Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are is one of those books that I’ve loved as both a little girl and a grown woman. Visually it appeals to me enormously, the illustrations are gorgeous, but beyond that I’ve always been fascinated by the story (simple and epic all at once), by Sendak’s sly sense of humor, by the sense of joy and the edge of darkness the book contains. In a lot of ways Where the Wild Things Are has always struck me as a story that works on a primeval, Jungian level charting the child’s process of identity building in a mythic fable. Growing up is like Max’s journey. You over step boundaries, you reject authority, you play with other roles and unacceptable behavior, you run amok but then hopefully you return your parents, your home, to love and safety and order.

I felt like Spike Jonze’s Where the Wild Things Are film did a really good job with the difficult task of adapting Sendak’s book. The movie is visually striking in its own right and doesn’t slight either the playfulness or the sometimes menacing edginess of the original.

Screenwriters Jonze and David Eggers stay true to the narrative outlines sketched by Sendak while fleshing out the story. We see a bit more of Max’s home life than the book shows. Nine year old Max (Max Records) is an extremely creative little boy with a rambunctious streak. His older sister can’t be bothered with him and his divorced, working mother loves and encourages him, but sometimes she kind of wants a life of her own. At school his science teacher talks about the sun dying. Wanting attention, confused, angry, sad and frightened all at once Max lashes out. First he trashes his sister’s room after her friends wreck the igloo he’s built. Then he behaves badly indeed when his mother has a (male) friend over for dinner, eventually biting her before he flees.

Max arrives in the world of the Wild Things to find one of them, Carol, in the process of breaking things. Max immediately identifies, as well he should. The Wild Things, especially Carol, are like giant, motherless children. Theirs is an id level world of joyful rough and tumble anarchy on one hand and frightening destructive violence on the other. Initially they consider eating Max but when he assures them he can do away with sadness and loneliness and make it so they’re happy all the time they make him their king. They all have wonderful, raucous fun together and Max sets them to work building the ultimate fort but the family of the Wild Things is no without it’s conflict and Max isn’t able to make them go away. Carol ultimately becomes as frustrated with Max as Max became with his mother and like Max lashes out.

The themes of the fallibility of authority figures and the currents of destructiveness that exist even in loving families are new to the film version of Where the Wild Things Are. There was a certain gleeful amorality to Sendak’s version but in the film it’s spelled out more clearly the ways Max grows through his experiences among the Wild Things—he returns because his time as king has taught him empathy for his mother.

I’m going to see the film version of Where the Wild Things Are tomorrow.  I’m really excited about it since it’s based on what probably was my most favorite picture book when I was little.  

 

My mother is going with me, she’s a children’s book dealer and loves Maurice Sendak (as do I).  Of course I sort of got her to accompany me on false pretenses.  I deliberately failed to mention to her that Where the Wild Things are was directed by Spike Jonze, the man who brought us Being John Malkovich.  I’m not sure how or why, but years ago mum somehow managed to get into a showing of Being John Malkovich and will occasionally make reference to “that awful film with the lesbians.”  Mum really is-- how do they say it-- a piece of work.

I wrote most of this in August but only just got around to finishing it up. I’m currently into Season 3 of Dexter--

I recently watched the first two seasons of the Showtime series Dexter. At roughly the same time I was also reading the manga Death Note (I’m on volume 9 of 12) and I find myself sort of fascinated by the striking similarities and differences between these two series.

( cut for spoilers )

I managed to do Master Cleanse for the entire five day period I set for myself and I’m feeling a bit more in control of myself after my recent indulgences.

I spent my first six nights back in New York at my parent’s house, but on Friday afternoon moved in with my grandmother. So far things are going well though it’s a period of adjustment for both of us, not to mention her cat who doesn’t like the fact that there’s a stranger living in his house.

After a week of using my parent’s computer with dial-up I once again have my own computer and a high speed internet connection. I’m not sure how I’m going to pay for it of course as I don’t have an income. Still, I’ve applied for a couple of jobs and at my father’s insistence also put in for unemployment. I’m pretty sure won’t qualify as I voluntarily resigned from my job but Pa still thinks that I may be eligible.

Thursday was my last day of work.

Friday was my going away party. General debauchery. I wore what is called a “Wicked Fairy” wig that I got at Walgreen’s last year for $7.99.


My going away party.

Saturday I took my precious/much reviled kitty over to my sisters to live.

Me and kitty.

Sunday I went over to my sister’s for my niece’s 5th Birthday celebration.

Monday Brown Elephant, a local thrift shop affiliated with the Howard Brown Center for gay and lesbian health came and picked up a lot of my furniture.

Tomorrow my Pa-Daddy arrives from NY.

Wednesday will be devoted to cleaning my apartment and giving up my keys.

Thursday I head to New York.

I finished work at Whole Foods today.

I'm all done and I'm never going back.

I ought to be afraid, given that I'm now officially unemployed in the middle of a recession but I'm oddly elated.

Tomorrow is my going away party then I have a couple days to get organized as far as getting rid of my car and furniture. My father will be here on the 22nd and on the 24th (very early in the morning if I know my Pa-Daddy) I will quit the great city of Chicago.

I am, to quote Little Red Riding Hood from Into the Woods "excited and scared."

In lieu of a carefully constructed and well thought out review (I have to write one at some point) a few random thoughts on my favorite basterds….

I’ve really never found Brad Pitt attractive. Maybe it’s because I associate him with dark, goofball roles in films like Seven Monkeys and Kalifornia. Even in Fight Club he stuck me as more goofy than sexy. His Inglourious Basterds character, who I see as a sort of a dumb, vicious cracker is funny doesn’t really hold much appeal for me.

Sgt. Donnie Donowitz aka “The Bear Jew” (Eli Roth) is definitely built but a little too violent for my tastes. Also he directed Hostel, which may or may not make him a truly frightening individual.

Overall I’d have to say that Pfc. Smithson Utivich aka “The Little Man” (B. J. Novak) is my favorite of the Inglourious Basterds. I love the way he’s nervously drinking wine during the last scene when he and Lt. Aldo Raine have been captured by Landa and are basically negotiating the terms to end the war. It’s one of the few endearing traits displayed by a character in the film.

Second favorite Basterd (and I wish the film had gotten in a little more of him) is Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz (Til Schweiger) cuz he’s just crazy, motherfucker. There’s a moment we look inside his head and there are whips and chains.

Last night my former employer Biff took me out to Lula Cafe, a Logan Square restaurant, for a farewell dinner. I had a really good meal and a really good time.

Biff brought along Julian, his 14 month old son. Even though I’m a confirmed spinster there really is something about little ones that makes you see everything as if for the first time. I had the best time feeding and fussing over Julian.

I brought him a gift, a pull-along zebra toy that I got at Building Blocks, a toy shop right near the store where I work but I also brought a box of organic vanilla snack treats with the Sesame Street character Zoe on them that we sell at the market. Julian loved the vanilla snack treats and also ate voraciously from what Biff and I ordered.

I had lula maki (veggie sushi) as an appetizer, tineka--a spicy peanut butter sandwich and coleslaw—as an entree and for desert little scoops of blueberry, sweet corn sorbet with miniature Johnny cakes topped with blueberry syrup. Very eclectic and delicious and wonderful.

Julian shared everything with me as well as what Biff ordered (an heirloom tomato appetizer and I don’t remember the rest.) He’s an extremely good eater, that boy. It’s funny, while I was playing with Julian and feeding him from my plate I realized that there are a lot of adults who probably wouldn’t be so open to a little guy and would see it as disruptive and for the first time I felt like a good aunt, like I was willing to make the extra effort for my niece and nephew when they were tiny, and to accept and love them.

I feel like that’s really important.

Packing up my books. 

 

So many books too pack.  I’m sort of awed at the amount I’m accumulated in the past six years.  I’ve been able to weed out some but there’s a lot I can’t part with—my copies of the Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Chronicles of Narnia and His Dark Materials series, Angela Carter, Lovecraft, Maurice Sendak, stuff on women artists and Japanese pop art, graphic novels, manga.  Actually far too much I can’t part with. 

 

Because my father will be helping me load all the boxes of books that I’ve been packing I’ve been trying to arrange things tastefully in such a way as to avoid potential awkwardness.  For example I’ve been careful not to put anything like my copy of The Joys of Gay Sex where it’s too readily apparent.  There are some things you just don’t want your Reverend Daddy knowing about you. 

Tarantino’s latest film Inglourious Basterds opens tomorrow.  It looks pretty ugly and violent, yet I find that I’m still excited to see it.  Kill Bill was released right after I moved to Chicago and was the first film I saw on my own in the city.   Inglourious Basterds will probably be the last film I watch as a resident of Chicago and I guess I see an odd sort of synchronicity to this. 

Tagged by sakru909

1. Lots of pillows or just one?
I sleep with two pillows.

2. What kind of books do you read?
I read all kinds of things—fantasy, young adult novels, genre fiction, literature, non-fiction. I’m a more or less voracious reader.

3. What are your most awesome skills?
I can paint and write, I’m a wicked fast typist, I give great massages, I’m an excellent listener.

4. What's your occupation?
Over qualified supermarket cashier, for the next month anyways.

5. What's really creepy?
This nasty old man/woman/thing that comes in the store where I work everyday to buy fish and wants to play koochie koochie koo with all the babies. Ick.

6. What's the last thing you ate?
What I call the “big salad”. A head of lettuce, two slices of low cal wheat bread, three stalks of celery, a peach, no-cal salad dressing, a tomatoe, and hot sauce.

7. What's been making you smile lately?
Reconnecting with old friends on Facebook, my kitty, co-workers.

8. What websites do you always visit when you go online?
Livejournal is my #1, but I’ve gotten into facebook recently.

9. What was the last thing you bought?
A bottle of Big House red wine and a bottle of diet Sunkist soda.

10. What's the cutest thing you've seen today?
My fluffy kitty.

11. Do you get cravings? If so, what do you crave?
Yes, for hummus and pita, ice cream, all sorts of things I forbid myself. Lately I’ve been giving in a lot more than I like.

12. Who would you go gay/straight for?
I’m bisexual so I’m pretty much game….

13. What is your zodiac sign?
Capricorn on the crusp of Aquarius. Simultaneously pragmatic and earthy and eternal age of Aquarius…..

14. Do you want to learn another language?
It’d love to, unfortunately I have a learning disability that makes it really difficult.

15. Can you do any accents? If so, which?
When I was a teenager my sister and I would do phony British accents a lot but I doubt they were convincing.

16. Favorite place you've ever been?
San Francisco, Chicago, home.

17. Shoes or barefoot?
Barefoot. When I was a kid I went barefoot so often the soles of my feet were leather tough.

18. Say something to the person who tagged you.
She’s really great, very open minded and brave for such a young woman.  I love hearing from her.

19. What are you reading right now?
The Illustrated Mum by Jacqueline Wilson. A young adult novel that’s sort of the dark side of the alternative family.

20. What do you love right now?
Mad Men. Kitty. Wine. My family. My co-workers- they’re really great people, I just don’t like the job.

21. Who is your celebrity crush?
My all time celebrity crushes are Jeremy Piven and Tim Roth for the boys and Kate Winslet for the girls. Also half the cast of True Blood (Eric, Bill, Sookie….).

22. What are you going to do next year?
Live with my grandmother in Upstate NY, visit old friends, find a job, start going to church again, find some peace.

23. Does the weather affect your mood?
Very much.

24. What song is in your head right now? If the answer is none, what's the last song you had in your head?
Nina Simone’s “Feeling Good”, “Rave On” by Buddy Holly.

The Mad Men version of me.



(I am very much looking forward the the Season 3 premiere on Sunday).

On Saturday a woman I work with was offering a free yoga class in my neighborhood so I went to it. 

 

I have reached the conclusion that I’m weak.  It’s actually pretty pathetic.  I walk for at least 45 minutes every day so you’d think I’d be in okay shape but I seem to have no upper body strength.  Since the class I’ve been trying to do a few basic yoga poses on my own everyday.  My ultimate goal is to someday be able to hold downward dog for more than 5 seconds without shaking. 

 

I’m afraid I’ve sort of fallen off the wagon of The Artist’s Way.  I’m on week six of the twelve week program and I’ve missed my artists date for this week and last.  Also I’ve gotten very sporadic about doing my morning pages; much less the exercises recommended each week.  I’m not sure at this point if I’ll try to hang in there and try to get back on track or if I’ll call it quits for now and try again in a few months when I’m not going through such a radical transitional phase. 

I finally finished George R.R. Martin’s A Storm of Swords yesterday.  I have quite literally been reading it for the last two months—I started it when I was visiting my parents in New York back in May.  An excellent book in an excellent series but my God I am glad to finally be done with it. 

 

I probably would have finished A Storm of Swords several days ago, but I was delayed by a week of “reading deprivation” where I didn’t read anything much longer than a facebook status update.  No books, comics/manga, or articles of any kind.   I subjected myself to as part of week four of The Artist’s Way and I can safely say that it was not a pleasant experience.  According to The Artist’s Way, reading can be used as an escape that allows you to avoid your own feelings.  I have to concur.  I definitely use reading that way.  You might say it’s my drug of choice so going without it for a week was pretty excruciating and my anxiety level was very high.  I’m afraid I ended up utilizing a lot of other distractions (watching episodes of Veronica Mars) instead of actually sitting with my feelings or doing anything creative. 

 

Still, I was able to channel some of the energy I usually devote to reading into positive avenues.  I did some writing and painting and made significant progress with my apartment cleaning.  At the end of the week I took four big boxes worth of junk to a nearby thrift shop as well as tossing a lot of old magazine clippings and other stuff that I’ve stockpiled over the years.  Also I was able to put together and send out packages of artwork in a pretty efficient manner.  I’m happy (and extremely surprised) that I made it through with only one real slip—I briefly got caught up reading about tropes in Dexter on tvtropes.org (more on Dexter later). 

A couple of weeks ago I made up my mind that I would be moving back to my hometown in Upstate New York and even took the steps of informing my landlord and supervisor at work.

This morning I talked to my dad and we worked out when I’ll be leaving Chicago in September right after my niece’s 5th Birthday which is on 09/20/09. My father (who is capable of making long road trips on his own) will be driving out with his van and we’ll drive back to New York together. I’m going to be giving up my beat up 1999 Ford Escort which isn’t up to making the cross country trip. When I get to New York I’ll be able to use my grandmother’s car as she really can’t drive any more.

My pragmatic, Capricorn side is exerting itself at the moment and existential angst over whether or not I’m making the right decision has taken a back seat to practical consideration of dismantling my apartment.

I’ve started the whole elaborate process of cleaning and sorting out what I’m going to keep (clothes I wear regularly, books, CDs and DVDs) and what I’m going to throw or give away (everything else). Going through my stuff I find that I have a lot of artwork—fan art, drawings and some small craft stuff I’ve done-- that I really can’t take with me and can’t bear to throw away.

So I thought I’d offer it up.

If you’re interested in receiving a handmade drawing/collage/craft item comment on this post and/or email me the request along with your address at bitter_fig@yahoo.com and I’ll pick someone out for you from my stash and send it along. Of course I don’t have a bottomless stack of stuff to give away so it’ll be on a first come, first serve basis.

Edit 07/20/09-- I'm pretty much out of artwork now so I'm closing the offer. Thanks everyone for your interest.

Back on the 25^th of June, at the suggestion of my livejournal friend nolan_ash who sent me a copy of the book, I started doing The Artist’s Way, a 12 week program created by Julia Cameron that’s designed to help you get in touch with your creativity. 

 

The program involved “morning pages”, three longhand pages written out everyday as soon as you wake up, a weekly “artists date” where you go do something that nurtures your creativity and a variety of exercises and affirmations most of which involve taking baby steps towards doing things that will enrich your life.  It’s a very spiritual program, very much based on the idea that creativity comes from a divine source and flows through everyone, which is something I’ve always believed. 

 

 Thus far, doing The Artist’s Way is turning out to be a really good experience.  It encourages small acts and it’s gotten me to do things like make a collage and go out to a coffee show, little things that are a big deal for me. 

 

Because I manage to do some writing and a little art here and there I’ve never thought of myself as creatively blocked however working the program has made me realize how passive and stagnant I am about a lot of things.  I’ve never really defined what kind of life I want, much less worked towards it.  I think I’ve always believed that I should take what I get so it’s very hard (and scary)for me to imagine what sort of life would make me happy and if you can’t imagine something you can’t exactly take steps to make it a reality. 

Early this year I was driving home from work listening to NPR as usual and I heard an episode of the show To The Best of Our Knowledge that focused on Science Fiction and Fantasy literature.  Along with pieces on my longtime favorites H. P. Lovecraft and Ursula K. LeGuin, there was also an interview with an author I was less familiar with, George R. R. Martin, about his multi-volume fantasy series A Song of Ice and Fire. 

 

Because several of my fandom friends (including etrangere who has pretty impeccable taste) have mentioned an interest in A Song of Ice and Fire I paid special attention to the radio piece and found it pretty fascinating.  They talked about the complex religious systems portrayed in the books and I also discovered that Martin was the author of Fevre Dream and The Armageddon Rag, two of the more imaginative novels I read when I was a teenager going through my vampire phase. 

 

Based on this, I decided I’d give the series a try and picked up a copy of the first volume A Game of Thrones at the library.  I think I was on the second chapter when a bullying brother pinched his sister’s nipples and complained that he had to sell her off instead of marrying her himself as was the family way.  By page fifty there was full on incest between another brother and sister.  At this point, I knew A Song of Ice and Fire was for me. 

 

It’s not just the incest of course, though that’s what hooked me.  A Song of Ice and Fire is a truly extraordinary series.  Martin has created a world that includes geography, history, politics, several different religious systems, class structure and the cultural differences of different cities, regions, countries and peoples and conveys it in perfectly realized detail.  Despite the hundreds of characters and scores of noble involved in the story I found entering the world the A Song of Ice and Fire fairly effortless.  I absolutely devoured the first book of the series as well as the second (A Clash of Kings) and am about 2/3 through the third (A Storm of Swords which is about 1,100 pages long). 

 

The basic story of A Song of Earth and Fire centers on the Seven Kingdoms, a land where summers that last for years are followed by long and brutal winters.  To the North, in Winterfell, live the Stark family whose emblem is the Direwolf and who’s motto is “Winter is coming”.  The serious minded, uncompromising patriarch of the family is Ned Stark, an old friend and battle companion of Robert, the king who sits on the Iron Throne after deposing the near mythical house of Targeryen some years before.  Once handsome, charismatic, fun-loving and warm-hearted, being king has broken down Robert’s body and spirits leaving him embittered and a slave to his appetites for food, women and drink.  When Robert’s chief advisor or Hand dies (under suspicious circumstances), Robert names Ned to the position.  The Stark family, including Ned’s wife Catelyn and their five children, four boys (one illegitimate) and two girls who ranging in age from 16 to 4. 

 

The Stark’s are central to the novel and most of the chapters are narrated from the perspective of various family members yet at the same time other chapters are shown from the point of view of their enemies.  The novel is an epic but character driven.  The use of multiple points of view allows for an extremely complex chorus of voices but never for stagnant narration or the simplistic taking of sides. 

 

I like very much that women and girls are included among the characters that Martin follows closely.  Also, he does something very rare in a medieval fantasy; he spotlights characters that are not able-bodied.  Early in the first novel Ned Stark loses the loss of his legs in a fall yet continues to play an important role in the novel.  Perhaps one of the most important of the characters outside the Stark family is Tyrion Lannister, the younger brother of Robert’s Queen.  Tyrion is a dwarf, referred the disparagingly as “the imp” yet he too is an important player in the novel. 

 

A Song of Ice and Fire works on multiple levels.  Often, the books read like historical fiction telling of battles but just as often of statecraft, of alliances and the shifting ground of political maneuvering.   In many ways it dovetails nicely into my recent obsession with the Tudor and Elizabethan periods of English history.  There’s every bit as much intrigue and Robert, the golden hero who matures into an overweight, frustrated and harried monarch certainly bears more than a passing resemblance to Henry VIII (also his wife is cheating on him with her brother, a charge that Henry VIII made against Anne Boleyn….) 

 

Sometimes it’s easy to get so caught up in the politics and faux-historical aspect of A Song of Ice and Fire that you forget you’re reading a fantasy novel.  This makes the intrusion of magic all the more shocking when it does manifest.  The fabric of reality seems to tear for both the characters and the reader.  The appearance of magic in A Song of Ice and Fire is never casual or predictable.

 

Along with actual magic, there are fairy tales tropes woven into the books-- A girl given three wishes, a beauty loved by a beast, an exiled princess cast out with nothing who overcomes obstacle after obstacle on her quest to be Queen*.  As I’ve said it’s an extremely rich series that operates on many different levels.  I find myself simultaneously wanting to tear head-long through the entire thing and to go slowly making it last for as long as I can.

 

*This character, Daenerys Targaryen is my absolute favorite but this is a pretty casual overview of the series and I can’t talk about her too much without revealing several key plot-points. 

 

 

 

After an unseasonably cool spring, summer has come down full force on Chicago. During the past week it’s like we’ve gone from April to August, the past few days have been oppressively hot. Tuesday night it was so bad I actually slept on my balcony. It was cooler but I ended up with a crink in my neck from being on the ground with only a thin mattress pad so last night I was back to my bed. The problem I have with hot nights is that I tend to sleep very lightly and have bizarre and vivid dreams (such as the disturbing one I had several nights ago about my grandmother being murdered). The problem I have with hot days is that I don’t function. I was off work for the past two days and I swear, both my kitty and I spent the whole time lying around in a semi-catatonic state.

Last night at about 8:00 p.m. there was a motorcycle accident right in front of my building. I didn’t see it but I heard a crash and then screaming and commotion outside and when I went to the window there was a man lying between the motorcycle which was on its side and a parked car. Because it was so warm there were a lot of people on the street and several had cell phones so an ambulance came right away. In Illinois, you’re not required to wear a helmet when you ride on a motorcycle and the man who had been in the accident was bleeding from his head pretty badly, another man was holding a towel to the wound and I could see that it was soaked with blood. The man was taken away in the ambulance and later that night a truck came and picked up the motorcycle, but when I came down this morning the blood-stained towel was still lying in the gutter right outside my building. Sort of scary. I can watch pretty violent movies but seeing people hurt and bloodshed in real life shakes me up.

I’ve come to the realization that I haven’t been a very good role model lately. A couple of days ago I posted some recent photos of myself stating that I’d taken them to reassure myself that I wasn’t unattractive or overweight. Everyone seemed interested in seeing what I looked like and was very supportive, but I can’t help thinking I was conveying a message that I don’t want to be sending out—that you’re somehow okay if you’re thin and attractive, implying that if you’re not thin or if you deviate from conventional beauty standards there’s something wrong with you or that you are in some way inferior.

This is simply not true.

I was overweight until I was twenty two years old. During that time I felt like being overweight was what was wrong with me. For the last fifteen years I’ve been anorexic, underweight and in a healthy weight range yet I continue to obsess about my weight. Clearly the weight itself isn’t the issue. It’s some deep seeded inability to love and appreciate myself and feel comfortable in my own skin.

But no one is an island. The things I write and do and say make an impact on other people and I want to have a positive impact. It doesn’t help anyone to see me obsessing over being overweight and unattractive. In fact it may do harm as it reinforces the idea that being overweight is something horrible to fear and dread. I want to try and be more conscious of the messages I’m sending out. When I can’t stay for dinner with my niece and nephew because I’m afraid I’ll overeat I’m telling them that my weight matters more than they do, that food is dangerous, that being thin is important and desirable over all else. I don’t want that.

I want to try to be conscious of the messages I send about food, body image, self-worth and what’s important and I’m going to try to send positive message that are in accordance with the things I really believe rather than the distorted values of my eating disorder. I want to be a better role model to girls and other women and send out helpful rather than harmful messages. Maybe if I do, I’ll even start to believe them myself.

I had been planning on going to see Amber Benson (Tara from Buffy The Vampire Slayer) this afternoon. She was making an appearance at a comic shop in the neighborhood promoting her novel Death's Daughter. Unfortunately I had thought it was going to be next week, so I'd made a doctor's appointment for the same time and I sort of had to go so instead of seeing Tara real live in person I got to spend 35 minutes waiting for the doctor to see me. Alas and alas.