I've never thought of Maggie Gyllenhaal as a traditional beauty, and am always a little perplexed when she's cast as the leading lady. (Not that I haven't enjoyed her performances - she was great in 'Secretary', for example.) But I just saw 'Crazy Heart' last night, and it finally made sense to me.
Maggie is attractive in a way that's hard to come by these days. The first thing you notice are her sleepy eyes and a mouth that seems to curl its way around her words. This gives her a quirky appeal - makes her interesting, if not exactly beautiful. Then you notice her body. It is lithe and graceful - thin without a hint of bonyness. Its unaugmented femininity is irresistible in a way that's entirely unrelated to the way that 'beauty' is customarily served up in the media. When you see Megan Fox you instantly recognize that she's A. "beautiful" and B. "hot" - in a way that makes you think of magazine spreads for lingerie. But Maggie's beauty makes you think of sex. Not sexy ads or movies or images. Real sex. And when I say 'real' I don't mean 'raw' or 'gritty' - I simply mean 'real'. You can almost feel her skin.
And for a relatively young woman she also seems to be remarkably comfortable in that skin. There is an ease about her - a sort of gentleness. So now I get it. I didn't before. Her beauty sneaks up on you. And it's all the more powerful because it is her own, and doesn't have 'the hollywood machine' stamp on it.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Friday, January 29, 2010
writer's craft
A writer when he's asked to discuss his craft ought to get up and call out in a loud voice just the names of the writers he loves. — J. D. Salinger
A friend of mine posted this quote on his facebook page, and I really like it. It reminds me that I need to read more... and I don't mean "The princess knight" or "Mrs. Piggle Wiggle" - I read plenty of books. Just need to find time to read something a little more grown up.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
To blog or not to blog...
Well, as excited as I am to have started a blog, I'm not quite comfortable with it... Mostly that has to do with the fact that I'm not really sure what a blog is supposed to be. Is it an essay? A journal that other people are invited to read? And what are the rules? Do I have to write every day? (If that's the case, I've already blown it - and it's only the third day.) Also, it's fairly inevitable that I'll end up saying something that makes me feel overexposed. Which brings me to the small matter of caring what other people might think about what I'm writing...
This worry is somewhat alleviated by writing posts on the web. For some reason typing on the computer doesn't feel as serious to me as putting pen to paper. The words seem less weighty, somehow. There's a casualness to internet writing that doesn't exist elsewhere... Not that this is going to eliminate my neurosis entirely.
But yesterday I was lucky (it would be more accurate to say "blessed") enough to meet with my mentor and spiritual counselor. Whenever I talk with him I'm better able to trust the universe. To believe that we are all connected, and that however we are (regardless others' - or our own - judgments) is exactly right. So at the moment I'm trying something new, and not fretting too much about how it will turn out.
And this morning, as if in celebration, the air was thick with snowflakes - the big floaty kind that dance awhile before they hit the ground. It will probably be gone in a few hours, but for now the park looks like Christmas. It turned out to be perfect 'packing snow' too, which we took advantage of on the way to school. Some days are for hurrying. Others are for snowball fights.
This worry is somewhat alleviated by writing posts on the web. For some reason typing on the computer doesn't feel as serious to me as putting pen to paper. The words seem less weighty, somehow. There's a casualness to internet writing that doesn't exist elsewhere... Not that this is going to eliminate my neurosis entirely.
But yesterday I was lucky (it would be more accurate to say "blessed") enough to meet with my mentor and spiritual counselor. Whenever I talk with him I'm better able to trust the universe. To believe that we are all connected, and that however we are (regardless others' - or our own - judgments) is exactly right. So at the moment I'm trying something new, and not fretting too much about how it will turn out.
And this morning, as if in celebration, the air was thick with snowflakes - the big floaty kind that dance awhile before they hit the ground. It will probably be gone in a few hours, but for now the park looks like Christmas. It turned out to be perfect 'packing snow' too, which we took advantage of on the way to school. Some days are for hurrying. Others are for snowball fights.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
flowers
1/ 25
This morning it was our turn to provide flowers for my 3 ½ year-old’s classroom. We started out early enough to stop by the corner store on our way to school (and we’re never early – so I was already congratulating myself in my head). I wasn’t stressed about time (for once) - but it was raining… I have to mention here that living next to Riverside Park is one of my most appreciated luxuries in the city, and something I am grateful for every day. However, when it’s spitting rain, and the wind off the Hudson is wrestling umbrellas from pedestrians’ hands at every turn, navigating a stroller can be somewhat of a challenge. By the time we got to the store I was wet, cranky, and impatient... I told Jemma to hurry as she got out of the stroller to browse through her flower options.
Now, it’s a mother’s instinct to guide her child to make good choices. We tell ourselves that what we teach our children will serve them well later in life – and in many cases this is true. But “picking your battles” isn’t always about battles… Sometimes it feels desperately important that your child wears an outfit that looks cute (i.e. something that won’t clash too badly with her shock of flame red hair) when all she wants to put on is a too-small dress in a vibrant shade of fuschia.
This isn’t about character-building… and it's not about the child. It's about you - your ego, and wanting your child to reflect well on you. Maybe you want your kid to listen to 'cool' music, or perhaps you want to cultivate ‘good taste’ in your child (Personally, I’m pretty sure I don’t have good taste… my fashion sense is second only to my miserable sense of direction as a source of ridicule among my sisters). There's a natural urge to mold your offspring into little clones of yourselves. But (as great a plan as that may seem) the more I think about it, the more I think parenting is an opportunity to discover who your child is – to participate in who they are becoming - rather than a chance to shape them into something specific. Sure, they need our input and direction at times… But the simple truth is that they are not us – they’re unique individuals blossoming before our very eyes.
So when Jemma pointed to a row of flowers and said, “I want those ones!” I hopefully asked, “The irises?” For a moment I thought that my daughter might have started to like ‘good flowers’ - elegant, tasteful, expensive flowers… “No, Mommy. Those ones.”
At this point I have to admit I was sorely tempted to resort to manipulative tactics – after all, the teachers might think our family was ‘tacky!’ I nearly talked my daughter into making a different (read “better”) choice... But I resisted.
“Oh...” I said, “those... blue daisies?” Her delight was obvious,“Yes!” We paid the cashier and headed off to school. Jemma carried the flowers herself, trailing drops of blue dye behind her.
This morning it was our turn to provide flowers for my 3 ½ year-old’s classroom. We started out early enough to stop by the corner store on our way to school (and we’re never early – so I was already congratulating myself in my head). I wasn’t stressed about time (for once) - but it was raining… I have to mention here that living next to Riverside Park is one of my most appreciated luxuries in the city, and something I am grateful for every day. However, when it’s spitting rain, and the wind off the Hudson is wrestling umbrellas from pedestrians’ hands at every turn, navigating a stroller can be somewhat of a challenge. By the time we got to the store I was wet, cranky, and impatient... I told Jemma to hurry as she got out of the stroller to browse through her flower options.
Now, it’s a mother’s instinct to guide her child to make good choices. We tell ourselves that what we teach our children will serve them well later in life – and in many cases this is true. But “picking your battles” isn’t always about battles… Sometimes it feels desperately important that your child wears an outfit that looks cute (i.e. something that won’t clash too badly with her shock of flame red hair) when all she wants to put on is a too-small dress in a vibrant shade of fuschia.
This isn’t about character-building… and it's not about the child. It's about you - your ego, and wanting your child to reflect well on you. Maybe you want your kid to listen to 'cool' music, or perhaps you want to cultivate ‘good taste’ in your child (Personally, I’m pretty sure I don’t have good taste… my fashion sense is second only to my miserable sense of direction as a source of ridicule among my sisters). There's a natural urge to mold your offspring into little clones of yourselves. But (as great a plan as that may seem) the more I think about it, the more I think parenting is an opportunity to discover who your child is – to participate in who they are becoming - rather than a chance to shape them into something specific. Sure, they need our input and direction at times… But the simple truth is that they are not us – they’re unique individuals blossoming before our very eyes.
So when Jemma pointed to a row of flowers and said, “I want those ones!” I hopefully asked, “The irises?” For a moment I thought that my daughter might have started to like ‘good flowers’ - elegant, tasteful, expensive flowers… “No, Mommy. Those ones.”
At this point I have to admit I was sorely tempted to resort to manipulative tactics – after all, the teachers might think our family was ‘tacky!’ I nearly talked my daughter into making a different (read “better”) choice... But I resisted.
“Oh...” I said, “those... blue daisies?” Her delight was obvious,“Yes!” We paid the cashier and headed off to school. Jemma carried the flowers herself, trailing drops of blue dye behind her.
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