I didn’t make this, I just wish I did.  (Thanks for showing me this, Bethie!)

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G Train

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I went to the Mission Park premiere and reception at the Brattle Theater the other night. Bethie wanted to turn back when we saw the limos and camera flashes, but I’m a blogger! That means jeans are the perfect ensemble for all occasions! (And also, I like superheroes.)

Mission Park is an independent movie about Boston superheroes, written by Chip Perro. Superteam Tessa Faux, Apple Orchard, Timothy Note, Victor Strength and Chris Ember dash around Boston fighting crime (except when they’re, you know, causing it), evading the police, protecting the innocent and saving the world. The story hinges on an Evil Corporation who commissions an artist to create the perfect work of art, a painting so aesthetically perfect that everyone who sees it immediately gets superpowers.  It’s hard not to be reminded of the Monty Python sketch about the funniest joke in the world as the artist finishes her masterpiece and keels over with newfound superpower.

Mission Park is the first of six planned movies, each one to focus on a specific character from the superteam. I’m hoping that later movies will explain some of the ill-defined powers the superfriends have. I’m also hoping that Victor Strength, underused both for the character’s superstrength powers and the actor’s ability to deliver superhero apocalypse lines believably, will have a bigger role.

Ensemble movies are hard because there’s a limited amount of time to develop so many characters. Each superfriend had a catchphrase or overwhelming character trait, so I was never left wondering who someone was, but there wasn’t much growth and change, either.

Tessa Faux, the oversexed vigilante, is racking up body count or bedpost notches in every scene. Every supergroup needs one character who’s ruled by sex drive, and bonus points to Chip Perro for making Mission Park’s playboy a girl. But, meanwhile Note’s girlfriend also tries (desperately and unsuccessfully) to drag him to bed, and every girl in Boston tries (desperately and unsuccessfully) to sleep with Ember. Too many girls chasing the male leads for sex started to have a male MarySue feel.

I forget the exact wording, but I think there’s a theater maxim if the audience sees a gun in the first act, there will be a shot fired in the second act. I guess the corrollary to that is when a character keeps saying that now’s not the time for foul language and that she never swears, you know an F-bomb is coming. I was not disappointed.

The story’s final resolution was… odd. I’m ok with superheroes who cause massive collatoral damage and leave high body counts. (Bethie: But I wish they didn’t kill everybody in the lab!) I’m also ok with superheroes who decide to give the world superpowers and trust to individual conscience to keep the world safe. But, like chardonnay and raw cookie dough, sometimes two things I like don’t work well together.

The story of Mission Park was endearing and frustrating by turns, but it was always visually interesting.  Rick and Chip Perro aren’t sneaky about greenscreening. Characters appear with colored outlines in front of hand-drawn backgrounds or still photographs of Boston scenes.  An overturned car, used for cover in a shootout, bears a distinct resemblance to one of my nephew’s toys. The final result is a perfect format for the magical realism of superheroes.

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Mission Park

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Bethie and I met up with a bunch of my college friends at Eric’s new condo, for lots of shrieking and hugging and laughing. Oh, and wine.

It took about six seconds for me to feel at home again. A lot had changed, of course, but a lot hadn’t. These are still some of my favorite people in the world, even if we’re not talking about final papers and getting trashed (Note to parents and prospective employers: Don’t worry! I always did it in that order!) anymore. My college friends have, bizarrely enough, gotten married (There was a bit of teasing about whether I time my travels abroad to miss weddings. I swear I don’t! I love weddings!), bought houses,  got proper jobs, and settled in the Boston suburbs. Wow. I could never really picture that for me, and now is the time to build what is for me, and it’s simultaneously exciting and scary.

Then Bethie and I took the T back to her house. We were the only people in the car, so we got a little bit hyper.  Did I mention that my sister is awesome?

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Ten Years

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I’m visiting my awesome sister in Boston now. We had a salon last night where she played me some songs she’s working on and I read her my latest story.

In a lot of ways, New England is home to me. I love the saltbox houses and the town greens, and absence has made the heart grow fonder of ubiquitous Red Sox caps. I even like riding the T.  (If you’ve just tuned into Simpson’s Paradox, I feel about driving the way most people feel about visiting the dentist. Oh, not the dread and anxiety part, I just mean that driving is better than all my teeth falling out.)

As Eric said: Welcome back to the homeworld.

[PS I reread several years of Pie2K comics to find this one to go with the title.]

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More Than A Feeling

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It’s really all Sanchaita’s fault.

When I was visiting my sister Bethie, her friend Sanchaita invited us to dinner. She cooked the most amazing chickpea curry — as part of a feast of other amazing dishes, I should add — and when I asked what kind of magic and rainbows went into it, she said it was just chana masala, with a shrug like that was nothing special.

Well, I started with a packet of chana masala from Patel Brothers on Maynard Street, and it really does include all the sunshine and rainbows and Indian restaurant flavors! My previous chickpea curries tasted a lot like chickpeas that had been boiled with some curry powder. (Shut up. It was much better than my artichokes or that time I tried to boil water.)

Once I was in the store, though I realized that I could buy paneer, and packets of pakora mix or dosai mix, and all kinds of other instant exotic tastes. Then I got adventurous and tried new recipes, and I’m pretty impressed with my not-from-a-packet dal.  I even added some new spices to our herb garden.

It was only when we were outside feeding stale naan to the turtles that I realized I just might have an Indian food problem.

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Chana Masala

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When I went to Bethie’s graduation last month, Anna Quindlen was the commencement speaker. (I know this is not exactly timely, but it took me a while to get my thoughts into a coherent shape) I was really excited to hear her, actually I was more excited about Anna Quindlen than I would have been about last year’s speaker, Obama. All due respect to my Twitter buddy Barack, but I was deeply affected by Object Lessons long before I even knew Obama’s name. I bought Blessings at the bookstore in Wangfujing last year, when English books were a rare and expensive luxury.

Quindlen’s speech at Wesleyan was a call to action, it was what every new graduate should hear. It was a reminder that finishing college is more than a piece of paper and a pile of student debts. It was great to be around New England liberals again. People who think global warming is real, our natural resources are finite, and it would be great if all Americans had healthcare.

One of the hardest things about being in North Carolina is the chitchat minefield. I often hear that global warming is a natural phenomenon, nothing to do with us, or that last year was so unseasonably cold that climate change can’t possibly exist. It felt really nice to be surrounded by educated and liberal young people, especially as they were being called upon to go forth and save the world!

Quindlen also praised this generation for changing attitudes towards gender and racial relations,  and wow, Quindlen is a great public speaker. But my idol suddenly had feet of clay when Quindlen threw in the obligatory Simpsons reference, that hallmark of a professor trying to show they’re young and hip. Don’t show me you’re hip, professors, show me you’ve read more books than I’ve heard of.

In the midst of calling on the new graduates to solve illiteracy problems, build a lifestyle not based on debt, and stop climate change, she exhorted them to make movies that weren’t comic book spin-offs. I believe this was meant as a reference to Wesleyan’s film school, but it sounded as through trashy movies are on a par with the destruction of the environment. So Wolverine and Watchmen aren’t great art (not like The Simpsons) but I don’t know if a predictable plot is on quite the same level as finite resources.

There was another odd moment, when in the midst of praising social change and technical progress, Quindlen stopped to question whether Twitter would be “dopey haiku for the mini-mind”. I’m so pleased that Twitter is on the scene now, taking the pressure off blogs. All the complaints once thrown around about blogs are now directed towards Twitter, as if the desire to connect with others and to share experiences is something frivolous and new.

You write about your daily life and your thoughts on the internet? How narcissistic! No one cares what you think! Why would anyone read that! And what about internet privacy? Anyone could come by and read it! I can’t believe you’d waste time writing and sharing your thoughts!

I’m going to be happy when Flutter comes out and Twitter gets a rest.

The speech really captured how I see Wesleyan. Liberal, world-changing, brilliant, moving, with just a tiny little reminder that Wes is better than plebs with stupid hobbies.

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Wesleyan Commencement Speech

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My dad and I drove back to Montclair from Middletown last night. This morning Scep and Katie came to get me and we went to the Bluestone Cafe in Watchung Plaza.

We walked past Watchung Deli as we waited for a table. When I talked about my love for Hunan House, my high school friend Roy, who now lives in Japan, mentioned missing Watchung Deli when he’s living abroad.  (Roy’s been in Japan for several years now, with occasional visits home,  and if you’re keeping score, our friends Garan’s moved to Korea. I asked Scep to move to Indonesia to round out the gang of our friends now in Asia, but he said no.) Oddly, the Watchung Deli is now next to a sushi joint, a salon offering Japanese hair straightening*, and a corner shop full of anime fashions, brightly colored mini-sushi erasers and more novelty Asian imports. Watchung is ready for your return, Roy.

Since it was a holiday, there were plenty of other late-morning brunchers at Bluestone Coffee. Menus were coffee-stained unlaminated paper, listing two flavors of chai, coffees, teas, and a variety of yummy entrees, featuring ingredients that could not be altered or substituted. But the food was good, and the company was even better! I missed those two!

Our waitress made sure we didn’t linger, though, she literally took my plate away as soon as I lifted the last bite towards my mouth. By this time, it wasn’t crowded anymore, but it was uncomfortable lingering where the staff clearly didn’t want us to be, so we went back to my parents’ house.

It was great to catch up with Scep and Katie. We talked about the time my granny grilled Katie to see if she was worthy to be dating her now-husband Scep, and about Katie’s possible new job in the fall, and summer plans, and general catch up. Also, Scep and Katie pretended not to notice my ridiculous hairline sunburn. Although I diligently sunscreened myself with SPF 6.2^8 at Bethie’s graduation, I guess I didn’t get quite up to my hair and I have now a half centimeter of crispy red around my face.

Maybe Bluestone has a No Weird Faces policy, and that’s why we got the bum’s rush.

*I’m not entirely sure what that is. Do you know?

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Bluestone, Red Face

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At Wesleyan, visiting my sister’s lab.

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Visiting Bethie

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On Saturday, Germaine invited me to go to the NY Renn Faire. Germaine is Bethie’s friend from high school, but being sisters means I get to steal her clothes and her friends. Score! I was really excited to go, since it’s been a few years since I last watched a joust.

When Allison had her wedding, all the bridesmaids wore full garb, so I have a complete outfit, but it’s packed away since I didn’t anticipate needing a corset and full skirt in Beijing. I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t get the chance to wear it again, how often do you get a second wear out of a bridesmaid dress?

Germaine’s friend, like a true geek, uses his iPhone to get directions.

After a great deal of ribbing and careful ID scrutiny, we got beers and went to watch the joust. The joust announcer said how worried everyone had been about the local pollution, but it turns out we’ve got a good clear day, so none of the horses have to wear breathing masks.

Then we went to the knife and star throwing games. This picture shows that it is far more dangerous to be right next to what I’m trying to hit.

Here’s one from the target’s perspective!

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NY Renn Faire

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My sister Bethie wrote on her own journal about shipboard customs, one of which warms my classicist heart:

On another unrelated note, whenever we had all hand get togethers where we were toasting anything, we would toast, then pour one glass over the side for Neptune, then we’d all drink from our own glasses.

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My Sister The Pirate (Again)

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