Book Review - Year of Magical Thinking

This is a memoir of Didion's life in the year following her husband's death. What else is it? It's a Worst Case Scenario Handbook for grieving. I think that anyone who has lost someone close to them will recognize the self portrait that Didion paints, the psychologically established* stages of mourning that soften but never quite go away. The most striking thing for me were the tours of associative memory; a million little reminders peppered throughout each day. Memory lane isn't a straight street, it's not even a cul-de-sac, it's a maze that you wander with no discernible exit.
The fact that Didion is able to share her journey in such an accessible manner is a testament to her skill as a writer, and I would imagine that it was also a therapeutic exercise. Everyone handles grief a bit differently, but I also think that anyone who reads this book will come away with an observation that will be useful in the (hopefully distant) future or find some solace in the voice of a kindred spirit.
Rating: Four of a kind.

code

So apparently they made a movie based off of some book. The Da Vinci Code? Did anyone actually read that?
Do I have to read it now? Or can I just avoid the whole thing? I guess I am just failing to see the point. That, and I hate getting swept up into massive pop culture fads.
Have I mentioned that Tom Hanks' hair frightens me?
Maybe I'll just watch Amelie again, get my Audrey Tautou fix, and be done with it.
I'm still waiting for a parody. Perhaps The Warhol Code? In which his art predicts future celebrities who will be famous for fifteen minutes? But it goes beyond that. The artwork acts like the image of Dorian Gray; pop celebrities stay famous so long as the painting exists. In the movie version, people sick of Paris Hilton attempt to locate the Warhol artwork that is keeping her in the public eye, wishing to destroy it in order to send her back into "poor little rich girl" obscurity.
We'll start the whole thing off with an animated short in which a technicolour Marilyn Monroe crashes into a gigantic can of soup, getting sucked inside the can into a hallucinogenic soup-world.
Yeah, okay, I took this one a little too far...

West Wing

I knew it was time to turn off the TV when I saw an ad for Karate Dog. I should have turned it off when West Wing ended. It was a good show, and even though it drifted for a while there, it was far more relevant than viewers deserved.
In a time when we are stuck with an administration that was approved of by a majority of voters in the last election, there is a certain fantasy aspect to a show like West Wing, a kind of wish fulfillment. We ought to go around asking why our government isn't better than it is. We ought to dream big and strive to be the best in the world.
It sounds terribly naive to write things like that. Is it criminal to hold people accountable? Maybe it is. If the FBI doesn't have a file on you by the time you are in your 30's, then you're too complacent.

Dill Kill

Okay. I will never claim to have a green thumb. But I thought I could keep a simple dill plant alive. And for two weeks it was doing okay. But then I forgot to water it for a day. And then I guess I drowned it in an overcompensating downpour.
So can someone please invent a customized water gauge? An inexpensive little tool, maybe incorporated into that little plastic marker that tells you what type of plant you are buying and how to take care of it. With a depth line so that you know it is in the soil far enough, and a little raincloud or whatever that gets brighter when you should water the plant. Kind of like those fish tank temperature gauges that stick up against the glass. For idiots like me. Because I feel bad when I let the plants down, ya know?

South Park Bry

South Park Studio

A generous pour on a Friday night

Arriving home
The work is done
Even though it still
Takes up space in your mind
But you will chase it away
Not with cheap swill
You don’t even bother
Anymore; life’s too short
And besides, it just makes
Your head ache
Opening the cabinets
You bypass the petite glasses
And go straight for the oversized
Ruby-hued wine goblet.
Then, with the skill of an artist
You uncork the bottle
And set it on the counter
To let it breathe for a moment
Head into the bedroom
And exchange the professional skin
For something more comfy.
Every room has clutter
That you happily ignore
That’s not the priority
At the moment
And now the bottle is turned sideways
Contents gently licking
And slipping down the glass
A generous pour
On a Friday night.