Love your rage, not your cage

Since mankind's dawn, a handful of oppressors have accepted the responsibility over our lives that we should have accepted for ourselves. By doing so, they took our power. By doing nothing, we gave it away. We've seen where their way leads, through camps and wars, towards the slaughterhouse.

From the graphic novel V for Vendetta, written by Alan Moore, illustrated by David Lloyd

🤎

Thursday, a good day to read Chocolat, watch Chocolat, or eat chocolat while reading/watching Chocolat. Because you will start craving it. So prepare accordingly. And quality over quantity, please. We're pampering ourselves, not punishing our gastrointestinal bits.

Did you get my SOS? Excellent.

Life imitating art imitating life

The fifth of November, sweetie darlings. Bonfire Night. You know what that means, right? Time to visit the man from room number V.

Freedom! Forever!

The 5th of November, sweetie darlings. You know what to do.

Now praise we great and famous men

At the Oscars. Again. Again and again. Over and over.

"Let us make a list of nominees in our image, after our likeness, to rule over gender, racial and ethnic minorities, and over all the earth itself and every creature that crawls through the doors of a movie theater."

The AMPAS needs an enema. Because this stinks to high heaven.

Because nosferatus need love too

𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖑𝖞  𝕳𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓, 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖊 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘. 𝕰𝖓𝖏𝖔𝖞 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖊. 𝕻.𝕾. 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖑𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍: 𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖂𝖊 𝕯𝖔 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖘 (𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖊). 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖆 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖈𝖗𝖞: 𝕮𝖔𝖈𝖔 (𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖛𝖎𝖊).

Keeping your head up

I know it's three months away (that'll swoosh by like a comet, mark my words), and all the world doesn't observe it, and some absolutely abhor it, but it's about to get grim up north, so I need some Emilia Clarke & Emma Thompson & London & the music of King George. All the light and luster available to keep afloat. So indulge me. Or scroll off.

So is he a ghost? Or someone she has forgotten because of her health scare? Don't know, don't care, watching it. Even if you spoil it for me. Even if it's as cheesy as baked brie. 👅

"There's no such thing as normal. You're just being a human being. It's hard." 

Hear, hear.

Summer moved on

Temperature: a crispy but sunny 10/50 degrees

Eating: a cheese and onion omelette.

Drinking: less and less of the proofed stuff, actually. Less has become more. Which is just as well.

Watching: Spent two hours in the soothing company of good friends and the good people of Downton Abbey just the other night! Now youngest son wants to go see Ad Astra. Why do I feel it won’t be as gentle on me?

Listening: to new music from Keane.

Reading: Saw the trailer so gobbled up Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple over the weekend. Which most likely ruined the movie. But the trailer kinda ruined the book; I kept seeing Cate Blanchett, you see. But, hello, it’s Cate Blanchett, so why am I complaining? Excellent book for friends of the epistolary form. Or just good clean fun writing.

Writing: Yup. Wondering why? So am I.

Thinking: It’s fall equinox today, isn’t it? How I wish the UN Climate Summit could find a balance, come to an understanding, have the wisdom and wherewithal to do something, anything to accelerate a change for the better.

Episode 412 where Dita gets all worked up over the Oscars

I'll show you my utterly unimpressed with the Oscars face if you'll show me yours. Seriously. I'm having a hard time getting excited. And not for the first time. For the many manieth time in a row. Is the show showing its age...being 91 and all...and perhaps a bit...tired...of itself? If there's one thing the movie industry knows how to do it's a facelift, but I feel like they need a more extreme kind of makeover at this point.

Have they finally decided on this year's show? With a room full of actors will they dispense with a script and employ the brow-dampening art of improvisation? Will they simply be mailing those statues in 2020? And can we talk about the omissions? They tell a tale of memory disorder, no surprise when you're 91, really. What is wrong with this year's lineup? Let's see, shall we? Where's Widows? [Did you see this movie? Apparently, neither did the Academy.] Where is Early Man? Joanna Kulig? Emily Blunt (and correct me if I'm wrong but she's never been nominated, not once, a scandal of Dolby Theatre proportions)? Or Toni Collette?

[I can barely stomach horror these days, but I'm glad I watched Hereditary and A Quiet Place. BC EB & TC. And if the Academy doesn't care much for horror then what is their excuse for overlooking EB in Mary Poppins Returns? No, I'd really like to know.] Where is Timothée Chalamet for his rip-your-heart-out-and-fry-it-extra-crispy Beautiful Boy performance? Nomination got lost in the mail? Landed in the hands of PwC and was never seen again? They couldn't spell/pronounce his name? What about The Rider? Zero fucks given, Signed, The Academy. And yay for Adam Driver, but if Adam Driver then John David Washington, right? No? Why not?

Anyone care to explain? What is going on, people? What?! The Oscar goes to anyone who delivers a sincere answer and makes a believable performance out of it.

A midsummer night's dream

I dreamed I wrote a rather long and rambling essay on the economy, ecology and equality. Long because of the amounts of cause and effect and problems and solutions I managed to cram into that one piece, rambling because of the myriad associations, the links and bridges I managed to build. Full of pathos, I went from global warming to refugees to immigration, from nationalism to fascism to racism, from global trade to global warming and back to refugees again. My theory of everything.

Too bad I don't remember half of it but I do remember feeling a strange but strong sort of relief getting it all down in writing, as if I hadn't quite known what I thought on the subject before I wrote about it and had now laid down a burden, the anxiety that comes with the feeling you don't understand the world around you, the hows and whys, the implications, the consequences. In my dream I had managed to collect my thoughts, observations and opinions, arrange them in a well-structured manner and lay them out coherently and elegantly. (One can dream, right?)

He built this garden for us, they were called, my nocturnal notes, a slight but quite deliberate misquote of a Lenny Kravitz song, I presume, since I opened with a picture of our garden, a garden I gladly work on but one my husband has had a heavy hand in creating. So he doesn't bring me flowers every day. He built me a garden. I realized this is the longest I've stayed put, and not the least because of the garden that grows around me, a house that's like the tropics in the arctic, the peace and happiness I feel in both.

Who has the right to peace and happiness, or prosperity? On what terms? On whose terms? Who promised life would be easy, fair or happy, a man once asked when the question came up, a man who'd never suffered or struggled, who'd never been and never would be any type of minority, an outcast, disenfranchised, displaced, the underdog. No one had ever denied him, crossed him, belittled him, stomped on him or stood up to him. I understood his question. I just don't think he did. I don't think he gave a second thought to where his wealth came from, to whom or what he owed it to.

Taking a close, critical, honest look at most anything usually makes you focus on the flaws and the problems in something, then promptly sign up for a transcendental meditation class, learn mindfulness, go buy one of those adult coloring books, whatever takes your mind off the fact the world is a pretty fucked up place getting worse by the second, now that you really look at it and think about it, so better not look too closely, better concentrate on things closer to home such as you, yourself and, well, you, Jon Lajoie was right: Fuck Everything. Wait, what?

One of my university professors believed cultures evolved in cycles, all cultures following the same cycle but at a different pace. All clashes between nations, cultures, creeds and even individuals stemmed from our conflicting values and views, our place on the cycle, and our need to impose those values and views, our will, on others. I've seen such forces in action, determinism, relativism and entitlement at its worst. I've seen evidence to the contrary, kindness and compassion and selflessness at its best.

Maybe authors and artists can't change the world but they show us what it's like to live in it, what it feels like to be human, living under the same sun and moon but very different stars.

Ti prometto vendetta

Remember, remember the 5th of November... It's Bonfire Night meaning it's V for Vendetta night at Casa Dita.

What's with the rose? You'll have to watch the movie to find out.

And the nominees are

It's Dita day again at 69 Shades where I'm talking movies; the hot, the pass-the-fan, the oh-wow. So what's your all-time favorite?

Street fighting man

V: It is to Madame Justice that I dedicate this concerto.

  

Evey Hammond: [voiceover] I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas. I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them. But you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it. Ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love. And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget.

It's Guy Fawkes', dearest denizens. You know what that means, don't you? It's V for Vendetta night at Casa Dita. Sadly, hubby is working tonight. Will you watch it with me?

Oh, James!

So who's your favorite? James Bond, that is? Mine is Timothy Dalton. Oh yes. 

Timothy, you tugged at my heart-strings in a way that none of those cads ever did or could. I'm not falling for Sean's bedroom eyes or Roger's wit. George I barely even registered and Pierce didn't stand a chance. I could never accept him because he replaced you, Timothy. And they said you were one-dimensional. Please. You were subtle in the way classically trained actors usually are, but they never got it, did they, that you were the perfect Bond, Ian's Bond. Dark and tortured and edgy.

A lot like Daniel is, actually. But a blonde James Bond...? Couldn't wrap my head around that for the longest time, not with the vision of you, Timothy, burned in my brain as my Bond, Ian's Bond, the Bond, but I have to admit he's doing a pretty good job. He'll never have your innate warmth and sweetness coupled with all that raw intensity, he's too hard somehow, but I'm trying to give credit where credit is due. I'd put my life in his hands as I would have yours. Those other James'...I was not so sure about. 

So cheers, Timothy! Nobody does it better, and that's all there is to it.

Not a dry eye in the house

It's that time of the year again, dearest denizens. The 5th of November. Bonfire night.

You know what that means. It's V for Vendetta night. Try making it through Valerie's letter without crying, I dare you.

Start the revolution without me

Happy Diwali and Guy Fawkes'! 

And my apologies, V. I know it's supposed to be V for Vendetta night at the home movie theater but this year is not good for me, sweetie darling. Girls' night out, you see.

Oh don't give me that face. That face. The one you always do, that quirky smirk. It's not going to work, not this time, so don't even start. I promise to come home early. Real early. Around 4 am? Early enough in the morning for you? I thought so. Catch you next year then.

Cheers. Behave.

Stranger than fiction

I didn't take part in NaNoWriMo. What I seem to be doing is IMoMoI, as in moving images of the international kind. I also have WriAWriMo going on, writing about writing, but more on that perhaps some other time.

What have you been watching lately? Did you do your homework and go Ghibli? What next? 570 channels and nothing on, huh? Will Work for Food in Hell's Kitchen while Dancing with the Bachelor Apprentice on the Amazing Race for the Biggest Loser on the Brazilian Highlands felt like déjà vu all over again, to only marginally misquote Yogi Berra? 

Still in search of drama? Emotion?! Human interest?!! Blood, sweat and tears of the really real kind? Our human condition in all its misery and life-affirming glory? It doesn't get any more real than this, I promise you that.

I've watched some disturbing, hilarious, revealing and inspiring stories this month. Some older, some new, all timeless. I didn't set out to watch nothing but documentaries, based on a true story films and true to life tales but really, there's nothing on. 

For your viewing pleasure, amazement and horror, I give you the trials and tribulations of humankind as only life seen through an unflinching lens can deliver:


Sin Nombre (Mexico/USA, 2009)


S.O.P. (USA, 2008)


Pray the Devil Back To Hell (USA, 2008)


Waltz with Bashir (Israel/Germany/France, 2008)


Katyn (Poland, 2007)


The Yes Men Fix the World (France/UK/USA, 2009)


The Three Rooms of Melancholia (Finland/Denmark/Germany, 2004)


Let's Make Money (Austria, 2008)


Crude (USA, 2009)


Band of Brothers (UK/USA, 2001)


And that's all for now, folks. Yes, I know it looks like a list of nominees. They have all in fact been nominated for some award or several, most have won at some festival or other, and I highly recommend you look into one or all of them. 

Sorry I deleted the synopses. I didn't think you'd wade your way through to the end of the list and I happened to save the best of the bunch for last. If you have any questions or comments or you'd like to tell me to sod off for not even providing a tagline (not that all even have one), shoot. 

I'll let the pictures do the talking and you'll get to do the World Tour. Or Half the World Tour. Come on, I searched for the most representative links, in English. It'll take you a couple of minutes each (I clocked) to find out what they're all about, if you don't know already. And then some, if you have the time and the inclination to go deeper.

Stranger than fiction, indeed. 

Penny for the Guy?

Remember, remember the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. I know of no reason why the Gunpowder Treason should ever be forgot. 

No history lecture on the way, only a rhetorical question: Do you watch certain movies at certain times? Of the year, I mean? Tonight, for obvious reasons, is V for Vendetta Night. If you haven't seen it, and if you liked Fight Club, Sin City and The Dark Knight, go get it. 

Go on now. Hugo Weaving's in it, and Stephens Fry and Rea. And Natalie Portman! John Hurt!! Don't take your movie violence on an industrial scale? Too bad, The Wachowski brothers didn't mess up this one.

Heads will roll

I'm a movie buff who happens to like Tim Burton's stuff. I decorated the door to my den with a poster for Sleepy Hollow on Halloween. Not the one with Johnny and Christina even though they are beautiful together, aren't they, but the one with the headless Hessian Horseman. That is one hauntingly beautiful, and grisly, image, too.

My kids are old enough to not have him riding into their nightmares waving that axe. They are also young enough to respect his authority when they haven't respected that closed door. Halloween went by but the Horseman stayed. The kids think it's a cool poster, a little scary but not too much. They stop to stare at him as he watches over me. And they forget to knock. They forget to barge in altogether.

So I'm hanging onto my Hessian fiend of a friend and letting him hang on my door for the time being. He has worked wonders for my writing peace if I've indulged while the children are still awake. They have seen Mom's head on fire when interrupted for the twelfth time in twenty minutes. The fact that the Horseman doesn't have one is ten times more effective.

Thank you for the music

...the hypnotizing and the haunting, the cheesy and queasy, the infinitely memorable and the imminently forgettable (the latter amplifies the effect of the former, the former puts the latter to shame). Then again, taste is a subjective issue; my favorite band sucks, now so does yours.

Say what you want, think what you will, they're the best thing to hit a note (or graze it) while striking a chord within us since that first rhyme you ever beat into the ground and your family over the head with. You may have trouble remembering those all-important memos and messages, the birthdays of the near and dear, the text you'll be tested on tomorrow (and you've gone through that damned thing 27 times over the past 72 hours), but how many 80's (or, fill the blank) songs do you know by heart? Start counting... Uncanny, isn't it? Scary, actually. And only human.

Songs that make you happy to remember, tunes that make you wish you could forget. To dance, to play, to sing, even if only by yourself; think of it as a gift. It is a gift. Everyone on the planet does it different from you. Someone may even do it better than you (yeah, we really love to hate them). But no one in the universe does it exactly like you.

Thank you for the movies; the ones I watched only once and will never be able to watch again because I cried over whose brilliant script was tossed to make this mockery, or because they were so dead-on, true to life, painful and poignant I bawl my eyes out merely thinking about how they made me feel. And they made me Feel. Those I will carry with me always, like little jewels I found. You might look at those pebbles and shrug them off as fool's gold.

Thank you for the books; the disturbing and the inspiring, the uplifting and the mind boggling. So many beautiful languages and voices, some centuries old and indestructible, some young and formative and fragile. False friends, old friends, true blue friends. You wish you would have written them. You only wish no one would have come up with some of them. Where's a language policeman when you need one? But those that flow...they make your spirit sing.

Nature is perfunctory and evolution the ultimate in waste management. They are the final word and judgment on art: we need those chords, those images and words. They nourish us and console us. They bring us together just when we start to think it would be easier to let it all fall apart. They shake us up when we start to believe that maybe we won't get hurt if we sit tight and play dead.

They reach out and transcend all barriers. They remind us that we are not alone, that there is life out there. And that there is life and fight and laughter in us yet.