Revising.

I am reading tomorrow night at City Art. I am also sick. I have been revising a small batch of recent poems for this reading. I am also sick. Did I just say that twice?

Me, to the historian:  I maybe don't have faith in these poems.

Historian: (waits, as he has, perhaps, heard me convey this sentiment before.)

Me: ...but maybe that's because I'm sick.

Historian: (radiates total compassion and understanding. Also understands that he's possibly better off waiting this particular conversation out.)

Me:  ...but then I often feel that way about my poems?

Historian: (through ESP communicates that these poems are, and will be, just fine.) I hate to see you feeling so bad--do you need me to get you anything?

Me: (sigh.) No.

Horizontal evening.

Megastore Infirmary.

Unfair, is what it is when you had the sick just a couple of weeks ago and then, after a fine Saturday of grandchild basketball and writing, and Mexican food and reading and chatting away with the historian, you find yourself in the evening with the sniffles and then the sneezes and then, when you wake up of a Sunday morning, a full-on reprise of The Head Cold of Yesterweek. This is total bullshit, I say, pardon my swear.

Here are a few things I would like to reprise, for the record:

• the culinary triumph of last weekend's roast chicken for a Sunday dinner
• the aesthetic satisfaction of knocking out a poem draft
• the joy of watching kids run up and down a basketball court, or, for that matter, a soccer field, if the weather's nicer
• a good day in class
• having a salad with my friend
• finishing one Scandinavian detective novel and starting another
• a cup of tea in the morning
• a chat with the Scotlands

Please note: on the list above, there is no "The Head Cold of Yesterweek." Because a reprise of that is not good. 

I will now resume my nose-blowing and whining offline. Megastore out.

The megastore recommends.

[Actually, the megastore cannot believe it has never come up with this obvious post-generating concept! look for it weekly forthwith.]

1. Mindy Kaling's Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? And Other Concerns.  It is better than I thought it would be, and I say this as a person who read Kaling's late lamented Things I Bought That I Love blog (tragically, the archives of this blog seem no longer to be available. WOE.), and loved it madly. Like Tina Fey's Bossypants, the book purports to be a funny, showbizzy puffery, and instead is a sly yet warm engagement with a smart and funny person. You kind of want to be friends with Ms. Mindy when you've finished the book. I lingered over it, because I didn't want to run out of book, or Kaling. Do not hesitate.

2. A cookie in the afternoon. Are you writing? Grading? Lolling about in the doldrums of the hours between lunch and evening? Contemplating your smallness in the overall scheme of things, and how lame that is, since you always assumed you'd be making international economic policy or writing important books or acting in entertaining yet artful movies? My recommendation to you is to have a cookie. Have two, in fact. A cookie or two will put things into perspective. If you have a cookie on hand, well, good for you. That makes you a person who knows how to provide for a rainy day (speaking metaphorically), and such a person may in fact have big things ahead for her/him. If you don't have a cookie on hand, don't despair. You can go to a place where they make cookies, and sell them, such as a bakery. Knowing where to get a cookie when you need one, then going to get that cookie decisively, speaks well of your character: you do not dilly dally when there are needs to be met, you go and meet them, and head off a plummet into the Slough of Despond. Either way, your cookie in hand, you will feel better, and that's better for you and for all mankind, really, because who needs more despairing people in the afternoon? No one, that's who. Now get yourself a cookie in case you need a little energy. That economic crisis is not going to solve itself.

smashbox electric pink

3. Pink lipstick. Maybe this is more for women, but who can say, men? I don't know your life. In any case: you may think that pink isn't the color for you. For you, if it's lipstick, it's either red, because red is the very quintessence of lipstick, or it's one of those sheer non-colors that are all about sheen and texture, because you're subtle like that. But consider this: pink is refreshing. It's bold but not aggressive. It's friendly. And the people, pink will cheer you like nobody's business. In fact, while you're at it, why don't you get a pink sweater? and scarf?

4. A family-friendly movie, even if you aren't going en famille, as it were. Last night, the historian and I saw Big Miracle because we were in the mood for a movie that would not (a) trouble us with its flaws, (b) make us mad at the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, or whatever it's actually called, because the movie in question was (1) nominated, and (2) undeserving, or (c) make us feel sad or depressed or downtrodden. I think we can all agree, there are times when the offerings in the theaters all exhibit one or more of these negative traits (Shame, Albert Nobbs, and War Horse, I am looking at you). So we saw the whales in jeopardy movie, and surprise, it was quite a bit better than we thought it would be without beating us over the head by being a Major Work of Art. It had a fair amount to recommend it, though: a good cast, all doing swell work in small roles; a more complex-than-you'd-think take on the whole (mostly true) story; interesting observations about politics and conflicting/coinciding interests; and whales. Entirely satisfying, and that was without popcorn. Just think if I had had popcorn!

Morning night person owl.

One of my earliest memories is of lying in bed when my parents were still up. I remember thinking, thinking, thinking, holding on to the Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls my grandmother had made me, stroking the silk embroidery of their rag doll features. I could not--possibly would not, but it seemed more like it wasn't really possible to--sleep. From a very early age, I was a night owl.

Here are some worlds that are not organized for night owls:

1. school
2. childhood
3. work
4. young parenthood

And thus, and even so, I negotiated later bedtimes with my parents, and then when they were past policing my bedtime, I stayed up and stayed up and tried to be quiet. Headphones for my stereo. A little night light for reading. This--staying up all hours--has been going on, in other words, for ages.

I used to get up early to go to the dreaded early-morning LDS seminary. That was 6 a.m., the people, for religious formation. My God. I used to get up early for early morning classes in college, because, what, it was more virtuous? or something. Or maybe I just didn't know better. My first semester, I had a modern dance class at 7 a.m. three days a week. (leotard leotard leotard can't stop thinking it!) I used to get up early to swim and walk with a friend when my kids were young. Oh, I have arisen early in my day.

When I am left to my own devices, i.e., in the summer or on vacation or when I'm in Idaho, I go to bed around 1 a.m. and get up around 8-ish. It's not so bad, really--I do like the morning. I just don't like early morning, and I don't like to have to be ready to do anything in the morning, like work. Or talk. I'm ready for working and talking around 10. Ten-ish.

This semester, I am teaching a ten a.m. class. Quixotically, I get up super early on the days that class meets, so I can be to school by seven or so. If I have to be ready to talk by ten a.m., I need to get a good run at it. This means that three days a week I am generally up to see the dawn. Me, not a morning person, greeting the dawn with a silent scream.

One morning this week, I was up early enough to see this glowing, compensatory sunrise.

Fashion.

Awhile ago, I accepted an invitation to join Gilt.com from my friend Paisley. Gilt says this about itself:

Gilt Groupe provides instant insider access to today’s top designer labels, at up to 60% off retail.


Insider access! Today's top whatever! up to 60% flarf? I'm in, I tell you, is what I said to myself.

Since then, of course, there has been a proliferation of such sites, and I check a couple of them daily. That's right, daily, right when the sales kick in, which is, that's right, in the middle of my work day. I take a moment to pause at the shrine of, whatever, style, and then I move on. At first I bought a couple of things. Now I never. Almost never, anyway. But today, while perusing one of my sites, I found this label:

spiritual gangster

Now, I think this may be my true self/sign/icon/avatar? Because: I am a poet, and I have a thing about religion, yea, even the religion of my foremothers/fathers, and thus I am spiritual, maybe. And also, (b), I am tough and I am street, son, and I would totally flourish with that one badass ring.

But I ask you:

give love (in black)

is this gangster?

For that matter, is it spiritual? (or style, even?)

about spiritual gangster

I think I don't know what gangster means. Or for that matter spiritual.

in the mail today

came an issue of Vogue,
the new China Mieville novel,
and three thin silver rings.

                                                    

I love music.

Here is one of my new favorite things:

I arrive at school about 7:30 a.m., so that I have a full two hours plus a little before my first class to get everything sorted: class plan solidified, poems responded to, etc. My office is a good office, but it's got no windows. So often I go over to the student center with my books and papers, and plug into some music. You know, like the kids do, creating my own sonic atmosphere that shuts out most of the bustle and the music playing on the soundsystem. It's like being in a little world of my own, one that's part of everyone else's world, but with better music, and lots of light.

This week I have been listening again to Sufjan Stevens' The Age of Adz.  It is brilliant. I was a late listener to Illinoise, which I also find to be brilliant. This is, as everyone probably now knows, a complete change of direction for Stevens, sonically and lyrically and in pretty much every way you can't think of. I can't quite get over how good it is, and how much better it gets once you accept it on its own terms.

"I Walked" is a song from one partner in a failed romance to another:

Lover, will you look at me now?
I'm already dead to you 
But I'm inclined to explain 
To you what I could not before

The song has an utterly gorgeous melodic line. I happen to know that, in a big busy room, when you're wearing headphones and so is practically everyone else, you can sing along softly and no one will call you on it.
 

"I Want to Be Well" is both plaintive and fierce:

Illness likes to prey upon the lonely, prey upon the lonely
Wave goodbye, oh, I would rather be, but I would rather be fine

I want to be well, I want to be well
I want to be well, I want to be well




Just one more song I found myself singing along with--"Get Real Get Right":

I know I've caused you trouble 
I know I've caused you pain 
But I must do the right thing
I must do myself a favor and get real
Get right with the Lord

This story gives a pretty good window into the recording.

If you haven't already given this album a listen, you can hear it all the usual places...but make sure you give it more than one chance. It will grow on you.

(p.s. blogged every day in January, in case you're keeping track.)

Travel, for real.

So, despite a truly ridiculous amount of sulking when I found out I would not be going to AWP this spring (alas, I want to pout afresh! but no, I shall bravely carry on--), I am in fact traveling across America this spring. Just not to AWP.

I will be traveling with a large and representational and therefore perhaps high maintenance? group from my college to a large and official and therefore perhaps a bit high stress? conference in Philadelphia. We will be taking off at a ridiculous hour on a Saturday morning, have brief layovers--what I would, if I had booked the travel myself, have decided were unrealistically, terrifyingly, connecting-flight-missingly brief layovers--read "dashes through unfamiliar airports"--going both directions, and I will be staying four nights.

In my travel algorithms, this means

• clothes that will make a possible nine point five outfits, because sometimes you need to choose.
• six pairs of shoes, because you can't possibly accurately predict the precise shoes you might need, when in a foreign land such as Philadelphia.
• various grooming products that I cannot live without I am so not joking!
• scarves, obv.
• pocket money to run to the drug store (oh, I have already researched the drug store nearest the hotel, yes I have.) for stuff I will have no doubt forgotten, such as my toothbrush perhaps.
• important reading material, plus
• magazines.
• laptop,
• iPod,
• chargers galore, and
• other stuff I can't bring to mind right now, but any one of which forgotten might make the trip an utter disaster.

Oh, and also I still have to put together my presentation.

So the real question is this: carry on? or check?

I am, as the above list no doubt screams  implies, a checker. Yes, I know you have to pay the fee. Yes, I know they lose your luggage sometimes--indeed, my luggage has been lost once or twice. Yes, I know it adds time (which is money!) to the torturous hours you have already spent in airports.

But I loathe the wrestling of luggage in the tight space of the aircraft. I loathe other people doing it around me. And honestly, I loathe the idea of doing without a single thing that I may need to feel comfortable, put together, myself, when I am so very far away from home. It is already making me a little crazy. Currently, I am considering the following options:

Plan A: carry on. For this eventuality I bought a bunch of little empty travel containers of various shapes/sizes/capacities. Pare down my clothes, etc. to the bare minimum. Try not to act squirrelly and rookie-like at the TSA security extravaganza.

Plan B: carry on. Buy almost all grooming products when I get there, at the drugstore I have researched. Wasteful, but you don't have to struggle with the little bottles, quart-size ziploc bag, the suspicious grillings of the TSA personnel, etc. Worth it, possibly?

Plan C: check. Like a sane person. Seriously.

More river.

Today, we did another piece of the Jordan River walk, between 4800 South and 3900 South and back. Because the historian rides along the river all the time, he knows what are the charms of each segment, and he did not recommend this bit highly. "It's right up against some apartments on one side," he said, "and on the other side there's some industrial stuff."

But in this project, I am a little bit literal minded. I want to walk all the parts, pretty or no. I want to see the whole thing, preferably in order. So off we went.

It reminded me a little bit of the L.A. River, the part we walked when we were there last May, by the Glendale Narrows. Industrial/railroad on one side, residential on the other, big deep culvert with hardly any water for a lot of it, but the parts with water, deep down in the culvert, were so beautiful, and the more beautiful for where they were situated. The river today was high, so there were no dry parts as in L.A. It rushed and poured in between the apartments and the warehouses, and there were some gorgeous meanders and plant life, and a few birds.

The historian is right about this segment, but it also seemed to have its beauties.

 

O! Library!

Well, ever since the new year, when all the old leaves became irrelevant and it was nothing but new-on-new, in terms of leaves, and I was just turning them over and over, the leaves, nothing but good intentions!, I have been checking books out of the library like a madwoman (so that I could "Read all the time," or whatever the resolution was, exactly). Checking books out of the library, as readers of this blog know, is of late made super-cinchy because of the library robot and its machinations, now deliverable entirely through the interwebs. So first I saved up my lists of books, to wit:

• Jo Nesbo bookery. Recommended by several.
• A Karin Fossum book--Norwegian, policery, good if it's as good as the others. 
• Another Scandinavian police procedural, picked up entirely on the merits of its Scandinavian author and its cover.
• An entire John le Carre suite of Smiley books.
• The first of the Mist-Born series, on Middlebrow's recommendation.
• Game of Thrones. What? Is it trashy? I don't know.
• The beginning book of a series by Sjodahl and Wahloo, recommended by Radagast.

And then I ordered the library robot to find and deliver them to my local branch library (library robotics part 1). And then I crept into the library like a ninja and checked them out without talking to NO ONE (library robotics part 2).

(Not my library's actual robot.)

Now: of the above books, I have completed, as in "read":

• one Nesbo.

I am also partway through 

• another Nesbo. 

In my defense, first I had to read some books of poetry for my book group, and that one French detective novel, and that one English detective novel, and also Mindy Kaling. And also Diane Keaton.

I am now receiving notices from the robot (library robotics part 3), reminding me that some of my books might be coming due, to wit: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which I had every intention of reading before I saw the movie, but whoops, too late. And there's the Nesbo middle, which I am still in! So I can't really start a whole other spy novel, especially when I have already seen the movie. I'm sure you see my dilemma.

Let me pause to deliver a short discourse on scarcity and excess: 

A Short Discourse on Scarcity And Excess.

Sometimes there is not enough of things, such as when I wander from room to room and say, "When will Fred Vargas/Arnaldur Indridasen/etc. write another book so I can read it?" This is scarcity, and it is intolerable, or nigh unto.

And sometimes there is more than enough of things, such as when someone says, "You should really read X," and I say, "Wait a minute while I dial up the library robot!" And as a consequence of the robot-dialing, there are piles of X, I mean books, the titles of some of which I am sure I'm forgetting, and I'm not sure where all of them even are in my house! and I have already seen the movie of some of them! That is excess, and I am in the middle of it, and don't even get me started on how much I may need or not a pair of pink ballet shoes, to go with my other ballet shoes, including my other pink ballet shoes, but not this particular color of pink. That is also excess, and I am (always already) in the middle of it. And it too is intolerable, or nigh unto.

Well, anyway, I am going to go dive back into the middle of Nesbo, because I finally got a running start at it and it's kind of exciting at the moment. At the moment, there is the exact right amount of Nesbo, and it is very good.

Artifact.

So that, above, is how it went down today--we all made broadsides, and talked about the history of broadsides. I'm having the same, lucky experience I had last time I taught this class, which was also the first time: massive nerves before each three-hour session, and something close to exhilaration afterward. This time, I have the luck of having Dr. Write and another colleague, Kati Lewis, with me as compatriots.

After teaching, I came home, but not before losing my cell phone at Target (found and retrieved). I hung up a bunch of clothes I had heaped in the closet-in-all-but-name that is, essentially, the rest of our bedroom, and took a short nap. We saw A Dangerous Method tonight, which I loved.

Somehow, this weekend I need to squeeze in about three times more stuff than I have actual time to do it in. Huzzah for expandable weekends!

Tomorrow we will be talking about and making broadsides in Publication Studies.

from the National Library of Scotland (1821)

from the National Library of Scotland (1719)

from the Poetry Foundation For the Fridge Archive 

from the Library of Congress Printed Ephemera Collection

from On the Walls and In the Streets: American PoetryBroadsides from the 1960s, James D. Sullivan

Paint.

Key facts.

• My favorite kind of reading glasses

routinely break like brittle china.

• Ergo, I order a pile of them. So I have more when they break. Perhaps I should consider a new style/brand/Lasik? I don't know. They are my favorite.
• It is the historian's birthday today. He has a cold. Is that fair? I ask you.
• We are watching the Australian Open. Rod Laver and Roger Federer are talking. It's kind of great.
• My classes were awesome today. Sometimes it feels like, if you set things up right, your courses turn into little centers of industry, with all kinds of good things happening, humming along. Or, y'know, things could fall apart tomorrow. But I don't think so.
• Today this book arrived at my house: 

Vatnasafn/Library of Water
Roni Horn

it is awesome.

• Even though it was a birthday, it was a work day. Where is the birthday cake? I ask you. I guess that's why birthdays last a week. They do, don't they?
• Okay. Time to get you a little more DayQuil, honey.

(happy birthday to the historian, the best of the best of the best, sir! he is above the system, and he makes it--everything--look good.)

Prognosticator.

The Academy Award nominations are tomorrow! Here's a list of films that might get nominated in the big fat categories (I put a * by what I think should get nominated, and a # by what I think will get nominated):

 (image: NYTimes via Getty images)

Academy Awards NOMINATIONS

best pic

Melancholia * (foreign? English-speaking...)

Midnight in Paris #

The Tree of Life *#

X-Men: First Class *

Bridesmaids *

The Help #

Rise of the Planet of the Apes *

Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows *

Hugo *#

The Artist #

War Horse # (haven't seen it) 

Take Shelter * [not a chance this will get nominated, but I thought it was beautiful, maybe my favorite film of the year, so I'm putting it on the list anyway.]

best actor

Christopher Plummer, Beginners *# (or is this a supporting performance? probably)

Brad Pitt, Moneyball *#

George Clooney, The Descendants *#

Michael Shannon, Take Shelter ** (the only thing as good as this was J. Dujardin, and maybe also Brad Pitt in Moneyball)

Ryan Gosling, Drive *#

Paul Rudd, Our Idiot Brother *

Brendan Gleason, The Guard *

Jean Dujardin, The Artist ** (I was not in love with this movie, but I thought this performance was sublime)

Leonardo DiCaprio, J. Edgar ? (haven't seen)

Michael Fassbender, Shame #

best actress

Vera Farmiga, Higher Ground *

Elizabeth Olsen, Martha Marcy May Marlene *

Kirsten Dunst, Melancholia *#

Michelle Williams, My Week With Marilyn #

Rooney Mara, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo *#

Meryl Streep, The Iron Lady # (haven't seen)

Glenn Close, Albert Nobbs # (haven't seen)

Kristen Wiig, Bridesmaids *

supporting actor

Ryan Gosling, Crazy, Stupid, Love (or The Ides of March) * (in C, S, L, I thought Gosling was pretty much brilliant)

Michael Fassbender, X-Men/Jane Eyre * 

Andy Serkis, Rise of the Planet of the Apes *#

Matt Damon, Contagion * (of a pile of great performances, this was one of the greatest)

Jeremy Irons, Margin Call *#

John Hawkes, Martha Marcy May Marlene *#

Armie Hammer, J. Edgar # (haven't seen)

Kenneth Branagh, My Week with Marilyn * (this performance gave me such joy--so funny)

Albert Brooks, Drive * (pretty great performance)

Ralph Fiennes and/or Alan Rickman, Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows

supporting actress

Viola Davis, The Help *# (deserves every possible acting accolade--she is brilliant--and is this a lead performance?)

Octavia Spencer, The Help *#

Melissa McCarthy, Bridesmaids *#

Jessica Chastain, everything she was in *# (literally: brilliant in everything.)

Charlotte Gainsbourg, Melancholia *

Carrie Milligan, Drive and/or Shame #

director

Woody Allen, Midnight in Paris #

Martin Scorsese, Hugo *#

Terence Malick, Tree of Life *#

David Fincher, The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo #

Michael Haznavicius, The Artist #

Lars von Trier, Melancholia *#

David Cronenberg, A Dangerous Method ? (not here yet, haven't seen)

Steven Spielberg, War Horse #

Alexander Payne, The Descendants *#

Bennett Miller, Moneyball *

special note for Jude Law, who was fantastic in Sherlock Holmes blah blah blah  and also in Contagion.

p.s. I loved this list.

p.p.s. happy birthday Amelia!

Sunday.

I'm back! or, Action movies, an essay.

Today, I bought eggs from Chad, went to the Roasting Co. to work on a poem (why do I have to go to another place to write a poem? another post for another day), ate lady fingers (but not really--they were actually langues des chats, and they were both darling and delicious), and cried my head off at a movie (Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close--you will have to decide for yourself if a movie that insists that you cry this much is your poison, but I expected to pity and perhaps despise it, and did neither, really). But that's not what I want to write about.

What I want to write about is action movies. Yesterday, when I came home from a day in which I got up at 6:30 a.m. (boo hoo hooooooo) to go to school so that I would be ultra-ready for my 9 a.m. class, which went swimmingly thank you very much, then had a meeting and a post-meeting chat, wait: where was I? Right: yesterday, when I came home from that day (see above), I met the historian who was finishing up some dishes, and as I plunked down my burdens (computer, purse) and poked around for the entertainment section of the newspaper, and didn't find it, I asked, "Where's the movie section?" and the historian said, "I took it to work, but there's really only one movie to see, I think, and that's The Artist," after which I predictably sulked, privately, because: who says? But then I said, "Great!" because I am nothing if not a trouper (< -- patently not true). So off we went to enchiladas and The Artist, and it was good.

But this morning, as I was scanning the long-lost entertainment section for what other movies there were, I saw that Haywire had also opened this weekend, and then I was all, "What? Soderbergh!?" (because white people love to talk about movie directors, I guess.) So I went to the historian who may or may not have just been waking up, and I was all, "You know what else opened this weekend? Haywire. And do you know who directed it? Soderbergh." And he was all, "Oh!" Honestly, that's not necessarily the conversation you want to have before you've eaten your pancakes.

But then, while we were driving hither and yon on our adventures, I said, "I am lately kind of taken by action movies."

The historian said, "Oh? Why is that?" Polite like that, because he really could not care less about action movies. Even after I made the fine distinction that I was only talking about well-made action movies, not stupid ones, not the ones where stuff blows up and the hero walks away in slow motion while things are erupting behind him in sheets of flame and a power ballad amps up on the soundtrack. But whatever: I am pretty sure I will not convince him at this point that action movies are a category worth making allowances for, when your movie-going choices are on the line. At this point the historian knows his own tastes, and what he likes is (a) nothing set in a fantasy realm: no wizards, elves, dwarves, fairies, or orcs; (b) nothing where a bunch of stuff erupts in sheets of etc.; (c) no movies that are stupid; (d) small, human-scale movies that are plausible and something interesting and thought-provoking happens; (e) no gratuitous arty stuff, although he can tolerate that if the movie also exhibits characteristics of (d) above; (f) so-called little, "quirky" movies (also, see (d) above) (upon reading all of this to the historian, he points out that "little" and "quirky" are not necessarily the same category, so you can divide or merge the categories as you see fit--I'm leaving it up to you); (g) comedies that are actually funny (unlike so-called comedies that are not funny); and (h) the occasional good thriller and/or heist movie. [note: after reading this whole post to the historian, he points out another category all this leaves out, the western, and particularly old westerns, which he loves. And I also think of the sports movie, which is an action movie of a kind, but not really what I'm talking about here. Also: dance movies omg.]

I agree with most of the above, by the way: the differences between us are mostly a matter of degree. For instance, I don't love fantasy movies, and found the latter two of the Lord of the Rings films to be excessively orc-filled. But I can enjoy a fantasy element or so in a movie, if the movie is good. I really, truly loathe action movies that have the explosive elements mentioned above. On the other hand, a movie with awesome fighting or chases or kinetic forms of intrigue--that movie I will probably enjoy, and may possibly love.

For instance, I really, really loved Collateral, that Michael Mann [again with the director fetish] thing that had Tom Cruise as a killer who seemed composed entirely of nerve and muscle and an assassin's instincts. And I loved The Hurt Locker, which was both a war movie and an action movie, and the more awesome for being both. We both liked the Guy Ritchie Sherlock Holmeses, but one thing I liked about them was the chasing and the fighting. The Bourne movies were swell, for sure (I liked them a fair bit more than the historian did). And--this is probably the clincher--the art-house martial arts films, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers and Hero (others as well). I'm pretty sure I haven't seen any of the early great martial arts films, no Bruce Lee, none when Jackie Chan or Jet Li were in their prime. But I was absolutely riveted by these arty films. And recently, I enjoyed myself enormously at Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol--perhaps just a tad too long, but otherwise, fantastic action sequences where I marveled simultaneously at the gorgeous well-framed sequences and shots, and the spectacle of the human body in motion.

Isn't that really it? what movies can do, show us--the human body, strong, vulnerable and irrepressible, at the thin margin between life and death? When it's made well, the action movie shows us this, and it's thrilling.

I may or may not persuade the historian that he will enjoy Haywire, but I am pretty sure I will have to see it. Also, I may need to see MI:GP on an Imax screen. I hear it's mind-blowing.

Time for breakfast.

Whoa: last night, after coming home from dinner (enchiladas) and a movie (The Artist--good), I fell upon my pillow and fell asleep around 10:30 and woke up in my clothes at 1 a.m., got up, brushed my teeth, washed my face, undressed, and fell back asleep again until 8.

I did not, as you see, collect my thoughts and write a blog post. Alas. I am acknowledging this.

If we're keeping score--are we?--that means I now have a small slip on my record regarding my "blogging every day in 2012" initiative. But as I was opining on some other topic yesterday when I said "God is not a lawyer," well, neither am I and frankly neither are any of you, I don't think--if you're reading this and you're a lawyer, welcome! I have nothing against lawyers and, in fact,  kind of wish I were one--so I shall negotiate this small issue with myself and atone for it the only way I know how, which is: one post now, backdated for yesterday, and one post later today, for, you know, today.

And now I am going to make pancakes.

Notes at the end of the day.

1. Sometimes it is good to lower the bar, like when your alarm goes off at 6:30 and you think, screw it. 7:15 will be better.

2. Waking up coughing in the middle of the night could not be less delightful.

3. I like going to a meeting with people I like and kvetching about work in a friendly way.

4. That entity known as "Cling Wrap" occasionally over promises its clinginess vastly.

5. Getting in the car, ready to jet off to deliver green salad for 40, pasta salad for 20, and 120 water bottles to singing son's house, so they could take it and a half ton of more food to the Road Home for tonight's dinner, was made ever so much more enjoyable when running son came with and we listened to Coldplay and Sufjan Stevens on the way there and on the way back.

6. For, like, a year, I have been waiting for the guy and the girl to get back together on this, it must be admitted, perhaps less than stellar sitcom. A year or more. And finally it sort of happened on tonight's episode, and that was pretty darn satisfying.

7. I predict more coughing in the night. What the hell.