Part Deux

Upon returning from the city, I watched the Oscars for a little while. I was really disappointed that Brokeback Mountain didn't win for Best Picture. After months of seeing mediocre movies, I remember feeling that this film raised the bar; it was so fully of poetry, striking personal chords right and left. I read that some people were so moved that they raised money to create an advertisement thanking the makers. Despite all the criticism, from either conservatives or film critics, I'm glad that cinema is still capable of prompting people to feel and to act. If Brokeback Mountain inspired a few hundred men and women to pool their resources and make a public announcement of their gratitude, it speaks so amazingly of the fact that we're still moved by what we see, that we're able to celebrate a work of art that makes poetry out of even the saddest failings in human society.

Later that week, Christoph made a presentation of his documentary in China. It is, winningly enough, called "Hello, China." According to what I've gleaned, he spent about 2 weeks last summer visiting his friend Alan and traveling all over the country, filming both the facts and their impressions of local music. He then spent all of February working intensively on the documentary, searching for a narrative and consulting about a thousand people.

Alan flew in for about 2 days to make the presentation. He's a cool guy -- one of Christoph's oldest friends. He's an aspiring actor in California, and I was thoroughly amused by him because of the performative quality in his everyday behavior. When I first watched Alan in the documentary, I was a little thrown by his air of assumption and authority, which I guess was essentially indicative of an ease with being on screen (which I utterly lack). Meeting him in person put a lot of it into perspective.

You know how in "Camera Lucida" Barthes talks about how his mother lent herself to the photographer? He said that she put herself in front of the lens with discretion -- and that this was a major moment of actualization for both of them. 'She did not struggle with her image.' I guess it's something I admire in others, this ability to be photographed or filmed.

It seemed easier to understand Alan's demeanor when he came home, picked up a guitar, and spent the evening talking to us like an old friend. More importantly, it was good to see Christoph so happy. When friends come to visit, they make it easy to get excited about your everyday surroundings and routines.

That same week, I went to a local art exhibit created by a colleague from the Press and Carol A., a superwoman in multiple Humanities disciplines. They had collaborated over a series of photographs called "Bodies of Water," hosted by the Women's and Gender Studies dept. This should really have tipped me off -- any event patronized by the W&G studies folks and involving the word 'body' is bound to be...well, interesting. I turned up out of curiosity, and boy, was it worth it.

Strung over a tiny department lobby were a series of colour images, interspersed with quotations from Hamlet and The Waves, all of which featured my colleague (SS) bare-breasted in a pond. There were, dear reader, seasonal motifs: SS and her bosom in the water amidst fallen leaves, SS and her bosom in the water by frosted briars, SS and her bosom in water covered by pond scum. You can't exhaust those analogies to Ophelia, can you?

I was, however, very impressed that she had made an announcement at work about the exhibit, encouraging us all to go...with the result that I ran into about 5 other awestruck co-workers who fiddled with "mushroom bundle" appetizers and delivered vague mumblings about "colour, cold weather, and artistic courage." What an enjoyable experience!

The next night I saw a local performance of Wagner's "Die Walküre" by the PU Orchestra, which was really nice. Jeremy, Bob, and I were a trifle mesmerized by the vocalists, being that we were strategically stationed in the second row, pretty much under the vibrating chins of Siegmund, Sieglinde, and the ominous Hunding. Opera singers are, I'm sure, a lively crowd, but it was a bit much for me to swallow the fact that the leads (incestuous siblings, no less) were essentially an obese woman and a man separated at birth from Fabio. Yes, they were talented, but yes, it was terribly comical.

I then went out for drinks and had a charming conversation with Scott and Isabelle, Jeremy's married couple friends. I really liked them. Scott's getting his PhD in English Lit and Isabelle runs a small gallery in a nearby neighbourhood. They had a very brief civil marriage last year, but are holding the real wedding celebration in Barcelona this summer (where Isabelle grew up). And by "real wedding celebration" I mean "extended and crazy party." Scott is funny and Isabelle sweet; I wish I could get to know them a little better. Of course this has nothing to do with the fact that I'd take any excuse to go to Spain. I then went home and spent the rest of the evening and early morning drinking Prosecco, toasting my housemates, and talking a great deal. It was a livelier evening than I've had in a while.

So that's my lengthy update on the past few weeks. This weekend was great; I did absolutely nothing except clean my room, watch movies ("Capote" with Vanessa - go see it, Philip Seymour Hoffman was brilliant and captivating) and TV, go to a rummage sale, and cook real meals. I think I finally felt like I was getting a part of my life back after all the traveling. It was actually nice to just hang out in Princeton and to feel that for once it really is a home. I love our garden, the afternoon sunlight in my bedroom, when Balu comes over and purrs beguilingly, when my housemates enter a room and say hello. This weekend there was finally time to wander and daydream about spring blossoms and other happy, pink-budded things. I'll leave it there.