Tome Sweet Tome

Whoa…what the hell happened to the first half of 2010? Like I always say, the days are long and the years are short…Anyway, I’ve got a little mid-year milestone to announce: I finished reading War & Peace yesterday.

What, you may ask, possessed me? Well, I had been toying with the idea since reading the fabulous Pevear/Volokhonsky translation of Anna Karenina (as recommended by Oprah) last year. Was inspired to start W&P when my peripatetic college friend announced that he had downloaded the whole thing on his iPod Touch. (I’m not into the electronic reader thing so bought a used copy of 2007 translation online). The timing seemed to be right. We were rolling into a new decade, and this would give me something else to add to my (rather pathetic) list of accomplishments before turning 40. I even recruited a few friends and friends of friends to join an online discussion group. This, unfortunately, was a total flop (apparently 1200 pages is a little too much for people who actually have lives...) but I decided to hang in there and go it alone.

I started on New Year’s Day and gave myself 6 months. And now, almost exactly 6 months later, I’ve turned the last page. I’ve actually been almost finished for about a month. But the last 36 pages of the epilogue (Tolstoy’s closing treatise on history, freedom and necessity) have been dragging on. I was tempted to give up on page 1178 once the narrative was over. But I had to Finish. The. Book. And so I did.

The ever lovin’ had two questions: Was it worth it? Yes, absolutely. And did they all die in the end? No--a few important characters die, but they pretty much wind up living happily ever after. Anyway, I was digging the rich characters (loved nerdy Marya and was totally cheering when she snagged Nikolai in the end), the drama and the society intrigues. The battlefield narrative and Tolstoy’s reflections on history and historians were a little snoozy but (except for those last 36 pages) not torturous. I had a little Napoleon fixation in the early 90s while living in Paris (you really can’t get away from him if you’re an art lover in Paris) so it was interesting reading someone’s attempts to get inside his head.

Anyway, now that that relationship is over, it's time to move on. So what’s next on the Petits Choux summer reading list? For some reason, I find myself turning to women’s confessional memoirs. I’ve never really gone there before, but for some reason I get the feeling they’re what I need/want to follow this epic. (Is Elizabeth Gilbert somehow the anti-Tolstoy?) Someone lent me Eat Pray Love (which I started while slogging through that final chapter) and I’m finding it enjoyable if a little annoying (or maybe, as a Swede I used to hang around with once said, I’m yust yealous…). Have also been feeling compelled to read Mary Karr’s entire life in three volumes. I’ll take some chick lit to the beach next month. And then maybe some Barbara Kingsolver. Still haven’t gotten to Animal Vegetable Miracle, of which I have somehow wound up with two copies, and saw her latest novel on the new books shelf at the library. I’ve been invited to join a few local book clubs and have been considering picking one to join. I’m sure I would enjoy the social aspect, but my own reading list is getting long. Plus I’m not wild about the idea of having to host at my house. So I’ll probably just do my own thing. Maybe some Dostoevsky to start out 2011?

Soccer and My Subconscious

Need to take a little break from my world cup obsession (Yanks in round of 16-yes!) to do some sharing…So I had this dream the other night in which I let Hank (almost 5) take my mother’s white Scion (aka Ghetto Cruiser) out for a spin. I’m sure this reflects some anxiety about my firstborn growing up (kindy in the fall—whoa…) and there’s certainly a glimmer of my own fraught (do people still say that?) relationship with my mother. My kids, of course, adore her. She’s the permissive, up-for-anything grandma who gives them a bunch of sugar and lets them ride their bigwheels all over town with no helmets… Anyway, I miss spending time on this space but must tune into Ghana-Germany match to see whom we’ll be taking on this Sat. ESPN3 is my porn site now…

Dennis and Me...

Hope you all don’t mind if I share my little Dennis Hopper story…New Orleans in the early 90s. I was at a Lemonheads show at Tipitina’s. Struggling to remember whom I was with but strangely remember what I was wearing (black polyester minidress from Thrift City). Anyway, as I recall, Evan Dando came up to me and was like “Hey I’m Evan,” and I was like “Oh my God is that Dennis Hopper?” Got to chat with Dennis for a few minutes. He was, well, cool as you’d expect. I wonder if he was a Lemonheads fan or just happened to be hanging out…Damn I miss that place…

Kickin It

Anybody miss me? So, besides totally neglecting this space, what have I been up to? Well, let’s see…I’ve been fretting for one thing. Some of you may be surprised to learn that while I often come off as laid back. I’m actually a world-class fretter. I’m, of course, talking about supremely mundane shit—you know: plastic, free radicals, playground politics, lawncare and such. Oh and I’ve also been pissing people off. The mom who was the subject of the baby name stealing post wrote me an indignant email. (If you missed that one, you’re out of luck: while her message contained enough straight-up BS to keep me from apologizing, there were enough fair points to induce me to remove the post.) Anyway, that connection (such as it was) is officially ovah, but I don’t regret it. A girl’s gotta express herself…

On the upside: I’ve been drinking some good wine and working on a little writing project I hope to tell y’all about soon (its not that big a deal so don’t get all excited ladies…). And I’m practically in a tizzy over next month’s World Cup tourney. I’m not the biggest sports fan by any stretch, but I do love world cup soccer. Christian and I were in Paris in the summer of 2002 while the tournament was going on. This was not, of course, the year that France hosted/won it, but there is something about being in a country where they really care about soccer while it’s being broadcast. There’s something in the air…I was doing a training session at the French Finance Ministry and the ever lovin’ (back then still my long distance bf) had come along to hang out. We were renting a flat in the 19th, not far from the Canal Saint Martin. It was truly one of the best fortnights of my life. Paris in June is really the best. The days are long, and the weather is (usually) fine. There’s a summertime feel, but the Parisians have not yet left for the grandes vacances so the city’s still bustling. Anyway, France sucked that year, and Senegal kicked their butts in the opening match. But the US team rocked. (The situation was kind of the opposite in 06 if I recall, but I was too wrapped up in new motherhood to pay as much attention as I would have liked). I remember the bureaucrats at Bercy let us take an extra long coffee break to watch the USA-Germany quarter-final. We lost of course, but it was an amazing run. Would love to see the Yanks take it to the quarters or beyond this time…Am I dreaming?

My main preoccupation this year is figuring out how to watch as many games as possible given our handicapped television situation. Yes, there are certain major sporting events that make me regret the TV free thing--almost enough to make me want to get satellite so I can tune into ESPN 24/7. But I imagine we’ll just try to rig our wonky antenna so I can watch the weekend games on network TV. Fortunately, I should be able to stream some of the weekday games on ESPN 3 and maybe set up some strategic playdates with fellow football fans for some of the morning matches (BTW I’m now accepting invitations…).

Anway, from what I hear, the US has an easy group this time (hello Slovenia…) and should get to the round of 16…Of course, one never knows…And yes, Didier Drogba in his drawers on the cover of the June Vanity Fair totally affirms my inclination to make Ivory Coast my #2 team. The guy is hot and he practically ended the civil war in his country single handedly. My goodness. 17 more days…

Old Ink

You may or may not be surprised to hear this but here it is: for a little over a decade, I had kind of a wild life. I was never into heroin or crack or anything but I did like to party (ahh the Clinton years…). I should note that I managed to graduate summa cum laude from a fairly respectable institution of higher learning and hold down a series of (mostly) respectable jobs during this time. Anyway, at the beginning of the 90s, I got a yin-yang circle tattooed on my right shoulder. Totally unoriginal, right? And now, 20 years later, it’s totally lopsided too. This is very much in line with an old friend’s theory that tattoos evolve with the bearer. I would definitely say that my yin (slow, soft, insubstantial) is taking over my yang…

So, one recent morning while Hank was in school, Coco was watching Pim in her parents’ room while I took a shower. I came into the bedroom to get dressed and heard a little voice say, “What’s on your back?” Busted. “Ummm…it’s just a little stamp…” (She gets stamps on her hand at the library after storytime.) I admit, it caught me off guard. The truth is, I tend to forget about it, and the subject hadn’t come up in ages. Henry asked about it a few times when he was younger but let it go after a few evasive answers. Coco has asked to see it my “stamp” couple of times, but I just keep pretending not to hear her.

In general, I don’t think regrets are a very good idea. I tend to be in the Edith Piaf school on that one. Our choices, good and bad, make us who we are, and I’m fundamentally happy with who I am. But yes. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t get the tattoo. At the risk of sounding terribly trite, I really do think the human body is amazing as it is and doesn't need much embellishment. Permanent body art also goes against the minimalist philosophy I’ve cultivated as gotten older. But it’s not something I agonize over. Plenty of GenX parents have ‘em right? I’m not going to get it removed or anything. There it is and there it will remain. But I would like to downplay it as much as possible as far as my kids are concerned. I may be a big old hypocrite, but I don’t want my beautiful people getting tattoos…ever.

All of this gets me wondering about how conscientious parents deal with their not so perfect pasts. Explaining a tattoo to a toddler is one thing, but how will I answer questions about drug use and premarital sex when my kids are older? I guess we’ll cross those bridges when we get there…Besides, there are certainly mommies out there with way more baggage than me… There was a recent essay in Brain, Child about a woman telling her kids about her previous marriage. At least I don’t have to deal with that one…Makes a little bit of old ink seem like a piece of cake.

Sap & Sensibility

Yes, I have always had a sappy side, and I’m a total sucker for those British costume dramas they show on Masterpiece Theater. I tend to prefer the Jane Austen variety (which end in marriage) to the weepy melodramas (Tess of the D’Urbervilles, Mill on the Floss, etc.), which end in death. I think most middle-aged women with a romantic streak would agree that the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice is, well, a masterpiece. I could probably watch it once a month and not get sick of it. But I restrain myself and check it out once a year. The ever lovin’ generally does not participate in these periodic schmaltz-fests with me, but whenever he does, I swear he usually winds up misty-eyed at some point.

Anyway, was recently perusing the library’s selection of PBS releases and came across a copy of a 2007 production of A Room with a View. The screenwriter is Andrew Davies who wrote the aforementioned brilliant P&P. But I was hesitant to check it out. You have to be brave, in my opinion, to take this one on since the Merchant Ivory version from the 80s comes so close to perfection...

Anyway, I enjoyed it (mostly). The female lead was great. George was a little squirrely…but maybe that’s more true to life, right? Really, few people were hotter than Julian Sands in that wasteland of a decade. But wasn’t he just a little too pretty for a railroad clerk? But the main thing was I just couldn’t handle that Davies kills George at the end. WTF? I admit, I haven’t read the Forster, but I know it has a happy ending. Oh, and I found that I kept waiting for the Puccini (which, of course, never came).

This production also implied strongly that both Cecil Vyse and Mr. Beebe are gay. Totally fits, but either it wasn’t there or I totally missed it in the Merchant Ivory. I’d have to go back to the literary source for that one (maybe after I finish War & Peace). Next up on DVD: Little Dorrit (also written for TV by Davies). I am generally an avowed Dickens hater (the only two books I used Cliff Notes for in my entire hs and college careers were A Tale of Two Cities and Great Expectations) but Davies worked wonders with Bleak House so we’re gonna give this one a shot. I think I can even get big daddy to sit through it…

Princess Paranoia

Had a moment of reckoning when grandma brought Coco some Disney princess PJs she had picked up at the thrift shop where she volunteers. As some of my readers may know, I’m a big proponent of recycled children’s clothes. But I’m also allergic to princesses and, on a certain level, allergic to Disney. My kids have yet to see any of those movies (though I’m sure it’s just a matter of time before we succumb to Pixar…). And yet, the Disney juggernaut still manages to creep into our lives. (free toothbrushes from the dentist, stickers from the doctor’s office etc.). Anyway, in the end, I decided to take the jammies. They’re 100% cotton and 100% free. Plus, she’s not going to wear them outside. (I told my mother to give the Dora jacket she had brought home to another little urchin.) I just can’t bear the thought of my girl being someone’s billboard…

I really do find some of the trappings of modern girlhood kind of obscene. The things people do to their girls boggle the mind (you know, dressing them like little hookers and so forth). It’s part of why I find the idea of raising a girl so terrifying. That and mean girls in gradeschool. God help us!

There’s an adorable two-year-old girl Co likes to hang with at the playground. The mother seems nice, well-educated etc, and the kid’s clothes are always totally age appropriate. But… she has earrings. I have to say, I find it just a little shocking. really now, why do people do this? Shouldn’t it be something the child has a say in?

Through a little online research, I discovered that that people have their babies’ ears pierced at pediatricians’ offices. It seems odd to me that MDs would go for this. But I guess the thinking is that having it done in hygienic conditions is better than having parents take their infants to the mall or whatever. I know that it’s a cultural phenomenon in some cases. My sister is a doc at an urban pediatric clinic that serves low income latinos (her office doesn’t do ear piercing btw). She reports that a little girl could be dressed from head to toe in pink and ribbons and those moms would think she’s a boy if she’s not wearing earrings.

There was a post on one mommy message board I came across from a mom who got her daughter’s ears pierced because the kid didn’t have hair and people thought she was a boy. This mom was totally happy with her decision, as it apparently relieved the “stress” of having people incorrectly identify her child’s sex. (I guess having people think you’re a white trash idiot isn’t stressful...) I think I was nine when I got my ears pierced, but even that seems young to me. I’m thinking 16 at the earliest.

Then there’s the nail polish. Even totally respectable, generally conservative friends of mine do this…even to toddlers. I just don’t get it. Plus, how do they get the kids to hold still? I can barely paint my own toenails without getting it all over the place…

Fortunately, Co has a couple of influences which I hope will keep her out of the Little Mermaid ghetto. For one thing, she has me for a role model. I’m pretty understated on that level: I don’t generally wear jewelry or nail polish (though I am pretty attached to my lip gloss). It’s all part of my minimalist philosophy. Of course, I used to get mani/pedis pretty regularly in NYC where a trip to the nail salon was cheap and convenient. But that was a different lifetime. Also, I think having a big brother in the mix helps. It seems like the more girls there are in a family, the crazier the shit becomes. I mean, did Scout Finch play with Barbies? I think not.