No one dresses for the theater anymore...

As part of the birthday celebration for my dear friend, a group of us went to the ballet to see the Moscow Ballet Company perform Swan Lake.

(from www.virginiaartsfest.com)

It was a fantastic performance. I've only seen ballet on PBS, so I was extremely excited to see one live... especially one as accessible as Swan Lake. This ballet has that sort of Nutcracker appeal of one being able to follow a specific, simple story without words. There's a prince, he meets an enchanted swan, who is the queen of her enchanted flock. They fall in love, he makes a promise he must keep. If he breaks the promise, the enchanted ladies will be swans forever. He goes home, his mother has lined up princesses from all over the world to meet him. He is asked to pick a bride, but he has given his heart to the Swan Queen and refuses them all. An evil sorcerer disguises his daughter as the Swan Queen tricking the prince into breaking his promise. Still, true love saves the day (it's not clear how exactly, but the dances are elaborate and pretty) and the prince and the Swan Queen live happily ever...

...well, you get the gist.

The Prince was a magnificent dancer. I've never seen a man so light on his feet when he's carrying that much bulk on top. Some of the ladies landed harder on the boards of the stage than he did. The Jester was also quiet impressive. There's so much to make an audience just lose it while enjoying his performance... lots of multiple turns on one foot (makes my muscles ache just thinking about it)...

...speaking of the audience, Holy Cow...

I can easily say that I have never attended an event that had a ruder audience. Some of that was innocent... there were several young, young children in the audience. I suppose if you're going to expose little ones to a ballet, this is the one to introduce to them first. Still, there were many moments of parents escorting children in and out of the aisles for bathroom breaks or who knows what else... I heard a mother not sitting in the balcony with our group loudly shushing a child who was gibbering out loud.

And yet, the children are hardly to blame. The adults in the audience were the most appalling from the woman loudly saying, "SHUSH!" rather than taking her child out of the theater to the woman sitting right next to us. A gentleman ten seats down from us kept looking over at this lady who was hacking repeatedly over her crinkling bag of M&Ms. I don't mean she coughed here and there like a normal person with a tickle... minutes were spent listening to her hack and sniff and pump her sinus medication. Why she didn't just get up and find a water fountain still sends a puff of smoke out from my ears ("Fume, fume, fume!").

While that was unfortunate, as I mentioned before this tirade, it was truly an impressive performance. The ladies were extraordinary and the lead ballerinas were the objects of our childhood fantasies and images of womanhood... so wispy, light, and graceful. I'm glad I went... and I'm glad that, if I had to sit through a performance with an audience like that one, I had some of my dearest friends with me with whom to laugh about it afterward...

And so the busy begins...

Well, it's a mad dash from here for my busy, busy weekend. Rather than bore you with the details, I'll bore you with another silly video:

KUNG FU YOUR CAKE

Review: Alice in Underland

I decided to hope for the best and brace myself for the worst.

It's only taken me 28 years to finally attend a midnight showing of a freshly released film, so, I tried to celebrate the occasion. I put on my silly white and black striped tights, my little black bow choker, a black skirt with a red top, and black high heels and walked out the door with my also appropriately clad pal, Beth. Aside from just being excited to see each other (which is a rare treat), we were both ready for a midnight premiere...

...though, apparently, the rest of the town was not. You could have joined us without buying your ticket in advance. There was a modest number of people in the theater... all of them seemed to be college students looking for an excuse to get large pitchers of beer.

The scene being set, what can I say for Tim Burton's ALICE?

(from www.nerdles.com)

Firstly, it was not as bad as I thought it was going to be. If any of you read my very LONG tirade about my concerns for this movie last year, you mostly know what I mean. I wanted to be prepared for the worst, so I read the critics' take on the movie this morning. The reviews were mixed, and I can certainly see why. There's actually a lot to like about this movie... there's also some gruesome stuff that might make you wonder what the hell Disney was thinking.

On to the players: Mia Wisakowska made a fine Alice. Seriously. Most girls playing Alice are stuck in a position of just reacting to the world around them. Wisakowska does that with just enough of the maturity she has achieved with age and a hint of the wild child that we all would like to think resided in all little girls before the world told us what to think of ourselves. She has a weird load to carry... she has to be the grown up version of a person who can't remember anything about a place to which she's already been... With that backdrop, I'd say this girl handled the part well enough. I really can't complain.

The critics love Helena Bonham Carter as the Red Queen. The part itself holds a little contention for me seeing as how the role is really a morph between the Queen of Hearts of ALICE IN WONDERLAND and the actual Red Queen from THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS. What Carter really seemed to try to capture was The Queen of Hearts. She was shrill, rude, immature, and pitched plenty of amusing, spoiled-kid temper tantrums. While I have always liked whatever this actress does, I guess I don't see about what it was that so dazzled the critics about this specific performance. Again, she was good... the only better Queen of Hearts I've seen was the irreplaceable Miranda Richardson. But the other players did some great work as well...

All the minor characters were terrific (particularly Alan Rickman as the voice of The Caterpillar... he was perfect). The whole cost of a 3-D ticket is worth it just to meet Burton's March Hare, the maddest of the bunch. You know how people tend to mimic funny things from movies long after the movie has ended? I think the March Hare is going to end up in my day-to-day funnies for a while. The only minor character I found truly out of place was the Dormouse... he was not the lovable narcoleptic of the Carroll text. He was some sort of Tale of Despereaux creation. I just found that elaboration disappointing.

Now, the two real big ticket characters... I'll start with Johnny Depp (only because I know some of you are waiting for me to badmouth Anne Hathaway). The Mad Hatter was definitely fleshed out for this movie. If you read the books, Hatter is just another character Alice meets along the way (though he does appear in both books, not just WONDERLAND). Though, I've noticed most filmmakers like to linger on the Hatter longer than Carroll offered them text with which to play. Whatever it is about the Hatter that makes everyone want to get to know him better, I am not at all disappointed with Depp's portrayal. I'm getting tired of everyone pulling out the Willie Wonka card on his performance- I think his Hatter is a completely different sort of insane. He's a lot kinder in this movie than he is in the books, or most other movies, but it doesn't distract from what I think most people associate with Hatter... the fantastic madness. He changes his accent, he follows a train of thought rapidly, he needs to occasionally be snapped out of an angry rant... I don't know... it reminds me a little of Robin Williams' Batty from Fern Gully. He's crazy, but you want to make him small and keep him in your pocket.

Anne Hathaway...

Well, honestly, I think if we didn't know her from Princess Diaries or Prada, or if we didn't have to see her try to be serious in Rachel Getting Married, I doubt the critics would have disliked her so much. She's not stellar, but she's not wretched either. You kind of can't take your eyes off of her... not because of her acting, but, because of Burton's weird "blond hair on a brunette thing" he has going on. The contrast of her blinding blond hair and her dark eyes, eyebrows, lipstick, and nail polish... it's sort of mesmerizing. As for the portrayal of The White Queen... there was no way for Hathaway to win. After all, The White Queen from the book is a clumsy old bat. Hathaway had to reinvent this character for this sequel... and I'm willing to say that she attempted to maintain the original White Queen's kookiness by giving herself a little tick. She has this serious, ethereal quality and then, suddenly, she'll wrinkle her nose at a bad smell, or swat at a bug, etc. While she was not specifically impressive, I didn't find her terribly unimpressive either.

On to the story...

Like any movies that attempt to follow the book, it's a "coming of age" story. Alice is just 13 years older and trying not to lose the "mad," or more precious parts of her Self. Even better than some productions of ALICE, I don't feel as though Burton's directing or Linda Woolverton's script spelled anything out for you... they expected the audience to be able to follow what they were trying to say about growing up, constantly fighting to defend yourself, who you are, and not falling into traps people set for you concerning what should be "expected" of a person. I think the film is gently empowering and not emotionally overdone.

There were some gorgeous details in the movie to enjoy. Alice's size issues cause her... wardrobe problems. She has to fashion herself some clothes out of whatever materials are handy. She has some great costumes. Hatter also has a chance to put his trade to use and we look at some pretty fabulous hats. The reviews tell you the truth- there's some great (and terrifying) eye candy... from the monsters and fights to the heart shaped everything in the Red Queen's castle (heart shaped platforms, axes, heads, you name it...) to the insects. Yes, we run into a little bit of corporate production issues (like the horrid end-of-film pop song that goes with all Disney movies to sell cds), but, Burton was born to mix his incomparable imagination with Carroll's zany Wonderland.

Something I think the critics overlooked, since I'm willing to bet few of them have read ALICE recently, is that there are a handful of nods to the Carroll story within the film. Aside from the characters chosen for the film, lines are taken from the book and not explained. I truly think having read it helps to make sense out of some of the "madness". If the current generation of young people have never read The Jabberwocky, some of the Hatter's lines are going to sound like gibberish. Some of the monsters will make more sense with having read the stories and poems, too. The best example of the respect for the source text is the running line throughout the film... "I've often believed in as many as 6 impossible things before breakfast." This line derives from a conversation Alice has with the White Queen in THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS. For someone who loves the books, I had a few glittering moments in the viewing experience of things I remember from the reading. Is it exact interpretation? No. But they borrowed good stuff from the source text to create a decent sequel.

Sequel. That's the word you must use to accept this project. It is, I am willing to say, a successful sequel to the original stories. Alice has grown up... we've had a chance to follow her development and still love her, to still feel like maybe even we, as the old farts we're destined to be, can maintain a childlike wonder within us that will forever preserve our... to borrow from the new Hatter... "muchness."

(from http://media.onsugar.com/files)

The love of a child

The highlight of my day was my g-ddaughter, Lilia...

We did not part well the last time we saw each other. It's understandable, I guess. Just as she was getting up from a nap, I was walking out the door to go to work. I assured her we'd see each other soon, tried to kiss her "Goodbye," but she wiped her forehead and stormed off into the kitchen.

Fortunately, she didn't seem to remember that petulant parting when she saw me today. She has been a little under the weather lately. She stood there... thought about it through the haze of grogginess from her midday nap... then she walked up to me... climbed into my lap... and laid her head on my heart.

I had that wonderful rush of feeling the love of a little creature who only knows honesty, only knows what's real and right and front of her... knows nothing of feeling obligated to family or of lectures from Mom to "Be nice," when people come over. She just chose me, and collapsed into me.

My heart is still beating wildly... for a 2 year old little girl.

To describe my evening...

(from http://fineartamerica.com)

From Khalil Gibran's The Prophet


And then the scholar said, Speak of Talking.
And he answered, saying:
You talk when you cease to be at peace with your thoughts. And when you can no longer dwell in the solitude of your heart you live in your lips, and sound is a diversion and a pastime. And in much of your talking, thinking is half murdered. For thought is a bird of space, that in a cage of words may indeed unfold its wings but cannot fly...And there are those who talk, and without knowledge or forethought reveal a truth which they themselves do not understand. And there are those who have the truth within them, but they tell it not in words...When you meet your friend on the roadside or in the market place, let the spirit in you move your lips and direct your tongue. Let the voice within your voice speak to the ear of his ear. For his soul will keep the truth of your heart.

Jobs we're glad not to have

Maybe it's not terribly kind to talk about work we would not want during a time when so many people in this country are struggling to hold on to their jobs. But, during some of the precious hours of free time I had this week, I came across a job that I'd only take under the more dire of circumstances.

When we think about the food industry, we think about restaurants, Asian families with woks passed down from their ancestors, coffee shops, or the phrase, "Would you like fries with that?" Maybe if we feel creative, we think about farmers, food critics, health inspectors, or cooks who compete on TV shows like Iron Chef or Top Chef.

Until the other day, of all these food-related occupations, I had never considered the guy who makes the last meal requests for prisoners about to be executed.

I mentioned the other day that I had watched a PBS documentary called The Meaning of Food. They chose several typical, though, heartwarming stories to which we can relate somehow: a family man making a great Italian feast for his daughter's wedding, a man who fell in love and opened a great restaurant with his wife only to have to find a way to move on with their only son after she died, a Samoan family gathering with food to mourn the death of a grandmother, a lively Mexican family making tamales together, a young Muslim girl trying to survive the fasting ritual of Ramadan, etc. Quite moving was the story of a book complied by women who lived in a concentration camp in Terezin during the Holocaust. The way they survived, they would tell you if they could, was by sharing stories of their favorites foods and recipes. These recipes were later put together by Cara de Silva in a book called IN MEMORY'S KITCHEN. But, the story that follows me sometimes when I look at my plate is that of Brian Price, who makes the last meal for prisoners on death row.

He mentions in his interviews that, since the prisoner doesn't exactly need to eat when facing death, that the last meal is about more than physical sustenance. These are last pleasures, last desires... the last shred of compassion any human being is ever going to bestow upon this prisoner. He doesn't seem to consider so much what that person did to get to death row...

...which is the part that catches my breath. I don't know if I could detach myself from what a prisoner did and show them the kindness that Mr. Price offers. He refuses to just slap anything together and toss it in a bowl as if this person were an unwanted dog. I admire that so very much about Mr. Price. Perhaps he feels they're about to be punished enough by the State... why send this person to death without a glimmer of humanity shone upon them?

He has been thanked through the guards for the last meals he has prepared for people. He says the requests are sort of heartbreaking. Most people ask for things that must remind them of childhood comfort. Some people asked for butter beans, Frosted Flakes, ice cream, or fruit arranged on a flowered paper plate. Mr. Price would try, before the preparation of every meal, to consider what it was that made people choose these things. Then, he did the best he could to prepare something special, something to meet the very last needs of a person.

What does food mean to you at that point? Not to be morbid, but, if I knew my last meal was coming to me, I can't imagine what I'd want, but I do tear up a little at the idea of noodle soup (as prepared by my mother and grandmother), string cheese, creamed cucumbers, and Clementines... I start going through my head and thinking about foods that mean something to me because of who made them, when we ate certain things (like those cookies at Purim or stuffing at Christmas), and how those things looked on the plate. There's a familiarity of who you were, who loved you, and, if you're lucky, of simpler times.

Mr. Price imagines that these people are brothers, sisters, or children to somebody. What would give everyone the most peace? That your son or daughter, brother or sister, received one good last meal, or that they were treated like scum, with no forgiveness in sight, no peace, right up to the very end? Of course, if we ask the families' of the victims involved, I'm sure they either would have a different opinion or would prefer not to think about how they're supposed to feel about a murderer or rapist's feelings. I wonder if there are people who do the sort of work Mr. Price does with more sympathy towards the victim's position.

I'd like to think we're better off with brave, kind people like Mr. Price sending people to their final resting places with one good memory in their bellies. We've already taken it upon ourselves to decide the deaths of these people, so, they'll feel that no matter what.

At some point, I believe, Mr. Price did eventually feel the need to do something else with his time. In a nightmare, he imagined himself on the gurney, feeling the poison moving into him. He heard a voice saying, "Just cough, Brian, and you'll be with Jesus." He woke up coughing and found his resolve rather shaken. While he continues his work with inmates, he does so with his radio ministry on Sunday mornings.

Somebody else does this kind of work... often enough that the nightmares are sure to come eventually no matter how you approach your work. While moved by the story, I'm grateful this is not my job...

Check In Point #1 of Lenten Experiment

I've learned one thing for sure: Getting up earlier does not give you more time in the day. It gives you more stuff to do. No matter when you get up, there are not enough hours in the day.

My first few days were like the first few days of school. At least for me, I would wake up before the alarm. The anxiety of making sure I get up in time tends to make for some spotty hours of rest right before I actually need to be awake. I was excited, so I was more energized and movtivated the first few mornings. I would clean, do random neglected chores, make visits to family or friends, go to the grocery, go to work, etc.

I have one of those alarm clocks that one can set to music- as in, I can set a certain track of a cd to the hour and it will play the song instead making that awful BAMP BAMP BAMP sound. It makes it a little less irritating to start to wake up... but, I've noticed I can't stick with the same song or artist for more than three days in a row. Right now I have it set to a Seal song (The Princess and the Liar)... the day after tomorrow, I think I'm going back to Loreena McKennit.

But, things started to get more difficult barely a full week into the experiment. While I was getting up earlier, I was going to bed around the same time I usually do (between 1 and 2 AM). Even though that has changed somewhat (I'm at least in the bed around midnight), the hours are catching up to me. This morning was particularly hard to get up.

I am "awake" by 8 every morning, but as to whether or not I'm physically up and out of bed has varied. Plan B must be put into action (If you're the praying kind, pray for poor David who will be transfering me to the other room if I'm not up by 8:15... I am not kind first thing in the morning).

I've noticed I can't plan more than two days ahead. When I was anxious to begin the Lent experiment, I made a whole week's worth of plans and wrote them in my planner. While many things were accomplished, I did not follow that schedule to the letter. No completing my lists discourages me, so, I'm trying to be a little more realistic about my goals over the next few days.

While most of the news might sound like a drag, I'm sort of liking being awake earlier. I don't like having to be anywhere earlier, but I like getting up and going about my morning at a slower pace. I am more of a "breakfast person" now, enjoying my green tea, toast, and yogurt (or that fantastic oatmeal with flax seeds from Trader Joe's). I enjoy Anya's funny morning messages (since she knows I'm up, she sends texts to help wake me up). I like having a little more wiggle room in my schedule to do spontaneous things like getting lunch with someone or reading more of my book.

All in all, I predict I'll want to have more of a morning ever after Lent is over. Of course, I'm only 11 days in, so, we'll see how my tune changes in the next 10 days.

I hope those of you who observe Lent are holding strong to your goal. If you've faltered, I'm sure it's only a step back to help you get a running start.

On a side note, the highlight of my week was probably this morning... a student had to wring out his shirt over his mat towards the end of class making a great splashing sound. That might sound gross, but I thought it was funny and sort of rewarding. He glared at me, said something about Hitler, then he smiled, and I giggled.