New Boyfriend is Up!

Tall, scruffy, Canadian, AND left-handed.

I’d say more, but I might lose my composure.  Can’t be having that, no sir.

Go read it and then come back here to chat!

http://megwood.com

BOOK: The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner.

I read this novel for the first time when I was about fourteen years old. My mother was a Faulkner fan, and I wanted to be as cool as my moms, yo, so I picked it up and, lo and behold, devoured it in a single weekend. A year later, I read it again, much more slowly, gradually becoming more and more intoxicated by its language and its ideas. Over the next six or so years, I worked my way through every single Faulkner novel and short story I could find, and at this point in my life, I would be surprised if there is a single thing written by the man that I have not read. And read more than once, at that.

In college, I took a lit course in which we read Absalom! Absalom!, the novel I typically cite as my all-time favorite book, and most of the discussion that week focused on how everybody but me hated Faulkner with a vengeance. Personally, I attribute this to the fact they all had been forced to read The Sound and the Fury in high school. Of all the Faulkners, S&F is my least favorite, and it would never, ever be the one I suggested someone start out with. I assume teachers always pick it because the first section is such a shining example of the stream-of-consciousness style. But it’s also a total bitch to grasp and an INSANE downer (not that the others are cheery, mind you), and the combination seems to turn people off so fast they never go back and try anything else. A crying shame, I tell you. Because William Faulkner was a genius. Ain’t no bones about it.

For those that managed to escape this one in high school and therefore have no idea what it’s about, The Sound and the Fury tells the story of the Compson family and is split into four sections, each narrated by a different family member. The first section is told from Benjy Compson’s point of view — a 33 year old man-boy with fairly severe mental retardation. The second is set about 20 years earlier and is told from the point of view of Benjy’s brother Quentin, who is one of the most heartbreakingly broken people of all time. The third is told from Quentin’s brother Jason’s perspective — he’s an asshole. And the final section is written in the third person and focuses primarily on the Compson family’s black servant, Dilsey, who is, not-so-coincidentally, the only character in the novel who isn’t a total disaster.

These are all miserable, broken people, (except for Dilsey, who is a rock of awesome) and this novel essentially tells the story of the horrible sufferings and tragedies of each of their lives. In essence, if you get into this novel deeply enough to understand what’s going on, your reward for making all that effort is a steaming pile of misery. So you can see, then, why this might not inspire further exploration of Faulkner for many people.

But for me, at the maudlin age of 14, it was absolutely life-shattering. For one thing, it was the first time I’d ever read anything that attempted to take me into the mind of someone with mental disabilities (Benjy, obviously, but also Quentin in his own damaged way), and Faulkner was so effective at it I was utterly enthralled pretty much from page one. Damn. Brilliant.

The novel also serves, as all Faulkner novels do, as one giant metaphor for the deterioration and self-destruction of the South after the Civil War. The Compsons’ lives are constantly being intruded upon by the past (which, as Faulkner writes in Requiem for a Nun, “isn’t dead; it isn’t even past”), and no matter how they thrash and struggle, there is never any freedom from it. Even when the Compsons make sacrifices to try in some way to atone for their history, those sacrifices only come back to bust them in the chops in the most painful and tragic of ways. The Compsons are like a fish caught in a net — the more they fight, the more tightly they become bound. And their fate? Also that of the fish, I’m afraid.

This focus on the past, this need to subject it to constant scrutiny and never, ever unhitch it, is hallmark Faulkner, and it, more than anything else you will ever read or see or hear (in my opinion, anyway), will teach you everything you need to know about the impact of the Civil War on our nation. Faulkner’s novels were my first introduction to the Civil War as a actual force — a force that wrought upon this country some of the most completely irrevocable grief of all time. It has always felt to me like Faulkner’s entire works represent his attempt to tell the same story over and over and over, never being satisfied with the way it came out. Yoknapatawpha County, the fictitious setting of many of Faulkner’s books, is like an open wound that’s never allowed to heal. It is a thing that represents both excruciating pain and unfailing courage. It is a sad thing. And a beautiful one.

Oh, stop. I hate talking about Faulkner. I think I love it, and then I start doing it and I hate it. I feel like everything I say comes out wrong and sounds absolutely idiotic. And besides, you either love the guy or you hate him, and I’m pretty sure there is little I can say that will swing you from one side to the other. That said, if you’ve always wanted to try a Faulkner novel and never known where to start, the one I usually recommend is Intruder in the Dust, because it’s a courtroom drama and thus is sort of like Law & Order meets Dusty Old White Literary Dude With Chip on His Shoulder. It’s much more traditionally entertaining and accessible than many of Faulkner’s other novels, but it still gives you a solid introduction to his writing style and themes.

From there, if you want to know what I’d read next, you know where to find me. Someday, and I’ll make that someday soon now that I think about it, I hope that where you’ll find me is in Oxford, Mississippi, hanging out somewhere with a cup of coffee and a book while I breathe in the same air that went in and out of the lungs of Billy F.once not that long ago. And then set his heart on fire.

“Between grief and nothing, I’ll take grief.”  — Harry Wilbourne in Faulkner’s The Wild Palms.

[LITERATURE]

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Michael Jackson Moonwalk Blog-Based Flash Mob, GO!

I wasn’t going to post about Michael Jackson’s death, because, frankly, it hit me extremely hard, and I’ve been sort of taken aback by that.  Even worse, while I’ve been grieving for the loss of the man who first made me love music — and I mean LOVE MUSIC! — I’ve been forced to encounter over and over the crass comments of assholes everywhere who seem to think it’s funny and/or good he’s dead.

And so, for that reason, I’m STILL not really going to post about Michael Jackson’s death.  And I would appreciate it if the only comments left here are comments of respect and remembrance, and not dickishness.  Thanks.

However, I just put up a status update on Facebook encouraging everybody who sees it to immediately drop what they’re doing and MOONWALK wherever they are.  Without shame!  And I want you guys in on the action! Facebook/Blog FLASH MOB is a GO!

Here’s what I want you to do:  the minute you see this post — the very minute! –  jump up and doo the Moonwalk.  I don’t care where you are — in your office, in the street, checking your iPhone in the supermarket. If you’re embarrassed, go in the bathroom and lock the door.  It doesn’t matter.

Just go do it!  Everybody!!  Then post in comments below where you were when you busted out your moves, and whether the act of doing it made you laugh with immeasurable joy.  Because that is what Michael Jackson used to do for me every time I saw him dance.

Peace out, MJ.  YOU MADE A DIFFERENCE IN MY LIFE and I hope wherever you end up next, it will be a happier place for you.

p.s. Need a refresher on the Moonwalk?  YouTube is your friend.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7MmEMrCRfc

Of Mule, Man, Mike, and Meg.

Hey, everybody!  How was your weekend?  It was good?  Oh good, glad to hear it.

I’m sorry, what was that?  Oh, you ask how MY weekend was?  Well, to be honest, my weekend. . .

KICKED ASS!

Guess who I met yesterday?

Yep, that’s me and MIKE “The Beej” FARRELL!!

Mr. Farrell was in town yesterday doing a book reading for his new memoir, Of Mule and Man, which is about a cross-country road trip he took a couple of years ago while on a book tour for his 2007 memoir, Just Call Me Mike: A Journey to Actor and Activist.   The book tour featured dozens of stops, each sponsored by an advocacy organization for human rights, and Mike did the 8000+ mile road trip alone — just him and a rented Prius, a car he nicknamed the Mule for it’s combination of  hybriditude and stubbornness.   As with the man himself, the book features an engaging, irresistible amalgam of comedy and seriousness, a combination that makes Mike Farrell the kind of  progressive thinker I think it’s easy for all sides to listen to, interact with, and learn from.  He’s a gentle soul with emphatic, passionate beliefs — a rather delicious and deadly combination.

The reading itself was amazing — he didn’t actually read from the book at all, but instead told us a few funny stories about his trip and then said he mostly wanted to hang out and chat.  So, that’s what we did!  He encouraged us to ask him anything, and our reward was getting to listen to him talk about his incredible advocacy work (special focus on anti-death penalty activism — yay, Mike!), as well as a few stories about M*A*S*H and his experiences as an actor in general.  Both of his books talk a lot about his life as an activist, if you’d like to learn more, and you can also read journals from his trips to places like Rwanda, Somalia, Bosnia, and other war-torn places on his web site, Mike Farrell Online.

After it was over, we each got a few minutes of one-on-one time with him while he signed our books, and I got to tell him face-to-face how much I respected him and how grateful I was to him and his co-stars for the impact that M*A*S*H had on me as a kid.   Being able to tell him that in person was one of the high points of my life, I kid you not.  Even better:  he seemed genuinely pleased to hear it, and was more than happy to pose afterward for the above photograph as well.

Thank you, Mr. Farrell, for being so gracious and accessible to us all yesterday, and for taking the time to talk to us about the things you are so passionate about.  You’re an inspiration.

Additional thanks go to my friend BCL, because if you hadn’t emailed me about Farrell’s reading yesterday, I would’ve MISSED IT, which would’ve been a goddamn crime.

And, of course, gratitude size XXL to my husband, Mr. Meg, whose store of patience appears to be infinite.

Great frakkin’ weekend all around, my peoples.  Might even have been one of the best.

MOVIE: Taken (2009)

It’s a rare occasion when my husband expresses an interest to hang out and watch a DVD with me, so whenever it happens, I always drop everything and leap.  That said, it’s always a challenge to pick out a movie we both want to see, unless that movie happens to be any one of the three Lord of the Ring films or Zoolander.   At the video store, I tend to gravitate towards the crap  and he tends to gravitate towards the non-crap.  Sometimes I win, sometimes he wins, sometimes we meet somewhere in the middle.

This one fits into that latter category.  Neither full-on crap, nor full-on non-crap.

Taken is about a former spy named Bryan (Liam Neeson) who recently retired so he could spend more time with his teenage daughter, Kim (Maggie Grace).   Just as they are beginning to reconnect, Kim asks for his permission to spend a few weeks in Paris with her friends.  Bryan initially refuses — he’s seen a lot in his career, and it’s made him a bit on the overprotective side.  But when his ex-wife (Famke Janssen) tells him he’s going to lose Kim if he doesn’t lighten up, Bryan reluctantly comes around, signs her paperwork, and lets her leave the country.

And so, OF COURSE, as soon as she gets to Paris, she’s promptly kidnapped by a group of Albanians who specialize in human trafficking and the sex trade.  Ain’t that always the frakkin’ way. . .

That’s about all you really need to know about the plot — unless you were born yesterday, you already know exactly where this flick is headed.   To wit: Bryan goes after her, anybody who gets in his way gets their asses kicked or killed, and blah blah blah happy ending, etc.  This movie is ridiculously predictable and, even worse, it doesn’t have much in the way of character to hold its shabby little pieces together either.

That said, it’s not completely unwatchable.  It’s sort of fun to watch Liam Neeson pretend to be Chuck Norris, for one thing, and even though I hate Maggie Grace (haaaaaate, actually), she’s not too unbearably annoying in this.  Plus, I’ll just say it:  I love Famke Janssen.  I love her.  I. Love. Her.  I have loved her ever since I first saw her in the movie Deep Rising, where she spent 106 minutes verbally sparring with ex-Boyfriend Treat Williams and physically sparring with a sea monster.  A SEA MONSTER, I said.  That’s brains and brawn, people.  Brains and brawn are my favorite.

Anyway, the husband’s comment on the movie?  “Not bad.”

I probably could’ve just made that the whole of this review and called it a day.

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Genre:  Thriller
Cast:  Liam Neeson, Maggie Grace, Famke Janssen, Xander Berkeley

BOOK AND MOVIE: The Reader by Bernhard Schlink

About two months ago, I read Bernhard Schlink’s novel The Reader.  And then about a week after that, I went to the  Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC.  In retrospect, I’m not sure I’d recommend doing those two things so close together. (Or maybe I would — I suppose having that journey be made extra-difficult is probably not such a bad thing.)  But in any case, the combination was definitely challenging, and I never did get around to writing a book review for The Reader, in part because after I was done with that one-two punch, I felt like I needed to let it go for a while.

Last weekend, I finally had both the time and the inclination to sit down and watch the 2008 film version, and now I figure I might as well review them both together.  Even though they tell the same story, they tell it very differently, and each format brings with it its own unique set of strengths and weaknesses.  So, here we go, at long last.

The Reader opens in West Germany in 1958, when a 15 year-old boy named Michael (played in the movie by David Kross as a kid, and later Ralph Fiennes as an adult) suddenly finds himself incredibly sick in the middle of the street.  A 30-something year-old woman  named Hanna sees him and helps him get home.  After he recovers, Michael goes in search of Hanna to thank her, but almost immediately, they’re hit by a rather powerful sexual charge neither one seems particularly interested in fighting.   It’s not long before they give into that charge, primarily at the instigation of Hanna who, we later find out, is a pretty damaged lady.

One of Hanna’s favorite things to do with Michael, aside from sleeping with him, is to listen to him read to her.  And, wrapped up in this little bubble world of impossible and obsessive teenage love, Michael finds himself devoting all his free time to Hanna, even at the cost of relationships with his own peers.  Then one day, Hanna simply vanishes.  Michael, confused and heartbroken, eventually manages to work through his grief and refocus his life, for the most part.  He graduates and goes on to college and then to law school.

Eight years later, while in law school, Michael is one of a group of students observing the latest in a series of WWII war crime trials.  This particular trial is of six or seven female German SS guards from a satellite prison of Auschwitz, accused of killing over 300 Jewish women by refusing to free them from a locked and burning church.   Stunned to find Hanna is one of the accused, Michael attends the trial every day, transfixed by the horrible stories that unfold in the testimony, as well as Hanna’s baffling behavior. It’s not until the last few days of the trial that Michael realizes why Hanna is behaving the way she is — a realization that sends him into a moral tailspin he is unable to fully right himself from.

What happens after the trial, and then eighteen years after that when Michael encounters Hanna again, I will leave for you to discover yourselves.  But I’ll tell you this much:  it’s pretty awful.

Here’s the interesting thing about the two versions of the tale:  after I finished the book, my predominant emotion towards Hanna was one of anger, especially after I read the final pages.  After I finished the movie, though, my predominant emotion towards Hanna was one of tremendous sorrow.   And, if not empathy, exactly, at least a smidge of compassion.  Or maybe I mean the opposite of that.  Not going to overthink it.

In any case, I can tell you in two words why my reaction to Hanna was so different from one format to the other.  The two words are:  Kate Winslet.

This movie as a whole is kind of disappointing.  If I hadn’t read the book, I probably would have found little to praise about it.  I thought the acting, aside from Winslet, was pretty weak overall, and the emotional aspects of the story all felt really heavy-handed and overly manipulative.

But Winslet was absolutely amazing, and she completely rescued the film from its lack of luster for me.  I think part of my reaction to her had  to do with my struggles with the character of Hanna while I was reading the book, and the way I was frustratingly unable to connect with that character AT ALL in print.  With Winslet behind her, though, Hanna finally became a real person to me.  Her emotions seemed so much more complicated when you could read her face in addition to listening to her words, and she was all the more devastating because of that complexity.  Even though I still didn’t feel like I really understood her — in fact, I think all I understand about Hanna is that she’s incredibly messed up — I was at the very least moved by her, and in more directions than just the anger I’d felt while reading the novel.

In any case, I think what I’m saying is that if you want to experience this story, my recommendation is that you do it the same way I did:  read the book and then watch the movie.  I don’t think either one stands very strongly on its own; they seem to work better together. Then again, even together, I have to confess I just. . . was not really all that impressed.   I know both the film and the novel won numerous awards, but I’m not sure I understand why, all things considered.  I’ve read better.  I’ve seen better.  I don’t really feel like I’ll be taking away anything significant away from this story, aside from confirmation (yet again) that Winslet is extremely talented and has very nice boobs.  So, hey.  I don’t know.  Do with this information what you will, I guess.  *shrug*

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Genre:  Drama
Cast:  Kate Winslet, David Kross, Ralph Fiennes, Bruno Ganz

BOOK: Winesburg, Ohio by Sherwood Anderson

“In her room in the shabby old hotel the sick wife of the hotel keeper began to weep and, putting her hands to her face, rocked back and forth.  The words of her one friend, Doctor Reefy, rang in her ears.  ‘Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night,’ he had said.  ‘You must not try to make love definite.  It is the divine accident of life.  If you try to be definite and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.’”

(Need I say more?  I thought not.)

[LITERATURE]

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MOVIE: The Hangover (2009)

See this picture?

Do I need to say anything else to make you want to go see this movie RIGHT NOW?  If I do, it’s not the right movie for you.  If I don’t, call me and I’ll go with you.  I’m totally serious.

This movie is terrible and hilarious.  And also: terribly hilarious.  And also:  just. . . like. . .  so terrible, oh my GOD.  And also:  absolutely frakking hilarious, seriously.

Plus: Mike Tyson singing Phil Collins.  I kid you not.

If you are having a bad day, do yourself a favor and go see this one in a crowded theater.  I did this myself last night after a rough one, and after it was all over, I WAS CURED.  Incidentally, if you can see it in a crowded theater in which at least 75% of your fellow attendees are frat boys, as I did, that’s definitely the way to go.  Once them boys start laughing, they can’t ever seem to stop, which is something I found infectious and delightful.   And that’s despite the fact that, on the way out, I got stopped by one of them and told I had the most infectious laugh he’d ever heard.  I would’ve been really flattered to hear that, actually, except that he was wearing a baseball cap on backwards and a Death Cab for Cutie tee-shirt, the sleeves of which he’d torn off to make it look tuff.   It therefore  seemed unwise to put too much stock in his judgment.  I mean, if he’s not going to, why should I?

(By the way, ten points if you can give me a citation for the term “tuff” that was later made into a movie starring Patrick Swayze.)

Zachy G, I love you.  And I’ll be darned if you don’t just look totally adorable with that baby.  Which, in the context of what I just saw last night, seems like a really terrible thing to say.  I apologize to mothers everywhere.

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Genre: Comedy
Cast:  Zach Galifianakis (I have to look that up to spell it EVERY TIME), Bradley Cooper, Ed Helms, Justin Bartha, Rob Riggle, Heather Graham

MOVIE: Star Trek (2009)

I saw this movie last Friday.  And then two days later, I SAW IT AGAIN.  And today, two days after that, I’m fighting off the urge to go watch it a third time.  Know why?  BECAUSE THIS MOVIE IS AWESOME.

I’m not going to bother telling you about the plot; the plot is completely incidental.  Instead, I’m going to give you a list of the things I loved about it:

1.  I loved that the Asian guy sitting in front of me in the theater on Friday was also bawling great big tears of unabashed geek joy by the time the closing credits began to roll.

2.  I loved that my Mom did the same thing when I took her to see it two days later.

3.  I loved that Captain Kirk was making out with a green girl twenty minutes into the picture.

4.  I loved that Scotty had a Tribble on his desk, though I did not see it myself and was merely told about it later.  I’m pretty sure this means I need a third screening STAT.  Who’s with me?

5.  I love you, Leonard Nimoy.

6.  And you as well, Bruce Greenwood.  “The Menagerie” is my favorite of the original series episodes, and I loved you dearly as Christopher Pike.  At the end of the movie, when Kirk says, “I relieve you,” and you respond with, “I am relieved” —   the way you said that,  the timbre of your voice and that slight paternal smile on your face, made me cry.  And I thank you for that.

7.  I loved that Zachary Quinto totally out-Spocked Spock, which I did not expect.

8.  I was pleased to discover that kids will still be rocking out to the Beastie Boys a hundred (or however many) years from now.

9.  I loved Uhura’s boots.  And also her eyeliner.  And also the loving, accepting, and understanding expression on her face when she asked Spock what he “needed” and he replied, “I need everyone to continue performing admirably.”

10.  I loved the introduction of McCoy to Kirk and the origin of the nickname “Bones.”

11.  I loved that Kirk’s shirt never once got torn in a fight.

12.  I loved that the away-team member who died was wearing red.

13.  I loved everything about you, Chekov, you adorable little thing.  Anton Yelchin, I loved you in Huff and I eagerly await you being old enough for me to make you a Boyfriend of the Week without feeling totally squick about it.

14.  I loved that in the opening battle scene, the moment that chick flew out into space, the soundtrack went instantaneously SILENT.  It makes my day when a sci-fi movie gets that right.

15.  I loved this:  “Your father was captain of a star ship for twelve minutes.  He saved 800 lives.  I dare you to do better.”

16.  I also loved this:  “You once asked me why I married your mother. . . I married her because I loved her.”

17.  Ooh, you know what else I loved? 

EVERYTHING ELSE.

Yes, I recognize that this movie has some flaws.  It was pretty heavy-handed, for one thing — almost every character utters their most famous tagline at some point, which was possibly a little too much, and it’s not like we couldn’t see the various plot elements coming from light years away.  Additionally, Karl Urban wasn’t playing McCoy so much as doing an impersonation of him, and he was getting that impersonation wrong 95% of the time (sorry, Karl, but you were kind of terrible in this).   The time travel stuff, while scientifically sound enough to satisfy me in theory, totally monkey-wrenched what we already know about these characters and what happens to them in the future (although, then again, maybe it doesn’t — I’d have to go back and rewatch the entire original series to make sure, which: okay!).  And finally, what’s up with J. J. Abrams and red balls of massive destruction?  (Alias fans know what I’m talking about.)  I’m starting to wonder if that guy had a really traumatic experience with dodgeball as a kid or something.

Anyway, I acknowledge all of these things as problems.  I really do.  And now that I have acknowledged them, I dismiss them completely and without hesitation.  Why? Because I do not care.  And neither should you.

J. J. Abrams, from the bottom of my heart, and the heart of every kid who credits the original Star Trek with sparking what’s since turned into a lifelong love of science and curiosity about other worlds, I thank you.  I thank you for loving it that much too, and for not being ashamed to make your love for it as completely obvious in every inch of this film as it was.

A posse ad esse.  The end.

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Genre:  Science fiction awesomeness
Cast:  Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto (Mr. Sylar if you’re nasty), Leonard Nimoy, Eric Bana, Karl Urban, Bruce Greenwood, Zoe Saldana, Simon Pegg, John Cho, Anton Yelchin

BOOK: Angels and Demons by Dan Brown

Yes, I read this.  Shut up.  I bought it for an airplane trip, and I read it on an airplane.  I feel that it’s vital I make this clear: I did not pick this book up expecting it to be GOOD.  I merely picked it up expecting it to be amusing.  And then when I saw it also happened to be about CERN (the Large Hadron Collider people in Europe), I kept reading it despite its numerous flaws because:  GEEK.

This is the prequel of sorts to The Da Vinci Code, which I never read (but I did see the movie, which I think should count for something when it comes to this genre — which is to say, the genre du crappe).  I say “prequel of sorts” because Brown actually wrote this one first, it’s just that it flopped due to its terribleness and nobody read it until the second book came out and hit the bestseller list.

Now Angels and Demons is also a movie, this time starring Tom Hanks without the bad hair, and so the paperback has worked its way back onto  airport newsstand shelves.  Coincidentally, I was recently at an airport newsstand.  And thus, this.

The plot of this novel has to do with a container of antimatter  stolen from CERN by terrorists and then hidden somewhere in the Vatican, set to blow up just as the Papal Conclave elects the new Pope.  The flaws in this novel regarding science are too many to list, but I can sum them up by telling you that there is a chapter in which the Pope’s First Officer (or whatever they call that guy in non-Star-Trek terms) delivers a speech that includes the phrase, and I quote, “science killed wonder.”

This is a phrase only someone who is completely clueless — and I mean COMPLETELY CLUELESS — about science would ever say.  Pshaw.  Utter nonsense.

Here’s the thing, though: the parts of this novel that involve running around looking for the clues that will lead Tom Hanks and Whatshername to the antimatter so they can save the Pope People?  Those parts are actually kind of  fun.  Brown’s problem isn’t that he can’t tell a thrilling story, it’s that he can’t do it without cluttering up the good parts with a lot of totally boring and pointless  crapporama.  Also, he is a bad writer — that is, his actual wordsmithing is BAD.  His writing lacks in flow; it’s choppy and amateurish.  His dialogue doesn’t feel legitimate.  His descriptions of settings and people lack creativity and panache.   And entire chapters were complete throwaways, which is something I hate with a vengeance.

What this novel needed was stronger editing, and it’s too bad it did not get it.  Did The Da Vinci Code?  If you’ve read that one and thought it was dramatically better than this one, let me know in the comments and I’ll give it a try.

I bet the movie version of this book is total goofy fun, by the way.  But I’ll definitely be waiting for the DVD.

[CRAP]

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