The Big 3 0

This past week I celebrated my 30th birthday. Nothing special – just dinners with friends. But, then again, I wasn’t expecting nor feeling anything special.

People kept asking me how does it feel to finally turn thirty years old and my answer was always ‘it feels like every other day’. No life changing events occurred to me – I didn’t wake up with any kind of epiphanies that would distinguish that day more than any other days.

Life begins at 30. Or so someone said. And you could change the number…life begins at 40, 50, etc…

Not exactly. For me, life begins as soon as you are out of college and looking for your first job. Full of zest, motivation, ideas – just full of life. Those are the time that you can try living out your dream – willing to work odd jobs to pay the bills. By the time you hit 30, that’s when you have to start contemplating about the future. Life doesn’t start at 30, adulthood does.

But, no matter. All of the above theories are wishful thinking to me now. My life was decided two years ago when I walked into a hospital and heard that fateful voice. For some unknown reason, I was thinking of one of the Guns n’ Roses songs…

old at heart, but I’m only 28, much too young to let love break my heart/ Young at heart, but it’s getting much too late, to find myself so far apart…

So that was it. Things that I could do in the past, I can’t do them anymore. Places I could go in the past, I can’t go anymore. So, life doesn’t begin at 30 – it ended two years ago. And it’s quite annoying to hear people tell me I should do all the things I wanted to do before time runs out…only to have them turn around and say that I shouldn’t do them because of my fragile health.

It’s always easier to tell others what to do or how to live – somehow, it makes us feel better about ourselves – like we have contributed something beneficial to society. Or maybe it’s a feeling of guilt…If I don’t have to see it, I don’t have to be responsible for it – therefore, I’m not guilty of it.

I don’t know…sometimes making a simple decision can become such a difficult task as if my brain was being asked to solve some complex calculus formula.

Or maybe it’s a sign of becoming too old and too tired.

I don’t know.

Vanity Fair: A Novel Without A Hero

Sigh...I tried...I really did.

I tried to finish this book, but at 800 pages, it is just too long. Not that this is the major obstacle that kept me from finishing. Oh, no...the main problem has to do with Amelia Osbourne. I knew it would be a problem when, after page 10, I just cannot stand this character. I found myself wanting to grab a snow shovel and hit myself in the head until I bleed to death.

Oh, whatever happened to Elizabeth Bennett? Amelia makes Jane Bennett looks like Lady Macbeth

My favorite character, of course, is Rebecca Sharp. Realistically, Becky would be your worst nightmare. She is shrewd, deceitful, smart and charming (in an evil kinda way), but since this is a fantasy, she is so much fun to read. (Whereas Amelia is naive, kind, generous, but at times can be whining and (oftentimes) stupid).

The novel basically follows the lives of these two characters from their marriages to being mothers -- covering reversal of fortune (Becky from poor to rich to poor and vice versa for Amelia). Obviously, there are a lot of in betweens, which I won't go into.

The novel starts out well for me. I particularly like the scene where Rebecca threw out the dictionary from the carriage when she leaves Mrs. Pinkerton's school. But, like I said before, the character of Amelia got on my nerves and I just couldn't take it anymore. This is really a shame for me because the novel is a really good satire on the aristocracy/social status in England during Waterloo and some of his writing is really witty and funny.

EXCEPT FOR ONE THING: AMELIA OSBOURNE

So, which book do I want to read next? It has been raining every single day and I'm in a gloomy mood so I will pick up a book written by the greatest story teller in the world: Boccaccio's Decameron.

This will be my second reading of this wonderful book -- this is a book about greed, proper social conduct and death. And most importantly, there is no character that remotely resembles Amelia Osbourne

Black Dogs

“Shutting it all out was how I found peace. If I’m bitter, it’s because I haven’t forgiven myself.” June, Black Dogs

Black Dogs is my first encounter with Ian McEwan's writing – and a disturbing one. First, a brief synopsis of the book. Black Dogs is a story about crumbling marriage as told by their son in law, Jeremy. Like other McEwan’s novels, the plot involves one life changing incident (in this case, it’s June’s) that transform their union into downward sprial. The novel is broken up into two major parts: June and Bernard’s.

So that’s that. Here’s my opinion: I like the novel as a whole. I really like June’s version of their union and estrangement. And I think McEwan writes some of the most beautiful and thoughtful prose, especially about how June perceived their love for each other.

“The truth is we love each other…And we failed to do a thing with it. We couldn’t make a life. We couldn’t give up the love, but we wouldn’t bend to its power.”

And of course, once you get to Bernard’s version, everything that is romantic and sentimental is shattered by his rationality. “…how people like June bend the facts to fit their ideas instead of the other way round.” And I have to confess that I didn’t particularly enjoy this section as much as earlier section. What is life if it is just about cold hard facts with no embellishment? Which leads to my first disturbance:

Which version do I believe? Obviously, being a romantic meself, I lean towards June’s. Sure, it may not be the true version, but who the heck cares? Much like the doctor in Big Fish who said “If you ask me, I would’ve preferred the fantasized version rather than the truth.”

Second disturbance: Black dogs. Do they really exist? I mean, I know June says she encountered them, but really? If we take Bernard’s words that she likes to fantasize things, can this be another event that she twisted the truth?

It’s been almost two weeks now that I’ve finished reading and still, I find myself thinking about the ending and about June’s character. Throughout the novel you are reminded of how she found God after she had met evil. But, did she? She seems to not have found peace of mind because of her emotional attachment to things. Instead, Bernard looks the more likely to find some sort of tranquility in his life. Maybe this is a reflection of truth: the more you want some things, the more elusive they become. And I’ll end with June’s opinion on this:

“Happiness is an occasional, summer-lightning thing.”

Photo Shoot

Got out a camera, grabbed a tripod, bolted out of the office, hopped on a BTS, arrived at Victory Monument and snapped a couple of pictures.

Encounter a problem: TOO MANY PEOPLE - sigh.

better luck next time, told myself.

4,000

Two weeks ago the number of U.S. military deaths in Iraq hit 4,000. Three weeks ago, V.P. Cheney was asked how he felt about the latest poll showing two thirds of Americans feel that Iraq was not worth fighting for. His replied was short and to the point: "So?"

Nice to know you care about American people, Mr. Vice President

I've read somewhere that, on average, ten people are affected for every soldier death. Obviously, these ten people include families and friends. So, with 4,000 deaths, that means there are 40,000 people in mourning - trying to come to terms with the loss.

Was Cheney awared of this statistics when he arrogantly dismissed American people's attitude?

Of course, Mr. Cheney would love to have us believed that Iraq is worth fighting for. He talked about liberating Iraqi children from tyranny, giving them a chance to grow up in a democratic society.

Really? Are you sure, Mr. Vice President? Are you sure it's not throwing them into anarchy after pulling them from tyranny?

I once received a letter from a friend in Iraq telling me how dire the situation was. How, instead of heroes, the soldiers are viewed as invaders. And there were no smiling Iraqi children. Most don't dare to show their faces outside their homes.
Even though the letter contained doubts, he still hung on to the ideals: that he was there to help, that his sacrifice was worthwhile.

I just hope that someday, whatever they think of our politics, the Iraqi children will come to acknowledge and appreciate the sacrifices that these military men/women had made.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

If you are like me, you probably love reading Arthurian novels. I can't explain why, but I find the chivalric period to be full of bravery, courage and romance. Alas, as with almost everything that occurs in my life, I discover this love somewhat late (why did this fascination not occur in my college years?).

Anyway, this past weekend I picked up a little book called Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and was totally enchanted by it. Told in the tradition of old English alliterative style, this novel may be hard for some who used to read in the traditional prose style - although, IMHO, it is way easier than Beowulf.

Sir Gawain opens with a feast on New Year's Day at King Arthur's court. Suddenly, a mysterious green knight enters the hall and challenge anyone to hit him with an axe - on a condition that a year from now, that same person has to endure a similar stroke from him. Well, Sir Gawain got up (really, after King Arthur himself was going to accept the knight's challenge) and with one stroke, slashed the green knight's neck so that his head rolls around on the floor.

Not to be deterred by this minor incident (of having no head!), the green knight walks over, picks up his head, hops on his horse, and with his head still in one hand, said to Sir Gawain that he looks forward to their meeting in the next year at a place called the Green Castle.

What follows are some of the most tantalizing events from Sir Gawain's journey to his stay at one of the castles to the king's wife seducing Sir Gawain. The author's description of the hunting scenes, the feasts and even the encounters between King's wife and Sir Gawain are most enjoyable to read. Particular the hunting of the deer - or shall I say, the cutting up of the deer is quite detailed - so this was how they hunt in the 1300s.

The book is relatively short - so nothing like Homer's epic - and one can finish within a day and reread it again!

Sir Gawain is not just a pleasurable read - at the end of the book, it also explores questions about chivalric code, what it means to be a knight...lest what it means to be an honorable person at that period.

At last, I wholeheartedly endorse this book if you are interested in a) Arthurian romance or b) just looking for a good, magic filled book.

La Vie en Rose

Non, Rien De Rien,
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
Ni Le Bien Qu`on M`a Fait,
Ni Le Mal
Tout Ca M`est Bien Egal
Non, Rien De Rien,
Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien
C`est Paye, Balaye, Oublie,
Je Me Fous Du Passe

Those are the words to the song, Non Je ne regrette rien, sung by Edith Piaf. It is also one of her most famous - others include La Vie en Rose, Milord, L'hymne a l'amour - songs performed by Edith just before her death. And, of course, if you've seen the movie, this is the last song performed by Paif.

This past weekend saw me watching most of the Oscar nominated Best Pictures movies from Michael Clayton to There Will Be Blood. But, the movie that I was really looking forward to seeing was La Vie en Rose. And it's not the movie itself that I wanted to see, but the acting performance of Marion Cotillard as Edith Piaf.

Why? I was listening to a podcast of my favorite radio talk show and one of the guests, though not a movie critic but have seen just about every movies every year - American and foreign - said that Cotillard gave the greatest single acting performance, male or female, he has ever seen. Yep, that was enough to persuade me.

And, oh, what a performance.

Good thing that she won an Oscar too because it would be sacrileged if she hadn't. And speaking of post Oscar, I was listening to a certain movie critic, Arch Campbell, rambling about how he was still trying to figure out why "a French film won Best Actress". Really, Arch can you just be a bit more americanphile? Because I don't think there are enough American haters out there in the world. IMHO, the award should be given to those who deserve it the most; what does it matter if the film is French, English or Mongolian. I don't see British critics calling for heads when she picked up the BAFTA. Geez...

But, let's get back to the movie


The movie is pretty difficult to follow through its non linear storytelling. I didn't know who Edith Piaf was (and let's face it, few people under the age of forty would know who she was)so it took me a while to actually follow the story. In sum: La Vie en Rose is a movie about the tragic, yet triump life of Edith Piaf.

She was abandoned by her mother when she was young. Brought up in a brothel, following her father in a circus and living on a street, supporting herself by singing. A locally famous cabaret owner spotted her talent and things grew from there (though not without problems). She came to New York to perform and at the zenith of her career, became the highest paid entertainer in America. All of these triumphs, of course, are entwined by series of unfortunate events, which I won't go into details.


But, La Vie en Rose is all about Cotillard's performance covering Piaf life span from 20 to 40s (though she looked like a 60 year old woman). You wouldn't think much of it until you see a picture of Cotillard. She's tall, beautiful and healthy looking whereas Edith Piaf was small, oddly looking and a fragile person. That's when it hit me how hard it must be to play her and convince the audience that they are she is Piaf. So, double kudos to the make up artist as well (and he did win an Oscar for it). My favorite scene is when she found out about the death of Marcel and she completely broke down. Heartwrenching. (Reality: Piaf did not even cancel her performance that night!).

Other than Cotillard's performance, the thing that I love most about this movie involves a scene where Raymond is teaching Piaf how to sing. Pronunciate...nobody can understand the song if you are mumbling the words. Seriously, somebody should tell most of the singers nowaday that NOBODY can understand a word they are singing. I mean, if all one has to do is mumble (and have no vocal range), then I can be a singer. Art? No, it's craptastic. And that is one thing La Vie en Rose is not.

Translation:
No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
Not the good things people have done to me
Not the bad things, it's all the same to me.

No, nothing of nothing
No! I don't feel sorry about anything
It's paid for, removed, forgotten,
I'm happy of the past