Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 228
November 29, 2014
Christmas recommendation
People who have visited my house since my trip to Nova Scotia have all admired my new art - just prints, affordable, but glorious colour and design by my dear friends Peter Blais and Tom Alway.
Here's the link. They ship. Satisfaction guaranteed. Supporting local farmers is good, but don't forget to SUPPORT CANADIAN ARTISTS!
http://www.paintedsaltbox.com
And don't forget - give books. Books. Books. Books. Books. Buy them at a local bookseller. Or here.
Here's the link. They ship. Satisfaction guaranteed. Supporting local farmers is good, but don't forget to SUPPORT CANADIAN ARTISTS!http://www.paintedsaltbox.com
And don't forget - give books. Books. Books. Books. Books. Buy them at a local bookseller. Or here.
November 27, 2014
putting your sex life on trial
When I left the Y at midday yesterday, there it was, the insanity around Jian - he was being arraigned at College Park a block away, and there were scores of newspeople and their trucks and their mikes and lights crowding the entrance, a helicopter circling overhead. You'd think he'd been arrested for criminal conspiracy to undermine civilization, not for forcing his aggressive, yes, violent kinks on his dates.
I know, even with my lukewarm sympathy, I'm in the minority here, and I do have to say that part of my attitude stems from the fact that a relative of mine was accused of sexual assault by his girlfriend, who had a problem with drugs and was angry at him. He was arrested, taken away in handcuffs and spent the weekend in jail, was released on bail, a trial date was set. By then she had apologized and said she was sorry she'd lied, but it was too late. There was a frightening expensive trial, she said her accusation was a complete fabrication, he was acquitted. It does happen. Not nearly as often as the actual assault of women, no question. But the other side of the coin, men falsely accused, does happen. It happened in my family. He went to jail.
So since then, I have not jumped, as Edward Keenan does in his column today, to say "I believe you" to every woman who accuses a man. Let's always look at the facts.
There's no doubt Jian did the things he's accused of. Why he needs to debase and harm, whether he thought it was consensual, whether he even cared - that's the case. The whole thing makes me sad, the pictures of his face in the paper - didn't even look like him. Can you imagine what it's like to go in one month from the very top of the top, one of the most lauded people in the country and internationally, getting everything his way, to being a pariah who has to live with his mother, forfeit his passport and have people writing the vilest things about him in the papers and on the net, strangers screaming at him outside the courthouse?
The Star today was over the top, page after page. And then in some obscure corner there's an article about a policeman and father arrested for child pornography, thousands of photographs, some of infants, some he took himself. Now there's a monster - barely noticed. Not titillating enough, I guess. Not to mention the rest of the planet, actual NEWS going on out there somewhere. But kinky sex sells, and God knows, we're going to get lots through the trial. Imagine putting YOUR sex life on trial.
No, let's not imagine that. Mine would be the dullest story imaginable. Happily so. I had a boyfriend in my twenties who was aggressive, who liked to bite and ram and even to hit. And I thought it was exciting. I thought my bruises were exciting. Hard to imagine now, but true.
Moving right along.
Busy times. The U of T term is over, and a superb one it was too. As a parting gift they gave me a beautiful big mug that reads "Life is a story. Make yours a bestseller." If only, I sighed. They were a wonderful group, another wonderful group is coming here tonight, and two big editing projects are waiting, not to mention my own work and the usual 4000 things to read and do and see - last night, a stunning documentary on ducks called, you guessed it, "Duckumentary."
I have a big passion for ducks. But luckily it's not on trial.
On Monday night I went to hear Kevin Courrier, renowned Beatles expert and author, speak in his lecture series about "The dark side of Sgt. Pepper." Fascinating - a two hour lecture with film clips and music to a room full of Beatle nerds. MY PEOPLE. Kevin and I went for a drink after with our mutual friend Stella, who had just come from her Cree class. Yes, Stella is learning to speak Cree - she also learned to speak Yiddish and trained to be a cantor, among many other things.
So it was a lively drink, Kevin and I passionately discussing the minutiae of Beatledom, and eventually Stella confessing that she doesn't really like the Beatles. WHAT?! To me that's like saying you don't like Italy, or sunsets, or the laughter of children, or the soft patter of rain on a summer's ... I'm getting carried away. She doesn't like them. And, as my mother-in-law used to say, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, no matter how wrong they may be.
Heading into December. Yikes.
I know, even with my lukewarm sympathy, I'm in the minority here, and I do have to say that part of my attitude stems from the fact that a relative of mine was accused of sexual assault by his girlfriend, who had a problem with drugs and was angry at him. He was arrested, taken away in handcuffs and spent the weekend in jail, was released on bail, a trial date was set. By then she had apologized and said she was sorry she'd lied, but it was too late. There was a frightening expensive trial, she said her accusation was a complete fabrication, he was acquitted. It does happen. Not nearly as often as the actual assault of women, no question. But the other side of the coin, men falsely accused, does happen. It happened in my family. He went to jail.
So since then, I have not jumped, as Edward Keenan does in his column today, to say "I believe you" to every woman who accuses a man. Let's always look at the facts.
There's no doubt Jian did the things he's accused of. Why he needs to debase and harm, whether he thought it was consensual, whether he even cared - that's the case. The whole thing makes me sad, the pictures of his face in the paper - didn't even look like him. Can you imagine what it's like to go in one month from the very top of the top, one of the most lauded people in the country and internationally, getting everything his way, to being a pariah who has to live with his mother, forfeit his passport and have people writing the vilest things about him in the papers and on the net, strangers screaming at him outside the courthouse?
The Star today was over the top, page after page. And then in some obscure corner there's an article about a policeman and father arrested for child pornography, thousands of photographs, some of infants, some he took himself. Now there's a monster - barely noticed. Not titillating enough, I guess. Not to mention the rest of the planet, actual NEWS going on out there somewhere. But kinky sex sells, and God knows, we're going to get lots through the trial. Imagine putting YOUR sex life on trial.
No, let's not imagine that. Mine would be the dullest story imaginable. Happily so. I had a boyfriend in my twenties who was aggressive, who liked to bite and ram and even to hit. And I thought it was exciting. I thought my bruises were exciting. Hard to imagine now, but true.
Moving right along.
Busy times. The U of T term is over, and a superb one it was too. As a parting gift they gave me a beautiful big mug that reads "Life is a story. Make yours a bestseller." If only, I sighed. They were a wonderful group, another wonderful group is coming here tonight, and two big editing projects are waiting, not to mention my own work and the usual 4000 things to read and do and see - last night, a stunning documentary on ducks called, you guessed it, "Duckumentary."
I have a big passion for ducks. But luckily it's not on trial.
On Monday night I went to hear Kevin Courrier, renowned Beatles expert and author, speak in his lecture series about "The dark side of Sgt. Pepper." Fascinating - a two hour lecture with film clips and music to a room full of Beatle nerds. MY PEOPLE. Kevin and I went for a drink after with our mutual friend Stella, who had just come from her Cree class. Yes, Stella is learning to speak Cree - she also learned to speak Yiddish and trained to be a cantor, among many other things.
So it was a lively drink, Kevin and I passionately discussing the minutiae of Beatledom, and eventually Stella confessing that she doesn't really like the Beatles. WHAT?! To me that's like saying you don't like Italy, or sunsets, or the laughter of children, or the soft patter of rain on a summer's ... I'm getting carried away. She doesn't like them. And, as my mother-in-law used to say, everyone is entitled to their own opinion, no matter how wrong they may be.
Heading into December. Yikes.
November 25, 2014
R.I.P. Dusty the donkey
Sadness.
Riverdale Farm Toronto added 2 new photos.15 hrs · Today was a very sad day at Riverdale Farm.
Dusty our beloved donkey passed away today Monday, November 24, 2014 as a result of health complications.
Dusty led a happy life for almost 20 years being lovingly cared for by the farm staff. He was admired and adored by many people since his birth at Riverdale Farm. He was very vocal with his farm friends -in particular around feeding time- making us all chuckle with his antics.
Dusty was a favourite with all the staff and the thousands of visitors who have come to the farm over the years. He will be sorely missed by all.
Riverdale Farm Toronto added 2 new photos.15 hrs · Today was a very sad day at Riverdale Farm.
Dusty our beloved donkey passed away today Monday, November 24, 2014 as a result of health complications.
Dusty led a happy life for almost 20 years being lovingly cared for by the farm staff. He was admired and adored by many people since his birth at Riverdale Farm. He was very vocal with his farm friends -in particular around feeding time- making us all chuckle with his antics.
Dusty was a favourite with all the staff and the thousands of visitors who have come to the farm over the years. He will be sorely missed by all.
November 23, 2014
Ursula K. Le Guin, 85, takes aim and fires
Ursula K. Le Guin was honoured recently at the National Book Awards and gave a fantastic speech about the dangers to literature and how they can be stopped. The parts in parentheses were ad-libbed directly to the audience, and the Neil thanked is Neil Gaiman, who presented her with the award.
Thank you Neil, and to the givers of this beautiful reward, my thanks from the heart. My family, my agent, editors, know that my being here is their doing as well as mine, and that the beautiful reward is theirs as much as mine. And I rejoice at accepting it for, and sharing it with, all the writers who were excluded from literature for so long, my fellow authors of fantasy and science fiction—writers of the imagination, who for the last 50 years watched the beautiful rewards go to the so-called realists.I think hard times are coming when we will be wanting the voices of writers who can see alternatives to how we live now and can see through our fear-stricken society and its obsessive technologies to other ways of being, and even imagine some real grounds for hope. We will need writers who can remember freedom. Poets, visionaries—the realists of a larger reality.Right now, I think we need writers who know the difference between the production of a market commodity and the practice of an art. Developing written material to suit sales strategies in order to maximize corporate profit and advertising revenue is not quite the same thing as responsible book publishing or authorship. (Thank you, brave applauders.)Yet I see sales departments given control over editorial; I see my own publishers in a silly panic of ignorance and greed, charging public libraries for an ebook six or seven times more than they charge customers. We just saw a profiteer try to punish a publisher for disobedience and writers threatened by corporate fatwa, and I see a lot of us, the producers who write the books, and make the books, accepting this. Letting commodity profiteers sell us like deodorant, and tell us what to publish and what to write. (Well, I love you too, darling.)Books, you know, they’re not just commodities. The profit motive often is in conflict with the aims of art. We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art—the art of words.I have had a long career and a good one. In good company. Now here, at the end of it, I really don’t want to watch American literature get sold down the river. We who live by writing and publishing want—and should demand—our fair share of the proceeds. But the name of our beautiful reward is not profit. Its name is freedom.Thank you.
Great Romances end in tears
Hooray - it's November again and not February. A balmy 5 degrees or so, drizzly and grey but not cold, great on the bike. Must get old Bill to come put the Xmas lights up before it freezes again.
Yesterday, an enormous dim sum feast with Mary and Bernie at the Pink Pearl at Harbourfront, overlooking the cold grey lake. Mmmm dimm summm. And last night, a feast of documentary - The Nature of Things about babies, how naturally empathetic they are, incapable of deception - but how quickly they grow savvy and learn to fib. And how even very young children form automatic bonds with people who look like them.
And then finally caught the episode I've been trying to see of CNN's excellent series on "The Sixties": The British Invasion. A wonderful exploration of that crazy time when suddenly America was flooded with incredibly talented British musicians, bringing American r and b and blues back to the States: Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Gerry and the Pacemakers etc. They showed the Who, and one guy said, "The Beatles were always supporting each other musically, but the Who were like four separate leads on stage, having as little to do with each other as possible." And there they were in their own worlds, Pete Townshend flailing at his guitar, the lunatic Keith Moon, Roger Daltry with his long Louis XIV curls wailing into the mike - made me laugh out loud. And yet the music was incredible.
It showed how they were all listening to each other and to the American singers - the black groups, Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys - overlapping spheres of influence. At the end, someone said, "How many people you fell in love with in 1964 do you still love? And yet we still love this music. It's one of the world's great love affairs." Right you are. And have I got a book for you!
I've disapproved of television all my life but am keen, now, on my new big bright TV. When the TV Guide comes on Saturday, I check it for interesting shows for the whole week, especially this week, the last days of free Documentary Channel. I just saw there's a show on PBS tonight at 9.30 called Great Romances. I've often seen it listed and never watched it, so decided to check what great romance it's about today. Guess who? "Paul and Linda McCartney"! I must have a sixth sense.
So you know what I'll be doing at 9.30 tonight. If you want to break into my house, go ahead, I'll be busy.
Love this, from Facebook:
I fucking love science
This photo series by Rose-Lynn Fisher captures tears of grief, joy, laughter and irritation under the microscope.
Tears aren't just water. They're primarily made up of water, salts, antibodies and lysozymes, but the composition depends on the type of tear. There are three main types - basal tears, reflex tears, and weeping tears.
As you can see, they can look incredibly different when evaporated and placed under a microscope.
More info: http://bit.ly/RJqvK7
Yesterday, an enormous dim sum feast with Mary and Bernie at the Pink Pearl at Harbourfront, overlooking the cold grey lake. Mmmm dimm summm. And last night, a feast of documentary - The Nature of Things about babies, how naturally empathetic they are, incapable of deception - but how quickly they grow savvy and learn to fib. And how even very young children form automatic bonds with people who look like them.
And then finally caught the episode I've been trying to see of CNN's excellent series on "The Sixties": The British Invasion. A wonderful exploration of that crazy time when suddenly America was flooded with incredibly talented British musicians, bringing American r and b and blues back to the States: Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Gerry and the Pacemakers etc. They showed the Who, and one guy said, "The Beatles were always supporting each other musically, but the Who were like four separate leads on stage, having as little to do with each other as possible." And there they were in their own worlds, Pete Townshend flailing at his guitar, the lunatic Keith Moon, Roger Daltry with his long Louis XIV curls wailing into the mike - made me laugh out loud. And yet the music was incredible.
It showed how they were all listening to each other and to the American singers - the black groups, Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys - overlapping spheres of influence. At the end, someone said, "How many people you fell in love with in 1964 do you still love? And yet we still love this music. It's one of the world's great love affairs." Right you are. And have I got a book for you!
I've disapproved of television all my life but am keen, now, on my new big bright TV. When the TV Guide comes on Saturday, I check it for interesting shows for the whole week, especially this week, the last days of free Documentary Channel. I just saw there's a show on PBS tonight at 9.30 called Great Romances. I've often seen it listed and never watched it, so decided to check what great romance it's about today. Guess who? "Paul and Linda McCartney"! I must have a sixth sense.
So you know what I'll be doing at 9.30 tonight. If you want to break into my house, go ahead, I'll be busy.
Love this, from Facebook:
I fucking love scienceThis photo series by Rose-Lynn Fisher captures tears of grief, joy, laughter and irritation under the microscope.
Tears aren't just water. They're primarily made up of water, salts, antibodies and lysozymes, but the composition depends on the type of tear. There are three main types - basal tears, reflex tears, and weeping tears.
As you can see, they can look incredibly different when evaporated and placed under a microscope.
More info: http://bit.ly/RJqvK7
November 22, 2014
celebrating documentary - Woody and Vivian Meier
The Documentary Channel is free for the whole month of November, and I've been taking advantage. Non-fiction films - fab. Last night, a long doc on the life and career of Woody Allen, intimate and hilarious. What unparalleled brilliance - at the age of seventeen, he was earning more than his parents by selling quips to newspapers. He was dragged reluctantly into performing, and ended up in film-making because his first film was so damaged by the studio that he resolved to have full creative control from then on - and he did. He has a great relationship with his sister, with whom he has worked for decades, and with ex-wives and girlfriends like Louise Lasser and Diane Keaton, who spoke with great warmth, love and respect.
Of course, there's one huge exception to that. I didn't see what the doc said about Mia Farrow, if anything, it got too late and I went to bed. But we know her and her daughter's allegations. Knowing what we now unfortunately know about abusers, the Cosbys and Ghomeshis who for decades got away with abuse until finally one woman and then a crowd came forward - the thought that Woody Allen has lived an exemplary if extremely neurotic life except for one heinous five-minute interlude when he abused his own 7-year old daughter in an attic - it makes no sense. We might not approve of the fact that his wife was once his girlfriend's adopted daughter, but they have been married for 22 years and look happy. He's weird, no question, and so is Mia; their whole relationship was insane. But in the meantime, he has never stopped writing, directing and producing films, some not-so-great and some magnificent.
Woody writes still on the German-made Olympia manual typewriter he bought when he was sixteen. "What do you do when you have to cut and paste?" asked the interviewer, and Woody held up scissors and a stapler - he actually cuts, and pastes. He said the talents he emulates are Groucho, Bob Hope and Ingmar Bergman. That reminded me of my friend Lynn, who says her role models are Jean Vanier and Lucille Ball.
Tonight at 9, for any of you in the vicinity, there's a superb doc, not on the Documentary Channel but on TVO, called "Finding Vivian Meier," about a strange woman who supported herself as a nanny while taking many thousands of brilliant photographs, which only came to light after her death. A beautiful and moving story. True stories on film, on paper - can't get enough. Keep 'em coming.
P.S. UNFAIR! I am sixty-four, dealing of course with aging issues - osteoporosis, wrinkles, general disintegration. And yet I also have pimples - this week, a grotesquely giant adolescent pimple on my forehead, two on my face. My bathroom counter sports an anti-aging serum and various kinds of Clearasil, including Popped Pimple Paste. What fun to feel fifteen again.
Not!
Of course, there's one huge exception to that. I didn't see what the doc said about Mia Farrow, if anything, it got too late and I went to bed. But we know her and her daughter's allegations. Knowing what we now unfortunately know about abusers, the Cosbys and Ghomeshis who for decades got away with abuse until finally one woman and then a crowd came forward - the thought that Woody Allen has lived an exemplary if extremely neurotic life except for one heinous five-minute interlude when he abused his own 7-year old daughter in an attic - it makes no sense. We might not approve of the fact that his wife was once his girlfriend's adopted daughter, but they have been married for 22 years and look happy. He's weird, no question, and so is Mia; their whole relationship was insane. But in the meantime, he has never stopped writing, directing and producing films, some not-so-great and some magnificent.
Woody writes still on the German-made Olympia manual typewriter he bought when he was sixteen. "What do you do when you have to cut and paste?" asked the interviewer, and Woody held up scissors and a stapler - he actually cuts, and pastes. He said the talents he emulates are Groucho, Bob Hope and Ingmar Bergman. That reminded me of my friend Lynn, who says her role models are Jean Vanier and Lucille Ball.
Tonight at 9, for any of you in the vicinity, there's a superb doc, not on the Documentary Channel but on TVO, called "Finding Vivian Meier," about a strange woman who supported herself as a nanny while taking many thousands of brilliant photographs, which only came to light after her death. A beautiful and moving story. True stories on film, on paper - can't get enough. Keep 'em coming.
P.S. UNFAIR! I am sixty-four, dealing of course with aging issues - osteoporosis, wrinkles, general disintegration. And yet I also have pimples - this week, a grotesquely giant adolescent pimple on my forehead, two on my face. My bathroom counter sports an anti-aging serum and various kinds of Clearasil, including Popped Pimple Paste. What fun to feel fifteen again.
Not!
November 21, 2014
the Christmas vortex
This is what people in Toronto are saying, as they endure this extreme blast of winter FOUR WEEKS before winter is officially due to start: AT LEAST WE'RE NOT IN BUFFALO.
Indeed. A man just found dead in his car which was buried in a snowdrift. We're cold, but not that cold.
I got warm this morning by visiting Mr. Chatty, the busiest boy ever. I ended up throwing a ball for him to chase, just like a puppy. We read a book which had a picture of a purple cat. "Me kiss him," he said, and I held the book close so he could give the cat a kiss. Could I love this boy more? And then we walked up Roncesvalles to the wonderful toy store Scootergirl, to buy him something he wanted desperately - a firefighter hat. Oh, wonder. While there, his mother and I checked out the Playmobil stuff for Christmas presents. Another great treat of grandparentdom - visiting toy stores again. I wanted half the stuff for myself.
But despite this major display of cuteness, I am not getting sucked into the Xmas vortex this year. No no no. A few basic things and money for the grown-ups, that's IT.
No, that really is IT. Really. Well, maybe a few little things, but not much. No no no. Well...
Indeed. A man just found dead in his car which was buried in a snowdrift. We're cold, but not that cold.
I got warm this morning by visiting Mr. Chatty, the busiest boy ever. I ended up throwing a ball for him to chase, just like a puppy. We read a book which had a picture of a purple cat. "Me kiss him," he said, and I held the book close so he could give the cat a kiss. Could I love this boy more? And then we walked up Roncesvalles to the wonderful toy store Scootergirl, to buy him something he wanted desperately - a firefighter hat. Oh, wonder. While there, his mother and I checked out the Playmobil stuff for Christmas presents. Another great treat of grandparentdom - visiting toy stores again. I wanted half the stuff for myself.
But despite this major display of cuteness, I am not getting sucked into the Xmas vortex this year. No no no. A few basic things and money for the grown-ups, that's IT.No, that really is IT. Really. Well, maybe a few little things, but not much. No no no. Well...
November 20, 2014
Alanna Cavanagh's Open House
Many people have expressed admiration for the beautiful covers of both my recent books - the work of the multi-talented Alanna Cavanagh. For those interested in seeing more of her work and maybe - support your local artists! - acquiring some for yourself, she is having one of her famous Open Houses in a few weeks. Don't miss it. Her studio apartment, in a building full of artists, is amazing, and her work is unique. I hope she has some of her fabulous orange Penguin book cover prints on sale. Mine - by Virginia Woolf - dominates my kitchen. I love it.
your laugh of the day - David Sedaris and Mike Nichols
It is very cold and very dark and I KNOW you need a good laugh right now. So here it is, below. How glad I am that here is an ESSAYIST reading his work on the David Letterman Show! But of course, one of a kind. Love this man. Wayson and I were discussing Erma Bombeck the other day, how incredibly popular she was as an honest and very funny essayist. We need these voices.
David Sedaris on The Late ShowAnd there's a link below to an interview with David. : http://vegasseven.com/2014/11/19/seven-questions-david-sedaris/#sthash.yeaNR4lN.dpuf
And speaking of marvels of wit and talent, yet another beautiful funny man: R.I.P. Mike Nichols. Thank you for all you brought to our planet. To complete your laugh riot interlude, here he is with Elaine May:
Nichols & May classic "Mother and Son" skit
David Sedaris on The Late ShowAnd there's a link below to an interview with David. : http://vegasseven.com/2014/11/19/seven-questions-david-sedaris/#sthash.yeaNR4lN.dpuf
And speaking of marvels of wit and talent, yet another beautiful funny man: R.I.P. Mike Nichols. Thank you for all you brought to our planet. To complete your laugh riot interlude, here he is with Elaine May:
Nichols & May classic "Mother and Son" skit
