(no subject)

Sitting down at my computer this morning after a breakfast of organic oatmeal, maple sugar, mangos, pineapple, and orange juice, I glance out the window. The sky is a luminous pale blue, no clouds blocking or marring the pristine surface, soft white snow lurking in patches on rooftoops and on the piles of dirt at the construction company three blocks away, and a flag unfurling with the breeze on the top of the elevated train. Church bells chime their greeting to the 10 AM Mass in the distance, ringing in the day, their song familar yet the lyrics impossible to access.

Before sitting down, with the intent to finally work on a story I've been tossing about in my head, I watched the tail-end of A&E's Breakfast with the Arts. Today it concentrated on that perannanum Celebrity event, the Oscars.

( long ramble about what I think of the Oscars and who will win and why on earth we feel compelled to hold these contests let alone watch them )

I've also been pondering what I like lately and why I like it. After reading fresne post on the ATPO board about this topic - I found myself pondering the question again last night. I wish I could provide a simple answer - such as I find this depressing or this was boring. But some things, I would consider depressing - I like a great deal and one's that on the surface, should bore me, don't while others that shouldn't, do. For instance, Lost in Translation put me to sleep. No clue why. I also found it depressing. While Eternal Sunshine made me oddly happy in retrospect and I keep replaying sections of it. My pal, Wales, had the opposite experience. Sometimes you can't explain why you like something or dislike something, it just is. I think.

Lazy sunday...

All attempts to actually work on a story keep getting thwarted by this inane desire to soak up the lazy flow of a bright sunny Sunday. Trekked through my neighborhood, cool, bright, with a few couples here and there trekking a similar path, to Barnes & Noble to hunt down some music. Peeked in the windows of realty agencies along the way as well as various furniture stores and patisseries. On the way homewards, I pass an old black man with a knitted cap, dirty coat, and faded black jeans, singing mockingly "Old MacDonald Had A Farm" to a picture of richly clothed children on the window of The Montessori School. An apt illustration I think of how the neighborhood has gradually changed over the years.

At Barnes and Nobel - I get the Green Day album - "American Idiot", which I've been curious about for a while now. ( Green Day and music )

At the moment, I listening to "The Devil's Jukebox" Music that influenced the Rolling Stones - from Uncut magazine. The CD came free with the magazine - which was about $8.00, I think. The Magazine is a British Music and Movie Review deal - very "guy" centric with articles about Dennis Hopper, Brian Wilson, and reviews focusing on male writers and male films. I enjoy the movie reviewer - who appears to have the same taste I do. His take on DiCaprio is perfect, he states regarding the Aviator- much will depend on your opinion of DiCaprio, who's at the center of every moment, busting a gut to convey irrepressible optimism, then arrogant swagger, then neurotic crack-up, then a revival of pioneering spirit. For this reviewer, as in Gangs of New York, he sucks the air from a scene, too narcissistic to really engage with subtle spitfires like Blanchett or Alda, to plainly thinking about what he's doing. For other, he's the most electric, promising actor alive. Unfortunately, I'm in the sucks energy from the screen camp. I honestly do not see the appeal. But the comment fascinates me - because he's right people see it one of two ways, which goes to show you how truly subjective movie watching is. This is one of the few reviewers I've seen admit that.

The CD that comes with the Magazine, is quite different than the Green Day one, in some aspects, yet I prefer it and it is amazingly good for a free CD compilation - but comparing the two is impossible. Number one - I prefer compilations, which may be why I should look into an MP3 player - but not being a tech geek - I'm veering away from it. Sounds like a giant pain the butt - you need a high speed internet connection, you need software, you need to download and copy everything - and hey, expensive. So still sticking with my CDs for the time being.

Songs on this baby include: Elmore James - Dust My Broom, Jimmy Reed - Bright Lights, Big City, Buddy Holly - Bo Diddly, Big Joe Williams - Baby Please Don't Go, Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee - Whooping the Blues, Albert King - Born Under a Bad Sign, Muddy Watters - I Got my Mojo Working, Ike and Tina Turner - It's Gonna Work out Fine...amongst others. In case you haven't noticed yet - I have ecletic tast when it comes to music and I'm not overly critical.

Speaking of critical - realized recently that I have issues with "critical" men. Not as friends. But I cannot be romantically involved with men who are critical. Dad - isn't. Mom's the critic in the family. May be that I fear criticism, because I'm so critical of myself. If you are highly self-critical the last thing you need is someone else who is equally so. You want the opposite, I think. Just an aside...a tangent.

The other thing I picked up from Barnes and Noble, was a book I've been lusting over for a while now. Little Black Book by A.S. Byatt. It's basically a series of short somewhat unnerving tales. Each one a dark take on the concept of the fairy tale, except for adults. Fairy tales fascinate me.
Never known why - maybe it's that in an odd way they are psychological horror tales? Or comforting fables? Or both? And it is the mix of opposites that enthralls? Don't know.

On my walk back...I get lost in my thoughts. Pondering what grips me in a story and how I want to write my own and why I cower from it. Possibly because there is a weird romance, and I fear romances, I fear I suck at them. Also the male character is an odd hybrid of male characters that have intrigued either in reality or in fiction. So I shy away, terrified the book will become at heart a me book - with my own fantasies and failings inter-woven within. Have I lost the art of creating characters outside myself? Did I ever have it? Is livejournal the culprit - this constant contemplating of my navel and everyone else's as my brother would undoubtly state - were he so inclined. (Not at the moment, my brother and I in recent years have become increasingly careful around each other - as if we are both or individually made of glass, close to shattering.)

The stories that grip me - that play with my head, are odd ones...for instance after not even being tempted by a fanfic in months, I'd grown bored of the tales, I checked out herself_nyc's (if that didn't work - try just hunting herself_nyc in the livejournal box or better yet hit on her response below) latest and was engrossed. ( ramble on fanfic )

Okay...enough procrastinating. Running out of daylight and Sunday. Must mosey off....