Max And The Mopers

There's a way of effectively killing childlike whimsy in about three lines of dialogue, and Spike Jonze has found it. Basically, you get your furry and imaginative critters, faithfully rendered from the delightful Maurice Sendak illustrations, and then you give them more neuroses than the patient list of a New York psychiatrist. It's kind of like seeing a dinner theatre troupe act out a Woody Allen movie; weird, sad and too chatty.

But Where The Wild Things Are isn't always like that. At the beginning of the movie, we get a fleshed-out Max. Instead of the simple and happily destructive character of the book, he's a kid with divorced parents, a sister who's ditched him to be a teenager and seemingly no other friends. But still, his joy at making a snow fort, and then his sadness when it's destroyed, are intense and imaginative in a way that's not present when Max meets the Wild Things, for all the expert production design.

It's sad, because most of the film is beautifully shot. Sometimes the images aren't quite in focus and feel like hazy dream. But before you can get too dreamy, it's back to the monsters processing, telling Max they're "downers" and asking if he "can keep the hurt away." Which left me with one question: Why bother filming a children's book if you're just going to turn it into an adult's therapy project?

365 Days of Something

I know this whole x- in a year thing has been building up on blogs for a while. Whether it's living biblically, living sustainably or just cooking your way through a lot of butter, it seems like we can only be productive people - or at least earn a book deal - if we're doing it in a calendar year. I noticed it, but didn't really care until I read a little article about a NPR staffer who baked a cake a week for a year and, yes, ended up with a book deal. Something inside me broke, and it wasn't just because I was hungry.

Since there has already been tons of blog posts and newspaper articles deconstructing and analyzing this trend, I won't do that.

Instead, I'm going to try and figure out how to get my ass on this gravy train before it pulls out of the station.

1. Live like it's 1805 FOR A YEAR.
Pros: Everyone likes Austen. Ever since her pop culture revival in the 1990s, people can't seem to get enough of those high-waisted gowns and deep, deeply repressed emotions. Plus, I already have the dress.
Cons: Waiting at home because nobody careed about the "Lady Q. Protagitron will be receiving at home from 10-11" cards that I had made up might get old fast. Also, I might not be able to make rent if I quit me job because "it is beneath the dignity of the daughter of a gentleman to labour."

2. Read a Russian classic a day FOR A YEAR
Pros: If this lady can "read" a book a day for a year, I can do her one better. I'll read nothing but Russian, in the original Russian for a whole year. All the books must way 10 pounds each and end with the protagonist's soul being crushed under the wheels of their society. Book deal about books here I come (book?)
Cons: I know Russian. Except for the Russian word for refigerator, and I figure the number of books focused entirely around Firgidaires and originally written in Russian is a small, small number.

3. Eat a different animal a day FOR A YEAR
Pros: Getting back to nature is big and food writing is even bigger. I will take my reader on a adventure through my stomach and around the world as I soak up culinary knowledge and expand my horizons by butchering a different, and probably adorable, animal each day.
Cons: While January would be a breeze what with beef on the 1st and chicken on the 2nd, I feel like my commitment to the project would waver sometime around day #321 when I realize I need to cleave a steak from the back of a platypus.

4. Sleep with a different guy a day FOR A YEAR
Pros: I really need to get out more, and maybe I would meet a nice fellow. Make some babies. Get another book out of motherhood.
Cons: Herpes.

5. Watch an episode of the Simpsons a day FOR A YEAR
Pros: The Simpsons, although perhaps now but a shadow of its former self, might be one of the most influential and quotable shows to ever hit the airwaves. What will be revealed about our society me through as we I regard life through it's prism?
Cons: This is already my life. As well as everybody 20-30 years old with the tv on and nothing better to do.

Alright, so I can't come up with anything. It looks like all the good ones, or at least all of the tasty ones, have been taken. Or maybe I'm just starting to think that this year thing is a comforting way of keeping change clean. Of packaging our growth into convenient time periods we can plan for it to start and to end. I don't know. Give me a year to think about it.

Miss Protagi-Anne Elliot

I didn't mean to take a nine-day break from my blog. I meant to do a write-up on 10 zombies I would chill with (Bub the Zombie's overexposed ass is not on there) and an ode to Ginger Snaps before Halloween.

Instead, I studied for a standardized test, baked a cake while drunk and sewed a Regency-era gown in two days, but that was while sober. And that last bit was the hardest. I am not an accomplished seamstress and period gear isn't the easiest crap to sew. At one point, I made two of the same sleeves and had to re-sew one, because that took less time than figuring out how to amputate and then put one of my arms on backwards. But barely.

Just when I thought I would have the dress finished on time- minus the sash and the hair, but DONE- I got to last part and ended up in a pickle. The dress is held together by two drawstrings, one that goes around the neckline and the other that ties just under the bust. The first neckline threaded like butter, so I was feeling rather cocky as I grabbed my needle and went in for the bust.

And that's when things FUBARed. No matter how hard I pushed and pulled, swore and cried, jabbed a knitting needle in and, the needle wouldn't make it past the first seam allowance. Two hours and one hysterical phone call to my parents later, this had gone past making a fun costume for a fun Halloween. This dress was the litmus of my life. Fail it, and the rest of my life would be nothing but a series of well-intentioned defeats. Succeed, and there would be a 10 percent chance that maybe it would be something else.

That's when I did something I could, and should, have done hours before. I am a knitter. I live in a house of string. I threaded some thinner yarn through and got my ass to that party.

The Early Reindeer Gets The Candy Cane

I don't believe that Christmas music should be an after-Halloween, or worse, post-American Thanksgiving thing at all. Once the first snow hits Montreal, my holiday music comes out. And that could be in August. So if you ever want to re-create part of my daily routine for the next two months, here's the step-by-step guide:

1. Place a breakable object near the edge of a desk. A water glass works well for this.
2. Kill any natural sense of rhythm and gross motor control you might possess.
3. Play this:
4. DANCE DANCE DANCE
5. Sweep up shards of glass

Repeat until you've been filled with the Christmas spirit, or at least a love of synthesizers.

Book Covers I Have Loved: Graham Greene's The Power And The Glory

There are a few topics I'm passionate about, or at least a few topics that make me corner people at parties in order to delivery a lecture. Often that lecture is incoherent and drunken, but whatever. I'm that way about my hatred of Ben Stein, my love of Roadhouse and my quest for the perfect hamburger.

And book design. I'm not a designer. I have more professional training about the content of a book than its packaging. But as the daughter of two librarians who spends more on books than food - and who actually sniffs them in a semi-creepy way - I feel I'm qualified to judge. Or at least rant.

Cover Illustrations: Richard Kenworthy

I still have the book that made me realize that sometimes you can judge a book by its cover. Here's an edition of Graham Greene's "The Power And The Glory" I bought when I was sixteen just because I was fascinated by the way it looked. All this pure space broken up by a busy, scrawled crucifix. The choice of fonts for the title, a retro-looking script, let me date the story without making it seem dated. Compare it with this edition of Sarah Waters' The Night Watch. While it's perfectly tuned to the period of the story, it makes this 2006 book seem fussy.

I took a chance, hoping that anything with a cover like that would be interesting. In a month, Graham Greene was my favorite author, I had The Third Man on reserve at the library, and I was stalking bookstores hoping to collect all of these editions. I'm still working on that project, but I'm hoping this post will be the start of a new one. Every two weeks I'll post a book cover I like, whether it's something I own or something I've furtively photographed in a store. I'll babble about why I like it, and I'll make sure there's no Chip Kidd allowed. Or at least as little as possible, because I swear a lot of his stuff's for people who like Sony Stores.*


*Okay, I'm being mean. But still.

Links To Entertain and Educate

Originally, I was going to write a long post today about street harassment, male privilege and more. Yes, I had yet another creepy run-in with some guy on the street last night. But after sleeping off my spleen, I just didn't want to. Maybe next week, when my bile is back at fighting levels, I'll get around to it. Until then, enjoy photographic evidence of my Indian adventures (matar paneer - paneer made by me, bitches! - saag and rice) and a few links.

I saw Whip It about two weeks ago, and thought it was a fun but predictable movie about doing what you love. Especially if it involves kicking ass on a roller derby track. But according to some dude in Psychology Today, it's really about being a big, old, clichéd lesbian. Fortunately, there's an awesome, line-by-line critique of why that analysis is a load of privileged crap.

I have a lot of respect for Richard Dawkins. Sure, he can be a little condescending here and there, but the man knows what he's talking about. He's got a new book out that's on my to-read list and an interview in Salon. Proof you can't take the professor out of the pundit: he keeps on correcting the interviewer's terminology.

For all you Montrealers out there: How zoning laws and police crackdowns might be bleeding all the fun out of Mile End. I'm somewhat entertained that there's a "Morality, Alcohol and Drug" squad. It's like they came up with an Anti-Fun Taskforce.

Since it's the season of spooky, here's James Hynes' list of the best Halloween stories. The post itself is funny and there's some interesting-looking stuff on it. I'll cop to only having read two of the things on the list, but that just means I have my reading sewn up until October.

Jimmy's Got A Binkie

Ah, the satisfaction of finishing a knitted project. It's a satisfaction I haven't felt much in the past year, to be honest, unless you count hats and socks. And if you do, I've still only felt it... four or five times.

The knitting shame. It itches. It itches like mohair. Still, I'm pretty proud of this blanket which was knit for the adorable Jimmy. I still haven't seen the kid in person, but if he's anywhere near as cute as the photos his mom's been sending me, he's a beautiful child. Definitely Gap Baby ad campaign-worthy.

Still, it was hard giving up the blanket. Donna is a lovely, crepe-y yarn to work with, especially if you're looking for a blend. As I carried it to the post office, I kept on squeezing it. I would knit myself a cardigan, but then I wouldn't get anything done at work. I would probably keep on stopping to, say, pet my arm.

Project: Argosy Baby Blanket
Yarn: Scheepjes Donna
Needles: 3.5mm circulars
Notes: I added a single crochet border instead of leaving it plain or going for that cro-kay hybrid Kay's Blanket used. I still find the edges curl a bit, but I'm pretty sure the baby won't care. Also, this thing is impossible to fold in a neat square for mailing. Damn its slight tilt towards being a parallelogram.

Adventures In Indian Cooking

Journey with me, if you will, back in time to January 2009. The world was still in love with Obama, Michael Jackson was still alive and nobody had ever heard of balloon boy*. I made my resolutions, flush with the promise of a new year. And one of them was to learn how to cook Indian food.

Now, as 2009 limps to a finish, it's time to see how I'm doing with that. I would show you pictures, but I'm actually fresh out of leftovers at the moment. Although, perhaps, that's for the best. Indian, while the tastiest to my palate, is really not the most photogenic of cuisines. There's a reason why whatever photos do exist usually include an artfully placed green pepper or two. And that's so we know the goo we're looking at is supposed to be for eating.

Tasty, tasty eating.

But I digress. Between graduating and moving, I didn't start on this resolution until a couple of months ago. Since then I've tried my hand at chicken korma, chana masala, safaid keema, dum aloo and tari aloo. Right now my dum aloo is awesome, my chana masala is pretty good and both my tari aloo and chicken korma are tasty but could use a thicker sauce. The less said about the unfortunate safaid keema incident ("It looks like finely spice baby diarrhea!"), the better. My spice collection has expanded and the limits of my cooking abilities have never been clearer. So here are my helpful tips, in case you want to clip n' save for your own Indian adventures.

1. That mystery bag of spice you've had in your kitchen since forever could be many things, but it is probably not garam masala. No matter how much you may wish it to be or even use it as such. The smart money is on it being nutmeg or cinnamon though.
   
2. To get real garam masala, you should head to a spice store or at least one of those tiny Indian food markets. If you're in a hurry and the only place you can hit on your lunch hour is the Provigo, you'll probably end up with a less than satisfactory substitute. I'm to embarassed to say what I'm using, but the initials of my shame are "C" and "H."
3. Trust the salt in Indian recipes, but no necessarily the oil.
   
4. Sometimes there simply isn't enough cornstarch in the world to fix a cooking mess
5. Cooking naan bread is never going to happen, so just grab the stuff from the fine folks at President's Choice and call it a night.
   

But I'm becoming more and more ambitious. Tomorrow I'm making a plain saag to use up some spinach in the fridge. Then I'm braving what will surely be the treacherous lands of paneer making as the first step towards matar paneer. And then- who knows? Maybe you'll see me building a real tandoori oven in the shared courtyard.


*Neither had I until I checked Twitter earlier today.

Zombieland: You Must Be This Dead To Ride

My Sketch Of Zombieland

I had an idea while watching Zombieland. Only two kinds of people are going to survive in the event of a zombie apocalypse. Those who kick ass, and those who are actuaries. Since actuaries spend all their time assessing risk, they'll know just what to do to avoid being chomped on.

The main character of Zombieland, Columbus, is a university student, not an actuary. But he may as well be one. In the prologue, he explains that America has become overwhelmed by zombies, but he managed to stay alive by following his system of rules. With points underlining the importance of cardio and not being a hero, he minimizes you chances of yelling "Don't do that stupid thing, stupid!" at the screen.

Eventually he meets up with Tallahassee, who has all the balls Columbus needs. Played by Woody Harrelson, he's on a mission to kill zombies and find Twinkies, and Columbus is along for the ride... or at least until they hook up with a set of grifter sisters. That's about where the movie comes to stop, even as the older sister catapults Columbus on his long-delayed trip through puberty.

After that, it feels like the spirits of George Romero and Judd Apatow are fighting for control of the body of director Ruben Fleischer. And Apatow wins, but in all the worst ways. In a long middle passage, almost no zombies have their heads bashed in - and absolutely NONE get disemboweled - while only one human becomes ground beef in a leaden celebrity cameo. Instead the group bonds together and tosses out one-liners. Following all the steps in the Apatow manual, they're the kind of lines that are only funny when delivered by the painfully awkward.

But that doesn't stop the little crew from making it to a theme park. And with the bright lights and loud noises, not to mention the shambling corpses, things become fun again. But it's a little too late to save this movie. I think it was bitten by something - an undead Seth Rogen? - and it's feeling a bit bitey, but very, very talky.

Rating: 3.5/5 zombie-bashing banjos

A Protagitron Brown Thanksgiving

It's turkey time here in Canada, which means I've already fired up the Christmas carols and started spamming my American friends in defense of holding Thanksgiving in October. At work we were supposed to say what we were thankful for, and the only thing I could come up with at the time was "Wine gums and reported rapes in the U.S. hitting a 20 year-low." But I was just being difficult. There's been plenty to be thankful for, in the past year and just in general.

So, in no particular order, here are 10 things I'm thankful for. I would feel guilty eating pumpkin pie without mentioning them.

1. My stinkmaster general cat for all the many joys he brings, but especially because he falls asleep against my arm while I type on the computer.
2. Coffee
3. My friends for being entertaining and educational good eggs with good fashion sense. Also, for frequently putting up with my bullshit.
   
4. My Dad, for doing the same while keeping me in letters and clippings
   
5. Smitty The Wonder Sheltie
6. Jimmy, the adorable new son of a couple of wonderful people
7. The amnesiac properties of beer
8. Feminist blogs like The Sexist
9. Gainful employment
   
10. But perhaps most of all, wine gums.
    

Wherever you are, even if it's someplace where Thanksgiving doesn't come around until November, I hope you have a good weekend with good friend, good people and plenty of gravy. Now if I could just perfect my wine gum stuffing recipe, I would be all set.