Wednesday, March 28, 2007

HPDH COVER ART!

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG.

Click on "Read More" if you're SURE you want to see the HP UK covers. SPOILER ALERT!




Hmm, I wonder whose locket this is... ;)



I like the art of the UK Children's cover less than the US one, but you have to admit this one's chock full of clues! Is that Dobby on Harry's back, with Gryffindor's sword? Are they in some Gringott's vault, and is this when one of Gringott's security mechanisms is kicking in and they're falling out through some hole - to the dragons' lair?! Here's what's brilliant: in both the US and UK children's covers, Harry doesn't seem afraid (and if you've seen the US cover, you'll find that even more impressive). Ron and Hermione look scared witless, but Harry's just... determined in this one and cool in the US one.

What on earth is that incircle on the spine? That's where the cracked black Peverell Ring was on the cover of HBP.



Now THAT's more like it! This is breathtakingly beautiful covert art... I am coveting! This, more than any other US HP cover, has convinced me that I need a second set of books, the US editions, because they're just so goshdarned pretty.

Anyway - notice, Harry is totally cool, confident, almost smiling! Voldemort is retreating as Harry charges. Wandless duel! Ghostly spectators! It all points to this arena being.... wait for it... INSIDE the world of the veil! DUM DUM DUM DAAAAM!

And is that a time-turner around Harry's neck? Ah - a way out of the land of death... Woooooooo!

*is very breathless from theorising and theorising*

Sigh. Now I'm all excited again. Was there a time when I was cynical and blase about Book 7? Did Book 6 really disappoint me so much? My memory grows strangely weak.

Friday, March 16, 2007

DesiDabba

Starting yesterday, I'm writing for DesiDabba.org, a blog focusing on Indian television.

Now, me writing on matters of Indian television is sort of like Dick Cheney writing about single moms working for minimum wage. Not only have I not lived in India for 12 years, I have never in the meantime had cable TV either - no siree, not even Zee TV. There's an awful lot I can find out about it, but I'd still be a phoney-phoney-bo-boney. It would seem my soul comes cheap ($0.00, to be precise). In exchange for sufficient exposure and a byline, I'd write squid porn.

Boundary matters having been established, let's move on to my plan of action. Head-honchess Saakshi has given me free rein on what I wish to cover, so you may expect my usual range of burning social issues, rants on worthy causes, and inspired reviews of American TV that just happens to be playing on, say, StarWorld. Excerpt from my first article:
I’m a huge fan of scumbag protagonists. Nothing is so dull as watching the good become enlightened, the funny flit over minor hiccups to riches and/or gorgeous spouses, or the naam-ke-vaaste beleaguered transform smoothly into Candyland perfection. Instead, Earl takes place worlds away from more familiar NBC urban sitcoms such as "Friends" and "Will & Grace", set instead in the heart of American trailer-park culture, where the protagonist Earl J. Hickey (snigger, snigger) might be a new Karma-convert, but isn’t about to abandon his thieving side anytime soon.

Ba-dum-pum-BISH. Thank you, thank you. I'm here till Monday.

Thursday, March 15, 2007

Fifteen Thousand, or, I'm Sold!

Greenville Kleiser is a man after my own heart. He is the author of a marvellous little book called "Fifteen Thousand Useful Phrases", written in 1917, one of Project Gutenberg's more recent releases. A book of "useful phrases"! How wonderfully quaint!

In the Introduction, Kleiser laments:
Another example is afforded by the endemic use of "of sorts" which struck London while the writer was in that city a few years ago. Whence it came no one knew, but it was heard on every side. "She was a woman of sorts;" "he is a Tory of sorts;" "he had a religion of sorts;" "he was a critic of sorts."

While it originally meant "of different or various kinds," as hats of sorts; offices of sorts; cheeses of sorts, etc., it is now used disparagingly, and implies something of a kind that is not satisfactory, or of a character that is rather poor. This, as Shakespeare might have said, is "Sodden business! There's a stewed phrase indeed!"

At which I began to giggle ever so helplessly.

Scrolling down to sample some of the proffered "useful phrases", I hit upon the Vs -
vacant stupidity, vacillating obedience, vacuous ease, vagabondish spirit, vagrant wandering...

Then pairs in Ps:
penetrating and insidious, penned and planned, peppery and impetuous, pestilence and famine...

Phrases in Cs:
Cloaked in prim pretense, Clothed with the witchery of fiction, Clutch at the very heart of the usurping mediocrity


I am so sold!

Thursday, March 8, 2007

One More

Blog Against Sexism DaySince this blog has only just treated you to an anti-sexism rant, I was looking for an appropriately deplorable news item that I could wordlessly link to, which would speak for itself. What I wanted was handed to me in a platter yesterday as I watched that revolting new movie, Kabul Express.

If you're trying to decide if sexism is dead or still lives, look no further. You should know that the movie has nothing to say about this scene either before it, or after. The scene is complete within itself.

Oh, and the lechy old man is one of the good guys.

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

The Trouble With Heroes

Like many, many other people I am hooked on Heroes. It's important that you understand this is a near-miracle. I've never been a fan of TV dramas, and NBC's ridiculously overblown promotion of the series (starting from February last year for a fall premiere!) was enough to put anybody off it just to spite NBC. But the premiere was fantastic, and the quality of the episodes has flagged only slightly since, so I'm happy to give lend it my eyeballs for the hour.

Also, one Mr Mohinder Suresh, though ludicrously named, is rather easy on the eyes. :)

Except it bothers me. This niggling thought has been at the back of my mind for a few weeks now, but it grows stronger every week: Heroes is blatantly, insufferably sexist.

1. No female Hero has control over her body, her powers or her life. Claire Bennet is a minor at the mercy of her father (who until recently was possibly The Diabolical Villain). Now The Haitian and her biological grandmother have her. She's consistently kept in the dark about who she is, who her parents are, what dangers she faces, who's running her life - all in the name of "protecting" her. Her memories have been repeatedly erased, the final attempt was the only exception. Some Invincibility! Niki/ikiN (old habit, before Jessica had a name, we had to call her something), who I'll discuss in detail later, are at the pinnacle of this loss of control: Niki strips for a living, and she's helpless against ikiN who is ripping her life apart. The supposedly evil ikiN has no agenda of her own either - she's Linderman's stooge. And, mesdames et messieurs, that's it for the major female Heroes, a grand total of TWO. The minor ones are no better off: Claire's biological mother is a deadbeat loser who lives in a trailer, reduced to angling Claire as bait for a few thousand dollars from The Male Power in her life, Nathan Petrelli. That woman with SuperHearing was dead after speaking three lines flat. You won't remember Eden McCain, that pixie-ish chick who hung around Mohinder Suresh and was in reality a pawn of the "Paper Company". Another such pawn is the recently introduced Candice Wilmer, who we know next to nothing about except that, once more, she's a female Hero working for Men with Plans.

2. No strong woman is stronger than the men around her. I refer to ikiN, of course. Her supposed ability is SuperStrength, but when do we see it? In the first couple of episodes, the SuperStrength comes out when she's threatened with rape. After that, nada, no more. Her (ex?) husband D.L. comes along and overpowers her easily with his SuperPenetration (oooh, how manly). The only time we see her use her SuperStrength successfully in the later episodes is when she escapes from a female shrink - only to be easily subdued by male orderlies. WTF?

3. The female Heroes are not heroes. Jessica is a curse to Niki, because God forbid a woman enjoy her SuperStrength or do noble things with it. Even when ikiN uses her powers "for good", it is within the straitjacket of "womanliness" - to defend herself from rapists, to protect her child (ugh!). Niki has no personhood outside the "hot single mom" stereotype. And then there's her trip to the crazyhouse. Hey, women, show us your wildcat side and we'll lock you up! ikiN's done enough to deserve jail, maybe, but what's with the padded cell? This explicit reduction of Niki's "superpower" to actual insanity is not only emasculating (what a word I'm forced to use!) but also disturbing in its connotations. For two thousand years wombs were regarded as the seat of illogic and insanity, leaving us to deal with the remnants of those misogynistic suppositions even to this day via words like hysteria, hysterical, hysterectomy. And what can I say about Claire Bennet? She's just the Damsel in Distress - remember "Save the cheerleader, save the world"? Two perfunctory Heroic acts are thrown in to mix things up a little, but Claire, too, firmly and inexplicably regards her SuperHealing as a curse. Neither she nor Niki are heroes at all as long as they keep regarding their powers with such suspicion.

There is no use pointing out to me the men who suffer from some of the same symptoms I've mentioned above. Nathan Petrelli is trapped in a stereotypically male role of protector of his little brother, is lied to about his daughter by the mother, etc. Hiro Nakamura is the the stereotypically cute and fluffly Japanese kid with a comic-book fetish. Sylar, you might say, is a bad, bad man, and why do they always make men the serial killers? And yet. Nathan is a complicated character with more to him than just "the protective elder brother". Mr. Bennet is far more than just "dad", as important as that role is to him and his story. Hiro, though a stereotype, is still his own agent in control of his own destiny - his father's objections to his quest were easily dealt with. More importantly, for every stereotypical male role in Heroes, you'll find two others that are not stereotypes. The very dearth of women Heroes makes the stereotypification of the availables ones more damning.

Now I must point out that there's one item I am deliberately not including in this list: that apart from Claire Bennet, all the female Heroes are evil (or generally bad eggs). The reason I am not complaining about this is that it doesn't matter whether a certain set of people (women, Germans, Black people, fat people, whatever) are shown as heroes or villains in the stories they appear. You heard me. It doesn't matter one whit. You could consistently make Muslim fanatics the villains in every one of your stories, but that wouldn't automatically mean you're racist or anti-Muslim or any of it.

Why? Because villains can be cool. Often they're so much cooler than the very-vanilla heroes, they take over their stories: think Hannibal Lecter, Gabbar Singh, Darth Vader. These people inspire fascination, even admiration. They're mysterious, complicated and smart as a whip.

That is the factor that shows Heroes up as sexist: are the female Heroes awesome? Do they get treated with the respect reserved for several of the male characters? Because it's no use having tons of female Heroes on the good side if they're just damsels in distress or bit parts... they should have important things to do, big shoes to grow into, just like the men. And there's no use having tons of Hot, Diabolical Wenches on the villainous side if they're just going to be following the orders of the men in charge... they should have their own agendas, their own minions, just like the men.

Monday, March 5, 2007

How I Spent My Weekend

One of the more wtf moments of this weekend was hearing Donald Trump say out of nowhere, "Fo' shizzle." Jesus.

We went to Troy on Saturday, which is a nearby quaint little riverside town with lovely old buildings and more people on the streets in a day than you see in a year around my place. It's quite a sight, that river in winter. Frozen solid, birds hopping across its surface. Found a rare non-chain, small breakfast-and-lunch type shop with oodles of homey charm and delish food. Best pancakes I've ever had, gigantic and fluffy.


New Economists keep arriving before I've had a chance to finish the old one. There's altogether too much competition for my eyeball-time these days. I'd stop subscribing to Desipundit, except that'd be one less link to India. Ah, who am I kidding? I've now officially lived longer outside India than in it, if you discount the first three years of life spent pooping, dribbling and largely unconscious. Sigh.

On the bright side, I made (yes, made from scratch) bele obbattu aka puranpoli yesterday, in honour of Holi and in a spirit of competition against my SIL, who also made them. If my food habits don't qualify me as incorrigibly Indian, your standards are too bloody high.

Fretted a little that Saurabh's AP* documents have arrived but mine haven't. Everybody thinks it's frightfully funny to joke about Saurabh making the India trip alone.

I read Norma McCorvey's I Am Roe on Saturday. I was going to put it down after the first couple of chapters because it was so wildly out of whack from what I'd expected - geez, this woman's an alcoholic, a druggie, practically illiterate, a whiner and generally more white trash than anything else, as far from a 'proper' activist as you can get. But danged if she didn't make me kinda respect her by the end. Her politics about abortion goes no further than bewildered disbelief that anyone would question her right to it (or so she says. I don't fully buy it but there's no question she's a little naive). Her love life's completely messed up, and though she says she's a lesbian she's got three children (the last one was the Roe baby). She sure as hell didn't write this book herself. But I was talked 'round to the view that it's right that the plaintiff in that groundbreaking case should have been Everywoman - worse, the underdog. That's who Roe v. Wade belongs to.

(Holy exploding camels, Wikipedia's telling me that a year after she wrote the book this woman got frickin baptised, became Catholic (!!), and is now a spokesperson for the same pro-life 'terrorist' organisation, Operation Rescue, that she blasts in the book saying they shot at her.)

Watched three movies, one of which was Hitchcock's Vertigo (1957). Saurabh remarked to me just as we begin watching, "Do you know more time has passed from the time you were born to now than from the time this movie was made to the time you were born?" This calls for a reassessment of my practice of referring to movies from the 80s as "fairly recent". I feel delightfully world-weary.

Vertigo was good, especially that one freaky pinwheel-dream sequence. Woooooo. Guru Dutt's Pyaasa was better, with fantastic poetry to boot. What the hell went wrong with Indian cinema? Though, in fairness, I could ask the same question of Hollywood after Billy Wilder and then again after the 70s. The best of the lot was Broadcast News, pathetic title, awesome movie. It's so rare to find characters who're allowed to be intelligent, you know?

So I'm in the library on Saturday, right? Lovely old building with marble statues and staircases, stained glass windows, trimmings in all the right places, etc.. It's one of my favourite places around here. But my boots make an unearthly din on the wood floor of the upstairs reading room. I always forget, and walk brashly in with clumpy steps, then cringe at the stares and spend the rest of my time trying to blend into the mahogany background, making on tiptoes like a fairy. So on Saturday I was stuck by one far wall of the reading room, contemplating shelves marked '92: Biographies, K - N'. Which is how I ended up borrowing I Am Roe and Reading Lolita in Tehran (Azhar Nafisi). For a while I thought that was it, that this time my trip to the library was just going to be my trip to '92: Biographies, K - N', and I might as well make the most of it. But biographies are so not my thang. How to pick?

One solemn green leatherbound book titled Thomas More caught my eye. Having recently watched the excellent but unfortunately titled A Man For All Seasons, I thought I'd get it, but then I realised dreary 18th century Catholic fanatics, however brilliant they may be as lawyers, hardly ever make good reading material. So now I've hit upon the one kind of movie that would be leaps and bounds better than the book: biographies. Goodbye, age-old question.

I reached for Mandela's autobio, The Long Walk to Freedom, but that was bound to be full of self-congratulatory, whitewashed anecdotes - that's the trouble with biographies of living statespeople, you've got to be in the mood for lies. There were about a hundred biographies of Marie Antoinette, which brought to mind Kirsten Dunst, eurgh. Five copies of a book titled, A Monk Swimming. Does that mean the book is good? Or that it's the biography of a local nobody who donated these five copies? Isn't the book being just a little bit despo by putting on such an arresting title? (Are monks allowed to wear swimsuits?) Nah, bound to be a bad read. Judge a book by its title, that's hardly unfair.

What about writers? There was another stately leatherbound tome about four inches wide: Summarising(!) Maugham. Sheesh. Maybe some other guy I haven't heard of, because if he's got biographers he's got to be somewhat interesting, right? Immediate recoil at the thought: am I actually contemplating reading biographies of random people?! It was time to make the valiant dash out of the wood-floored reading room to the main bookshelves. I didn't look behind me to see if I garnered more stares.

*AP = Advance Parole, and don't you run off with the idea that we're a couple of ex-jailbirds - it's a document that allows one to travel out of the country while one's Holy Green Card applications are undergoing their Mysterious Processing.

Friday, March 2, 2007

Blogger Comments Feed

Does anyone know why it's suddenly putting out the oldest comment first?

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Where Has Wendelin Been?

I'll be gone from this blog for a little while more, I think. There's a bunch of stuff happening at once out here in Real Life (TM): taxes, writing projects, impending submissions, spring cleaning...

But for now I've got photos to share - snow, giant kisses and an apple pie brag-pic! This one was taken the morning after the big Valentine's Day storm. Pretty, pretty snow...




Watch this car get buried as it stands all day in the blizzard...


The Giant Hershey kiss of Valentine's Day -


Photographed a pie, finally! When we ate it, though, it was more of a crumble... :( Baked this pie on Sunday the 25th, 6 p.m. All gone by Wednesday the 28th, 10 a.m, and I swear I only had about two helpings in all.


Fixin' to move

Bored and restless am I. It's time to move on from this "wendelin" business. I'm fixing up a new place to get properly res...