Not Writing


1 January 2011

Happy 2011 to all.  We’ve started off our year with a fever in the house, which is unfortunate (poor J.); but at least we’ll get it out of the way, right? As for me, I am all about the Vitamin C and the Airborne.

I have actually been writing, but not fiction.  I am working on a profile of James Salter, with whom I spent a day in Bridgehampton a few weeks ago.  The piece is taking shape, it’s a new and interesting genre for me.  I think Larissa MacFarquhar‘s work sets the gold standard for artist profiles, and I’ve been re-reading some of hers at the New Yorker.

In other not-writing activities, the holidays have driven me to movies.  First, an animated set – The Iron Giant, and Up – both of which made me blubber like a girly girl.  Then, some classics — I seem to  be on a Burt Lancaster kick — From Here to Eternity (I swoon for Monty Clift, his sexual preferences notwithstanding, what can I say; and they just don’t make ’em – leading ladies, that is – like Deborah Kerr anymore), The Swimmer, The Leopard – which features Alain Delon, who is maybe the French Monty Clift? Maybe not. (This one I’m going to catch on the big screen at Film Forum.  Anyone?  Anyone?)  Also: Chicago, which I’d never seen, which led to All That Jazz, also which I’d never seen.  And The Third Man, which wasn’t as good as I remember it.  I declined to join J. for Sofia Coppola’s newest, Somewhere, which seemed both too mopey and too blonde (nothing specific against mopers or blondes) for my mood; he enjoyed it, however. In the queue: Gilda, Bright Star, Jude, and Le Corbeau.

Christmas eve boeuf bourguignon turned out great, by the way.

Forgot to snap a pic of this morning’s dduk-gook (Korean New Year’s soup) and pa-jun brunch, but it was perfect for both the start of the new year and for the sicky in the house.  Pax got a special fatty brisket treat.


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