crooked house

Hear and Now

If you get a chance to see Hear and Now (currently on HBO On Demand), do watch it. Filmmaker Irene Taylor Brodsky's 65-year-old deaf parents decide to get cochlear implants -- and the story is both moving and fascinating.

Mappa Mundi: On Her Dog's Heart-Shaped Bum

Artist Pia Jane Bijkerk is accepting submissions of photographs of tiny heart imagery for a collective book project called My Heart Wanders: A Collection of Subtle Hearts in Special Places.  You could call it a found art collection of found hearts.  Lisa Peet, over at Mappa Mundi, waxes rhapsodic about the found heart image she'd like to send, but feels she can't:

Anyone who knows me or reads this blog is aware of how much I love Dorrie. Nearly every evening after a long workday, I drag my sorry self out for a walk with her no matter how unmotivated I am, and she never fails to infect me with her energy and joy at our being out together. She trots along, often slightly ahead of me -- I love The Dog Whisperer but don't subscribe to absolutely everything he preaches, and if she wants to forge ahead a little I have no problem with that, so long as she doesn't pull -- nose in the air, tail held high and happy. And although I don't seek it out, or focus on it in particular, neither do I take great pains to avert my eyes from what presents itself: my dog's pink, very heart-shaped, um... asshole.

Her post is both hilarious and weirdly sweet.

Paper Hermes Kelly Bag

Can't afford a fancy schmancy Kelly bag by Hermes? They're offering a number of different styles in paper. Simply choose your favourite (I think I like the "Pandora" one), download, print, cut out and assemble. I would carry the paper version around with pride. Whereas I'd feel ridiculous carting around a real one. Via Paper Forest.

Comma Sutra T-Shirt

From here. Via ShelfTalker. I don't know why this blog has suddenly become the virtual equivalent of a cheesy bookstore that stocks  more book-related paraphernalia than actual books. Sorry about that. 

Innovative Book Promotion

Over at Omnivoracious, there is a video of Miranda July interviewing a copy of her own book. Yes, that's right. She is interviewing her book. I enjoyed it very much.

This, right on the heels of Sloane Crosley's diorama gimmick to promote her new book, is making me wonder if a new trend is developing.  Are we going to see more and more authors doing performance-type pieces as a way of promoting their books? Or is this kind of thing going to be limited to humour essayists and quirky artists? Because I'd really like to see Richard Dawkins do a mime skit as promotion for The God Delusion, say, or Barbara Walters tap dancing for Audition. We've had more than enough talk from both of them over the years.

If you have any innovative promotion ideas for other books, please do share in the comments.

In the Library Perfume

In the Library from CB I Hate Perfume. "Hubba hubba. You smell like a library. I wish to read your body like a book."

They've also got a perfume inspired by Stevie Smith's poem Black March. I like the idea of scents based on poems and books (although I think I'd like them based on a particular book rather than the entire library). Via A Cup of Jo.

Speaking of books and perfume, I've had my eye on Perfumes: The Guide for some time now. It's getting rave reviews -- I find it very difficult to write about scents and the authors of this book are supposed to have made the subject extremely entertaining.

The Brick Testament

I'm probably the only person alive who had before never seen The Brick Testament, the enormous site featuring many, many stories from the Bible illustrated by many, many Lego people.  Check out the warning at the bottom of the page:

The Bible contains material some may consider morally objectionable and/or inappropriate for children. These labels identify stories containing:    = nudity  = sexual content  = violence  = cursing

 

Two Little Girls in a Little Dollhouse from Sesame Street

Here's a little sickly sweet nostalgia to go with your lunch.

Facebook and Lori Nix

So a week or so ago, I got sucked into facebook. I know, I know, once again I'm so late to the party it's like arriving the morning after, just in time to help clean up. 

Sara O'Leary told me that one of the strangest things about facebook is that it's like having people you know from all different walks of life drop into your house all at once. I completely agree. If you're on facebook, too, come join my extremely strange morning after party. I could use some help with the dishes.

I discovered that there are a number of people on facebook with names very similar to mine. This has never happened to me before. I'm not sure whether to "friend" Stephanie Eisenback, Stephanie Hanback, Stephanie Allenbach, and Stephanie Haulenbeck or to have them assassinated. (Just kidding! Don't worry, Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie, and Stephanie. I'm completely harmless. Really. Ask almost anyone.)

I've just joined a facebook group called Tiny Things Are Nice. There, I discovered the amazing work of Lori Nix.

Library from the series The City.

More Shrinky Dink Jewelry

I've become a little obsessed with the shrinky dink. 

Ode to the Polaroid and Uterus and Chocolate are the work of Mary Jean Massie of Rabbit Skin Glue.

The Anatomica Heart Necklace is the work of Vanda of Paraphernalia. Everything she sells is gorgeous. That heart was the inspiration for my own attempt at an anatomically correct shrinky dink heart (it's in the upper left-hand side in this photo). But while hers is witty and only a tiny bit disturbing, mine looks like you've actually got a piece of human tissue dangling from your neck. Not the look I was going for at all. I especially love the contrast between the cheap, tacky material and the delicate, slightly disturbing Victorian imagery she uses. There's something very steampunk about it.

Giveaway: Jennifer Niesslein's Practically Perfect in Every Way

So I just finished Jennifer Niesslein's excellent book Practically Perfect in Every Way, the account of the two years she spent trying to follow the advice of a great many self-help gurus. (You can read the list here.*) It's the kind of crazy, ill-advised experiment in self-improvement I might attempt if I had any willpower whatsoever. Although, in this case, maybe my lack of willpower is a good thing -- by the end of the two years, Jennifer was suffering from pretty severe panic attacks. And while she's careful to avoid blaming  the self-help stuff -- she says it's hard to tell if the panic attacks would have developed anyway -- it's impossible not to wonder if the intense self-scrutiny  she undertook might have had something to do with them. It was interesting to read her book on the heels of A Brief History of Anxiety. In that book Patricia Pearson argues that anxiety is so widespread in our culture  precisely because we are convinced that we have the power to control our own lives and that we are failing miserably as human beings whenever things aren't going as we'd hoped or planned. Jennifer (who notes this relationship between control and anxiety in her own book) was trying so hard to get everything together it's no wonder she started to fall apart.

Practically Perfect is friendly, funny, and conversational in tone -- it's also very thoughtful.  I was most struck, I think, by Jennifer's musings on the role luck plays in our lives and of the effect the self-help movement has on the larger culture. When we ignore chance as a factor in the course a life can take, do we start to blame people for their own misfortunes? Does self-help, in some cases, turn us into a more individualistic, less empathetic society?  While taking care not to jump to any conclusions, Niesslein asks all the right questions.

If you want my copy of Practically Perfect in Every Way, please email me at stephka dot eastlink dot ca with "practically perfect" in the subject line before Saturday May 17 at midnight. I'll use a randomizer to choose the winner. I'll also throw in a fabulous shrinky-dink elephant charm (see below). You'll have to read the book to find out why it's relevant.

*Beware of therapists who call themselves Dr. Insert First Name Here. This generally signifies the doctorate is in a field like physical education and is completely irrelevant to the advice they give. I'm looking at you, Dr. Phil and Dr. Laura.

Shrinky Dink Jewelry

These are the shrinky dink charms Luke and I made this weekend. Okay, so he lost interest after about ten minutes. But I enjoyed it. The elephant charm will be given away with a copy of Jennifer Niesslein's book. See the above post for details. I'll even throw in a piece of black cord with which to tie it around your neck.

The Artificial Mother

I must be the only person on the internet who didn't know about the Open Library until today when I read over on Bookslut that Jessa was absorbed in The Stork Didn't Bring You, a sex education guide from the 1940s that she found there. I am loving the site, particularly the really old books. Check this one out: The Artificial Mother, written by George Haven Putnam in 1894. Dedicated to "the oppressed husbands and fathers of the land and to the unknowing young man who may be contemplating matrimony," it is the story of a man who, resenting the time his wife spends caring for their ten children, makes a robot-like version of his wife out of a mannikin, a miniature organ, a turkey's gizzard and two mouse-skin drums. (If you scroll down in this article about the history of robots in American fiction, you'll find a couple of paragraphs that summarize the story.)

The author 's misogyny aside, sometimes we could really do with an artificial mother around here. Must add "turkey gizzard" to my shopping list.

Pasha Malla's Mother Interviews Him About His Book The Withdrawal Method

In honour of Mother's Day, here is a lovely audio interview with the up-and-coming writing superstar (and fellow Canadian) Pasha Malla, in which Pasha is interviewed by his hard-hitting and absolutely adorable mother. It's about his first book of short stories, The Withdrawal Method, which is available available now on Chapters.

PASHA'S MOM: I have a question.

PASHA: What?

PASHA'S MOM: Why is your book called The Withdrawal Method?

PASHA: Oh my god. It's like a pun.

PASHA'S MOM: On?

PASHA: It's about, uh, characters who shut themselves off. But then I thought it would be uh... funny.

PASHA'S MOM: Oh, okay.

PASHA: There's no actual...There's none of that in the book.

PASHA'S MOM: Okay, all right. I'm glad you explained that to me.

PASHA: Well there's more to it than that but I mean, you're making me feel weird.

PASHA'S MOM: How many stories are there in it?

PASHA: Thirteen.

PASHA'S MOM: Oh! Was there a reason you chose thirteen?

PASHA: No. Well, I chose thirteen because  I wrote thirty and seventeen of them were bad.

PASHA'S MOM: A baker's dozen?

PASHA: Well, there was another reason, too, but... I don't want to get into it.

PASHA'S MOM: What's the reason, come on, tell me.

PASHA: Come on, you  want to get into this?

PASHA'S MOM: I'm curious.

PASHA: Oh god. Uh... a baker's dozen. That's it.

PASHA'S MOM: No no. I'm your mother and you have to tell me!

PASHA: What do you mean!?

PASHA'S MOM: You have to tell  me. C'mon. You're looking secretive. It's going to look stupid. That's okay. You can do that. You can look stupid.

The rest of the interview is charming and hilarious and you can listen to it here.

Call Me An Adultivore or An Adultetarian: I Do Not Eat Babies

There should be a name for people who do not eat babies. There are many of us who eat this way instinctively but we have not yet formed a movement. I personally like to refer to myself as an “adultivore” or an “adultetarian” but I am willing to go with whatever the majority decides.

Like many of you, I do not eat veal. Nor do I eat lamb. Say either of these words and I'm immediately looking into the enormous dark and tear-filled eyes of a Japanese cartoon character. I do not even eat baby potatoes.

Eggs, however, pose a dilemma. Are they properly considered babies or are should they be thought of as little more than pre-baby gloop? And if I do choose to think of them as edible pre-baby gloop (and here I must regretfully admit that I do), well, I am fooling no one but myself. After all, if our local French restaurant, the one we visit perhaps once every two years as a very special treat, suddenly offered up a delicacy involving the flesh of a fetal pig I'd certainly refuse to eat it on the grounds of my adultivore status.

My conscience is also a little bothered by cheeses, like mascarpone, that aren't aged. I  eat mascarpone but I don't feel good about it. Of course, that may have something to do with how fattening it is and how much of it I tend to eat. Nevertheless, it does not have eyes.

Perhaps you assume that my intolerance for baby-eating has developed as a result of becoming a parent myself. This is partly true -- but not for the gooey sentimental reasons you imagine. On the contrary, having a newborn baby in my home around the clock made me realize just how appealing the idea of devouring it could be. Nursing makes you hungry, you have to do it all the time, and it’s not easy to run to the kitchen with an infant dangling from your chest. After several weeks of sleep deprivation and under-nourishment combined with extremely close proximity to the deliciously soft flesh of a baby, you sniff the top of its head and tell me you don’t feel like eating the thing. I decided to go cold turkey late one evening when I found myself hovering over that soft spot on my baby’s head with the decorative silver spoon we kept on the shelf next to his piggy bank and the little knitted hat he’d worn home from the hospital. (Incidentally, I believe that nurses, who have been around the block when it comes to babies, surely put those hats on newborns for this very reason, although they will tell you it is to keep them warm. The next time you visit a maternity ward, take the hat off the baby and wait to see how long it takes for the nurse to put it back on, all the while shooting you a nasty warning look. Not long, I can assure you.)

Like a recovering addict, I recognize the beast within myself. Sometimes, though, I can get carried away with my adultetarian zeal. For instance, I have found that my personal ban on eating babies now seems to extend to miniature versions of foods, as well. Baby carrots and baby lettuce have recently joined baby potatoes on my list. Many otherwise innocuous h’ors d’oeuvres have also become off-limits – I can no longer eat mini-pizza, mini-quiches, or tiny pigs in blankets. I know intellectually that those tiny guinea hens are full-grown adults but when one is placed in front of me at a banquet my visceral reaction is a desperate attraction – my hands literally quiver over my fork and knife -- followed by intense revulsion. I usually have to excuse myself in order to go throw up in the ladies room.

But being an adultivore isn't all about restraint, deprivation, and guilt. There are some definite advantages. Imagine you are at a picnic in the park and you are offered a beverage. Say the choice is between apple juice and something alcoholic, perhaps a glass of wine or a bottle of beer or a two-litre plastic jug of Long Island Iced Tea. It is always more appropriate, regardless of the time of day, to take the alcoholic drink. "Fermented" is simply another word for "aged." God knows how young the apples in that "fresh" juice were when they were plucked from the tree and squeezed to death. I will have you know that it is only 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning and I am drinking a glass of wine right now. And feeling righteous about it. If you don't eat babies either, join me in a toast! To adultivores! To adultetarianism! And if you come up with a better name, let me know.