Why read?

My Dad made a new year's resolution to read six books in 2010. I said, isn't that setting your sights a little low? And he said no, not considering how busy I am. Really, though, I probably should have asked, why do you have to set that as a task for yourself? Why DO you read, anyway? Isn't it supposed to be for pleasure? Or are you reading to teach yourself tedious material, for the sake of increasing your knowledge? I guess people read for different reasons, and of course I should consider differences in fiction, nonfiction, poetry, journalism, etc, but even though I sometimes find myself setting page goals or racing to get to the end of a book rather than savoring the page I'm on at the moment, I've always enjoyed it. I'm sure my Dad enjoys it too and is just so busy that he has to schedule pleasure reading to fit it in. I couldn't really put my finger on why exactly I enjoy reading, except that it's always been able to both quench and spur on a certain curiosity about the human experience. When I need some truth, like if I'm having a crisis and I hate the world, I'll usually  find the wisdom I need in a book before I find it anywhere else.

I just found this article on Zadie Smith on the NPR website. Smith is quoted: "Nowadays I know the true reason I read is to feel less alone, to make a connection with a consciousness other than my own."

I think that pretty much sums it up.

Excerpts

 from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Translated by Edward Fitzgerald

First Edition
XXVI
Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

XXX
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!

XXXIX
How long, how long, in infinite Pursuit
Of This and That endeavour and dispute?
Better be merry with the fruitful Grape
Then sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

LI
The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash a Word of it.


Fifth edition

LXIV

Strange, is it not? that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road,
Which to discover we must travel too.

News coverage of Brittany Murphy's death

I can't believe another untimely and somewhat mysterious celebrity death is upon us. I'm still recovering from Steve Irwin, for Pete's sake, who I heard about during my birthday dinner (yes, he died on my birthday, inextricably bonding us), and that was in 2006! Then there was Heath Ledger in 2008, who I heard about through hysteric text message, and of course Michael Jackson, whose death I was afraid to infer from an unusually high frequency of his songs on the radio on the drive home from the grocery store. Tonight I was just browsing for something interesting in the news that I might want to write in here about, and lo and behold.
I'm interested in how quickly news crews picked up on this (she was pronounced dead at 10:04 am this morning and imdb.com has already added her date of death to her biography). Also, how quickly it spreads by word of mouth. I heard nothing of it at work tonight, but my sister just walked in the door a few minutes ago on the phone, saying, "It's a crazy world. I guess people won't miss her as much as Michael Jackson...maybe that's mean to say."

I'm also interested in the different things different news sources pick up on.

LA Times: "Bertolotti [Murphy's father] described himself as a "retired mobster" who now works in the movie business writing "scripts.""

Associated Press: "He [Murphy's father] said he used to be in the mob and served prison time on federal drug charges."

MTV.com:  ""Brittany Murphy and I did a USO Tour together in 2003," Alyssa Milano recalled. "She was a sweet soul, with a lot of talent and heart.""

MTV.com again: ""And critic Roger Ebert tweeted her praise, writing, "Brittany Murphy, dead at 32. She had a genuine quality.""

AP again: "Murphy's husband, wearing pajama bottoms and no shoes, appeared ''dazed'' as firefighters tried to save her, Staples said."

The Examiner: "The unfortunate part of all of this conjecture [about an eating disorder] is that no one could get through to Murphy even though a genuine concern about her health existed. Now, sadly, it is simply too late."

GMT, The Guardian: "Recently, after a whirlwind romance, she married the British-born producer and screenwriter Simon Monjack, from whom she appeared to have picked up something of a British accent."

The Guardian again: "Her death may not get the column inches achieved by Michael Jackson or Heath Ledger, but there was something about it which for me was unspeakably sad"

The Guardian again: "Murphy was absolutely perfect in the role [Tai in "Clueless"]: wide-eyed, immensely likeable, funny and yet shrewd – and she complimented Silverstone's deceptively airhead style tremendously."

I think the quote from the Examiner is stupid for speculating about an eating disorder and just stupid because it doesn't make sense.

I like the Roger Ebert quote because he's not giving exaggerated praise, which people tend to heap on after someone dies. He didn't say she had definite quality, he said she had A definite quality. Meaning she might not have been leading lady material according to Hollywood, but she was distinct and memorable.

I also like the article from The Guardian because it's personal. The writer doesn't just mention "Clueless" because that was one of Murphy's most well-known films the way the other articles obligatorily do. He speaks of Clueless as "sublime" and of Murphy as a gem in the role of Tai. This is different from exaggerated praise because this person genuinely means what he's saying and isn't scrounging for something heartfelt-sounding to tweet.

If I were going to write a news story about Murphy now, I'd lean more to the personal. Now's the time for that, anyhow, and by personal I mean genuine, not just good PR.

The movies the news articles like to cite as her career-defining films, and which are great, don't get me wrong, are Clueless, Girl, Interrupted, and 8 Mile. But I, for one, think that this neglects some of Murphy's greatest work. Her face is familiar to me, not necessarily because of Clueless, but because of all the popular shows she made great guest appearances in when she was younger (Boy Meets World; Sister, Sister; Frasier; many others). She also scored supporting roles in tons of comedies like Drop Dead Gorgeous (wasn't she the girl who wished she was deaf and got her wish when a stagelight fell on her head? She was hilarious! If I'm wrong about that being her, oops, but the girl who wished she was deaf was hilarious). Not to mention Just Married, Uptown Girls, and Little Black Book where she took lead roles. All silly romantic comedies I probably wouldn't admit liking, but remember being charmed by. Then she was a prostitute in Sin City, a really cool movie. There's something I like about actresses who linger somewhere just beneath the surface of diva-dom. My fondness of them is more subconscious and real from noticing them in their supporting roles, rather than something I'm spoon fed by the media.

Tea for me please

I wish I had a tea shrine, with a Buddha statue and a wide variety of all kinds of tea from all different countries and candles, incense, tupelo honey, and books of poetry. I also wish I knew how to pronounce certain kinds of tea (Mate, Ceylon) which I'm familiar with taste-wise but never can remember how to order.

I hate it when people put brands on things that really are much too broad to fall under a brand, but I went into Teavana at Lenox yesterday and was thoroughly entertained and inspired.

And the bad writer award goes to

I gave a restaurant 3 out of 5 stars on yelp, and in my review I called them "crafty jerks" for their strategic pricing of tapas items. People who know me might be able to infer that 'jerks" in this case was playful, not malicious. I understand if it doesn't come off that way to outsiders, and that's my shortcoming. But I don't think it merited the chef/owner's condescending response to the review.

After cooling off, it occurred to me that I might be reacting so strongly because I think he's right, and I feel guilty, mean, and like a bad writer. I'm struggling to review restaurants objectively while developing a distinct voice that has style and is interesting to read (and can sometimes be brazen). I may have been unfair on the review in favor of creating a certain voice, and now that I'm getting called out on it, I'm defensive. I tried to keep my temper in check while I wrote him an apologetic (though explanatory) message. Still I got a second response from him telling me my review was ignorant and a misrepresentation of the restaurant.

Rather than figure out who's wrong, I'm more interested in figuring out why both of us are flaming up about this.

First, there's the whole restaurant industry and the delicate relationship between people providing service and people paying for it (which I find fascinating). There's definite etiquette on both sides--rules on proper service/food preparation and presentation as well as rules on proper tipping/reviewing, and when the rules are violated, it can be enraging to the other member of the relationship.

Second, there's the issue of personal egos at stake. He was understandably offended to be criticized about what he does for a living. I dread to think about someone reviewing my piano teaching negatively. But I also take pride in my writing, and when someone questions the validity of what I'm saying and how I'm saying it, not to mention when the person just completely misses my tone which may or may not include subtlety and sarcasm, I'm going to be a little bruised.

Since I spent probably an inordinate amount of time mulling over this last night and this morning, I had to do something to make myself feel better. Basically, I had to admit to myself that I could've been wrong. I revised my review and decided to be more fair on the next one. It's like swallowing a horse shoe to suck up your pride and admit fault, but once you do it I think it feels much better.

Not enough people would kill for Radiohead

That's what a friend said to me once. I don't really see how anyone could dislike Radiohead. Tonight I got to thinking about why I like a band, or what makes a group legitimately good. In Radiohead's case, it's because they've created such a distinct style without resorting to fleeting trends/gimmicks. They don't try to be pretty (and, face it, they're not). They dress like normal people, kind of like bums even. Their music is it. But I'm not left wanting. Thom Yorke's pure, haunting voice, the enchanting melodies, and mega-fresh beatz are more than enough. They just play/sing what moves them, so it moves the audience. With music, you can kind of just tell when someone's following their heart and when they're in it for the fame.

Can anyone think of

a 20th century American coming of age story with a female protagonist?

I never thought about it. But my friend Molly pointed out that McCullers's The Heart is a Lonely Hunter is one of the only ones (and even then, the female is just one of a a few main characters and the others are male). Mick is a pre-teen awkward kind of tomboyish girl who smokes cigarettes and climbs things and has a severe physical and emotional reaction when she listens to classical music. She doesn't even have a girl's name really. Just something to think about.

Your concept of sound is very pastel

Dr. Fredriksen said today.

erggggghhh no it's not! In my head, it's vivid. Colorful. Maybe I don't hear red when I play in C Major like Scriabin, but with certain pieces (including the nocturne I played for him), I know with certainty, albeit abstractly, how they should sound/feel. I know what notes I want to have more gravity, I know when it should be warmer or fiercer, I know what my heartbeat should feel like before I start.

It's an issue of technique that's keeping me from communicating. And maybe just not listening to myself with enough of an out-of-body point of view. It's kind of like how I figure I come off in some social interactions--I think I'm coming off a certain way but sometimes it just doesn't rub the person the right way. Communication has always been a woe of mine, maybe one of the reasons I was so drawn to writing (to spend more time around confusing, ambiguous, wonderful language) and to music (for the beauty of ideas that are maybe beyond words).

Battling

OK. I tried the just forget about it approach, telling myself it's all mental and there's really not a problem, so why can't it go back to feeling the way it used to when I would play? I tried trying to make my fingers strong, but different teachers will tell me different things about whether that's good or bad, and I'm probably making too big a deal out of it. I tried physical therapy. Now, after my lesson with Dr. Rosenkranz, this is what I'm going off of: give my weight to the keys, but don't let my wrist flop down--maintain a solid arch with good shock absorption; remember to lift fingers--they don't have to do ALL the work but they do have to do their job; think in terms of impulses--always start from above and incorporate lots of clean lifts from the keyboard while playing (this sort of conflicts with a thrust motion I learned from Niehaus, but the more I think about it, maybe it doesn't have to).

I still can't decide whether the warmups I do are helpful or not, because sometimes I won't do them and I won't notice a difference. Today I didn't do one. And today it felt horrible to play for the first 45 minutes or so. It felt so foreign and painful and I found out it's probably a bad move to play really introspective and emotional Beethoven sonatas when you're going through an emotionally difficult battle, because I got emotional in the practice room. I wondered WHY I have to be going through this, what I did wrong to deserve this. I probably believe in karma too much and I have a taste for drama. Anyway, the hopelessness got channeled into restless anger. I was not going to settle. I refused to believe I don't have control over the situation, so I stopped being weepy and started bouncing around trying to get the blood flowing into my hands. It was unbelievably chilly indoors for December, and I wondered if that had anything to do with anything. I did some rapid sun salutations next to the 9-foot grand I was lucky enough to snag. I swear every bone in my body cracked; I must not have moved very much today (makes sense since I was sitting in an office all day). I threw my arms around until they were floppy like Raggedy Ann and they had no choice but to be limp and relaxed. I blew hot air on my palms and rubbed them together like I was trying to start a fire. I screamed at my brain in case it was playing a trick on me and fabricating the pain.

Then I kept Rosenkranz's wisdom in mind and sat down to play again. Something worked, at least a little. I could play the Chopin nocturne with enough volume to create satisfying angst at the climax, which was enough. God I miss being able to run downstairs in my PJs, throw my hands on the keyboard, and go. It used to feel so good. I wonder if every great pianist has gone through a physical battle like this. Except it's not just physical. In fact, on a bad day, it's heartbreaking.