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It is wildly windy here, with bright sun and fast clouds. I went out for a bit and it is cold! No walk today.
We're headed to Chicago next week to see the Ring Cycle with Placido Domingo, Jane Eaglen, and others. I've watched most of it on NPR, but not quite sure I'm up to sitting through it. I like the myth and drama of it and the story--and some of the music--but it's four long nights, and I do mean long--some are five hours. Bill is much more in love with 19th century music than I am, and this is partly a treat to him. We'll also see John Malkovich at Steppenwolf and I hope a performance of the Kabuki Lady Macbeth--and maybe the opening game or one of the early games of the Cubs. Plus cheese (and many other edibles) but there's a new cheese boutique now in the next block where I plan to spend many, many calories. Cheese reviews will follow.
I don't much like the word "cheese." It's too close to "grease," maybe, or something. "Fromage" and "queso" are so much nicer, but even better are the lovely proper names--cambozola, manchego, peccorino romano, bruder basil. At Thanksgiving, my son, his partner, and I were walking at Pt Reyes and found ourselves in a cattle pasture. The cows were very kindly and welcoming, and I was delighted later in the week to discover that they were the Cowgirl Creamery cows--got some of their Mt. Tam cheese at the wonderful market in the Ferry Building.
But I sat down to write about the movie we saw last night and the book I just read.
We finally got to see The Merchant of Venice with Al Pacino. I liked it very much. Pacino and the director, Radford, managed to handle the potential anti-semitism fairly well with scenes at the beginning establishing the accepted attitudes towards Jews--and echoed them later, undercutting some of the sympathy for Antonio and Nerissa--and Jeremy Irons assisted in that with his version of Antonio as one of those bigots who likes to look polite, but occasionally lets it out. Portia's long delay in resolving the case in the trial seems not quite so manipulative--the watcher's just a bit glad that Antonio has to pay something, since we have so much sympathy for Pacino's Shylock. The actor playing Portia--Lynn Collins--is someone I don't know, but liked her as well. Fiennes was OK, but then Bassanio is overshadowed by the other three characters until he seems almost as gratuitous as Nerissa and Gratiano (I know he's a central plot device, but still a less interesting character).
And I read Perfect Circle by Sean Stewart. Stewart is one of my favorites, partly because I love the magic worlds he creates (where magic is not a very nice thing) and partly because his books are so varied. This one is much more realistic--great parts of it could be a realism novel, almost. But the main character sees dead people. It kind of fits into the working-class Houston locale, with multiple family complications laced through it. The narrator's gift leaves him broke and unemployed, but still loving his daughter and ex-wife. The ghosts are so depressingly believable. I like Stewart because his books show him growing as a writer, I think. But I have liked them all.
And I really sat down to see what everybody's saying about Stardust. Onwards--I'll get where I'm going, sometime.
We're headed to Chicago next week to see the Ring Cycle with Placido Domingo, Jane Eaglen, and others. I've watched most of it on NPR, but not quite sure I'm up to sitting through it. I like the myth and drama of it and the story--and some of the music--but it's four long nights, and I do mean long--some are five hours. Bill is much more in love with 19th century music than I am, and this is partly a treat to him. We'll also see John Malkovich at Steppenwolf and I hope a performance of the Kabuki Lady Macbeth--and maybe the opening game or one of the early games of the Cubs. Plus cheese (and many other edibles) but there's a new cheese boutique now in the next block where I plan to spend many, many calories. Cheese reviews will follow.
I don't much like the word "cheese." It's too close to "grease," maybe, or something. "Fromage" and "queso" are so much nicer, but even better are the lovely proper names--cambozola, manchego, peccorino romano, bruder basil. At Thanksgiving, my son, his partner, and I were walking at Pt Reyes and found ourselves in a cattle pasture. The cows were very kindly and welcoming, and I was delighted later in the week to discover that they were the Cowgirl Creamery cows--got some of their Mt. Tam cheese at the wonderful market in the Ferry Building.
But I sat down to write about the movie we saw last night and the book I just read.
We finally got to see The Merchant of Venice with Al Pacino. I liked it very much. Pacino and the director, Radford, managed to handle the potential anti-semitism fairly well with scenes at the beginning establishing the accepted attitudes towards Jews--and echoed them later, undercutting some of the sympathy for Antonio and Nerissa--and Jeremy Irons assisted in that with his version of Antonio as one of those bigots who likes to look polite, but occasionally lets it out. Portia's long delay in resolving the case in the trial seems not quite so manipulative--the watcher's just a bit glad that Antonio has to pay something, since we have so much sympathy for Pacino's Shylock. The actor playing Portia--Lynn Collins--is someone I don't know, but liked her as well. Fiennes was OK, but then Bassanio is overshadowed by the other three characters until he seems almost as gratuitous as Nerissa and Gratiano (I know he's a central plot device, but still a less interesting character).
And I read Perfect Circle by Sean Stewart. Stewart is one of my favorites, partly because I love the magic worlds he creates (where magic is not a very nice thing) and partly because his books are so varied. This one is much more realistic--great parts of it could be a realism novel, almost. But the main character sees dead people. It kind of fits into the working-class Houston locale, with multiple family complications laced through it. The narrator's gift leaves him broke and unemployed, but still loving his daughter and ex-wife. The ghosts are so depressingly believable. I like Stewart because his books show him growing as a writer, I think. But I have liked them all.
And I really sat down to see what everybody's saying about Stardust. Onwards--I'll get where I'm going, sometime.