Our Guys

Yesterday I read Our Guys by Bernard Lefkowitz. I just stayed in and read the thing, from cover to cover. It's about a gang rape incident in an affluent suburb that involved a group of popular jocks and a retarded girl.

The boys had exhibited a range of really egregious behavior since middle school and no one did anything about it. It was like the whole town was in their thrall. They sounded like a group of major assholes. I can't imagine going to a school like that.

The book was pretty well written. Although it was kind of cheesy, it sucked me in. It provided all this background information about the town and the characters, and then more and more information came out. He didn't get to the trial till more than half way through.

Anyway, I think this will be a good book to use in class at some point.

Rose of No Man's Land

I read Michelle Tea's Rose of No Man's Land last week, finishing it on the bus to Boston. I really love her writing. She created this wonderful, alienated, intelligent character and described a kind of lower middle class lifestyle with great wit and insight. All of the relationships resonated with me: the one between the two teenage girls, the one between the sisters, the one between the daughters and the mother and boyfriend. I enjoyed it very much.

Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice

I watched this movie a week ago, the night before I went to the conference, and I really didn't care much for it. It is just too dated. The main couple who were into being super open about sex and affairs seemed very unrealistic and idealistic and also stupid. The other couple who were having marital difficulties was more interesting. But none of the relationships made sense to me.

The women were incredibly beautiful. I think one of the main draws of the film must be watching them prance around in bikinis and lingerie.

Edward Scissorhands

I watched Edward Scissorhands a few nights ago and felt so-so about it. On one hand I liked the kitschyness of it, and the sweetness. On the other it felt dated and corny and actually kind of thin.

Also, it made me kind of sad how young Diane Weist and Alan Arkin looked, actors who were older than me at the time it came out, fully adult, who now seem so dewy looking back.

Black Dog Songs

What a perfect way to spend an overly-hot Saturday. Indoors with an amazing, refreshing poetry book. Black Dog Songs, by Lisa Jarnot blew me away without intimidating me into existential paralysis. That is, they engaged me. Linguistically, technically brilliant. Playful and yet deep. Using language and meter and sound to create emotional worlds that are surreal and somehow mental, like cognitive dissonance in an urban park. Whatever that means. My favorite was a series called They. Here's one of them:

They Loved Paperclips

They loved harmony they loved ant hills they loved food and cookies and harpoons they loved the sound of laces of the shoes and snow they loved the snow on Thursdays in the rain and when they met they loved that too and igloos and the trees and things to mail and chlorine and they loved the towels for the beach and hot dogs and the pool and also when the wind rose up they loved the ceiling and the tide and then they loved the sky.

(This poem is left and right justified in the book.)

The Little Mermaid

I watched Disney's The Little Mermaid on a friend's suggestion. It was thoroughly enjoyable. Kind of fluffy and shallow, of course, but really visually gorgeous. The story didn't grip me, and I always have trouble with how evil is portrayed in Disney features, but this was just very charming. And like I said, visually delightful.

I'm sort of jealous of children. How they can get so absorbed in a story. So scared at the scary parts, so moved and the moving parts, so happy and relieved at the joyous parts. I remember that intense engagement, but it's rare that I feel it. Or, let me take that back: of course I feel it, but just not in Disney flicks...

Frank O'Hara, Darger & more

What a lovely day I had! Tits! & went to hear a tribute to Frank O'Hara in the garden of MOMO. A handful of poets read selections of his work, and some of their own. I loved hearing O'Hara's work. How easy to let his brilliance fall by the wayside, how easy to go on with life without reading his poems, which should be read, really, on a regular basis, because they are so perfect and always fresh.

Afterwards we went to the American Folk Art Museum to see a group show of work inspired by or related to Henry Darger. I love Darger, and the exhibit included many, many of his pieces, juxtaposed with those of contemporary artists. It was really a very vibrant show, with a lot of depth. I forget the names of the artists, other than Amy Cutler, whose work I'm a big fan of. But there were a handful of others' work that very much captivated me. There's a joyousness to all that is disturbing in his work that somehow was revealed. Also, the contemporary artists, no matter how excellent their work, lacked the unsettling obsessive quality his has. Which is a good thing!

(The piece pictured here is by Justine Lieberman)