Listening: Uggh, I'm in that dreaded between-obsessions phase. I loathe! I don't really have anything left with the Clash, so now its musically meandering... Beatles for Sale still; Bessie Smith; "Something About England", The Clash; Curtis, Curtis Mayfield; Everly Brothers still; the Impressions; "Needles and Pins", Jackie DeShannon; "Wicked Annabella", the Kinks; Les Paul per usual; Little Feat, Little Feat; P-Funk; Toots and the Maytals still. Yet, no such obsession.
Reading: The most exciting this to happen to me this month... I paid my library fees! After more than a year of dodging libraries and book mobiles alike, the county of Los Angeles has nothing on me! So that means I've been reading savagely -- I finished four books this week. They are The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion; The Making of the African Queen, Or: How I went to Africa with Bogart, Bacall and Huston and almost lost my mind, Katharine Hepburn; By Myself, Lauren Bacall; Heaven and Hell: My Life in the Eagles (1974-2001), Don Felder.
The Year of Magical Thinking nearly reduced me to tears, but I made it through with dry eyes. She isn't overwhelmingly emotion, yet her emotions still come through so boldly. Her intellectual and fact-based approach is a striking way of delivering such a heartbreaking tale. You see her candid emotions, distress, grief, and mourning for just what they are, and you feel for her immensely. Yet, she demands no such pity, and this is most admirable. She somehow leaves a gap, so you know just how she feels and thinks, but you don't quite feel like you know her. But, what is most incredible about this book is that this is TRUE LIFE. The fact that her pain and each new struggle is entirely real is what gets to me most. Each time the story took a turn, I became completely engrossed, and I'd hope that Ms. Didion could work her way out of it. Why the hell I read a book that has become a staple of "mourning literature", I don't know. (The title sounds mystical, but really has nothing to do with "magic".) All I know is that though I was aware of the final outcome (and I applaud her strength), I still mercilessly traveled through the hardships with her, itching for every detail. A plus: It proves you can write your way out of the biggest disasters.
When The Year of Magical Thinking became too weighty, I balanced it with The Making of the African Queen, Or: How I went to Africa with Bogart, Bacall and Huston and almost lost my mind. While not nearly as stunning as her autobiography, Katharine Hepburn's witty banter, affectionately turbulent accounts of John Huston, but most of all her tales of Bogie and Bacall and living in Africa, all make for a hilarious read. Movie trouble tends to be a bore, but you also get her talking about strange things like not wanting to share a bathroom with the Bogarts, for fear that Bogie will walk in while she's on the toilet. I kind of want to escape on an African safari. Yes?
!!!
By Myself, I read years ago, so I actually just skimmed it. Though, I did read everything from the beginning of her contact with Howard Hawks to Frank Sinatra's flee. For it has all her mushy gushy Bogie courtship tales! I melt. Truly, I sat tucked under my blanket, gripping my heart and cooing to myself. As I've covered, I have no stomach for contrived romance. In contrast, I adore a well-written letter. Especially when penned by Humphrey Bogart, professing his love... "Slim darling, you came along and into my arms and into my heart and all the real true love I have is yours-and now I'm afraid you won't understand and that you'll become impatient and that I'll lose you-but even if that happened, I wouldn't stop loving you for you are my last love and all the rest of my life I shall love you and watch you and be ready to help you should ever need help. All the nice things I do each day would be so much sweeter and so much gayer if you were with me. I find myself saying a hundred times a day, 'If Slim could only see that' or 'I wish Slim could hear this.' I want to make a new life with you-I want all the friends I've lost to meet you and know you and love you as I do-and live again with you, for the past years have been terribly tough, damn near drove me crazy. You'll soon be here, Baby, and when you come you'll bring everything that's important to me in this world with you." That's only one of many, but such sweetness, right? I'm not entirely heartless..
What a happy bunch they appear to be...
Heaven and Hell was basically: "I'm such an intense drug taker. Cocaine cocaine cocaine!" "We're the Eagles, we're so decadent! Such debauchery! We fuck so many ladies, we take so many drugs, we're so wild! So reckless! Third encore!" And of course, "Glenn Frey and Don Henley are such assholes!" But really, Don Felder doesn't come across as a half-bad dude. Sometimes I thought, "Should he just shut up and take what he's given?" But eh, I'm all about speaking your mind, especially when so unfairly vied against. A lose/lose situation, I think. Still, its all just money... But he does also seem to truly possess a respect and admiration for his craft. I think he was a better composer than Joe Walsh anyway. "Hotel California" > "Pretty Maids All in a Row". Basically, I collected that the Eagles seem like a bunch you wouldn't want to spend much time with, and Glenn Frey and Don Henley, for all their talent, were/are greedy bitches. And Irving Azoff too, for all his lack of talent.
Watching: Casino Royale, 1967 version -- so campy and ridiculous, but I love John Huston and David Niven, and Barbara Bouchet was so beautiful; The Kids Are Alright, which we all know is amazing, no need to discuss. The Who, so great; The Harder They Come, a cult favorite with one of the best soundtracks. When asked what it was about, I responded, "Jamaica, weed, reggae." Basically.
I hope to make this weekly overview a steady occurrence, xo.
