My Favorite Movies

In writing a personal profile, I'm often asked about my interests. What movies I like, my favorite music, books I would recommend etc. Usually, I offer up a list of current favorites. Except on those occasions when I feel that my preferences are being recorded for future use. Sound paranoid? Absolutely! Do you know why? On facebook or similar social networking sites, I can be "matched up" with people who have similar interests. Even when I have zero acquaintances in common. Yikes!

But today, I feel a compulsion to at least write down a few of my all time favorite movies. Movies that I can sit down to watch any time without hesitation. Today I found out that Dennis Hopper is dead. To me, he was not just an actor. He was the actor who brought me to Easy Rider. And Easy Rider was the movie that got me through weeks and months of loneliness when I was in Japan. Mombusho was an exciting opportunity, but I was ill-prepared for life in Japan. With no friends, not ready for the cold weather and frequently an outsider, I was lonely and sad as I'd never been before. Till I discovered the LD section of the university media library. And Easy Rider. I found I could laugh at futility and darkness, at my own misery and the hope that comes out of youth, even when that hope is misplaced.

I remember watching How Green Was My Valley as a teenager in my parents home. This movie is probably known only to movie buffs. But I distinctly remember a scene where the rich man's son comes to the poor man's house to ask for his daughter's hand. As the poor man takes a turn, pretending to think this offer over, we see he's holding his boots at his back. A poignant reminder of the futility of this man's attempt to establish his status as the girl's father in the face of the suitor's wealth and rank.

In graduate school, my roommate Anita and I watched Il Postino and Whats Eating Gilbert Grape. How we laughed and cried over them together. The scene where Johnny Depp's mother passes away, or where they buy a cake from the rival grocery store, where Mario Ruoppolo uses metaphors of butterflies to woo his Beatrice, his final gift for Neruda are all stuck in my brain even though I haven't seen the films in ten years.

I have watched many movies over the years. Terry Gillam's Brazil, Peter Greenaway's The Pillow Book, Scott Hicks' Snow Falling on Cedars, Mira Nair's Salaam Bombay,Joan Chen's Xiu Xiu have all left a mark. Among recent releases, Bottle Shock, Sideways, Bend It Like Beckham were funny. But for each of these movies I have a story of when, how and with whom. And as I look back to list them I see not only the movies but the faces that I have known, the laughter I have shared and the differences I have experienced.

That is why it is so difficult to simply jot down a few names. Because life comes with a lot of baggage.

Robbie Bach and Steve Jobs

The Mahabharat, beloved epic for lovers of Indian literature has this beautiful saying " chakravat parivartante dukhani cha sukhani cha" which roughly translated stands for "joy and sorrow, in cycles, change". Good times follow bad and vice versa.

Why this sudden spouting of sanskrit, you ask? A few days ago, I read in the paper of two things: first, that Robbie Bach was fired from his job at Microsoft's Entertainment Division. Second, Apple Inc., is now the top technology company on NASDAQ valued at $220 billion.

Normally, corporate ups and downs would not be a big deal. Happens every day. But Apple's case is particularly poignant. Ten years ago, Apple was a write-off among its peers, with the CEO and co-founder Steve Jobs asked to step down. Michael Dell, founder of Dell, proclaimed that Apple was no longer viable. Now, with Jobs being one of the most, if not the most sought after and successful CEOs around, and Dell virtually defunct, the joke's on Mike.

Microsoft on the other hand, has taken a beating from Google, but increasingly from Apple. The invincible giant of the 80s and 90s is now struggling to keep with the competition. Chakravat parivartante...chakravat parivartante....

Why is this relevant? Because what goes for Robbie goes for me and the rest of us. Joys will be followed by sorrow, and poverty will follow riches. To know this is to know that time and all that comes with it, is temporary. We are guests in our own homes, and it makes sense to not make too much of it. To carry our weight lightly, be it a few millions, or a multitude of bills. Here today, gone tomorrow so let's not get carried away with the importance of our being.

My Secret

An Apology

You followed me around in college

Like a kid who lost his favorite toy

And found it in the arms of another.

You asked to sit next to me, and sang George Benson.

Every note in tune. I said I hated it, it was cool to hate it that year

Even though secretly I loved the mush.

You wrote me letters adorned with details of your life

When we practically lived next door

My friends laughed as I read those out to them.

I laughed at you till you couldn't take it anymore

And I carried on without a second thought.

Carried on to the next thing, erasing memories

Till I reach this point where I can't find your name in my head.

Forgive me friend, for my harsh and callous work.

For my rudeness and cruelty that I hope you've forgotten.

In the virtual world where secrets are made to be hacked

Into this vacuum I shout "I'm sorry".

What I Like in a Man

Back when I was in grad school, I read Sei Shonagon's Makura no Soshi. The book was hilarious.

Yesterday, I met with a few girls who run a club at the school where I work. Since I was already busy with something else, I asked them to go ahead and start discussing the lineup of performers for next years International Night. After I came out of my meeting, I went up to them and asked " so who are we doing next year"? With the whoops of laughter, pat came the answer, "well that's a whole different list altogether!".

Which brought me to this post. Why can't I make a few lists? So here's the first one. The topic: What I Like in a Man.

1. A confident man. Seeing a man dither is like watching a fish trying to swallow an olive. Funny and futile. I like it when a guy is cool and confident enough to not just make eye contact but smile too. Think Cary Grant in Charade.

2. A witty guy. Not just banana peel hahas, but a clever wit that turns ordinary words into layer cake, each more exciting than the one above.

2. An intelligent man. At a younger age, this would invariable be number one. But intelligence can come in all shapes and colors. So in my rocking thirties, I like a smart guy who can be at ease in any company, high or low. Comfortable enough in his skin not to want to flaunt himself.

3. There is no greater turn off than a sloppily dressed grunge boy. Nor do I dig those buttcrack showing airbags passing for pants. I like to see a man take some time to dress. So the color of his shirt compliments his eyes. Or the cut hugs his biceps. Just a tad. Too much is ugly, uggh. No Shwarzenegger please. The pants should be straight and clearly define thighs and backside. A cute ass is a thing of beauty, so why not make it a joy for everyone? (Sorry John, you're probably turning in your grave in the Italian sun).

4. A happy guy. I like irony and black humor just as much as the next girl on the wrong side of thirty. But for a prolonged period? I need the sun of a happy throaty laugh. Or a cackle. Of a guy who wants to share the funny and the ridiculous with everyone around. Especially if that smile accompanies the crinkling around the corners of eyes. Blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, any eyes. Laughter in the eyes is always a sure thing.

5. One last thing. A light sprinkling of hair on the forearm. The promise of strength in a sinewy arm in relaxed repose.

I will stop now to watch the sudden afternoon downpour, quick and overwhelming, drenching my parched plants. I might even write an ode to it, or a tanka.

I am a Woman, Hear My Confusion

I have always been outspoken. Often at a cost. But I absolutely love the freedom that comes from saying what you truly believe and how I actually feel. As life has passes by, social structures and plain decency more often not, keeps me from utterances that would either wound someone or be detrimental to my own interests. So in order to keep the peace we put on a happy face and pretend not to notice the anxieties that threaten to destroy workplace harmony. The tiny shoots of discontent at home that seems too petty to bring up but persist at a very conscious level.

Which forces me to confront the question: am I happy? Is this the life I of my dreams? Because if the answer is no to either of these questions I still have a few decades to do something about it before I keel over and die. After all, that's why we are put on this earth, is it not? To live each day to its fullest, to live each experience to its fullest, and to never say no to the possibilities and adventures that come our way.

In order to face my discontent, I am going to list the things I can pinpoint, both good and bad as I see them.
Good: I have a fantastic family. Few women are luckier (none I know of) when it comes to a loving supportive husband, smart and sexy and uber cool. Kids who light up any room they enter.
Parents who continue to love and cherish, even when I give back so little and stay so far away.
A few good friends, even though the ones I truly love and clicked with have moved away and I don't see them as much as I would like. But that's mostly my fault as I can always initiate and maintain contact.
A stable job which pays the bills. Where I can find joy in interacting with young minds.

Bad: The feeling that I am not living up to potential, as a professional. That there's a better job out there if I can get my lazy butt to get moving and get it. The fear that there really isn't a better job and that is all I'll ever amount to.

The feeling that I am not living up to expectations as a mother. That I could be doing more, doing it better to make my kids more vibrant.

The feeling that I am a bad wife for not being more supportive and useful to my husband as he builds his company. After all, I knew the hours he'd have to put in, in this venture. Why then, do I feel so neglected and set aside as this new venture consumes his waking hours and dreams? Its not as if our dreams are different. We are investing in this as a single unit. Then why am I so upset at the high stress level?

The lack of vacation time. I understand how important it is to save our money, to tighten the proverbial belt and gear up for a tough ride. But that is exactly why I miss the joy of a holiday, a break from the constant rat race that grows more fierce by the day.

What is the answer to this discontent? I love my family and I love my life and I know that trying to solve all this in my own head is not a good idea. It'll create more distance between my thoughts and those of others around me. But when I try to put these in words they sound too trivial even to my own ears, to be worth a mention.

How am I to explain feelings that Iam not sure I can understand or justify myself?

Speakeasy...can you?

Transplanted in the grand Etats-Unis less than twenty years, I have only read and seen movies about the age of Prohibition, about jazz and speakeasy and the mellifluous voice of Louis Armstrong or Billie Holiday. Always wondered as I listened to those records what it must have been like, to sing and celebrate, to drink and have secret liaisions. Like Auntie Etta's drawing room with all its knick knacks and fine china ornaments, but the closet in the corner leading to a secret basement. Veil of propriety shrouding a cloak and dagger world of booze and basic instincts.

Well, imagine my surprise when I found out that there's a speakeasy in my backyard. Well, almost. In Capitol Hill there's apparently a pub which is also a speakeasy. So we called the babysitter and my husband and I set out to experience for ourselves a slice of the 30s.

First impression---a young man by the door checking IDs--a little shout of joy that I hear every time I get carded:-) We go inside what looks like an ordinary bar. Wait, I see PA moving toward a telephone by one of the tables. He picks up the receiver and gives his phone number and voila! the door (which I assumed led to the restrooms) swing open and there's a staircase. We go up the dark and narrow staircase, decorated with black and white 30s photographs.

Upstairs, we reach a mezzanine floor, with tables set cosily, a bar, and some leather armchairs. There's a picture of a sexy lingerie girl by our table. The speakers are playing old jazz, voices slightly roughened by alcohol and cigarette. There's no menue. Our waiter comes to tell us we can order any drink we like and the barman will make it. There is a food menu, mostly finger foods. All seems standard with just that touch of secretiveness which of course makes my spine tingle.

We enjoy a marvelous evening of margaritas, kamikazes, vodka and I forget what else. Finally, we realize we must go back home or we'll fall asleep where we sat. As I elegantly stumble down the stairs, I take another look at those photographs. All of them are of naked women, looking back at me with an aloof indifference, not the least bit worried that the arm thrown across the chest does more to attract attention than provide cover. In the age of playboy and internet, I am thrilled to find naked B&W photographs! Admiring the confidence and the blatant invitation in the arch of an eyebrow ora slightly upturned smile.

I'm pretty sure we'll go back to the speakeasy again, its the least I can do for those lovely ladies;-)