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Coloring

I spent some time with oil pastels this evening, just laying down color in washes and simple shapes. My history with art is tangled and tortuous; the goal, when I was younger, was to become a comic book artist. For many reasons, that never came to fruition. Although I didn’t definitively lose interest, there was a definite shift in priorities near the end of my high school education that led me down a different road.

Part of it, I think, is my need for precision–either precision or nothing at all. And precision came with practice, and my art teachers were impatient with precision. To them, it doesn’t reflect a style. Maybe it’s true that there’s no style to it. All of my watercoloring adventures were achieved with tiny pointed brushes and as little water as necessary, even though that was my preferred medium. Lay down the pencils, overlay those with flowing black inks, and fill in the spaces with vivid watercolors. To be fair, the effect charmed a few.

Working with pastels is so different, and I don’t find it freeing at all. Pastels are thick and rough, even the smooth Sakura pastels I picked up somewhere, and above all, imprecise. I found myself wishing for one of my small brushes from days past to dip in the solvent and make a paint, but all I had were the cheapest kinds of children’s brushes, thick and artificial, unable to allow the artist to display any finesse.

The texture was maddening, and I took a tissue to the pigments and rubbed them smooth onto the paper.

When I walked away after a short half-hour, I felt a sense of growing emotional distance between myself and my box of art supplies. I even felt a little bit angry. In a way, I feel like something has been stolen from me, even though there’s no one who could have been a culprit–one can’t steal from oneself.

Gossip

Here’s a band I was only vaguely familiar with until a day ago. I’m sure I’m out of the loop, as usual. Beth Ditto has an amazing voice, even though I can’t understand much of what she’s singing. And look, the drummer is female, too! I saw this video of The Gossip (headed by Beth Ditto) on David Letterman:

I get sick of simpering, “quantized, pitch-corrected, and overly inspected” (to quote Henry Rollins by way of Ben Folds and William Shatner) vocals in pop music, so it’s nice to hear something powerful that isn’t also ballad-esque.

A Deepness in the Sky by Vernor Vinge

This was a hard book for me to get through. In the end, I enjoyed it despite my earlier criticisms about the treatment of the female characters–especially since justice was given to the conclusions of their individual plots (and mostly without reference to romantic entanglements).

The biggest hurdle to finishing reading the story was the multiple point-of-views wherein much of the action was being described through the eyes of characters for whom the reader cares little. This happened especially nearer the latter third of the book, when it was important for suspense’s sake to hide information from the reader to which the heroes were privy. Some of these passages were quite long, and since I cared more about the characters who had actually been fleshed out emotionally during the earlier parts of the book, I found myself skimming through parts in which, for example, a military director is observing and directing the goings-on of her departments and peers.

I am unable to recall earlier clues pointing toward the final “reveal,” either because I skimmed or because the omniscient narrator chose to omit those details. It really warrants a further, closer reading or two, but I honestly don’t think I would have the patience for it. It was a good book; I’m glad I read it, but I doubt I’ll read it again.

I do, however, want to read its predecessor, A Fire Upon the Deep. I wonder if reading them out of order will decrease my enjoyment any, but I love science fiction and will give it a go.

Too much of everything

Last night I went out to dinner with friends. The pizza was great, the restaurant was too loud and the quarters too close. I could barely hear what the people next to me were saying. Afterward, we went back to the friends’ apartment to meet the new puppy. They put in The Gods Must be Crazy and talked, and talked. I wasn’t well able to deal with it at that point; I just wanted to go home.

It drives me batty when there’s crosstalk and a movie and a dog and people keep asking me if I’m okay, too cold, too tired, etc. and so on. I know I didn’t look very happy, and I really was tired, but I felt like a bad person for being ungracious. Part of it was just too much stimulation; I really dislike watching movies in groups, anyway (and usually by myself, as well!) so I couldn’t get a grip on the banter between friends, either.

Part of it is because I knew one of the guys was trying to impress me. For many reasons–not least of which is that I am on a severe rebound–I am unable to be receptive to that kind of behavior. It’s sweet, but I can’t warm up to it. It’s flattering, but my heart isn’t in it.

A Deepness in This Guy

I’m a sucker for science fiction. At present, I am reading Vernor Vinge’s A Deepness in the Sky, and as science fiction goes, it is pretty decent. There is a good balance between the maybe-impossible and the scientifically plausible, and attention is paid to the hard realities like traveling between star systems at sublight speeds. I’m not going to get into it, nor am I going to bother talking about the rather pedestrian non-human intelligent life (the gist is, they are basically human in every way except physiologically).

What tends to lose me most with the book is that the author isn’t very good at writing women. I think he probably even knows this, or at least assumes it, because very little of it is written from human women’s point-of-view. This is in spite of narrator semi-omniscience and the fact that approximately half of the pivotal characters are female.

One is sidelined almost immediately and basically mind-controlled; she serves as the love interest of one of the main characters. None of the story is from her point of view.

One has a crush on the first main character and gets manipulated into a sexual relationship by the main villain, a sadistic, much older man. We get her point of view occasionally; fortunately, she is heroic, but since she is described primarily through the eyes of the aforementioned males, the reader gets more of the impression that she’s soft, a dupe, and shrill and annoying on top of that.

The third, a villain, is practically a robot, mind-controlled and without personality. She is the only female character of note who is not romantically attached in some way.

I’m not sure if I’m not giving the characters enough credit, if these are valid frustrations, or if I’ve been conditioned to be frustrated. For example, if most of the women are romantically attached, then that means most of the men must be.* And of course, I don’t have a man’s point-of-view to bounce this off of. And to be fair to the author, the apparent hero of the story has a sexist streak he doesn’t know how to deal with, which colors his views of, and the narrator’s descriptions of, the women.

At any rate, it’s a far, far cry from Orson Scott Card’s Shadow series, in which one of the few female characters in that entire universe, one of even fewer females ruthless enough to go to Battle School, is reduced to being wholly concerned with “making babies.” Which is exactly the term she, and by proxy Card, uses to describe pregnancy.

* A heteronormative viewpoint, to be sure, that is apparently shared (or at least not disavowed) by the author, Vernor Vinge.

Welcome to the Big League

Improv Everywhere have been outdoing themselves lately. I particularly enjoyed the way they turned a little league game into a major sporting event, complete with Goodyear Blimp. How’s that for Opening Day?

What I’ve always liked about Improv Everywhere is their ability to do performance art without being malicious, damaging anything, or leaving anything behind. In this case, their performance even seemed to have done some extra good.

Gilberto Gil’s music: free (as in beer)

Among the many reasons to love musical artist and soon-to-be-former Culture Minister of Brazil, Gilberto Gil, is the fact that he has almost his entire catalog of music available on his website to listen to for free. Try these sambas:

He sings ‘em slow . . .

And fast . . .

He records in English:

And in French:

And in homage to Bob Marley:

And in brilliant duet with Caetano Veloso:

Gil is also a proponent of open source, such as Creative Commons (article here) and Free Beer. He often extolls the virtues and power of Internet culture and activism. And now he has a Youtube channel . . .

In just-spring

My sister’s boyfriend treats me with more respect than any of my own boyfriends ever have. I hope I can find someone like that, someday.

We sat around last night with martinis and cigars, enjoying one of the first warm evenings of the year, they not long back from house shopping and I after a day of puttering around the city. Today, we bought flowers and planted them out front. It’s truly spring.

My boss’s martini recipe:

  • Add 2 shots of Boodles British Gin and 1/2 shot of Noilly Prat Vermouth to a shaker with crushed ice. Give it a good shake, let it rest, and then another good shake. Pour into a chilled martini glass and serve with a twist of lemon.  The martini should glitter with ice flecks.

I know some people would have issues with this recipe, but it comes from an old fashioned guy, and it tastes wonderful.

Random Harvest by James Hilton

[The butler] was certainly a well-preserved antiquity, with an air of serene yet somehow guarded responsibility; in different clothes he might have looked a cabinet minister, in contradistinction to those cabinet ministers who, even in their own clothes, look like butlers.

Random Harvest (1941), James Hilton

I frequently refer to Random Harvest as my favorite work of fiction; fortunately, Australia’s Project Gutenberg helpfully provides the full text.

James Hilton wrote several books, some of which were made into movies; his novel Lost Horizon originated the term Shangri-la. The movie versions of both Lost Horizon and Random Harvest star Ronald Colman, a fine British actor who made a smooth transition from silent films to talkies with his lovely, Toucan Sam-inspiring voice.

Don’t view Random Harvest without having read the novel first, as the film spoils the plot twist badly.

Selva Negra Single Estate Coffee from Nicaragua

The local coffee roaster, Boston Stoker, introduced me to a delicious single-estate coffee from Selva Negra, Nicaragua. I was able to try some just-roasted, and although it’s frequently correct to wait a couple days after roasting to get the best flavor from brewing, what I tasted that day was smooth, sweet, and very easy to drink black. The pound of coffee I bought, which didn’t last long, evolved over the next two weeks, though it remained delicious throughout.

The Selva Negra Estate is a successful experiment in sustainable farming and provides jobs to local and migrant workers in Central America. It’s also an attractive tourist destination, as shown in this short video from the New York Times.

(You can purchase pre-roasted Selva Negra coffee from JavaVino. Of course, I also recommend you spring for a good french press or vacuum coffee maker and a high quality burr grinder.)