blog crack

As many of you know I've been working on a novel -- All Good Things Die in L.A.. I started it exactly on May 27, 2001, which also happens to be my birthday. It originally began as a short story which I had felt compelled to expand into a novel. A daunting task that I decided to undertake on the day I turned 25.

I always vowed to have written a novel by the time I was 30. It's just something I had always wanted to do. I have none of the usual qualms about turning 30; I'm not freaking out about becoming older (I dealt with that last year), what I'm doing with my life (dealt with that in my mid 20s) and/or my personal life (also dealt with that last year). In fact, I welcome 30 with open arms. Bring it on, I say. But I do really want, and need, to comeplete this task I have set out for myself.

Well, this Saturday is my esteemed 30th and I am furiously trying to finish my book up. I've been working on All Good Things Die in L.A. for five years and it's both frightening and satisfying to finally be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak.

So, as I approach the end I ask for all your good wishes (I could really use the help).

If you haven't either read The Da Vinci Code or heard of it then you've been living under a rock for the past few years. Penned by author Dan Brown, there is no escaping this fast-paced novel. For those of you who have not yet read it: simply put, it is the best airplane book ever written and it will (temporarily) ruin your life. It is book crack. You'll sweep everything to the sidelines -- sleep, food, relationships, work -- until you finish it. It inspires addiction and cult-like behavior from fans. And it has been made into one of the most anticipated movies of the year.

Directed by Ron Howard (Cinderella Man, A Beautiful Mind), The Da Vinci Code (arguably) reveals "the greatest cover-up in human history." After a prominent curator is murdered in the Louvre, everyone's favorite academic-turned-action-star Robert Langdon (played by an oddly cast Tom Hanks), a world-renowned professor of religious symbology, finds himself entangled in a centuries old war, full of secret societies and covert Catholic orders, battling over the very foundation of Christianity. Luckily he has some help in the form of the sweet and lovely Sophie (Audrey Tautou), a gifted code-breaker with a mysterious past. Unluckily, he is being hunted down by some very zealous police officers, including Captain Fache (Jean Reno).

Chills and thrills aside, The Da Vinci Code has pacing problems. While the book doesn't give you time to breath, the film almost meanders its way through the 149 minute runtime. Scenes that are meant to be fast-paced and leave you on the edge of your seat are drowned out by scenes weighed down by exposition and flashbacks. Half the film consists of flashbacks! And not the well done ones that are seamlessly integrated into the storyline but the jarring kind that delay the plot's flow and serve to only create more confusion. Flashbacks work on the page where the author can go further in depth but not on the screen where movement is of the essence. Indeed, the reliance on flashbacks rather than actual dialogue or action to reveal the story's many secrets deflates the denouement. By the time the climax rolls around you're left wondering what happened to the last forty minutes.

Moreover, Hanks sports one of the worst haircuts ever seen in cinematic history. And I am not exaggerating. It is very distracting. It looks like someone crazy glued a bad weave straight onto his head. Paul Bettany as Silas steals the show as a damaged, misled monk with a violent streak and Ian McKellan also gives a strong, nuanced performance as Sir Leigh Teabing, a quirky English aristocrat and fellow scholar. Tautou seems to reinterpret her character somewhat infusing it with her own brand of wide-eyed innocence.

It seems odd that a pairing like director Ron Howard and screenwriter Akiva Goldsman who usually produce the stuff of Oscars came up with a film like this. Then again Goldsman did write Batman & Robin. While one could argue that there's only so much you can do with an adaptation and still stay true to the original story, that doesn't absolve the filmmakers of a tepid visual interpretation. To sum up this movie in one word: meh. Read the book -- it's better. Besides, if you don't eat, sleep, or go to work, you can finish it in a day. Or, even better, on a long flight.


Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

www.sonypictures.com/movies/thedavincicode

To spice things up I'm thinking of starting something new: Show and Tell Thursdays. I'll post a picture and tell you'all a little story to go along.
Sound good?

Some of you may remember a little post of mine from early January about my Prom. Well...I was requested to post some photos from the event and here they are...AH! but first here is the post in a (slightly) abbreviated form. You'll have to get through that to get through the photos. Tee hee.

Personally, I loved the freakin' prom. PROM rocked. You know those moments, those rare moments in your life during which, all of a sudden, you have a moment of clarity in which you experience absolute contentment? Sometimes it could be at a party and some song'll start playing and all of sudden you'll get transported to this amazingly happy plane and you'll look over at friend and know they are on the same level and you'll both just smile. Well that was prom for me. It was the world at my feet.

It was the end of an incredibly hard year full of change. Classes were over. I had gotten into a great school. Track season had ended (I was a captain =>). Of course, then there was the whole incident in which I was "outed" as a lesbian... Long story short. We were hanging out at a track meet, I was going on about the whole "needing a date" bullshit for prom (this was, of course, because I had no date. I had really wanted to go with one of my best friends Steve L. but he had already gotten asked out by someone else. Damn you, Steve, damn you).

Anyways, I was saying that people should just bring their friends if they wanted to. One such friend, a girl, was all "I would totally love to go to prom!" To which I said, "You know what? Fuck it. You should come with me! It'll be awesome."
Bad move, Anhoni. Bad move. Some asshole (Kyle W.) overheard the last bit of this conversation and before I knew it, the next day the entire school thought I was a lesbian (of which I am not -- not that there's anything wrong with that) who was going to prom with a girl (again, also straight) whom I had asked to come as my lesbian lover. I had suddenly become a Queer figurehead. Ah, the memories!

Teachers gave me encouraging nods, as if to say "Stay strong, young sista, stay strong!" I got secretive little pep talks and one or two people even credited me for their coming out of the closet. No one believed me (except my friends) when I said "Dudes, I'm totally not a lesbian." Needless to say, this didn't help any in the getting a date for prom quest. Or maybe it did and I just didn't know it; we all know how guys are into that sort of thing.

Well, I panicked and decided to not go with my friend after all, deciding to ask another friend, David R., if he wanted to come instead. I thought I was pretty clear that I had no ulterior motives and that I was very much NOT interested in him as a boyfriend or anything of the sort, but, of course, he thought I had the hots for him anyways and proceeded to start acting weird, in the way adolescent boys are wont to do, for the rest of the remaining year and through all of prom itself. But that was just fine because I was...otherwise occupied with someone else during prom. But more on that later. Ahem.

Contributing to my Queer figurehead status, I was also the first girl to ever attend Prom wearing a pair of slacks (I wore a very tasteful DKNY ensemble). Again more nods from the teachers. It also didn't help that my mother decided to give me what she liked to call a "haircut" right before the anticipated event. I had a cute little bob, I came out of the Patel Salon with a decidedly butch boy cut. Ugh. It was the penultimate bad hair day look.

But even with all this crap, I still had the time of my life. I was with my best friends with whom I shared a stretch limo. I felt beautiful and carefree and it was the spring evenings of all evenings. We went predictably ape shit on the limo drive over and I felt an amazing pull towards one of my friend's charming dates (he was a childhood friend and they weren't going as a couple per say) who I just couldn't get enough of.

Prom was held in this great loft in Soho, the same place where they filmed the party scenes in When Harry Met Sally, and we had this amazing view of the city as the sun went down and twilight settled over the town. When I looked out onto the vista, I felt as if the whole world was laid out before me and it was full of nothing but opportunities. I could go anywhere and do anything. You know what I mean? That feeling you get (most often) when you are young and anything and everything is yet possible. I was absolutely brimming with that feeling.

The food was delicious and the music was amazing and even though my stupid, arrogant "date" refused to dance with me, my friend's date was more than obliged to do so. Afterwards, we hopped back into the limo and went clubbing all night then went to a classmates and had breakfast at 7am and then drove out to the beach where we reveled in the night and nursed our hopes.

It is one of my most cherished memories. Particularly for all that it represented and all the dreams of contentment that it held. I'll say it again. Prom was one of the best nights. Ever.

Okay...(cringe) here they are:

Today when I was coming back from brunch my neighbor, a little old lady who likes to know the comings and goings of her neighbors, got all excited and pointed and starting saying "Baby? Baby?" The Roommate for Life and I were confused and started looking around for a baby. Then she got up off her stoop and walked towards me, still pointing, and asked "Baby? You're having a baby?"

Uh, no. That would be my, apparently, huge, fat, bloated stomach.

We just laughed it off and I told her it was just the pants I was wearing which were folded up underneath my shirt.

Yeah...that felt good. Not.