10 days of Rilke 'til Christmas - The Third Letter

Letters to a young poet
Rainer Maria Rilke

Now Niels Lyhne, a book of grandeur and great depth, will reveal itself to you little by little…There is nothing in it that would not summon a familiar resonance echoing from the memory. No experience was too insignificant—the smallest happening unfolds like destiny. Destiny itself is like a wonderful wide tapestry in which every thread is guided by an unspeakably tender hand, placed beside another thread, and held and carried by a hundred others.

…read the wonderful book about the fate and longing of Marie Grubbe and Jacobsen’s letters…journals…fragments…poems…

…read as little as possible of aesthetic critiques. They are either prejudiced views that have become petrified and senseless in their hardened lifeless state, or they are clever word games. Their views gain approval today but not tomorrow. Works of art can be described as having an essence of eternal solitude and an understanding is attainable least of all by critique. Only love can grasp and hold them and can judge them fairly…Allow your judgments their own quiet, undisturbed development, which, as with all progress, must come from deep within and can in no way be forced or hastened. All things consist of carrying to term and then giving birth. To allow the completion of every impression…beyond words, in the realm of instinct unattainable by logic, to await humbly and patiently the hour of the descent of a new clarity: that alone is to live one’s art, in the realm of understanding as in that of creativity.

In this there is no measuring with time. A year doesn’t matter; ten years are nothing. To be an artist means not to compute or count; it means to ripen as the tree, which does not force its sap, but stands unshaken in the storms of spring with no fear that summer might not follow. It will come regardless. But it comes only to those who live as though eternity stretches before them, carefree, silent, and endless…Patience is all!

…the creative experience lies…close to the sexual…its pain and its pleasure, that both phenomena are only different forms of the same longing and bliss. If one could say “sexuality” instead of “lust”—sexuality in a large sense…wide pure sense…—then his art would be great and infinitely important. His poetic talent is great and as strong as the primeval urge; it has an impetuous rhythm that breaks forth out of him as water out of the rocks.

…one of the most difficult tests for the true artist: he must always remain innocently unaware of this best virtues if he does not wish to rob them of their spontaneity and their unaffectedness…And when [Richard] Dehmel’s creative power…meets the sexual, then it finds the man not quite so pure as he needs to be. For him there exists no totally mature and pure world of sex, none that is simple human and not masculine only…there exist lust, intoxication, and restlessness, beleaguered with the old prejudices and pride…love. He loves only as male, not as a human being. Consequently there is in his perception something confining…spiteful…wild…temporal, not eternal…detracts from his art, and makes it suggestive and questionable…imprinted with passion and transience. Little of it will continue and endure. (But this is true of most art.)

10 days of Rilke 'til Christmas - The Second Letter

Letters to a young poet
Rainer Maria Rilke

“We are unutterably alone, essentially, especially in the things most intimate and most important to us…to help another, a great deal must happen…different elements must coincide harmoniously; a whole constellation of things must come about for that to happen even once.

…about irony: Do not allow it to control you, especially during uncreative moments. In creative moments allow it to serve you as another means to better understand life. If you use it with pure intent, then it is pure…But beware of a viewpoint that is too consistently ironic; turn your attention to lofty and serious issues instead. In their presence irony will pale and become helpless. Scale the depths of things; irony will never descend there. And you…arrive at the brink of greatness, ask yourself whether this ironic attitude springs from a truly deep need of your being. For due to the impact of serious things, it will either fall away from you, if it is something merely incidental, of if it is truly innately belongs to you, it will be strengthened to become an important tool, and take its place with all the other instruments with which you must build your own art.

Of all my books there are only a few that are indispensable to me. Two of them are constantly at my fingertips wherever I may be. They are…the Bible and the books of the great Danish writer, Jens Peter Jacobsen…avail yourself of the small book Six Stories…and his novel Niels Lyhne, and begin with the first story…”Mogens”. A whole world will envelop you…learn of them…love them. For this love you shall be requited a thousand...times over, no matter what turn your life will take. This love…will weave itself through the tapestry of your evolving being as one of the most important threads of your experiences, your disappointments, and your joys.

…of the essence of creativity, the depth of it and its enduring quality, there are only two names that I can name: that of Jacobsen, the very greatest of writers, and Auguste Rodin, the sculptor. No one among all artists living today compares with them.”

10 days of Rilke 'til Christmas - The First Letter

Letters to a young poet
Rainer Maria Rilke

“You ask whether your poems are good. You send them to publishers; you compare them with other poems; you are disturbed when certain publishers reject your attempts…I suggest that you give all that up. You are looking outward and…that you must not do now. No one can advise and help you, no one.

There is only one way: Go within. Search for the cause, find the impetus that bids you write. Put it to this test: Does it stretch out its roots in the deepest place of your heart? Can you avow that you would die if you were forbidden to write? Above all, in the most silent hour of your night, ask yourself this: Must I write? Dig deep into yourself for a true answer. And…if you can confidently meet this...with a simple, “I must,” then build your life upon it. It has become your necessity. Your life, in even the most mundane and least significant hour, must become a sign, a testimony to this urge.

Then draw near to nature. Pretend you are the very first man...write what you see and experience, what you love and lose. Do not write love poems…at first; they present the greatest challenge. It requires great, fully ripened power to produce something personal…Beware of general themes. Cling to those that your everyday life offers you. Write about your sorrows, your wishes, your passing thoughts, your belief in anything beautiful. Describe all that with fervent, quiet, and humble sincerity. In order to express yourself, use things in your surroundings, the scenes of your dreams, and the subjects of your memory.

If your everyday life appears to be unworthy subject…do not complain to life. Complain to yourself. Lament that you are not poet enough to call up its wealth. For the creative artist there is no poverty—nothing is insignificant or unimportant…Attempt to resurrect these sunken sensations of a distant past. You will gain assuredness. Your aloneness will expand and will become your home, greeting you like the quiet dawn…

If, as a result of…sinking into your own world, poetry should emerge, you will not think to ask someone whether it is good…For you will hear in them your own voice; you will see in them a piece of your life, a natural possession of yours. A piece of art is good if it is born of necessity. This, its source, is its criterion; there is no other.

Therefore…Go within and scale the depths of your being from which your very life springs forth. At its source you will find...whether you must write. Accept it, however it sounds to you, without analyzing…bear its burden, and its grandeur, without asking for the reward, which might possibly come from without. For the creative artist must be a world of his own and must find everything within himself and in nature, to which he has betrothed himself.

It is possible that…you might find that you must give up becoming a poet. Even then this process of turning inward…will not have been in vain. Your life will...find its own paths. That they will be good ones and rich and expansive…

…progress quietly and seriously in your evolvement. You could greatly interfere with that process if you look outward and expect to obtain answers...which only your innermost feeling in your quietest hour can perhaps give you.”

Lily Allen - "It's Not Me, It's You"

Lily Allen has graduated from mere flippancy in her sophomoric first album to a classier, more composed cheek with such melodic ease and lyrical wit in conveying her insights in It’s Not Me, It’s You. This time, she confronts societal norms, conformity, youth, relationships, and self-absorption of all sorts—in short, life—and calls for an openness that’s evocative of the late George Carlin, unapologetic, but that’s altogether chic, sassy, and melodious. With its delightfully varied sound that’s intermittently indie, jazzy, retro, as well as country, this album is a complete fare that’s entirely seasoned with sophisticated sarcasm for those finer, contemplative moments.

With the opening track’s, “Everyone’s At It”, sobering message about drug prevalence which infect all of society, “from grown politicians to adolescents”, and that could only be solved by admission, the song is in sheer contrast to its breezy melody, easy synth, and subtle beats.

Likewise, “The Fear” has a contradictory upbeat sound for such grave lyrics describing a human frailty caused by worldliness:

“I want to be rich and I want lots of money I don’t care about clever…about funny I want loads of clothes…diamonds…people die while trying to find them…take my clothes off……that’s how you get famous…I don’t know what’s right or real anymore…how I’m meant to feel anymore...cause I’m being taken over by the fearLife’s about film stars and less about mothers…all about fast cars and cussing each otherBut it doesn’t matter ‘cause I’m packing plastic…makes my life so f**king fantastic And I am a weapon of massive consumption…how I’m programmed to functionI’ll look at the Sun and I’ll look in the mirror……I’m not a saint but I’m not a sinner…everything’s cool…I’m getting thinner…I’m being taken over by fear”

“Not Fair” is a galloping western bop that’s in sardonic contrast to what’s being sung, which is the utter dilemma of being in a relationship fraught with mounting discontent over the kind of sexual intimacy one is engaged in.

“22” is an 80’s jingle reminiscent of Belinda Carlisle’s “Circle in the Sand” or Madonna’s “Cherish”, but where they cooed about a seeming frivolity, Allen coolly croons about the difficult feat of confronting societal standards which declares that the only thing left for a 30 year old lady to do is to wait for the “man of her dreams”. Watch the video.

“I Could Say” is a song of liberation from that certain “chip” on the shoulder, wherein Allen cheekily chirps, “Since you’ve gone, I’ve lost that chip on my shoulder… I’ve gotten older…the whole wide world is my stage… …I’ve been let out of my cage”.

“Back to the Start” has perhaps the fastest danceable rhythm, as in the 80’s new wave with a subtle chime-like synth, that conversely plays a message of apology for one’s past jealousies and an appeal to start over.

“F**k You” sweetly expresses defiance against intolerance, with a kick in the air, joined arms a la the Rockettes, repeated chanting of “F***k you very very much”, and sticking both tongue and lollipop in the cheek, while jumping to the tune’s pulsing beats.

The following tracks have similarly breezy melodies, but with slightly slower tempos:
While “Never Gonna Happen” relates an unsteady relationship, “Who’d Have Known” examines a growing affection. And “Chinese” is quite the song, as well as the food, to have around when thinking about cuddling in front of the TV with a dear one. And whereas Allen blithely questions god in “Him” with unquestionable cynicism, she airily hoots about a father’s neglect and desertion with unmistakable sarcasm in “He Wasn’t There”.

Have this album for easy, thoughtful listening with a bit of shake. It’s especially soothing for those inspired moments when you’re itching to break out the paint, write, or simply be creative in other ways.

Teen Spirit?

Makes me wonder how a teen could get to a point where he likens a child to a piece of burger, or how another could be so curious about how it’s like to take a child's life. At what point did sanity cross over the threshold to insanity in their minds? What happened to these adolescents’ psyches, or consciences?

The Ting Tings

Have you heard their ting? That you haven’t heard their tunes is very unlikely since their debut album was released sometime last summer, topping the U.K. chart and sending the tireless Madonna to rest then. Here are my two cents on yet another grand act to emerge from Big Ben’s soil: upbeat and offbeat. Fresh is hard to come by these days even in a highly advanced society, and the irony is we’ve been there, done that, seen and heard it all, and recycled, revised, and repackaged so heavily as we’ve figured out the formulas, that there seems to be very little left to be discovered as original, especially in music. Hence, it’s always refreshing to see those who manage to reinvent and rise above the crowd every now and then, regardless of how long they stay up. And when one creates a distinct sound, it’s got a certain ring, or ting, that will cause you to listen again and again. And this dynamic duo’s certainly got it. They most certainly have that “ting” factor. The funky fusion of Jules De Martino’s dominant drumbeats and Katie White’s sometimes brazen, sometimes fragile, and frequently distressed or defiant vocals merged with their various other musical elements and influences, one of which echoes a pared-down, 80’s new-wave among others, power the invisible machine behind their playful sound. Their music is a little fresher and groovier than most of its contemporaries that currently saturate our airwaves. Even as the duo chant “We Started Nothing” incessantly in their finale, the 8-tract album can serve as an instant tonic to get you started in those days needing a bit of jolt, with Great DJ, That’s Not My Name, Fruit Machine, Shut Up…, Keep Your Head, We Walk, Impacilla Carpisung, along with the title tract, or just keep you coolly on your feet, with Traffic Light and Be The One, even if only for a little more than half an hour, unless you have it on repeat.

"Without Love I won't survive"

I've forgotten about these guys until recently, courtesy of their newest song, "Black Heart Inertia".

Incubus may be onto something here...

Incubus - New Music - More Music Videos

Movies to watch, if you haven't yet

DOUBT and SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE will shake your comfy Sunday cushion with such rousing intensity, while leaving you woozy enough to shake it with the slumdogs should you stay tuned-in through the credits. Definitely not the best movie options for those looking for mere flippancy in films to frolic through a couple of hours with their buds.

Society's Elite concisely sums them up...
On Doubt: "When a film is based on a priest being accused of child molestation, you won’t find much to laugh at."
On Slumdog: "From seeing his mom killed to sleeping in piles of garbage to watching his older brother become a thug, Malik’s life is played out in the film showing that there is hope even in the darkest times."

Happy-Go-Lucky

For one to still manage to cheerily chant “Ding-dong, dilly-dilly, da-da, hu-hu” as a chiropractor rearranges your bones is positively ever so slightly happier than the rest of us sordid creatures going about our seemingly mundane lives. Or you’re just a silly grown-up. But for this 30-year-old elementary school teacher, her days are as easy as flapping her arms with a bunch of bird masks donning children, raucously squawking like birds, and pretending to fly. And this lady “trampolines”.

“Happy-Go-Lucky” is a curious and surprisingly engaging ride with a perpetually happy lady who consciously takes on her days with a bowl of cherries. Seriously, the lady wears little yellow bird earrings in some scenes. At first, you might doubt Poppy’s integrity and take her for a naïve nutcase who giggles incessantly through her jolly whims and over her own remarks. Unlike most of who she encounters, she finds her jokes and most things in life funny and doesn’t hesitate to show her gaiety in any situation.

The opening scene immediately paints Poppy’s character, superbly played by Sally Hawkins. You see her easygoing face ride her bike through town, browse through a book store, and attempt a repartee with a morose man behind the register whose facial expression clearly says that he can’t be bothered unless you’re purchasing something. After repeatedly failing to stir any type of response from him at all, she finally heads for the exit door chuckling and muttering still to the man what he clearly doesn’t care for, to be happy. Yet, she shows neither the slightest sign of humiliation nor irritation of the man’s blatant rudeness. Next, she finds her bicycle stolen. But when open-jawed with surprise, she merely musters a slight reaction of grief over not having had a chance to say goodbye to her beloved two-cycle. And as you follow her around, you want to shake, smack, or strangle her relentlessly blithe and bubbly persona for her light, almost feeble, approach on things, unless you have had a drink or two with her and her more normal, flat-mate, Zoe, coolly played by Alexis Zegerman.

Then, something bizarre happens. In an indeterminate turn of events and as if the earliest scenes have all been a pretense to mislead you entirely, Poppy suddenly grows on you. You’re baited, hooked, and reeled in, though oddly. The more time you spend with this chirpy chic, the more disconcertingly endearing she becomes as you get to know her. Actually, you can blame this uneasy change of heart on the bicycle thief, whoever he was. Better yet, blame it on the director’s cunning for laying the plot right were he did.

Now that Poppy’s without her bicycle, she decides to take driving lessons. This is where the conflict starts and where the story really begins. Without this particular incident, the film would be nothing more than just a bland sequence of the tedium of life even for the most optimistic person, which certainly wouldn’t appeal very much to us, voyeurs, though Poppy’s outfits and shoes are certainly cool enough to feast on.

Scott, the relentlessly glum and grumpy driving instructor, is a walking, breathing epitome of anger and intolerance trapped in a middle-aged man’s body dressed in an 80’s garb and all repressed in a continuously ticking time bomb of massive hatred that could blow any moment at the slightest provocation. And it does one sunny day, when Scott gets aroused with rage over Poppy’s new beau. Prior this finale, he takes the ever so jovial teacher through her driving sessions a few Saturdays, during which Poppy definitely gets more than just driving lessons, but also an earful or two of Scott’s long list of grievances and lifelong neuroses about people, the world, Poppy’s boots, and ultimately, her character as he deems it.

Though Poppy’s unswerving cheerfulness could be quite irksome and seem unbearably shallow and surreal to a more cynical, critical, expectant, and impatient audience, serious moments become more discernable, poignant, and revealing against the kind of inexhaustible optimism like Poppy’s. Apparently, the more she smiles her way through life, the bleaker the opposing characters around her seem to be. It’s the classic light and dark juxtaposition. And yet, you see her deeper aspects. Her depth, resilience, and sincere compassion for people lying just underneath her smiley skin only get clearer.

Simultaneously subtle and sublime, this is one of the best films I’ve seen thus far. It is witty, well paced, down-to-earth, authentic, and an enormously effective experiment on the highest forms of human emotions—love, compassion, anger, and hatred—that move us and affect the way we interact with each other, and on whether or not we learn from our experiences, good or bad. As Zoe simply put, “Well, you make your own luck in life, don’t you?” Surely, it’s the choices we make that make us who we are. But Mike Leigh isn’t preachy about life matters, although one of the main characters in the film most certainly is. Instead, Leigh shows us by presenting these personalities, their situations, and surrounding elements in a light and natural way, though the effect is ironically forceful, and leaves us to our own conclusions. He offers us twisted ironies. But then, we are left contemplating if our perspectives are the ones twisted. Don’t get fooled by Poppy’s and the others’ seemingly one-dimensional, stereotypical characters, because there’s more angles to them than what Leigh would have you perceive initially.

Though this film might not stop you from cursing and spitting at the most obnoxious person next to you, it might make you want to take a breather before you lash out like Scott under provocation. Eddie Marsan’s powerful portrayal of the immensely disturbed and demented man Scott, reminds us about the ugly wretchedness that anger and intolerance can turn a person into. The added bonus of watching this film is that it can make for a very inexpensive therapy, if you’re willing to face the threatening truth about life, which is sometimes thorn-ridden, unfortunately. But Poppy chooses to see and smell the roses, without ignoring her wounds. Eventually, she encounters love without desperately seeking it. And that is something beautiful and inspiring. If we could only all get to a mindset like Poppy’s and drift through life with her optimism and not “miss the boat completely...”

If you’re looking for a formulated Hollywood box-office movie full of bang served in a huge bubble of empty laughter, loud action, exaggerated drama, and excessive sex that pervades today’s movies and TV shows, this is definitely the wrong flick for your DVD collection. Otherwise, your movie collection just wouldn’t be right without this smart film. And for additional enlightenment by the director, Mike Leigh, and the main casts, Sally Hawkins (Poppy), Alexis Zegerman (Zoe), and Eddie Marsan (Scott), feast on Happy-Go-Lucky’s Bonus Features.

Hilarity highlights:
The Flamenco Teacher’s outburst: “Your boyfriend…betrays you with a 22 yr. old bitch. You want to kill him. You want to cut off his balls. He’s such a bastard. I hate him!”
Scott’s “En-ra-ha” chant
Scott’s first outburst: “Poppy! Let’s go! We’re on a bend! Now, let’s go!”
Scott’s 2nd outburst: “En-ra-ha!!!”

Baffling Disparity: Hunger and Obesity

Photos from dailykos.com

"This photograph, also taken in Sudan, won the 1994 Pulitzer Prize for South African photographer Kevin Carter, who subsequently committed suicide.", and

"A well nourished Sudanese man steals maize from a starving child during a food distribution at the Medecins Sans Frontieres feeding centre in Ajiep, southern Sudan. by Tom Stoddart."

Meanwhile, according to bettertimes.cc,

"The incidence of childhood obesity is rapidly rising throughout the world. The obesity epidemic is especially evident in industrialized nations where many people live sedentary lives and eat more convenience foods, which are typically high in calories and low in nutritional value. In just two decades, the prevalence of overweight doubled for U.S. children ages 6 to 11 — and tripled for American teenagers. The annual National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that about one-third of U.S. children are overweight or at risk of becoming overweight. In total, about 25 million U.S. children and adolescents are overweight or nearly overweight."

Starvation, apathy, greed, and gluttony at its worst. I'm at a loss for words.

Mo Willems and Lou Ferrig-who? at the N.Y. 2009 Comic Con

The three-day New York 2009 Comic Convention that commenced on February 6 at the Jacob Javits Center was quite a hit, or so I was told. My husband took my son, who met the nationally acclaimed Brooklyn author/illustrator, Mo Willems, the illustrious creator renowned for his clever children stories and straightforward illustrations, dominated by offbeat characters, such as the utterly wily pigeon, who repeatedly carries out his antics in a series of attempts to gain your trust in “Don’t Let The Pigeon Drive the Bus”, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Stay Up Late”, “The Pigeon Finds a Hotdog”, and “The Pigeon Wants a Puppy”. And was Mr. Willems rather pleasant to his supporters, I’m told. He didn’t charge a penny for a snapshot with him.


***Video courtesy of cnet.com

On the contrary, Lou Ferrigno, the former green monster guy, named The Incredible Hulk, who underwent a grotesque transformation every time he was overcame with fury, apparently had his head stuck in green once again at the Con, well, metaphorically speaking. And no, I don’t mean that rage overcame him all over again. Mr. Ferrigno was somewhat possessed by a different sort, or shade, of green, as in dough, the cash kind, in which case, you might as well take his green obsession quite literally, I suppose. You had to hand him both a Jackson and a Hamilton for a picture with him. Now, that’s incredible! And I don’t mean that in a cool way. No, not at all. Now, whenever I’m reminded of the dated green guy, I think of this hideous “green” guy—and definitely not the Hulk of our current times, Ed Norton—for charging my son who had actually been excited to meet the green monstrosity with his dad at the Con.

Dismissing this not so incredible facet of the Con, the event was pretty awesome, my son reports. By the way, Mo Willems’ website, mowillems.com, and his ironically famous but nameless pigeon’s site, pigeonpresents.com, offer smart amusement and a totally cavity-free treat.

Sweet Security

Ah, the sweet assurances of Social Security. Hope you’ve been receiving your periodical Social Security statements too. SS is simply splendid.

Here’s a glimpse of the heart of its splendor.
(An excerpt from the Social Security statement, with emphasis added in italics)

You and your family may be eligible for valuable benefits:

When you die, your family may be eligible
To receive survivors benefits.

Social Security may help you if you become
disabled—even at a young age.

A young person who has worked and paid
Social Security taxes in as few as two years
can be eligible for disability benefits.

Social Security credits you earn move with you
from job to job throughout your career.

Isn’t it just great—that it (the credit) stays with you throughout your working life, or basically until you’re just about ready to hit the sack, literally and permanently. Oh, but you’ve been working out at the gym, so being strong and healthy will allow you to enjoy the fruits of your labor. And your family may benefit too. But only when you’re dead. However, if you become disabled now, you may get assistance, even if you’re young. Now, why do I feel like this is starting to sound more and more sinister than beneficial… Maybe, it’s just my neurosis.

I'm Asian and Michelle Obama's Vogue-ing, but where are the Whites?

As the economy continues to crumble and people receive pink slips at their jobs, fashionistas only continue to strut their style ever so fiercely. And speaking of vouge-ing, the big talk of town is Michelle Obama's Voque cover. Which is pretty harmless per se. Don't get me wrong, please : I love clothes. But I just think it a pretty awkward time (to put it in mildly) to be overtly fashion focus (unless you're in the business of selling clothes to keep yourself and others employed, why not?) when most people are worried about how to cover their next month's rent. (By the way, did you hear that stamps are going up two more cents by May? While this piece of info may be inconsequential for you, not to affect you in any way at all, it may be bothersome to others who still prefer snail mail, and just when gas prices are creeping up again too. I just wonder how long it will take for New York to follow suit and hike its toll from the $8 current rate while the other costs of commuting, such as the subway, light rail, and tolls only continue to rise, in case you haven't noticed.)

While a first lady ought to present herself well in all aspects, and indeed in her appearance, it is perhaps more sensible for a person of high regard to apply tact...Esp. during this economic crisis. Show America that she commiserates with her people and is with them in spirit at all times. One could hardly show that kind of empathy when one of the first things on her agenda is to grace the cover of a style magazine. Again, I don't mean to offend, as I also occasionally flip through the pages of fashion mags. It's just that given our nation's economic condition, it seems so ungraceful, so insensitive, so wrong for the first lady to be so vocally candid about her fashion style during these difficult times in our nation, if I may be so vocally candid about her candidness. Besides, doesn't one's style exude anyway, without the need for an announcement? Leave all the unnecessary tooting to Hollywood. For when you zoom out and see the little things under you in light of the bigger picture, the frills just seem so pointless against our most basic needs... Like food, shelter, employment. (By the way, I had just picked up a nice pair of black, strappy, spring/summer platform sandals for $14.99. Yes, I did and am quite happy about it, as it is very rare for me to find nice and comfy sandals that fit well. And I'm not the first lady.) All that aside, something else struck me in the Michelle Obama interview. Here's an excerpt from AOL's news headline:

On entertaining in the White House: "We want entertaining in the White House to feel like America, that we are reminded of all the many facets of our culture. The Latino community, the Asian-American community, the African-American community.…Hip-hop, spoken word—we want to bring the youth in, for them to hear their voices in this."

Where is the mention of the White community? (By the way, I'm Asian.) I guess I have to buy the magazine to see if it follows the ellipsis...maybe between the African-American community and Hip-hop.? Hey, be nice. Again, I just noticed, and it's quite obvious unless some serious typo was committed.

Mary Poppins 45th Anniversary Edition

If not for anything else—because this film is one of those things to love or hate, like city life, depending on one’s impression, or like “rare” or “well-done”, with the latter being synonymous to being “overcooked” for the ones who prefer the former, or like pop or rock in music - there’s no middle ground for this one for an ambivalent audience, because again, you’d either watch this or you won’t, or you’ve seen it before, enjoyed it, and would gladly see it again, or would rather learn how to knit, you get the point—you’d watch this purely for entertainment. Why? Well, because it’s simply great entertainment. And Walt Disney and great entertainment are synonymous; when you talk of one, you’re talking of the other. This 45th Anniversary Special Edition of Disney's Mary Poppins is an absolute, all-time family amusement. One can hardly scoff at this rather sappy musical. It is farfetched, which makes for a fantastic show. And yet, even in all its whimsy, lending an escape from reality—and it was so for the writer of Mary Poppins, Pamela Traverse, whose childhood and adult tapestry she had knitted and romanticized for a children's book (though the Mary Poppins in the book could hardly be considered as charming as she was, though enigmatic, and certainly not a romantic).  She consistently disapproved of Disney’s updated version of her nanny, according to Valerie Lawson’s account of the embittered and intriquing author in Lawson’s book, Mary Poppins, She Wrote, which I’ll cover next time—the movie shows the bleak reality of life, such as that of a misguided father, Mr. George Banks (David Tomlinson), who is consumed by his rigid philosophy and career for his family’s sustenance, neglecting his family - his subversive wife, Winifred (Glynis Johns), and children, Michael and Jane (Matthew Garber and Karen Dotrice). In flies the “practically perfect” nanny, Mary Poppins (Julie Andrews), to the rescue, with her magical umbrella and carpet bag, armed with wit, tenacity, and charm, and the help of a good-old friend Bert (Dick Van Dyke), a quirky and cheerful chimney-sweep.  The Banks' children learn some valuable lessons as fly with their Mary and Bert to awesome adventures, where they meet buoyant Uncle Albert (Ed Winn) and a lowly bird lady (Jane Darwell).


Disney’s brings you this remastered fanfare which boasts brilliant animation, magical story seasoned, distinctive characters, fantastic scenes, and excellent choreography, especially in the “Step-in-Time” sequence with the chimney sweeps.  Exceptional design by Bob Crowley’s  and outstanding musical scores by the Sherman Brothers.

This special 2-Disc set features Backstage Disney, which includes a peek at Disney on Broadway, Music sets with a downloadable MP3 for “Step In Time”, Rare Behind-The-Scenes Footage, and Fun Facts; an Animated Short hosted by Julie Andrews; a Reunion with Andrews, Van Dyke, and Sherman; and the 1964 Premier of Mary Poppins, along with a few extra treats, including an interview with the author, Valerie Lawson. This dynamic animated edition is surely much more than just a dose or a “spoonful of sugar”. It’s “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” with quite a lot of sugar. But it’s still good.

Breakfast at Tiffany's, regardless of Cloverfield

(Another review I wrote for Society's Elite.)

What do the movie, Cloverfield, Audrey Hepburn, breakfast, and the high-class store, Tiffany and Co., have in common? Well, the first one mentions the second one’s other movie during a party scene, while the second one had the third one in front of the fourth one’s window in a different movie unmentioned by the first one. And all of them, except the second one’s other movie, take place in New York City, with the fourth one physically standing still, timeless, like the film that featured it. Well if you’ve never had breakfast at Tiffany’s, you can certainly resort to watching Audrey do it with strength and style, as the sassy, flighty escort-girl Holly Golightly in the classic movie, Breakfast at Tiffany’s. While maneuvering her way through shenanigans as fleeting and constant as her caprices, and frequently having her breakfast—coffee and croissants—by the window of a glamorous shop, Tiffany’s, to eye out its glitz, she is also, ironically, in search of a wealthy partner to settle with. She encounters a charming, aspiring writer, who offers her the stability that only true love can afford. Her free spirit and fear of commitment is eventually confronted by his strong affection for her.

This romantic comedy is smart and fun. With special features—on the director Blake Edwards, the Oscar-recipient composer, Henry Mancini, the cast’s reunion party, the star, Audrey, her store, “Tiffany”, and a tour of Paramount Pictures, among a few other treats—that are truly worth watching as much as the film itself, your movie collection can’t do without Paramount’s Centennial 2-CD release of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Or you’d be as sad as Hepburn, or Golightly rather, after she had chased her cats away, her true admirer and her feline alike, eventhough she might have been a strong enough character to survive in "Cloverfield" had she been in it especially with Tiffany's protection. Come to think of it, could it have been her feline that turned into that horrific monster? After all, she hadn't paid much attention to it. Hmm...this might actually make for a very intriquing story...and a movie script at that...I had better start writing...
Meanwhile, have you're breakfast at Tiffany's, complete with coffee and croissants. Go ahead. It's really good.

I'd love to hate this part right here, but I don't, so I have to admit that I love it

I say I'd love to hate this, only because I find most pop music not just like bubble gum, but also like cheese doodles, which is entirely devoid of any nutrition except for fat overload, and leaves a nasty aftertaste and an equally disgusting, sticky, yellow residue on your fingers. But this one's got me. It's definitely not cheese doodles. I have to admit that I love it. It's good chocolate, this song is. The melody's great and the lyric's quite alright. Nicole's voice is incredible. Fine vocals in pop music is so rare that when a voice stands out, such as Christina Aguelera's, Pink's, and a few others, one would be deaf not to notice. Pop this music on and you'd be dancing and singing through your difficult times, well, unless you prefer blowing bubbles or chomping cheese doodles...

By the way, I don't hate that my wedding anniversary coincides with the presidential inauguration. So, although I've had my reservations about our government regardless of who presides, neither do I hate new perspectives nor the atmosphere of new hopes...I may be humming this song along all throughout the year. Hope I don't get sick of it too soon, as what usually happens when I overdo something...then I can really chant "I hate this part right here..." I'll just be wearing this song out in the meantime...

Hello Stranger, Do You Have Shiny Toy Guns?

This is my take on the music that I still appreciate despite of the deluge of musical creativity that emerges year after year. Creativity and the excess it creates can get overwhelming, and, unfortunately, even tiresome. But there are always those that stand out from the rest.

Hello Stranger: Hello Strangers
I gave a copy of this album as a Christmas gift to my older sister and also to a former friend in 2006, and glad am I that I did. Great music is timeless, and I consider this album as one to remain a classic. I play it whenever I need a different kind of boost in a day needing a stimulant other than the usual coffee, tea, candy, and, yes, even friends—you get the point. It’s a treat for one’s self on a personal retreat. It’s a different kind of chocolate. It’s music that evokes inner strength during difficult times, less the sophomoric angst. It exudes youthful fun, yet is lyrically mature. It’s profound and inspiring, minus the gloom. It’s laidback without the stupor. It’s a fine cup of tea without the English pomp. (Anyway, this is a group from L.A., I thought I might add, but you might have known that already.)

This album is coherent from track to track and the solid vocal, which is simultaneously angelic and raspy, is nicely complemented by melodies that are upbeat enough to dance to, or soothing enough to serenade and carry you away. The point is this: Hello stranger is as cool and comforting as a breeze and, of course, a box of fine chocolates like Lindt’s, sans the calories of course. My favorite is “Learn Again to Feel”, along with “Robody”, “Her in These Lights”, “Which Side Is Mine”, “Plain and Simple”, “Dancing for No One”, and “Let It Ride”.

Shiny Toy Guns: We are Pilots (v3)

This is another album I still listen to, though it debuted in 2006 also. While this music is a bit angst-ridden, it’s definitely armored with an ample supply of funky, electronic beats to counter the anguish being sung about. Their music, supported by poignant lyrics and strong vocals, grants integrity to what the group wants to portray in their looks. This band’s offbeat style (image), music, and message are cohesive. It’s convincing. I bought it and, surely, many others have too.

Apparently, the band has released their new album, along with a new muse. I don’t know the story behind it, which is definitely somewhere out there on the net just clicks away for the curious. My take is this: This album is another awesome music to have around, especially when one is thirsting for a louder self-expression, literally. Shiny Toy Guns screams the message that it’s okay to voice out what you think every now and then, with or without a latte, or an Earl Grey for that matter. My favorites are “Don’t Cry Out”, “Jackie Will Save Me”, and “Shaken”.

Unrequited (poeTry)

by amica paige



Love doesn’t reciprocate
Loving acts and kindness
Then it’s mere repayment
And a social merriment

Love turns up unexpected
In the deepest sorrow
And the darkest hour
Unrequited.

The Heart Becomes a Butterfly (poeTry)

by amica paige



The heart becomes
A butterfly
When the ego dies

Love lowers it down
To the ground
Only to lift you up

The soul thrives
And the spirit flies
When the Love that transcends
Descends.

Presidents 2009... A definite class A...wkward !

Have you seen this? The presidents' meeting. There are other sources, but this one's from The Washington Times Could this scene be any more uncomfortable? I’ve seen and been in difficult situations before, but this surely tops them. You could almost sense this great unease. And they seem to be murmuring “Awkward!” behind their good, old, jolly, strained smiles. Actually, across the line from left to right, one mutters “difficult” and the second one “problematic”, then the middle one mumbles “knotty” and the next “complex”, and the last one is just plain "ill-at-ease". And here’s a "longer" "short" version of what they seem to be saying: Father Bush: One-tenth of my son could outdo you anytime, you big-headed… Big O: Hogwash. You taught him everything he knows and he doesn’t know a whole lot. It will be great when this whole act is over, then I can take some serious respite in Kai… Junior: This is incredible! I new we can all get along and be friends in the end. It will be a blast at the ranch when I get my guys together to ride the bulls… Old C: And I thought I committed the worst… I’m a celebrity compared to these dunces. Heck, I'm a wild thing... Plain Old C: Why am I even here again? I can't believe I allowed them to pluck me from my slumber. This is so distressing, I'm starting to feel nauseous. Or maybe it’s all just my imagination. I need to relax my reservations and reassure myself that things aren’t as bad as they seem…

The Tales of Beedle the Bard is no fairy-tale

Another enchanting book is The Tales of Beedle the Bard, an accompaniment to the last of the Harry Potter series, The Deathly Hollows, created by no other than, J.K. Rowling of course. This time she gave her creative pot half a stir more for a more fanciful take on an otherwise typical fantasy book and brewed a whimsical read with a twist, just like she did with the books Quidditch through the Ages and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. As if Harry's world truly existed alongside ours, yet unseen by us muggles, us commoners who are bereft of any magic like the Dursleys of Privet Drive, we are given a peephole to the wizarding world's children stories, which are comparable to our fairy tales. It's all good. There's nothing wrong with a great imagination.

Anyway, The Tales of Beedle the Bard is rather profound for a brief read. Though concise with only five tales—however, it is, again, a supplement to the Harry Potter story—it certainly isn't lacking in moral depth. Instead, it probes into humanity's heart and soul, as it examines more deeply the same morals which we, common folks, are all too familiar with and oftentimes neglect.

• Tolerance for our differences and compassion for the meek are the underlying lessons in The Wizard and The Hopping Pot.


• The Fountain of Fair Fortune depicts the importance of an active pursuit of ones dreams, wherein real fortune lies, contrary to our fairy tales' princesses, whose inclinations are "taking a prolonged nap or waiting for someone to return a lost shoe" in the words of the author—no, not Beedle, but Rowling. (This role-play is starting to get a bit confusing for my intention.)


• The Warlock's Hairy Heart warns of the dangers of protecting oneself from the pain that goes with loving someone. As in the words of Professor Dumbledore, "To hurt is as human as to breathe." To see love as a weakness makes the heart cold, or worse, leads to destruction.


• Babbity Rabbity and Her Cackling Stump exemplifies how blind obsession and ignorance can easily lead to gullibility.


• Lastly, The Tale of the Three Brothers epitomizes what could be perhaps the most difficult truth in life that "wizards and muggles alike…with a lust for power" dare deny, that death is inevitable and that it is futile to even attempt to elude it. (Even Dumbledore, by his own admission fell prey to the temptation of trying to avoid death, when he admitted that he "[remains] just a big a fool as anyone else".)


• But at the core of this book is the hard truth that virtue, not magic, can overcome problems and that "magic causes as much trouble as it cures."

J.K. Rowling has done it again and cooked up a delightful creation. How The Tales of Beedle the Bard is cleverly and meticulously woven into the Harry Potter plot is remarkable, and the clues are certainly brewing in this book. And while Professor Dumbledore's commentary definitely provided the meat, Hermione Granger's translation of Beedle's tales was surely an essential ingredient in this concoction. I must warn you though that The Warlock's Hairy Heart is quite gruesome even for a mature reader like me. So, to the adults with children to share this book with, you've been forewarned.

Hocus Pocus: A Tale of Magnificent Magicians is clearly no hokum

Wouldn't you just love to use magic to tweak your circumstances to your advantage to slip out of tight and sticky situations and move ahead, or just completely zap the nasty nuisances away with a wink, a spell, or even a wave of a magic wand, such as in magical movies like Harry Potter? Well, I sure would like for my house bores, or chores, to be instantly done with a murmur or a flick of my finger, like when Mrs. Weasley gestured her hand from a distance for the ladle to stir the pot, while she engaged herself in a conversation, or when the Leaky Cauldron tidied itself up, with the chairs hauling themselves onto the table and a sweeping broom independent of any actual hands, save for a spell uttered, or a hand, or a wand flicked upon it by the pub's staff, if my memory holds clearly. However, while magic could be very appealing to some, a lot of us know better, and others consider it as nothing but hokum. Even so, magic certainly makes for great amusement, such as in Paul Kieve's book, Hocus Pocus—that is, only if you don't get enchanted entirely by it, as in the case of a young wizard.

Paul Kieve, who was the magic consultant in the making of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, had apparently captivated Daniel Radcliffe, who plays Harry Potter—a piece of trivia for those of you who are still uninformed to this day, with his tremendous knowledge and skill in magic that the idea for a book started to brew.

There was indeed a Hocus Pocus book formerly written in 1634. It was considered the first comprehensive book on magic in English, from which lessons on magical skills still fascinate to this day. Paul's book, however, is not just a compendium of magic tips and tricks, but an enthralling tale of a nameless novice who inexplicably finds himself in the tutelage of the greatest of magicians who ever lived and performed at the legendary Hackney Empire Theater in London during the "golden age" of magic in the early 1900s. The master magicians, including The Man Who Knows, The Great Lafayette and his terrible tragedy, the couple, Servais Le Roy and Talma, Robert Houdin, David Devant, Chung Ling Soo, Ionia, and The Great Harry Houdini, not only present their fantastic feats, but also reveal the secret behind magic which sustains it. With Houdini capping the protagonist's beguiling encounters with history's most brilliant magical acts, he eventually discovers the ultimate lesson in magic, which can be applied to life in general. Here's a dash of magical morsels, something of "prestidigitation" and perspiration, along with the other magical secrets in this spellbinding book. Experience the magical realm of Hocus Pocus for mere entertainment or real passion.