Browse Category: General & Random Thoughts

General thoughts and randomness of the Sunny Global Diva…

I heard it sucks.

The pleasure of criticizing robs us of the pleasure of being moved by some very fine things.” – Jean de la Bruyère

I haven’t watched a movie at a theater in months, and last week, I felt the urge for escapism. I opened a movie listings website to check movie times at my local theater and saw something that surprised me–just under each film title was one of three phrases: “skip it,” “see it,” and “maybe.” Perhaps ‘surprised’ is too nice a word– it actually disturbed me a little bit. As long as man has had action, man has had the critique; I get that. What I don’t get is this undeniable momentum that critique and criticism amass these days. Is it the internet that has turned many a man and woman into cynical sourpuss parrots lately, mimics who re-spew whatever vitriol some people unleash? Ahh, the sad, sad day that the people became sheeple…

I think of numerous conversations I’ve had with acquaintances during the last couple of years about movies, restaurants, books, or places. Me: “Have you seen this-and-such movie?” Acquaintance: “Nah, I heard it sucks.” Me: “Have you ever been to this-and-such place?” Acquaintance: “Nah, I heard it sucks.” Now really, is there a more pathetic response? Awaken the little gray cells and go find out for yourself whether or not it sucks. I don’t think I’m being nostalgic or revisionist when I say that I can think of a time when people tried to discover these things for themselves. People watched something or read something, and then discussed it; they didn’t “skip it” because some critic told them to and then spend their time discussing the critics’ opinions rather than their own. Today, the internet rips something apart before it’s hit the shelves. Today, when something is disliked by a popular critic or two, it’s disliked by all other critics, and then it’s disliked by everyone on Twitter, and then it’s disliked on messageboards and fora (okay, forums!), and then you can’t find one person willing to say one nice thing about it. The ‘something’ could be an unassuming mindless little pleasure, or it could be a masterpiece–should a critic so decide, the ‘something’ will be bullied and pulverized to shreds, the mob watching and waiting for a turn to do some pummeling of its own. (The madness is usually a mean, nasty, sharp snowball of negativity, but the pendulum does occasionally swing in the other direction in which case the critics, Twitter, messageboards and forums [ahem, fora] tell you that you’re supposed to love something.)

Think of your closest friend. He or she may have the same moral and ethical standards that you do, may enjoy the same wines that you do, may come from the same background. And yet the two of you may feel completely differently about one singular thing–an outfit, a song, or a TV program, for instance. And that’s the friend you’ve known, loved, and trusted for years. Now you’re going to read the opinion of some random faceless person you’ve never met, and you’re going to make that opinion your own without even experiencing what it is you’re talking about? How ludicrous!

In the end, I didn’t go to the movies that Sunday afternoon–I looked up synopses of the films that were playing and nothing interested me, but I based my decision on plot (or lack thereof), not on whether a critic enjoyed it. God knows I have found great enjoyment in things that many others disliked. I’m more choosy about certain experiences today–for example, I love films, but tickets are simply too expensive for me to go as often as I did ten or fifteen years ago when prices were such that I had the luxury of re-watching the ones that moved me. The same goes for books, restaurants, trips, wines, etc. My point is that I will decide for myself what I like and buy, and I’ll make that decision based on my own thoughts, my own desires, my own interests and dislikes, my own well rounded research–not media madness. If you have zero interest in something because you have a hunch that it holds little value, or because it’s unappealing, by all means leave it alone. But don’t shut the valves off, and allow someone else to do the thinking, loving, and hating for you. That’s a pointless, comatose form of vicarious living.

“For it is dangerous to attach one’s self to the crowd in front, and so long as each one of us is more willing to trust another than to judge for himself, we never show any judgement in the matter of living, but always a blind trust, and a mistake that has been passed on from hand to hand finally involves us and works our destruction.” – Lucius Annaeus Seneca

The bittersweet sale

I remember coming home, walking through the front door one day, and being faced with the sight of my mother in our living room conversing animatedly with a very handsome man. I kissed my mother, then shook the gentleman’s hand, a polite smile and blush on my face, teenage girl that I was at the time. “Lise, il achète Volupté,” my mother explained (“Lise, he’s buying Volupté.”). I was thinking up different ways to admire the guest without him noticing, so I didn’t hear her. I gave her my full attention a moment later and she repeated herself with a smile: “Lise, il achète Volupté!” I must have shaken my head in confusion, because she gestured towards the wall, saying “Volupté. Volupté!” My gaze followed her hand and rested on the wall. I stopped smiling and snapped out of my daze. This man was here to buy Volupté–my favorite painting.

My mind was reeling; I distinctly remember feeling an uncomfortable warmth and a slight panic. Unfair though it may seem, the gentleman now seemed slick rather than handsome. A large beautiful painting by Haitian artist Jean Claude Legagneur, Volupté had hung in the living room for several years. My mother–a dealer of Haitian art– has been in the business of selling, lending, teaching about, presenting, and acquiring pieces such as these for a very long time. Volupté–which translates roughly as ‘exquisite pleasure’–was a part of my home. I hadn’t even known her by name; she was simply le tableau (‘the painting’). A beautiful portrait of a partially nude Haitian woman half-draped in rich shades of blue, dark bronze shoulders and breasts exposed, carrying calla lilies on her head, one of her hands at her sternum holding a little red flower– it was a canvas that I looked at for a few minutes most days. I was so young, but I appreciated and adored her all the years that she graced our wall. I was crushed that my mother was selling her, and–fiery Leo that I am–melodramatically saddened that I wasn’t consulted. As if it would have been my decision anyway…

I’ve thought about that painting many times, through the rest of my teenage years, during my adult years, entertaining slightly irrational/unfair thoughts every now and then, like “What if I save up enough money to offer ‘that man’ two or three times what he paid for it?” and “Why did ‘that man’ settle on that one painting?” To this day, when I still sometimes chide my mother for selling my beloved painting all those years ago, I still refer to him as ‘that man.’ I’ve worked alongside my mother for years, and know well the names and purchases of so many clients, but this guy? He’s still ‘that man.’

I felt a slight echo of that feeling recently. Last week, my mother told me, “J’ai vendu le André Pierre.” (I sold the André Pierre) I stopped breathing. I asked her who bought it; she smiled and replied, “Gail.” Then I smiled, instantly satisfied. The late André Pierre, farmer turned self-taught Vodou artist, was one of the most important primitive art painters in the realm of Haitian art. The lively painting, Voyage des esprits Guinin pour l’Afrique, was commissioned by my mother. She and my father told me the story: “We went to his house in Haiti. He has that bottle of clairin (Haiti’s moonshine). He’s had that same bottle for years, you know– he just keeps refilling it. When he likes a guest, he insists that they drink from it. We told him we’d like something having to do with the spirits traveling to Africa, we thought it was a meaningful idea and knew that that sort of image was his specialty.”

Voyage des esprits Guinin pour l’Afrique translates into “voyage of the Ginen spirits to Africa.” The word Ginen is a Vodou word derived from the Gulf of Guinea, the body of water near Benin; Ginen (also Gine, Guinen, Guinin) represents a mythical, idealized version of Dahomey (present-day Benin), the birthplace of a large number of Haitian slaves. In the painting, we see Haiti in its colonial days. The spirits have overseen and aided the freedom fight. Haiti now liberated, task completed, they leave the bodies of Haitian soldiers and make their way back to Ginen, walking along mythical waters to get there. A devoted practitioner of Vodou, Pierre’s painting is full of imagery and symbolism of that syncretic religion.

I got in touch with Gail to ask her what she liked about the painting and she replied that she thought it “a brilliant example of Andre Pierre’s work, the colors, the fine details, the movement of the piece, plus the subject matter..the spirits walking in [and] on the water…all very moving and lovely…” But first, she apologized for “depriving me of such a lovely and meaningful work!” Most thoughtfully, she assured me of its placement in a good home after admiring it for over five years. Gail being an avid fan of Haitian art who has bought many pieces over the years, the painting couldn’t be going to a better keeper.

Volupté was gone from my home from one day to the next; that hurt. Voyage des Esprits Guinin had hung in the shop; I loved it, but I expected to see it go at some point. For me, this is a happy parting.

Click to enlarge image

Haiku musings: Fall in Florida

Today’s Haiku’s musings: a celebration of South Florida’s “Fall” season. Happy October!

Autumn in the Subtropics by the Sunny Global Diva

***

Glowing sky, cool breeze,

Fall is here. Low seventies–

ski coats and flip flops!

A sunset that made me quite happy, out west by the Everglades. Wish I'd had a better camera with me, but this'll do.

Spam!

If you have a blog, then you know you’ve got spam. Bucketloads upon bucketloads of spam. Spam marketers try to leave comments on different blog posts in order to advertise their scummy websites to your readers, hoping that said readers will click over. What the spam comments have in common is unspecific wording, being that the comments have nothing to do with the blog posts, and being that the spammers haven’t actually read the blog posts on which they comment. The spammers also make a vain attempt at warmth and colloquial English. Fortunately, the filter smells the scheme from afar and manages to net all of them. Some of these comments have really great wording (and by “great” I mean “awful”). I’ve taken the liberty of copying and pasting some of them below for your reading enjoyment. Just a note: this post is not meant to make fun of or deride the average person who speaks English as a second, third or fourth language. As the daughter of two immigrants who speak good albeit very heavily accented English, I have no hostility whatsoever towards people who have a weaker grasp of the language. But these spammers are predators who hide behind monikers and questionable websites, so I consider them fair game. And a word to spammers–go ahead and keep on drinking whatever strong wine is leading you to believe I’ll actually approve your comments on my website.

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***Photo Credit: “Spam Pizza” by cookipediachef

Happy bargains: cigar boxes

I was at Total Wine recently, and after paying for some bottles I stopped by the exit door to check out a display–a shopping cart full of empty cigar boxes, all for sale at $1.49 each. I bought some wood ones. They’re nicely decorated and still have their wonderful strong wood scent. I’ll use one or two to store stationery, postcards and pens (yes, I still do–and enjoy–handwritten correspondence with certain people). And I’ll put one of them on a coffee table and put something else inside–recipes, random notes, whatever. If your local wine shop sells cigars, they might sell the boxes once a particular set sells out. Lovely wood cigar boxes recycled into dollar-forty-nine decorative storage items? A happy bargain find for me.

White whales, crazy rivers

“…as for me, I am tormented with an everlasting itch for things remote.” – Moby Dick

Finding something you seek is gratifying. Not finding what you seek when you know it’s out there is maddening. I threw search power at it, I asked after it incessantly, and I was ready a number of times to pay up. My white whale? Somewhere Down the Crazy River, an out-of-print book published in the UK in 1992. Authored by Paul Boote with Jeremy Wade, the book documents their travels to India and the Congo as they search for legendary fish. Apparently it was a fantastic read. Unfortunately, it was also impossible to find, it was sought after, and those who had it in their possession were holding on to it. The book has quite a loyal following of readers who consider it inspiring, and worth reading more than once. This lover of books and travel was eager for the good read. So began the (long, mind-numbing) search.

Attempt #1: About a month in, I found a copy for sale from a shop that I located through the US’s Antiquarian Booksellers’ Association. I purchased it online immediately. An hour later, a shop employee emailed me explaining apologetically that the store no longer had the book, and that my money would be refunded right away.  Attempt #2: A few months later, I came across a British angler’s site and he mentioned that he had several angling books for sale, including two copies of the book. I emailed him, fingers crossed; his response a few days later: “Dear Marilise, I am sorry, both books have been sold. Regards, Martin.” Attempt #3: A couple of months later, I found a used hardback in pretty good condition on a British bookseller’s site. Paid for it right away only to get this a few hours later: “Dear Marilise, we’re so sorry, we had sold it and didn’t get a chance to remove it from the online inventory/so sorry to disappoint you/we’ll refund you right away/yada yada yada.” Le sigh.

I thought about doing an interlibrary loan request. While no local libraries carried the book, NYC’s main branch had it. At risk of sounding ungrateful to our public library system (a system which I proudly patronize and appreciate by the way), I knew myself well enough to admit that I had a little too much stubbornness to borrow Crazy River from a library– I wanted to pore over my own book whenever I felt like it; a library copy that I would have to give back after three weeks would only increase the thirst for ownership. Taunting me a bit was the existence of a completely unrelated book by a different author called Somewhere Down a Crazy River. Note the difference–A crazy river, as opposed to THE crazy river. Of course, Google and every online purveyor of books gave me mixed search results for both books all the time. Somewhere Down a Crazy River was available everywhere, while Somewhere Down the Crazy River was unavailable everywhere. For the record, I have nothing against the other book.

I started thinking about giving up. While my search style was far from perfunctory, I had to admit that it was getting me nowhere. But I knew the book wasn’t going to appear if I didn’t search methodically for it on a regular basis. So I began to search less, but didn’t stop altogether. Attempt #4: Recently, I found a copy on Amazon’s UK site–the first copy I’d seen available in several months. I was glad to find it, though a tad disappointed that it was in somewhat crappy shape, but I wanted to read the book enough that I was willing to overlook that. So I added it to my cart, then couldn’t purchase it because the seller had disabled international shipping. I asked her if she’d be willing to ship to the US, but didn’t get a reply. Ah well, so close… When I wasn’t buying nonexistent copies of this book on various websites, I was corresponding with many friendly, helpful, well-meaning people at different bookshops in the UK and around the States.

My last resort was trying the authors directly. I was a bit reluctant to go that route, unsure how to formulate the following stream of thoughts into a presentable request: ‘I’d love one of your sought after, out-of-print books/Name your price/Please don’t name a price that I can’t afford.’ But I was worried that the copies still out there would just find their way into the hands of people other than myself and I’d lose my shot. Attempt #5: I was determined to remain sunny in my outlook, so I tracked down one of the writers online and sent him a message explaining that I had been searching for his book for a while and asked him whether he’d be willing to sell me a copy. A few hours after I sent my message, I received an answer–Mr. Boote responded that he did have a copy that he could sell me. Oh…and his copy was a pristine hardback. Le smile.

Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it. – Patrick Jake O’Rourke

When it rains, it pours. Two days after getting the reply, I got an email alert that the book had turned up on a particular website and that it was available for sale. Later that same day, I got a separate email from a UK bookfinding service that I had gotten in touch with in July. He sends me a message saying, “Dear Marilise, I am pleased to report that I have now located a copy of the book. Please email.” Go figure. I responded that I had just found a copy from someone else and thanked him for looking. I am slightly ashamed of myself for reveling in my find and momentarily forgetting that I had asked several book-finders and book-sellers to please actively search for the book on my behalf; I hate when people waste my time, and I hate to think I’ve done it to someone else. At least this book sells easily– if he has it in hand, he’ll have no trouble finding someone to buy it. I immediately went through my old emails and found all other book sellers with whom I was in touch, and promptly sent them messages letting them know that I’d found what I was after.

So, the book’s now in hand, along with a wonderful documentary about fish and life in northern India that he kindly sent along with it. I’m reading the book, savoring the storytelling and have made a note of a few other writings mentioned in its pages that I’d like to check out, most of which should prove easier to acquire than this book. A gem of a moment for me: two mornings ago I was reading and had to put the book down after my heart skipped a few beats–out of nowhere there’s a mention on page 20-something of one of my absolute favorite films, Greystoke, a movie so dear to my heart because each summer for several years, my cousins and I watched it every day during their long visits from Haiti. **And this great film also has a lovely-but-hard-to-find soundtrack that finally got its official CD release about a week ago through La La Land Records, and the CD includes in-depth liner notes. Just thought I’d share…

I’m normally a fast reader, but I haven’t even reached page forty yet. I predict much drawn-out delight and inspiration.

“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.” – Erasmus

Bookstore finds: bookmark, cup, crazy book

Find #1: I went to the bookstore this week to buy a marker for a book I’m reading. I went with this one, a design based on the British in-case-more-hell-eventually-breaks-loose morale-raising poster of WWII days:

Find #2: I’ve brought home a wonderful new cup. It’s a nice white porcelain mug with an old-style black silhouette image of a lady. I loved the look and shape of it, and upon studying the packaging, found out that “a hot beverage brings out the zombie within.” In other words, when I fill the mug with my hot drink, her silhouette turns into a monstrous Lady Undead. I thought the cup charming enough on its own, but was curious about the lady-turned-zombie aspect of it, so I prepared a coffee. As the hot liquid poured down, the beautiful lady turned into a shell of her former self! It’s a fun addition to my cupboard. I feel like I’m drinking coffee with my own little porcelain Dorian Gray portrait. Unfortunately, I can’t point you to a place online where you can check it out or purchase it because I can’t find anything about it online, but if you’re curious I got mine at Barnes & Noble. It’s presented in a very nice box, costs $10.95, and also comes in a male silhouette version. Nice gift idea, I think.

In box.

Empty cup.
Cup with coffee.

Pseudo-Find #3 (a pseudo-find because I found it, but did not buy it): I walked through the bargain shelves and a book caught my eye. It was this one:

Out: King James Bible. In: Extreme Survival.

Extreme Survival: Wilderness, Terrorism, Air, Sea and Land. I am amazed–there’s a book that teaches you how to survive both Grizzly bear attacks and terrorist attacks. So I stood in the aisle, flipped through the pages, read some different passages, laughed pretty hard. I’ll be honest, there is some useful information in there, but so much of it is presented with this paranoid tone that anticipates a myriad of such unlikely scenarios. Yes, yes, any one of a million bizarre things “could” happen, but good God, to sit there and prepare yourself for each of those scenarios… The text in the following picture reads “hair spray or deodorant can be used as an effective way to interfere with an attacker’s vision. As with the rolled magazine and the keys, the aerosol needs to be carried in such a way that it can be brought into use quickly with the dominant hand.”

So now when I’m out for a stroll, I’ve got to carry a rolled-up magazine or a bottle of deodorant angled just so, eh? I think I’ll stay home and study this book instead; it’s obviously far too dangerous out there. There is a section on how to make a debris shelter; this prompted me to go to the index in search of a chapter on “How to Make Your Own Ghillie Suit.” I was sorely disappointed–nothing in the book about it! Pity, as I had high hopes for a good Halloween costume. Maybe 2011…

If you do buy this book, leave plenty of space in your travel/gear bag for it–it’s a big hardcover coffee-table book and weighs a few pounds. Maybe not the easiest book to carry around for all those disastrous just-in-case situations.

A page in the book about shark attacks. Note: illustration used here in lieu of a photograph

Sean Bean/HBO/2011

Mind and body are in hyperdrive at present…To be fair, I am a bit inebriated as tonight was a wine night, but anyway, I was watching TV waiting for my show to start (the brilliant Boardwalk Empire starring Steve Buscemi). HBO was playing an ad for future programming and I saw a quick glimpse of that face, but that’s all I needed to see; I’d know that face or voice anywhere. It was Sean Bean. I literally screamed out loud. Twice. Again, there’s wine at play, although I can’t necessarily say I wouldn’t have had the same reaction had I not had anything to drink. There’s a new HBO original series starring Sean Bean. Mark Addy’s a main character too apparently (thumbs up; I’m smiling). There are no words…

Oh yes, the series…It’s Game of Thrones, based on the fantasy book series by George R.R. Martin. I’m sorry, I can’t even think clearly–Sean Bean is starring in an HBO Original Series, set to air in 2011. And there are ornate costumes and swords. That is all.