Is This a Trick Question?

The title of the book is Why Women Need Fat.  At first, the answer seemed obvious…so other women don’t hate them and talk about them behind their backs, duh.

I don’t usually review non-fiction books.  In fact, I don’t usually read much non-fiction, especially diet related non-fiction.   I like to do book reviews, though, and BlogHer’s review program is a good way to keep my hand in and I figured that given my little writing hiatus, I could use the kick in the drawers to get going.  The BlogHer review program pays a little bit (a very little bit – as in a few lattes) but I assure you that you will never read anything in a book review I write that isn’t my entirely unvarnished opinion.  Besides, BlogHer is paying me, not the authors of the book.

The authors of the book are William Lassek, an M.D., and Steven Gaulin, a Ph.D.  The title is a bit of a gimmick, obviously, but the premise of the book, refreshingly, is not.  Neither, more remarkably to me, was the delivery of the premise.  The point is the women have evolved to require a certain amount of body fat in certain places in their bodies, and men have evolved to appreciate that body fat where it should, evolutionarily speaking, land.

American women have, in case you haven’t been paying attention or were lost on a desert island island somewhere, are getting larger in an unhealthy way.  Obviously, I’m speaking in a general way here – this shouldn’t be a big newsflash to anybody.  The amount of weight and the placement of that weight on women’s bodies has been changing, particularly in this country, over the last few decades.  The authors of the book wonder why, and in noting that “as the American diet… changed to get ”healthier,’ food got less tasty, and yet Americans – especially women – started gaining weight”  they trace the scientific, anthropologic, and evolutionary history of women and diet and fat.

I could explain it all, but why should I, they did, and far more clearly and compellingly than I could.  (And people are continuing the discussion of many of the finer points of the book HERE, if you’re interested.) My only gripe is that there were times when I found myself saying, “For the love of Canola Oil, just give me a list of what I can and can’t eat,please!”  Which, by the way, they sort of did, in the back.  Instead of me re-hashing the whole shebang, you could read the book, which you might want to do, because I think it’s a gap in our cultural awareness.

I know there are people who are hardcore Food People, but I think most of us who can’t spend all of our food budget on top of the line produce and grass fed everything and who can’t spend all of our time researching this stuff could use a clear synopsis – which this book provides – about cleaner, healthier, simpler eating.

It’s not a diet book, although it might help some people lose some weight.  I appreciated the fact that research and data was explained to me in real terms, and not in metaphors, as though I am some kind of jello-brained seven year old incapable of comprehending anything not put in the context of popular culture.  I also felt comforted by the references to Michael Pollan, a familiar and reliable name.  Maybe that’s silly, but still.

Despite all the science talk and explanation of the principles behind what Lassek and Gaulin advocate and describe, ultimately, it’s about eating real food, rather than the processed crap we’ve been told will make our lives easier and then become addicted to.  It’s all very sensible and straightforward, and, if what it says on page 142, that a person can get as much DHA from the dark chocolate mousse made with omega 3 enriched eggs featured on the book’s cover as from a fish oil capsule, then I’m all for that.

 

 

 

It’s Not the Journey, It’s the Destination…wait that’s not it.

We, and by we I mean HIM because if I had done it the house would probably need to be torn down, recently hung a big, old-timey-lookin’ chalkboard in our kitchen.  Last night I watched our kids draw for ages, totally unselfconsciously.  People, trains, animals, forests, I believe I saw a surfer being eaten by a shark at one point, but never mind.

What is the exact moment that children lose that unselfconsciousness about creative expression?  And how the hell can we get it back?

I am not aware of consciously thinking it, but I know for certain that when I read some books or essays or see some movies or look at particular photographs or paintings or mosaics or watch some tv shows (hello, The Wire, I’m looking at you), some part of my internal critic says, “Well, you’re never going to be able to do that, so why bother.”  There are those totally amazing creative enterprises that blow your doors off and make you want to try and inspire you.  And then there are those than just shut you right down because, screw it.  Or maybe they’re the same and it just depends on who you are at the time you experience them.

Keri Hulme’s The Bone People

REM’s NightSwimming

the aforementioned The Wire

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window

a perfect creme brulee

White Christmas sung by Bing Crosby

to name a few.

 

 

 

 

Back In the Saddle…or why David Fincher needs a dope slap

New year, new leaf.

Apparently I haven’t had much to say.  I figured I should show up and say something, if for no other reason than to staunch the flow of emails and phone calls (thank you, by the way, does a heart good) checking in to make sure that I’m a) still alive b) doing fine c)you know, doing fine.   I am all of the above.  In spades. I just haven’t had anything to say.  I have no idea what that’s all about.  Mental holiday?  Dry well? Writer’s block?  Creative drought? I’ve decided not to poke at it.  I’ve also decided that it’s probably not good for me in the long run.

Here’s what else I’ve decided:  BORING.  Socrates may have said, “An unexamined life is not worth living,” but an overly examined life is only worth the examining for the person living the life, the rest of the world couldn’t give a rat’s ass.  Onward.

I haven’t been especially well read.  Or hostessy.  But that’s my goal for the time being.  It’s good to have goals.

David Fincher needs a dope slap.

I read all of Stieg Larsson’s Girl with the Dragon Tattoo novels (3), and listened to them (unabridged – I recommend this, heartily, read by Simon Vance, liked it better than reading the books, which is unusual for me, plus, listened while walking many miles, Bo-NUS). I also saw the Swedish versions of the films, of which I approve.  True to books.  Two thumbs decidedly up.

Neither here nor there.  We can debate Stieg Larsson and the trilogy another day should you wish.  Whomever you are.

Saw the American version of the film on Friday after a serious control-freak meltdown over hallway paint color and the rapidly deteriorating condition of my home which you might notice if you aren’t, say, me.  Or nuts.  Anyway, emergency Must See A Movie Instantly Situation.  Plus, Daniel Craig, so couldn’t really go wrong.  Win, win, win all over the place.

And here’s the verdict: well played Hollywood, well played, indeed.  Casting: excellent, I’m not madly in love with the choice of Robin Wright Penn as Erika Berger, but I’ll sign off on that one because I might be biased against her because she has a weird clavicle (I swear, go see it, you’ll be driven to distraction by this thing, it’s bizarre.), and also because her half sister once gave me a tube of MAC Russian Red lipstick in San Francisco that changed my life.  Mood, tone, atmosphere:  excellent.  Loyalty to book:  very good, I am totally OK with the adaptations in the name of expedience.  I never once felt like I was sitting through something I’d read/heard/watched once, let alone three times before.  I was entertained, impressed, pleased, delighted, engaged.  Hoo-freaking-ray.

BUT.

HUGE, BUT.

What, the, holy, hell, was the opening sequence about?

I mean, of all the self-indulgent, directorial, B.S., pretentious, craptastic pieces of nonsense I have ever seen committed to celluloid (OK, digital whatever whatever), this takes the cake.  It had absolutely no relevance,  artistic, symbolic, nor thematic, to the movie.  Why, oh why, was it there?

Days later, I’m still pissed about it.

Also.  The song that played during the closing credits was completely inappropriate and sucked.

The end.

 

 

p.s.  happy new year.

p.p.s. if you’re looking for something to read, pick up the Tana French trilogy, In the Woods, The Likeness, Faithful Place.  In that order.