Author Archives: Murphy

Brotherly Wisdom

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This COULD be giving fuel to the argument that he’s forgotten more than I ever knew.

But my brother once spent a good hour, explaining to me that raw sugar was in need of enhancement in order to reach it’s taste potential. His examples were that while things like cotton candy and rock candy were good, the sugar was barely altered and therefore not reaching it’s highest taste potential.

But CHOCOLATE was more substantially enhanced and therefore the sugar could achieve the a higher level of deliciousness.

Now, he claims it was my theory all along.

I just don’t suffer from early senility, and I reMEMber this conversation.

As I recall, it took place in 1993, and was the first dialogue of the Candy Traditions.

The results of which will be published here at a later date.

Unless Bryan beats me to it.

The Portrait of Dorian Gray

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My wonderfully intelligent book club voted on this book for February. I’d read a lot of Oscar Wilde, but not this one.

As far as I know, it’s his only novel.

It had all kinds of interesting philosophical propositions in it. Like, what is the value of physical beauty when compared to beauty of the soul?
And, how much of our motivation to do the right things stems from whether we will be caught?

But one of the things that made this book delightful to read was the razor wit of Oscar Wilde.

Those late Victorians were just fabulous at turning a phrase on a pin. Gilbert & Sullivan spring to mind.

So wicked and most of the time, so true!

The book was a lot of fun, but it was weighty too. It was a good book to have a discussion about.

Bargain bin Paradise

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I was supposed to meet someone at the Barnes and Noble in Pasadena. He didn’t show.

I didn’t really expect him to.

But I didn’t want to miss a chance of checking out a new book store. And the meeting supplied a justification for the 6 dollars I had to fork out for parking.

In the bargain bin, for ONE dollar, I found a hardback of Molly Peacock’s Paradise, Piece by Piece.

I’d never heard of her before, but the back of the book said, “By exploring her choice not to have children, Molly Peacock discovers what has made her herself.”

That seemed worth a buck.

As it turns out, Molly Peacock is a poet of sonnets, and someone I should perhaps be aware of, since I aspire to be a literature snob.

Well, the book is supposed to be about her choice not to have children.

She’s from an earlier time than I; to me the choice not to have children does not seem so amazing. This is due in a large part to the battle that 60s and later feminists did to change American culture. Women now are not defined entirely by the female capacity of hatching eggs and lactating.

Not so much anyway.

So for me, the thrust and thread of the stories was how Molly learned to deal with others’ expectations for her.

Her mother expected things from her.
Her father expected things.
Her sister expected.

Her lovers, her husbands, her employers and her students expected things.
Random strangers expected things.

But she also expected things from herself.
She had to learn to listen to herself and screen out other people.

It’s a very hard thing to do, to choose and shape your own destiny. Deciding on the shape of your life, what you will and won’t do, based fundamentally on your own desires and needs takes courage. It is not accomplished in one moment.

I like how she continues to revisit her choices and decisions–sometimes because others challenge her, but sometimes because she herself is completely unsure of what she’s doing.

I relate to that.

The books is on sale on Amazon, too. It’s definitely worth it.
Good bathtub reading.

not always for the asking

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I have been quite disciplined this evening.

I ate a healthy dinner. avoiding my usual dive for the snack food upon coming home.

I made a new recipe involving Eggplant, a frypan, and practically no fat.

I ran on the treadmill for 20 minutes.

I then sat down with my files and papers and started making my papers into files.

Now I have cleaned up those files and papers, proud because I’ve taken a good bite out of this procrastinated job.

THe next task on the list is to sit at my computer and write something clever, insightful and sure to bring me international renown.

I’m tired!

All I want to do is sit in my hot tub. I think there may already be people from other apartments in it, but that doesnt even deter me.

Creativity doesn’t seem to lie on the desk underneath my papers, waiting for me to pick it up.

Too bad.

I’m off to be steamed and gurgled.

I’ve been accepted!

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Chris asked me a few weeks ago what I would do if I won the lottery. I immediately answered:

Go back to school.

Fortunately, I don’t have to win the lottery to attend the occasional class. I already tried the community college nearby. It was kind of disappointing.

I am a GRADUATE now. This high horse has a nice view.

So I thought I would pay real money for a class, and take an extension course. UCLA was calling.

UCLA seems so cool! The campus is beautiful, and they have so much going on all the time.

My class is very short, eight meetings of “Telling on Yourself: Self-Revelation through Memoir Writing”

That’s what I seem to be doing lately, in my reminiscent pieces about Alaska.

I fear, however, that this class will be full of blue-haired women wanting to tell their life story. We’ll see.

It doesn’t start until April, but only 20 people were allowed in. First come, first served. I got in.

Plus, it’s for credit. Maybe I’ll work my way all the way to a masters eventually.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to park without paying for it.

The Hours

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I went to see the Hours. I’d read the book before seeing the movie. What that means is that I ought to have remembered kleenex.

But of course I didn’t.

I think that reading the book spoiled a certain amount of surprise at what was going to happen. But then, reading Mrs. Dalloway prior to reading The Hours had kind of spoiled some of the surprise.

It didn’t matter, though. The movie was very true to the spirit of the book. The same feeling I had while reading the book, the feeling of being set adrift to revel in the details of the moment, were in the movie.

I could not help noticing all the small facts of decoration for the women. Their jewelry, their hair. Their clothes, yes their clothes. And the textures of their homes.

I don’t know if it is something innately feminine or not, but many many women take great pleasure in the little pretty details of their dress and decorations. The Hours was so much about women.

Being about women, it is of course, about all of us. We all come from a woman, after all.

The title refers to the moment. The Hours, the hours that go by and the hours that stay. Life is nothing more than the hours that you inhabit. Not the days, because an entire day is far too full to live at once.

The story in this movie takes a single day in the life of three separate women and traces how it unwinds. The story shows the experiences they have and the choices they make. It celebrates the fullness of life, in a beautifully honest way, revealing how terrifying, glorious and precious life is.

Obviously, I loved it. I especially loved it because it was not sweet or happy. It was just true. I hope it wins some recognition.

The Vista

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Sunday, I finally made myself do something I had been wanting to do for what seems to be months.

I went to see a movie at the Vista Theater.

I’d seen the theater in my many excursions and it is beautiful. A single theater on the corner of Sunset and Prospect, with a huge brick red facade with a huge white scrollwork all over the front. I mentioned it to someone and she said, “Oh the Vista! That’s a great theater!”

So I was even more eager to go.

There was another local theater the Los Feliz 3. But people didn’t say the same sort of nice things about it. And it didn’t have scroll work!

Little did I know, the scrollwork was just the beginning!

The interior was beautifully decorated in Egyptian art. Men with towels around their waists did two-dimensional activities around the back walls of the snack bar. Inside the theater, though, was amazingly spectacular.

The bright red curtains (when was the last timeI saw real curtains in a theater?) were topped with hissy snakes. The corners were ornately molded with more snakes and other creatures.

Around the sides were gold-painted disembodied heads, regal in blue headresses. Under each was its own light. Lit from beneath, the heads were especially eerie. When the lights went down for the movie, the lights did not go entirely out for the heads. They glowed in the darkness.

But the seating was quite luxurious. The rows were very far apart. While I was sitting, I could stretch my long leg forward, point my toe, and still not touch the seat in front of me.

It was nice to have that much space. It occurred to me that I could have brought a tavle in with me, if I had wanted to.

The Vista is my new favorite local theater. Anyone making a trip to LA and wanting to see a movie in Hollywood ™ ought to go.

I felt like it was worth the eight bucks. And for me, that is saying a lot.