Random jottings

The head space isn't there for a well-reasoned and full post, so just a few scattered thoughts on this lazy, hazy Sunday.

Before Night Falls: Why did I think this film was about a visual artist?! I suppose because the director, Julian Schnabel, is a well-regarded artist, not to mention his first film was the (mostly) wonderful Basquiat (an artist I like; one of my favourite prints is one I bought of his from the MOMA many years ago). Rather it centres around Reinaldo Arenas, the Cuban writer who eventually left Cuba because of continued persecution due to his openly gay lifestyle. Films about writers (particularly poets) are far too infrequent, in my opinion! Although I recognize how difficult it can be to manufacture drama out of something as mundane (and sometimes dreary) as writing. (Still, I think there's a great film to be made from Gwen MacEwen's life. Hell, I even have the ideal casting: Ellen Page.) It's got me jazzed about checking out some of Arenas' work. I'll add it to the reading queue.

Re-reading: What are others views on re-reading novels? It's not something I do often, my view being that there are too many books to read to pick up one I've already seen the last page of. Yet, I'll revisit other favoured artistic items: a film (I've lost count on how times I've seen Woody Allen's Manhattan, as well as the Before Sunrise/Sunset movies, although often they serve as "comfort" films), music (obviously), a painting. Why not, then, a book? I'll reread favourite passages, for sure, but, outside of books from my childhood, I can't ever remember reading a whole book that I've already been through once. I'm beginning to reconsider this stand, especially since I'm anxious to re-read Roberto Bolano's The Savage Detectives. I bought it in paperback this past summer (after I had read it last winter in hardcover, taken out from the library), and it's been staring at me for the past few days from the bookshelf. It strikes me that I'll find it even richer and more satisfying the second time around.

The Grey Cup: I'm not a fan of North American football. (I love, however, the sport that everybody else outside of this continent calls football. The "footie.") Earlier this year, I vowed to a friend that I would not watch one down of the NFL this season (including the Super Bowl). So far so good. That said, I am going to sit myself in front of the set this afternoon and watch the Grey Cup. (For those few American readers, it's the championship of the Canadian Football League. The match-up is Montreal vs. Calgary.) I'm sure my attention will waver, so I'll have some reading material to keep me occupied during the lulls. I suppose I'm still a sucker for the Grey Cup, largely because I remember it being such a big deal when I was a youngster and teenager. (I even went to a Grey Cup, way back in 1981. I don't remember much except that Edmonton won and it was very cold. And that I wore a big galoot-ish hat...) When I was in high school, I'd go to my friend J.'s house where we'd eat greasy food, and go out during halftime to play touch football on the road. Simpler days.

Listening to: Best of Horace Silver, Kevin Drew's "Spirit If" (in anticipation of seeing Broken Social Scene this coming Thurs.)
Reading: Nov. 24 issue of The New Yorker
Watching: the usual Sunday-morning political shows, the Raptors get embarrassed by the Celtics