On the I-5

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Sky, nothing but blue sky!  (Self took this somewhere near Valencia.  You can just make out the top of the roller coaster of Six Flags/ Magic Mountain, at the extreme lower left.)

And big rigs, plenty of big rigs . . .

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After a good seven hours of driving, we are finally at our destination, the Best Western Pine Tree Motel in Chino (Strange, self hasn’t seen any pine trees), where the receptionist has a lurid purple streak in her shiny black hair and goes by the name “Imelda.”  Pinay, pinay, self knew right away.

Stay tuned.

Weekly WordPress Photo Challenge: Pattern

Gondolier, Venice, Italy

Gondolier, Venice, Italy

Was taking pictures from a bridge over a canal.  Waited.  Sure enough, a gondola happened by.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Venice Day 9: The Neighborhood

San Toma’ is a quiet neighborhood; it feels home-y.  There’s a small supermarket just around the corner, where early this morning self bought a loaf of bread and a thick wedge of Asiago.  Venice restaurants are not cheap; the Billa Supermarket is a godsend!

Down the Street

Down the Street

The Street A 5-Minute Walk From the Apartment

The Next Street Over (About a 5-Minute Walk From the Apartment)

Self wondered what the sign meant and decided, after closer inspection, that the building must be some kind of bed-and-breakfast.  She’s always on the lookout for such places, everywhere she goes.  One never knows when such information can come in handy!

Today, also, self spied a poster at the entrance to a café in San Toma’.  It was about the photography of a man named Gotthard Schuh.  The exhibit, called L’Ultima Venezia (The Last Venice), is on display at the Palazzo Loredan, Campo Santo Stefano, seat of the Istituto Veneto di Scienze, Lettere e Arti.  (Where is that? Perhaps Margarita can find it; she can find anything!)

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Venice Day 2

Fashionable Flood Boots!

Fashionable Flood Boots!

We were somewhere by the Rialto.  Self has been very good and not gone into a single store, not even a grocery.  Well, she and Margarita did wander into Flavia’s, which sells costumes, but were just extremely nosy and pried into everything and tried on masks.  We will return to buy, because Flavia herself was at the store and was the soul of graciousness!

Anyhoo, self could not resist posting at least one picture from today’s adventures, and this is a picture of a store window display.  Note the extremely super-tall boots!  Self thought at first they were made for a giant, but Margarita (who knows everything) said they needed them here because of the floods.  But, being Italian boots, they must be in fashionable lime green.

The women here are so beautiful.  As beautiful as the women self saw in India last year.  But with the added “zing” of flaunting the skinniest jeans self has ever seen a woman wriggling into.  Italian women have such style.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

In Which Don Quijote and Sancho Panza While the Night Away (Volume 2, Chapter 12)

And self is really hoping and praying she finishes this book before her upcoming trip, because it is a bear to bring an 800-page novel (Don Quijote, translation by Burton Raffel) into an airplane, she did that once before, she thinks when she went to Berlin . . .

Self!  Stop!  Enough!

Okey dokey, self has arrived at Volume 2, Chapter 12.  And this is the perfect time to have landed on this chapter, because aside from making a quick run to Wegmans for gypsum and peat moss, self has decided to take it easy today.

So, here we go.  In this particular scene, Don Quijote and Sancho Panza are taking a brief respite from their various adventures:

They spent most of the night discussing these and other matters, but then Sancho felt the need to close the hatches over his eyes (as he used to say when he wanted to sleep), so he took everything off the donkey’s back and turned him loose to graze as he pleased.  He did not remove Rocinante’s saddle, because his master had expressly ordered that so long as they were in the field, or not sleeping under a roof, Rocinante should not be disturbed:  from time immemorial, knights errant had removed their horse’s bridle and hung it from the saddlebow — but unsaddle the horse?  Heaven forbid!  So Sancho did as he’d been told, and let Rocinante too go grazing at will, for between the two animals there existed so strong and special a friendship that, according to rumor, it was a tradition passed down from father to son, and indeed the author of this truthful history penned a number of chapters specifically on the subject, but in the name of the dignity and decorum due to such a heroic tale he felt himself obliged to exclude them –  though at time he forgets this resolve and tells us how close the two animals were, each helping the other to properly scratch himself, and how, when they were tired and well-fed, Rocinante would lay his neck across the donkey’s (and it stuck out a foot and a half on the other side) and the two of them would stand there, contemplating the ground, sometimes for three days on end, or at least for as long as they were allowed to, or they weren’t driven apart by hunger.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Last Friday of March (2013): The Garry Winogrand Exhibit at SFMOMA

Ever since Stella K told self about the Garry Winogrand exhibit at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, self has ached to go.

She was about to go yesterday, but then she got hung up with gardening.

She went today, though.  What a gorgeous day it was in the City!

On 101, about to take 4th Street exit

On 101, approaching the Seventh Street exit (The exit for SFMOMA is the one following, on Fourth Street)

It will be clear from the above snapshot that self was doing the dangerous thing again:  snapping photos while driving.  But she just couldn’t give up the chance to document the day, the excellent weather, the freeway signs, the San Francisco skyline, and of course the traffic!

The Garry Winogrand exhibit was fascinating.  Thank you for telling self about it, Stella K!  She was fascinated by Winogrand, his “anti-journalistic” stance, his perceptivity about crowds, his alive-ness to facial expressions of people he passed on the street.  On the audio tour, his son is quoted as saying that when Winogrand would take his children on outings, he was constantly taking pictures of people they passed, and so it took a very very long time to get from Point A to Point B.  But Winogrand’s son said that he was so accustomed to his father’s behavior that he regarded it as entirely normal.

As self was leaving the 4th floor, where the Winogrand exhibit was, she decided to snap a picture of the stairs:

Stairs, the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Woman Ascending the Stairs in the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art

Afterwards, as self was walking back to the 5th and Mission Garage, she decided to walk through the Metreon.  She would have made it out without damage if she hadn’t been attracted by a colorful sign saying Cako.  When she went up close to investigate, she saw tubs of ice cream!  And she decided to try the vanilla salt with caramel swirls.  She brought her ice cream outside, to the Yerba Buena gardens, and luxuriated in the sunshine and the pigeons. It was such a gorgeous day!  Self reflected that she is so lucky to be alive, and living where she does, with pretty easy access to the gorgeousness of San Francisco.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

GOING HOME TO A LANDSCAPE, Ten Years On: Self’s Story, “Picture”

Dear Departed Dad, Yearbook Photo, circa ???

Dear Departed Dad, Yearbook Photo, circa ???

Excerpt from “Picture”

(published in Going Home to a Landscape:  Writings by Filipinas, Calyx Books, 2003)

She’s leaning forward, as if to kiss him.  There’s a mark on his cheek; perhaps she’s done it already.  They are both smiling.

These were my parents in Manila, circa 1956.  They were happy; they had always been happy.  The happiness of their marriage was like a reproach.

I didn’t think he looked that ugly.  El unico problema es que no es guapo.  Who said this?  My grandmother’s cousin, Lola Paching.  This, at least, was the family story.

But there was a certain kind of attractiveness in my father’s face.  My mother, I saw now, looked like me.  Or like I might have looked, if I too had been happy.  She was wearing a white scoop-necked gown.  Her breasts looked heavy and full, but her arms were thin.  She was looking up at my father and smiling.

I am collecting old pictures now.  I don’t know what this tells me about this stage of my life.

My husband and two children are far away.  My husband said, as he packed their things, “Don’t call us.  We’re happier that way.  I may have murmured something in reply, compulsively polite, even under such circumstances.  I didn’t know whether I meant to say, Good riddance, or I’ll be seeing you or Have a pleasant day!  I stood on the driveway and gave a little wave as I watched my two children’s faces, grave in the back seat.

Marco is ten, his sister, Maya, is four.  I had them a long time ago, when I was a different person.  Now I find it hard to remember that person who changed their diapers without complaint, who gave them heated milk in the middle of the night.  They lived in a neat house, then.

Two months ago, my sister-in-law called from the Philippines.  The phone sounded shrill in the empty house.

Many What Ifs

Self has often pondered what it might be like to be a movie critic.

First of all, she’s mad about movies.  Anyone who’s read this blog for a month or so would know.

Wouldn’t it be fabulous if she got hired somewhere as a film critic?  And got paid for her reviews?

It would certainly be better (financially) for her if she got paid to write movie reviews.

Then, she wanders over to Eric D. Snider’s blog (which she reads quite often, several times a week).  In one of his posts (She thinks it’s the one where he rounds up his activities in 2012), he mentions that he saw 503 movies last year.

503 movies!  La-la-la-la!  Is that how many movies one must watch in order to be considered a serious movie critic?  And here she was thinking that, since she watches on the average about six movies a month (She means, in a theater, not at home on cable), she has the chops to be a movie critic!

Self just woke up!

*     *     *     *

Tomorrow night she wends over to Berkeley to watch Benito Bautista’s “Harana.”  She bought her ticket online, as an added motivation to go (She hasn’t been to Berkeley in almost a decade and isn’t sure she feels relaxed enough to wander about by herself).  Does any one of her FB friends care to go?  Do any of her writer’s group want to go?  Can she call up a niece?

Ixnay, ixnay all over the place.  Finally, in desperation, self dials The Man’s cell.  “I’ve bought you a ticket,” she tells him.  “I’ll drive.  All you need to do is sit beside me and snooze.”  OK, quoth The Man.  Finally!  She succeeds!  It has taken so much effort, and so many going-back-and-forths in her mind, that self is quite spent after this phone call and thinks she needs to go and buy herself a new clematis.

*     *     *     *

Last night, self steeled herself to watch the concluding episode of Parade’s End.  The war or something has broken the frozen sea inside Christopher Tietjens.  His wife and son installed at the ancestral home, his wife having desecrated the grounds by her petulant destruction of an ancient cypress tree which was blocking the light from the main house (It was a pagan tree, hung with mementos from the darkest past, a symbol of the wild, unruly passion lying dormant in the British aristocracy’s soul), he returns to his cold, empty, lonely life in a flat in London, and –  that Blonde Suffragette comes!  Christopher says he will never divorce his wife, but after a little while spent in Miss Valentine Wannop’s company, he succumbs to desire.  END OF STORY!

Self must admit, she was in the wife’s corner.  First of all, the wife had so many flaws.  She was completely, completely corrupted.  She wore the most fabulous gowns.  Her eyes were so sad.

Naturally, she cannot compete with the virginal freshness of the Blonde Suffragette, and self on some level realizes that Christopher has certain physical needs that only someone with a figure like Valentine’s can satisfy.

So, self bears the brutality of the ending (Christopher in bed with Miss Valentine — possibly the most ham-handed ending ever, which includes gratuitous shots of the little missie’s ample physical gifts).

She thinks that in Parade’s End Part II, there should be scenes of the complicated marriage that ensues.  For one thing, although Christopher seems happy, he can never be completely happy because he is English.  It is just impossible for an English hero not to be constantly asking himself, “Should I be this happy?  Is this completely normal?  What makes my partner so placid and content?  Do I WANT to be placid and content?”  And so forth and so on.

Self would give the whole series four out of five stars.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Excitements: 2nd Friday of March (2013)

The Man has gotten self hooked –  hooked, self says! –  to watching episodes of “Parade’s End”, the Tom Stoppard BBC2 adaptation, back to back, instead of self’s avowed preference for waiting patiently for the weekly installments.

We are now on Episode 4.

Lovely, lovely!

In this episode, we see Mrs. Sylvia T setting the entire British Army on its head over her insistence on seeing her husband, who is serving in Rouen.  Self doesn’t know why her heart breaks every time Rebecca Hall’s (as Mrs Sylvia T) lips curl.

You dolt! self finds herself yelling at the TV.  The “dolt” is of course Cumberbatch/Tietjens.  Cancha see your wife is just expiring with love for you? 

But of course, how could self forget, Tietjens is British!  As such, he must wallow in misery.  That is, until he gets blown up by an incendiary!  And Sylvia and that Blonde Suffragette must then suffer with wan memories of the “noblest man they have ever known”!  Parade’s End shares much with other British depictions of the misunderstood but heroic cuckold, like The Painted Veil.  Or The Scarlet Pimpernel  Accch!  How self laps up these noble British tropes!

In between, we are treated to scenes of great jollity, such as Our Man Tietjens getting so worked up that he immediately sits himself down to –  compose a sonnet!  His adjutant says he can translate said sonnet into Latin “in two minutes.”

Tietjens finally manages to steal away to meet his wife.  Alas!  She’s being pestered by a young buck.  Sylvia, looking about, catches sight of her husband and exclaims: “There’s Christopher!  He’s seen us!  Damn his chivalry!”

“Oh, he might hit me!” says the would-be paramour, ducking his head.

“He’s a gentleman, he doesn’t hit girls like you!” scoffs Mrs. T.

BWAH HA HA HA!!!

“He’s Jesus Christ of the chivalry” or some such.  More to the point:  “Does Christopher have a girl in this town?”

“Too much of a stick, doesn’t even go to Madame Suzette’s,” responds Girlie Officer.

There is also one very hot almost-sex scene between Mr. and Mrs. Unfortunately, just at the moment when Tietjens grabs his wife and seems about to perform his Manly Duty, two would-be paramours come knocking on Mrs. T’s door and interrupt the proceedings.  Damn them!  Self thought she was about to witness the first Benedict Cumberbatch Sex Scene EVER!

Lah-de-da, lah-de-da!  Among other stellar developments, this afternoon self wandered into Books, Inc. and was slayed, simply slayed upon encountering, in the Mysteries section:

At Books, Inc. today, self's eyes were forcibly drawn to a shelf which happened to display:  xxxxx !!!

Raylan!  Elmore Leonard’s favorite fictional creation!  That’s a very nice still of Timothy Olyphant, right there.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

March 2013 Weekend Viewing: The New Hoult Movie

Self caught a matinee of “Jack the Giant Slayer” yesterday.

It was her first sight of Nicholas Hoult sans zombie make-up.

A whole row of high school girls sat in front of self, and at the big fight scenes, these girls tilted all the way forward in their seats and started bouncing up and down and hooting.

Some of the girls had thick glasses, none of them were what you’d consider “slender,” it was truly a strange sight.

At the other end of the row sat a silver-haired man and a teen-age boy, presumably his son.

And there were a few scattered islands of human beings in the rows behind.

Afterwards, as self exited the theater (Redwood City Century 20), she found herself walking behind two young men:  one had a shaved head, the other was all in black.  They were not together.  Self found herself deliberately slowing down so that she wouldn’t be in the “line of sight” of either of these two.

Anyhoo, back to Nicholas Hoult!

The boy has such a pretty face.  She completely missed him in “X-Men: First Class” (because at that time self was all Michael Fassbender).  She simply could not believe that of all the testosterone available to Jennifer Lawrence in the cast of that movie (Self has already mentioned the fabulous MF), Lawrence hooked up with Hoult.  In fact, she couldn’t even remember what he looked like as “Beast.”

Self started hearing buzz about “Warm Bodies” way back in the fall of 2012.  Then the previews started coming out, and she was slayed, absolutely slayed, especially by the scene where Hoult/Zombie tells Teresa Palmer/Julie/Live Human Being to “Act dead.  Okay?”  And she starts jerking her arms and he turns around and stammers:  “Too.  Much.”

“Warm Bodies” ended up being one of self’s favorite movies (thus far) in 2013.

Now then, self will turn her attention to “Jack the Giant Killer.”

This was a very entertaining movie!  Upon reflection, it is nice that Hoult was chosen to play Jack, instead of a more soulful sort like Eddie Redmayne, or a hulking sort like Chris or Liam Hemsworth.  Hoult has such vulnerability and sweetness.  OK, so he’s tall and thin and that, believe it or not, is the key to Jack’s character!  Because he is continuously having to stoop down to address the Princess!  Which makes him greatly endearing!

About the Princess, she looks way too old for him.  She looks like she stepped out of the set of Anna Karenina.  She looks great, however, in period attire.  Her first get-up, the green-and-gold gown with the low, scooped neck revealing bountiful whatever?  Fabulous!

Anyway, the plot line is very sweet, and self did thoroughly enjoy the CGI Giants.  There’s one two-headed gent, and then another with tall, tall hair (red), then another with a squashed looking face and wild hair (reminds self of the man she met dumpster-diving in the trash bin just to the left of the movie theater exit), then a baker who keeps picking his nose and then handling the flour (The scene where he flours Ewan McGregor, who’s wrapped up in a pancake, along with two squealing piggies is priceless, priceless!)  Anyhoo, the movie’s played for maximum comedy, and that’s why they got Hoult instead of Redmayne or Garfield or Aaron Johnson or whoever.  Because Hoult can play Prince Charming without losing the humor.  Armie Hammer has some of this quality, but it’s a little different because Armie Hammer is just too gorgeous, so he has to be comic in a broader way than Hoult needs to be.  That is, if he is to be taken seriously as a comic actor.

That’s enough of the digression, self!

Did self already talk about Ewan McGregor?  The man’s rendition of the Princess’s security detail is charming, absolutely charming!  Self would love to see him and Hoult pair up again.  Perhaps a less beautiful queen would work.  Perhaps someone like Game of Thrones’ Emilia Clarke.  Someone with a toughness.  Self could even see Rebecca Hall (who, BTW, is heartbreaking, simply heartbreaking as the confused and wounded seducer in Parade’s End, the one who belatedly realizes that she loves her husband, Christopher Tietjens, just at the moment when he falls in love with someone else)

Of the movies currently showing, self really does not want to see “Identity Thief” or “Safe Haven.”  She can, though, take Bruce Willis, so perhaps she will see “A Good Day to Die Hard.”  There are a few new movies, but self really cannot take “The Last Exorcism, Part II,” and she never succumbed to the lure of Frank Baum’s Oz, in all its cinematic permutations.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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