fast. Writers are self-absorbed creatures, I know, and so I try to tread lightly on interests of my own that might not be anyone else’s. Some can pull it off, of course: Roth’s Zuckerman, Henry on Bosom Buddies and everything Aaron Sorkin ever wrote (think about it: tv sports writers, speech writers, tv comedy writers).
But is this sort of thing charmingly meta, insight into a delicate craft, or solipsism? As a girl who will, in 2008, attempt to finish a novel in which one of the central characters is a playwright, I do not know if I wish to push this question too far…
But a list of readers you’ve read about, that I’d like to see.
I wanna talk to you
RR
PS–And then there was of course, Black’s Books, the best (and only) tv show ever set in a bookstore. Every now and then on that one, someone actually read something, too!
October 23rd, 2007
Another harmless addition
Perhaps because my apartment has no hot water, the rain, and having my folded umbrella spontaneously and violently unfold as I got onto the bus, the open end in the face of the startled bus driver, and the handle in the chest of winded me, I am not in a very good mood. And so I will follow on from yesterday’s candy and candy blog post with another website recommendation that chronicles a (fairly) harmless indulgence: television.
When I left home in 1997 and the thinking-man’s sitcom was having a moment in the spotlight (I hear it’s having another one now—true?) Sports Night, News Radio, I heard Fraiser though I never watched that one. I didn’t limit myself to shows that require actual thought, either; I recall being quite a fan of Dharma and Greg for reasons that now escape me. And then there was the cultural heroin that was Friends.
When I moved to Montreal, I was probably seriously addicted to close to a dozen half-hour wonders. Um, I did actually go out of the house in high school, but mainly on weekends, when there was nothing good on.
Possibly because they were blinded by their grief that I was moving to another province, my parents agreed to a lunatic project: they would tape all the shows I would miss (except Friends—no one has ever wanted to endorse my theory that that show is funny) and I would watch them in an orgy of loserdom over Thanksgiving and winter break. This continued into spring term, when they *mailed* me tapes (and homemade brownies, which my brother had individually wrapped in plastic). I can’t remember where I found a VCR to watch them on.
Anyway, quite obviously, this arrangement couldn’t last, and second year or thereabouts, I was on my own. The “favourite shows” list whittled down fast, and I learned to rely on heresay and memory. I can’t remember quite when I discovered Mighty Big TV, but it was a happy day: a website of meticulous tv play-by-plays. I think a lot of people read shows they’ve actually already seen, just for the very funny, sarcastic recappers MBTV employed, but I eventually came to love it as a tv surrogate. I adored The West Wing for years having seen only a couple episodes—-17 pages of recap is just as good, I felt, except I often forgot what the characters looked like.
After I moved to TO, I gave up on tv in both forms, visual and written, until the day Studio 60 came to town (sidenote: are you noticing a certain shared element amongst my favourite shows? Of my favourite *writers* in the world, only Aaron Sorkin writes for a non-print medium) and then I realized my broken tv wasn’t up to the task. I went in search of my old reliable MBTV and found that it was new, bigger and better, and owned by NBC under a different name: Television Without Pity. Still great, still thorough, still snarky. There are no shows that I am addicted to these days, sadly: even ones I like, I just like when I see them, I’m not worried about Liz Lemon’s life falling into disrepair without me. But sometimes it’s just fun to read about tv. I really do love it, just from afar.
Wow, such happy memories of being well-entertained. I feel better. Thanks for reading!
No room at the Holiday Inn
RR
October 16th, 2007
Minor things going wrong
Yesterday I got chocolate pudding on my desk dictionary, which is embarrassing because not everyone who sits in my section has one, so mine is often borrowed and I do not want to get the reputation as one who cannot keep her afternoon snack on the spoon. This was the only major hitch yesterday; otherwise it was a productive and pleasant day. Which causes me to wonder why I spent most of last night dreaming about the apocolypse… Surely the pudding spill couldn’t cause an anxiety dream by itself…perhaps I should examine my subconscious a bit more closely.
I do not dream often of the end of the world, but it does seem to recur more frequently in my dreamworld than, say, taking exams unprepared or in the nude or what have you. Though I was deeply upset by my dream when I awoke, I have to admit that this one, when examined in the cold light of day, bore more than a passing ressemblance to the very-good film, Last Night. I loved that movie, but it is both sad and lame that my subconscious is too lazy to come up with original material with which to terrorize me.
*Last Night* stars the very funny Don Mckellar whose twisted world on the tv show Twitch City so coloured my impressions of what it would be like to live in big bad Toronto. When I moved here a few years later, I found that while his vision is accurate re: a certain variant of Toronto life, it doesn’t *have* to be that way. I guess it helps that I have no roommate, or cat.
Well, maybe I’ll give up pudding once my brace-free lifestyle allows for more crunchy snacking options. Really, though, a fair number of those are open to me now, but I’ve gotten sort of addicted to mush. And blogging. There are worse addictions to have, really.
In your endless summer night / I’ll be on your other side
RR
October 9th, 2007
Gratitude
Thanksgiving is always a good time to be thankful for various sorts of food, and various forms of family, and believe me, I adore both, and spent a weekend rife with them. I also spent a lot of time absorbing bits of culture, which I have time right now only to ennumerate but not describe. Will it suffice to say that everything below is very very good?
When I Was Young and in My Primeby Alayna Munce — lyric novel
30 Rock — tv show
Across the Universe — film
Those are all worth experiencing, as are the other highlights of my weekend, but M and L’s house, my mother’s apple pie, and the experience of applying black lipstick in a housewares store while T holds up a pot lid to reflect your face, are sadly not linkable.
These are days you’ll remember
RR
July 25th, 2007
O-Town, Backstreet, *NSYNC
Yes, I was off for the weekend in O-Town/Ottawa, land of sunny skies and buildings so beautiful they inspire patriotism and even architectural study (well, we’ll see). At least, the canal, the art museum, the parliament buildings and Laurk&Dave’s lawn all looked smashing. And I was put up in splendour at my hosts’ new *house*. For those who haven’t seen it, L&D’s new place really is amazing: curvy staircase, room with a dormer window (mine!) and a china cabinet that *lights up when you touch the hinges*. I want to live there.
Ahem.
Ottawa also contains the lovely Ms. Fred and, in delightful coincidence, KT as well. Fred provided colour commentary on our drive through downtown and KT was even prevailed upon to sit with me on the train back and be charming. And there was Mexican food eaten out of doors and the Renoir exhibit and lots of chattering.
Also a visit to a gym much fancier than mine, where you can plug your earphones into your cardio machine and hear what is playing on any of a bank of televisions. I live in a tv-less bubble, and it is probably tragic how exciting I found all this. I was allegedly not watching the show wherein the family of Nick Carter, former Backstreet Boy, noisily implodes. I kept unplugging my earphone jack and determinedly not watching, only to get sucked back in by the puzzling visuals on the screen. Did you know that Carter’s sisters have a lot of body image problems? That the family has way too many dogs that aren’t properly housebroken? That his teenaged brother is happy to cuddle in bed with his dad? Aren’t you sorry you do now? Nick Carter himself actually did not appear on the episode, having apparently disappeared according to his noticeably unperturbed sisters. The whole thing perturbed *me*, so it was just as well when it was time to go and I was forced to unplug for good. Poor Carters.
I got back on Monday and tried to get back to work as quickly as possibly, but things felt somehow not quite in sync. In general, I feel like I’m quite far behind on my writing, but I couldn’t tell you what engenders this feeling. It’s not like anyone’s yelling at me for missed deadlines or anything. Could it be that I’ve actually reached the point where I’m as addicted to time at my desk as I am to caffeine? Weird. No wonder I couldn’t deal with television.
Anyway, I’m back at it, although if the over-reach in this post title is any indication, it’ll be a while until I’m fully up to speed!
She’s throwing her charm away
RR
