This new post mean the cartoon avatar gets scrolled down a little. Oh darn. I actually enjoy watching her levitate. I hope everyone has as much fun with their avatars as I had creating mine. It's quite addictive.
Also, go check out Kim's vignette as well as her cauldron-boiling Meez avatar.
I'm taking this Friday off work for a long weekend. Just felt it is time for a Mental Health Break again.
I intend to spend the long weekend reading and doing yoga of course. And maybe I will find the time to catch the recent Parker Posey film, Broken English. Directed by Zoe Cassavetes, Broken English is one of those "30-something questioning their state of existence" indie movies. Parker Posey's character is 30, unmarried, and one day she decides to do something about it. She dates, meets weird people. Then enters this French guy, Julien, who might just be The. One. For one reason or another, he goes back to Paris - and she goes after him - because sometimes, you just have to run after love.
I've read some snarky reviews on the movie online - several of them commenting on the ending that seems like a rip-off from Before Sunset. That is not going to deter me from the film, because I'm watching it for Parker Posey.
Parker Posey is one of those people that always manages to delight me as both a dramatic and comedic actress. With her strong features and sense of style, she deserves a higher profile in the industry. But because she chooses to stay with the indie film circuit, she will never be the next Halle Berry or Lindsay Lohan (thank God for small favours!) Instead, fans can always rely on her fleshing out quirky roles that are fun and endearing in that Posey-seque way. I love her as the the party girl who becomes a librarian in Party Girl (oh that Dewey system, so sexy!). And who else just chuckled at her appearance in Blade: Trinity as Danica Talos, the sadistic vamp whose fangs are located in her vagina? Her torturing Hannibal King was one of those moments to savour in Blade: Trinity. That and Jessica Biel with shapely biceps kicking ass to her iPod tunes. Hee.
But what else might I do in the long weekend?
I was reading a little more of Alice Walker's The Way Forward Is With A Broken Heart this afternoon and I am slightly in awe of her smooth, contemplative prose. 2007 seems to be The Year of Alice Walker for me. I read The Colour Purple for the first time and I loved it. I think I am falling deeper in love with The Way Forward. Somebody save me.
Actually, no - don't do anything. Let me skinny-dip in the pond of adoration for Alice Walker.
There is one part in the beginning of The Way Forward that makes me curious. Walker begins with a letter to her young husband - the man she married, not the older man she ended up divorcing. She ruminates on the time when their love was strong and pure enough to resist the racism, the irrational hatred against their inter-racial marriage. She wonders how things changed, how they arrived at this current state where they no longer speak.
Over the years we shared Shakespeare, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy. Orwell. Langston Hughes. Sean O'Faolain. Ellison. But you would not read the thin paperback novel by this black woman I loved. It was as if you drew a line, in this curious territory. I will love you completely, you seemed to say, except for this. But sharing this book with you seemed everything.
I wonder if you've read it, even now.
Our Child was conceived. Grew up. Went to a large Eastern university. Read the book. She found it there on the required reading list, where I and other labored for a decade to make sure it would be. She tells me now she read it before she even left home, when she was in her early teens. She says I presented it to her with a quiet intensity, and with a special look in my eyes. She says we used to read passages from it while we cooked dinner for each other, and that she used to join me as I laughed and sometimes cried.
I'm not sure - is the unnamed author Zora Neale Hurston? If it is, Their Eyes Were Watching God is now on my reading list.