Word Blur

Truth

I saw The Truth of Buffy on the new book shelf at work this afternoon, the latest in the slew of cultural studies readers devoted to the Buffyverse.  I never know what to feel about these books--I like that they are out there, but the thought of actually reading lit crit (or philosophy or political science) about Buffy worries me.  My relationship to the show is so pure and nostalgic and beautiful.  There are worse ways for a person to get tenure: somewhere someone is devoting academic study to devising more effective means of torture, for instance.  These guys are watching "Hush" and "Seeing Red."

Okay, so is it just me, or is a Cinemax school of literary adaptation evolving?  It was bad enough when Mr. Darcy practically planted one on Keira Knightley's collagen-enhanced lips (oh yes, she's admitted as much) during the Pride and Prejudice proposal scene, but earlier this week I caught the last half of the latest PBS Jane Eyre.  Maybe, maybe, I could forget and forgive all the making out willy nilly, but I will never be able to erase the memory of a young, hot Rochester dry humping Jane Eyre after the aborted wedding.  Especially because the whole time this was happening I was actually missing the new episode of Battlestar Galactica.  There are limits to what I can endure.

Nigella Bites!

First of all, I will state here my intention to write about and more or less recommend a book a day for the year of 2007. I spent last week lolling around the suburbs of Detroit and actually reading several books, any of which I could discuss, but I spent part of today watching a couple of episodes of Nigella Feasts from the Food Network (I have basic cable, and I know what you’re thinking, but screw you, because I love it).  I am totally crushed out on Nigella.  Someone gave me a copy of Nigella Bites a few years ago, and I just didn’t really get her, and actually re-gifted it at a wedding this summer (sorry Bill and Emily!), because I never used it.  All that has changed now that I’ve seen her in the round, unapologetic flesh eating sausage and cheese and mustard and pork fat out of her fridge at night (I know it’s not really evening when they film those little bits, but still).  And she’s so articulate and sensual and smart.  When I was driving back from the grocery store with my two-year old I found myself telling her, “Look up at the sky, the clouds are just these sort of gorgeous bruises of purple and blue.  They’re really lovely.”  “They’re not really lovely mommy,” she said.  Whatever kid, I think they were.  And I’m pretty sure Nigella would have agreed.  Also, I saved the chicken fat from dinner.  Just in case.