Thoughts in Random Patterns

The Virgin Suicides

On Memorial Day weekend Brad and I usually sit outside with binoculars trying to spot early forest fires caused by careless barbecuing activity in Eldorado Canyon State Park which borders our property.  Since we’ve had to evacuate for fire three times, once in the “just grab the family photos and the dogs and go” mode, it’s not just idle paranoia on our part.  However, this weekend we’ve imported our weather from Seattle and have had steady drizzle, then heavy rain, then fog, then some more drizzle — so fire danger is low and we’re hunkered down inside watching movies.  We’ve had the same three Netflix movies since before I left for Paris on the Ides of March, and decided to watch them.  Netflix has definitely made money on us in the last 2 1/2 months.  We watched The Skulls (which wasn’t as bad as I was afraid it would be, but just barely) and started Skulls 2 (guess which movies are Brad’s rentals?!?) before realizing after about 7 minutes that it was just like The Skulls and stopping.  Then we watched The Virgin Suicides, which is Sofia Coppola’s first movie.  I loved loved loved Lost in Translation and like to imagine it’s the kind of movie I’d make myself.  It has some of the dreamy, episodic things I’m trying to do in my writing in The North Side of Trees.  I had read The Virgin Suicides as part of my First Novels campaign, and hadn’t really loved the book — I liked its quirkiness, but felt there was a semi-misogynistic streak that repelled me.  I hoped that Brad wouldn’t exert his veto power over Chick Flicks and that Sofia’s deft touch for dark and quirky was developed here.  And indeed it was — very dark, indeed.  I told Brad I could teach a Media Studies course called “The Other Side of the Picket Fence” that would start with American Beauty and Blue Velvet, and would definitely include The Virgin Suicides.  Brad just kept saying, “Well, that was disturbing.”  I love a disturbing movie.

The Interpreter v. Star Wars Episode III - Revenge of the Sith

Brad really wanted to go see Revenge of the Sith yesterday —  without having seen Episodes I and II.  I had seen Episodes I and II and thought they were both terrible, terrible movies.  I’m no longer awed by great swaths of computer animation intended to distract from convoluted plot lines and negligible character development.  According to the review in The New Yorker,

It is true that this sixth film marks an improvement upon the last two efforts, whose combined soullessness was enough to induce paralysis, but Lucas remains wedded to a hollow, antiseptic vision of other worlds, coupled with a determination to draw the glummest possible performance from otherwise talented actors….the suspicion remains that Lucas has left deep space a far shallower place than he found it.

So after some minor thumb wrestling (I even offered to go to The Interpreter while he went to Episode III), we went to see The Interpreter, which was powerful and thought provoking and will likely disappear in the tsunami that is Revenge of the Sith.  The Interpreter stars Nicole Kidman and Sean Penn and is about international conspiracies and Africa and the wan hope that diplomacy can have impact.  I don’t know whether my attention span is inversely proportional to my age, but all movies seem to last at least 15 minutes too long, and this one was no exception, even though it’s full of intrigue and suspense and the beautiful, effortless acting of two superb performers.  It made me want to go back to Africa..

NCWIT

I went with Brad from Chicago to Washington DC for the launch event of the National Center for Women and Information Technology.  Brad and I are both enormous advocates for women’s education and believe that women achieving parity in the information technology field is an important economic issue for all of America.  We are delighted that our local congressman, Mark Udall, supports NCWIT and was able to spare some time to speak at the launch event.  Congressman Udall has a tremendous memory.  I thought the last time I had seen him was when our neighborhood evacuated for an out-of-control “controlled” burn that turned into a 60 acre forest fire last September and we were waiting at the Eldorado Market for information about when we’d have access to our house — but he accurately remembered our paths crossing at the Dulles airport in March as Brad and I transferred to a flight to Paris for my 6 week visit there.  Tremendous memory for tiny details.. 

Best wishes to NCWIT with their mission to “ensure that women are fully represented in the influential world of information technology and computing.”

Old Friends

Apologies to my friends for calling them “old,” but after spending last weekend in Chicago with a slew of Brad’s MIT fraternity brothers and their families, I’m amazed that suddenly I’ve known so many people for 20 years, and amazed how many of us awkward, geeky/nerdy, bookworm people have turned out to be decent human beings.  It was great to see people doing well while dealing with the usual life struggles (aging/ailing parents, divorce, parenting small children, career changes, etc), and nice to have the chance to just connect with friends.  Thanks to Sameer and Balaji for initiating and organizing things.  Let’s do this again next year —

Hats and Horses - The Kentucky Derby

One week ago I was in Louisville, Kentucky, fulfilling another lifelong dream by attending the Kentucky Derby.  I think there are many ways of dividing the world into two kinds of people (e.g., the people who think there are two kinds of people, and the people who don’t), and a major bifurcation is between those who are horse people and those who aren’t.  I’m definitely a horse person.  I took dressage and equitation riding lessons with my niece, Morgan, and dream of having my own horse if my life wasn’t so nomadic.  I’ve watched all of the Triple Crown on television for years, and have explored the possibility of doing a Triple Crown set of spring travels; so when the invitation came to go to The Derby, I immediately accepted.  I had a terrific time, met some great people, lost my $20 on Bandini (finished 18th out of the field of 20), and got to wear two hats.  What could be better? 

I’ve posted all of my photos into my Kentucky Derby photo album, which still has its French command options.  Instead of laboriously posting each photo into Type Pad, Windows had an option to post to the web, and then to post to Type Pad.  I don’t know if this was some kind of strategic alliance between Six Apart and Microsoft, but I loved being able to upload 174 photos automagically.  Go Type Pad!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trumpets

The usual grueling international travel experience started off with a challenge at the Paris airport where the ticket agent said that miles hadn’t been pulled for my upgrade and I didn’t have enough miles left in my account to do it, and I would have to fly coach class even though I had a little piece of paper saying I was assigned to seat 8A.  I don’t really mind traveling coach since I fit fine in the seats and I usually just read and sleep the entire time I’m on a plane.  But on a 9 hour flight it’s really nice to be upgraded.  I was really polite and spoke as much as possible in French and asked if maybe we could pull miles from my husband’s account.  Oh, no, madame, that would be completely against the rules since he’s not here to witness and sign and you have no proof he even knows you and you don’t have his account number anyway.  So then when I was able to rattle off Brad’s account number from memory, the agent actually laughed and said he’d see what he could do.  And I did get to sit in seat 8A.

Getting from the plane to the customs checkpoint in Chicago must have been a mile long walk.  It was at least 20 minutes at a brisk walking pace.  Maybe you’re observed by Customs and Border Patrol the whole way to see if you look furtive or something.  I was already exhausted, which was exacerbated by having to transfer my own 67 pound suitcase (just under the 70 pound international limit!) and my 56 pound suitcase and my roll-aboard and my laptop case through customs without my usual Brad sherpa companion.  By the time I got onto my flight from Chicago to Denver I felt pretty shaky and sick from all the adrenaline and being awake for hours and hours.  I’m not really at my best between say 2 a.m. and 4 a.m., which is what time it was in Paris.  I even pulled my little air sickness bag out of the seat pocket and had it ready in case I didn’t make it, and then fell into a deep deep sleep as soon as my stomach calmed down.  When the pilot announced that the snow had stopped falling in Denver and we would arrive early, I was really happy. 

I went to baggage claim where Brad and I had agreed to meet, and he was looking for me in the wrong direction so I got to completely sneak up on him, which was fun.  While we were hugging, I noticed that he was standing really close to someone else’s luggage, not a suitcase, but some kind of instrument case, which is when I finally saw the man with the trumpet, who proceeded to play a trumpet fanfare in my honor!  Brad and I have an old, good joke between us, which is that when he’s working and I come into the room, I’d like a flourish of trumpets since I’m a human and therefore more important and interesting than the computer (a topic we continue to actively debate).  So he sings a little trumpet call for me sometimes.  And in celebration of my return home after being gone for six weeks, he arranged for a musician from the Boulder Philharmonic to come out to DIA and give me a real welcome.  Pretty special, really thoughtful, and since I was one of the first people off the plane and scurried quickly to baggage claim, not many people saw/heard, which is just right for introverted me.  Brad really puts energy into keeping the romance alive, after almost 15 years together.  Thanks for the trumpets — I’m happy to be home.

Last Postcard from Paris

I’m back home in Boulder, where there is snow on the ground, and more falling.  It doesn’t really feel like the first day of May; but I am happy to be here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last photos I took before leaving Paris mirror the ones I posted on the vernal equinox of the trees outside my apartment with the first green leaves of spring.  Things are fully in bloom there, and the couple of days before I left the sky was blue and perfect.  Maybe I’ll go back next year for the month of May, and go skiing in Colorado in April.

I am happy to be home.  Going to Paris was a great experience for me. I’m incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to travel and explore.  I’m contemplating returning for 3 or 4 weeks in October.  I definitely improved my French!  Being out of my usual environment sharpens awareness; both of my quirky self and the quirks of others and of culture/society.  It’s like going on one of the ten day silent meditation retreats that I occasionally do — when you come back into the world everything looks magnified, both the good and shiny and the petty and mean.  I was often lonely in Paris, but a lot of the time it’s easier for me to be alone, and even lonely, than it is to deal with people.  My dogs are easy — and obviously excited that I’m home..