the weblog @ interbridge.com
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Sue Trowbridge lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. She is the co-owner of an independent record label, 125 Records, and web diva of interbridge.com.
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more weblog:
January 04
February 04
March 04
April 04
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July 04
August 04
September 04
October 04
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December 04

 
 

1.31.05 oh yeeeeeeaahhh!

I am so tired of hearing the phrase "drink the Kool-Aid." I'm sure you know what it means -- it's a reference to the Jonestown mass suicides in the late 1970s. However, it seems to have really become a popular buzzword (buzz phrase?) during the past few years. Google it, and you'll find over 15,000 examples of its use. Here's a citation from Jan. 24, about the Oakland A's Scott Hatteberg, no less.

Sure, this phrase seems to trivialize a horrific event; but also, the People's Temple members did not drink Kool-Aid. It was grape Flavor Aid. You can look it up.

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1.28.05 more spoilage

James sent me a link to this article: "Final 'Hide and Seek' Reels Kept Hidden"

If you thought publicity-grabbing movie gimmicks died out with William Castle, guess again! "[Twentieth Century Fox] is shipping prints of the suspense-thriller to theaters nationwide without its final reel, which later will be hand-delivered separately under guard," states the article. "As an additional security measure, each of the final reels will be numbered."

"'Hide and Seek' is a terrific picture with an ending that everyone will be talking about," says Richard Myerson, Fox's executive VP and general sales manager. "To ensure everyone's enjoyment of the film and to prevent 'spoilers,' we've instituted extraordinary measures. We think it's worth the effort."

Considering the abysmal reviews this film has been getting, I suspect this will increase traffic at The Movie Spoiler and Moviepooper more than it will get people into the multiplexes. No spoilers posted yet, but I'll be waiting.

Edited to add: OK, I just read the spoiler, and it sounds like a phenomenally stupid ending.

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1.27.05 million dollar spoiler

Sure, we all know Paul Giamatti wuz robbed by not being nominated for his role in my favorite movie of 2004, "Sideways." But what about the totally yummy Peter Sarsgaard? He was overlooked for "Kinsey," and last year, the Academy neglected to nominate him for his excellent performance in "Shattered Glass." Eventually, I have to believe that Peter's moment will arrive. Perhaps for his role as a Marine in Sam Mendes' "Jarhead," due for a late-'05 release.

Like my pal Rog, I am not a fan of boxing movies (although for some reason, I have seen most of the "Rocky" flicks). When "Million Dollar Baby" started racking up great reviews, though, I figured I should check it out. Now, I didn't actually read these reviews, but I knew they were out there. I didn't read the reviews because of my fear of spoilers. Somehow -- I'm not sure how -- I had learned that there was a huge plot twist in the film. I knew that I had to see the movie before I heard what the twist was.

Plot twists used to be considered sacred; at the end of the musty old Agatha Christie play "The Mousetrap," which played on London's West End for decades, a member of the cast implored you to keep the secret (of course, anyone who's read enough Christie novels will be able to figure it all out long before the final curtain). However, nowadays, they seem to pass into the public consciousness after an increasingly short period of time. The "Peanuts" comic strip once revealed that Rosebud was Kane's sled; the title "The Crying Game" has become a sort of shorthand for "hey, that chick is actually a dude." Even people who didn't see "The Sixth Sense" know what the deal was with Bruce Willis' character. Sooner or later -- probably sooner -- this will be the case with "Million Dollar Baby," as well. All shall be revealed, whether you want to know or not.

The film opened in San Francisco a couple of weeks before it came to the East Bay; things kept coming up, and I was always too busy to see it. It got to the point where just seeing the title in print made me break out into a cold sweat.

I finally saw the film, so I'm breathing easily again. I'm very glad I didn't know what the twist was -- yes, it took me by surprise -- and I certainly shall not spoil it for you. But there really is a lot you can say about this movie without mentioning "the spoiler." I loved the easy camaraderie between Clint Eastwood and Morgan Freeman. Hilary Swank is totally believable as a white-trash waitress with ambitions to become a boxer. The beautiful interplay of shadows and light in this film make it one that really should be seen on the big screen; it won't have the same gritty majesty at home on TV. Besides, by the time it comes out on DVD, everyone will know what happens. So you'd better see it soon.

My vote for the best plot twist of all time? Five words: "Luuuuuke... I am your father."

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1.24.05 boy geniuses

Last week was not a good one for technology in my household. The RadioShark I gave Joe wasn't working properly; my Audible.com Otis portable player abruptly stopped functioning (I suspect the company has discontinued them, since there's no mention of them on their site now); and the mini iPod Joe had received as a gift from his company -- which I figured I could use in place of the Otis to listen to my audiobooks, since Joe already owned an iPod -- didn't work at all. When I plugged it in to charge it, the screen flickered madly. There was only one thing to do: take it to the Apple store to exchange it for a working model.

I packed up the iPod and rode to the sleek Apple retail establishment in downtown San Francisco. (I shall neither confirm nor deny that I was also eager to make this trip because of the Apple store's proximity to the Ferry Building Marketplace and its selection of fine gourmet cheeses.) An Apple employee directed me and my flickery iPod up to the second floor, where I was told that to exchange my faulty device, I had to make an appointment at -- I kid you not -- the genius bar.

Now, I love my Power Mac. I'm very pro-Apple all around. But -- genius bar? Give me a break. I learned that it would take me at least 30 minutes to get an appointment with one of the resident geniuses, all of whom, incidentally, were 20-something white guys, standing behind a long wooden counter. I was given a pager. I escaped the insanely crowded, noisy store and went next door to Crate & Barrel to look at furniture and housewares until my pager buzzed.

My genius -- his name was Josh, Jason or some other J-name -- took one look at the iPod and diagnosed it as having a bad case of flickery screen. He asked for my name, but no other identifying information. He then read off an e-mail address and asked me if it was mine. Bizarrely, it was an old work e-mail from eight years ago. I suppose I had used it to register some long-ago Apple product. Much typing ensued, and finally, the genius disappeared into the back room to fetch a replacement.

The new iPod seems to work, and I look forward to loading it up with audiobooks. Unlike the tiny Otis, which could only hold about 7 hours' worth of recordings, the iPod should be able to store an entire novel, a book of short stories, a self-help tome, and a few albums' worth of music. Personally, though, I'm not convinced it took a genuine genius to do something as banal as swap out a busted iPod; maybe after my transaction was completed, I should have asked him the meaning of life, or at least one of those MENSA-type questions that Marilyn Vos Savant features in her column.

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1.21.05 the funniest joke in the world

Remember a couple of years ago when scientific researchers tried to determine the funniest joke in the world? I didn't think the winning story was all that funny. However, Joe and I went to see the marvelous Ricky Jay last night at City Arts & Lectures, and he told the real funniest joke in the world. I had heard it before, and I still laughed for, like, five minutes straight. Perhaps Ricky's set-up -- about telling the joke to a bunch of Baptist farriers at a convention in Albuquerque -- helped. Anyway, here is one of the many variations of Ricky Jay's joke (in his version, the "little old lady" was a man). It'll be interesting to see if the joke makes it intact onto the public radio broadcast.

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1.20.05 how not to be gros

I just finished listening to the audio book of the red-hot new bestseller French Women Don't Get Fat: The Secret of Eating for Pleasure by Mireille Guiliano. Ordinarily, I would never choose to listen to a diet book -- what could be duller? -- but this one combines advice and memoir and, to top it all off, it's read by the author, who has a terribly charming French accent.

Guilano is president and CEO of Cliquot Inc., makers of Champagne Veuve Cliquot. I have been fortunate enough, several years ago, to drink Veuve Cliquot, and I'm afraid it permanently spoiled me for all lesser champagnes and sparkling wines. Anytime I'm at a party or wedding where there is a champagne toast, I usually take a sip and then discreetly put the glass down, because cheap champagne, as the French might say, tastes like merde. Veuve Cliquot retails for $35-100 a bottle. If you listen to FWDGF and note the way Guilano describes the joy of bubbly, you will be ready to save your pennies to buy some. I particularly liked her suggestion to drink it with pizza. Someday, when I'm feeling flush, I'll go get a couple slices from Gioia and a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. I suspect Cliquot's sales will go way up after all of the clever "stealth promotion" they've received through Guiliano's book.

But what of the tips themselves, you say? There's a lot of common sense, bien sur -- smaller portions, fewer processed foods (not to mention freedom fries -- they are not French, c'est vrai!) and more fruits and vegetables, move around more, etc. -- but what I found incroyable is that the lifestyle advocated by Guiliano is extremely similar to my mom's. If only she'd written Swedish Women Don't Get Fat and cashed in!

She doesn't drink champagne, but she does drink lots of water, eats one meal a day of yogurt, doesn't do any formal exercise but burns lots of calories walking, gardening and climbing stairs, shops at farmer's markets, eats small portions, and enjoys high-quality bread and sweets in moderation. She and Guiliano are almost the same age, size and weight. It is curieux, n'est c'est pas? I go to a French woman for advice, and it turns out to be identical to that of my dear maman.

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1.19.05 dark city

Those of you who have been devotedly reading this blog since its inception in January 2004 are no doubt curious: "Last year, you spent a lot of time at the San Francisco Film Noir Festival and reviewed many of its fine offerings. Why haven't you said anything about the 2005 fest?" Well, my dears, the fest is back -- it opened last Friday -- but I'm afraid I haven't attended any of this year's screenings. It has changed venues, and this year is being held at the Balboa Theater, which is located 20 miles away from my home and requires a trip across San Francisco to the far-away Richmond District. I would either have to drive and fight traffic and find street parking once I arrived, or take BART to Powell St. and then walk a few blocks to catch the 38 Geary MUNI bus for a 30-minute ride to the theater. I suppose I am not sufficiently devoted to the genre to make such sacrifices. Just as I am skipping the Soundtrack of Our Lives show next week because it's at the Independent, and it's so hard to find a parking space in that neighborhood.

I guess there's so much going on in San Francisco at any given time that I can make my entertainment decisions based on these kinds of factors. I pretty much plan my entire life around avoiding bad traffic. If you lived here, you'd understand.

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1.18.05 the art of food

I spent a recent Saturday afternoon at SFMOMA, a place which always has an interesting effect on me. Yes, it's an art museum, so there are plenty of paintings on display (check out the superb Roy Lichtenstein exhibit), but you can always find something offbeat to captivate you, whether it be a chair, a movie poster, a designer gown or sports car, or the large Robert Gober installation on the top floor, a discrete gallery which features numerous bundles of newspapers and a box of rat bait under a sink. (Oddly enough, the newspapers aren't real newspapers, but photolithographs of the New York Times on Mohawk Superfine paper. The sink and rat bait were fabricated by the artist, too.)

After I leave SFMOMA, I see everything as art. Isn't that bowl of butternut squash soup, served in the museum's excellent cafeteria, a small work of art, with its bright orange hue and the long crouton placed just so across the rim of the white bowl? Inspired by food, I decide to walk a few blocks down Market Street to the Ferry Building Marketplace. I hadn't yet gotten around to visiting this temple of gourmet comestibles, despite the fact that it opened in 2003 and is located approximately two blocks from a BART station. If you visit San Francisco, don't make the same mistake I did -- go check it out immediately!

Everything in the Ferry Building Marketplace is incredibly expensive and absolutely perfect. I walk around its many shops, admiring $15-a-pound handmade Italian pasta, tiny and exquisite cakes and chocolates, organic vegetables, flavored olive oils, and baskets of Meyer lemons. I don't wander the marketplace as a consumer, but as an observer, as I was in the museum; I think, oh, isn't this interesting as I watch people carefully selecting jars of marmalade and wild salmon steaks.

Finally, I snap out of my haze and decide to do my duty as a patriotic American and buy something. I ask the young woman at the Cowgirl Creamery counter to recommend a cheese or two; I tell her I like a good, strong flavor, and she chooses half a round of Red Hawk and a small goat cheese. They are $6 each, but what the heck. I purchase them and go next door for an Acme baguette. (Acme Bread supplies both Chez Panisse and my beloved Rivoli.) Half an hour later, I am home and ready to enjoy my purchases with a glass of sauvignon blanc. I break out the Red Hawk and it is quite literally the best cheese I have ever eaten. It's as creamy as a brie, but has a much more pungent aroma and taste. I feel like I could live on this indescribably delicious cheese, and I am quite certain that next time, I will visit the marketplace not as an observer, but as an enthusiastic customer. Sometimes a splurge turns out to be worth it. But I suspect I'm too frugal ever to try that $15-a-pound pasta.

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1.17.05 sue's movie tips

If you go to see "The Aviator" at a crappy multiplex, and get all indignant and declare there is obviously something wrong with the print or the projection because the grass is turquoise and the peas are blue, and then all of a sudden the colors shift and the grass is green and lush -- well, guess what, it's supposed to be that way.

From the IMDB: "Scorsese designed each year in the film to look just the way a color film from that time period would look. Achieved mainly through digitally enhanced postproduction, Scorsese recreated the look of Cinecolor and two-strip Technicolor. Watch in particular for the scene where Hughes meets Errol Flynn in the club. Hughes is served precisely placed peas on a plate, and they appear blue or turquoise just as they'd have looked in the primitive two-strip Technicolor process. As Hughes ages throughout the film, the color gets more sophisticated and full-bodied."

I am in the habit of avoiding reviews and articles about a film before I see it, but I really wish I'd been hipped to this particular stylistic trick beforehand.

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1.16.05 dept. of really, really bad timing

I picked up this flyer last week when I was in Florida:

Cafe Tsunami

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1.13.05 my grandmother

My grandmother, Sonya Trowbridge, died last week, four months shy of her ninety-third birthday. She died in her home, which is what she wanted, in the company of a full-time health-care aide, which she didn't want. She was fiercely independent and had lived alone ever since my grandfather died in 1988, in the same house they had purchased in the 1930s.

The last time I talked to her was in December; she was in the hospital, suffering from heart trouble and other ailments of old age. She told me that she had lived a full life -- note the past tense -- and that she was prepared for that life to end. Indeed, the final words she ever spoke were, I'm done.

Of course, she may have been done, but I, selfishly, wish she could have stayed a little longer. When I visited her in May, my parents and I took her to the Binder Park Zoo, which had recently opened an elaborate African safari attraction. We took turns pushing her in a wheelchair around the wooden boardwalk that wove through the enormous exhibit; it was a beautiful spring day, perfect for watching giraffes, zebras and ostriches roam the massive savanna. She enjoyed it so much that she wrote a laudatory letter to her local newspaper the following week, praising the zoo and its friendly, helpful employees. I'm glad my final memory of her is such a happy one.

A few years ago, I began recording an oral history, trying to get her memories and experiences on tape. Despite the fact that in normal conversation, she was always full of amusing anecdotes, she never quite seemed at ease talking into the tape recorder, and the recordings I made never quite captured her eloquence and wit. I am glad I have those hours of tape now, though. Perhaps eventually, I can try to do some justice to her story.

My grandmother was not the stereotypically homey, cookie-baking grandma; she was a glamorous grandma, a onetime beauty pageant contestant, who kept Girl Scout Thin Mints in her cookie jar and would rather treat you to dinner at her club than cook. For decades, she tooled around town in a '57 T-bird. She was an avid traveler; even as late as this past August, she flew to Minneapolis for a Swedish-American conference.

Sonya Trowbridge John McCainWe disagreed about politics -- she was a staunch Republican, and near the end, the only TV program she would watch was FOX News's "The O'Reilly Factor" -- but we did manage to find a little common ground in our mutual admiration for Arizona Sen. John McCain. She was thrilled to meet him at an August fund-raiser, and he was especially kind to her, telling her about his 92-year-old mother Roberta, another lively and adventurous soul.

Often, when she drove past the town cemetery, she'd make some remark to the effect of, "I have a lot of friends in here"; sometimes she commented that all of her friends were dead. But that wasn't true. On birthdays and Christmas, she received scores of cards and greetings; for her 90th birthday party, well-wishers came from thousands of miles away. She was a gracious and generous lady, and was beloved by so many people. Including me. If there is a heaven, I'm sure she's up there now with my grandfather, enjoying a gin and tonic, or maybe a pink drink.

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1.3.05 other voices, other rooms

This weblog will be taking a brief hiatus as I put the finishing touches on the ark I've been building during our seemingly never-ending rainstorm. See you in about 10 days. In the meantime, here are some other blogs I recommend:

Jeff Norman - Paula Carino - Amy Lewis - Doug Mayo-Wells - Roger Winston - Alan - Brianna Bradley - I read the comics so you don't have to - Defamer - Go Fug Yourself

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1.1.05 the films of 2004

My digital camera is broken, so the photo on this page is from Istockphoto.com. I tried to find a photo that looked like I might have taken it. This one is even from San Francisco; the photographer is Judy Watt. I will try to acquire a new digital camera before February so I can resume taking my own photos.

Anyway. Here is my list of the best movies of 2004. I will note that there are still a few high-profile releases I've missed ("The Aviator," "Bad Education," "The Life Aquatic" and "Million Dollar Baby"), so I reserve the right to change my mind later on in case something really blows me away.

10. "Spider-Man 2." In an era where pretty much any crappy summer movie can make $50 million dollars in its opening weekend as long as it gets a big enough marketing push, the makers of "Spider-Man 2" actually cared -- they made a touching, very human story about the man in the superhero suit and threw in a lot of great action scenes, too. This is the rare blockbuster movie that appeals to teenagers and the more-selective older audience, too. Dear Hollywood: More like this, please.

9. "Slim Susie." A Swedish release that never picked up a U.S. distributor (it briefly played the festival circuit), Ulf Malmros' Tarantino-esque gangster comedy is a twisted, riotously funny look at small-town life. I love it all the more because it was actually shot in the very small town in Western Sweden where I spent many of my childhood summers. I don't think the town was a hotbed of pornography, drug dealing and murder, but you never know...

8. "Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind." Charlie Kaufman is a mad genius, and director Michel Gondry masterfully brings his big ideas to the screen in this beautiful film. I didn't love it as unequivocally as some critics and filmgoers, but I enjoyed it very much -- even Jim Carrey, who has been one of my least favorite performers since his days on "In Living Color."

7. "The Incredibles." Pixar, you can do no wrong (so far, at least). Director Brad Bird has a serious fixation on 1950s modern design (also on display in "The Iron Giant"), making this perhaps the only cartoon I've ever seen where I was as interested in the characters' home decor as I was in the plot.

6. "Kinsey." Fifty years after his groundbreaking research into the sexual behavior of men and women, the late scientist is still capable of stirring up controversy in post-Boobgate America. Could director Bill Condon have released this well-crafted film at a more appropriate time?

5. "Super Size Me." Morgan Spurlock eats his way across America, downing McDonald's hamburgers and fries and picking up pounds and health problems to the point where his doctors beg him to quit his all-Mickey D's diet. And yet, he persevered -- and made this very entertaining and enlightening documentary about the way America eats today.

3-4. "Cowards Bend The Knee" and "The Saddest Music In the World." These two films by wacky Canadian auteur Guy Maddin were shot at the same time, so I consider them sort of cinematic twins. I had the rare pleasure of seeing "Saddest" with no idea what to expect, and was immediately swept up in Maddin's strange and wonderful vision. "Cowards" is even weirder, and considering that "Saddest" features Isabella Rossellini walking around on prosthetic glass legs filled with beer, that's really saying something.

2. "Hero." I'm not a fan of martial-arts movies -- I didn't even care that much for "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" -- but this film is just jaw-droppingly gorgeous. It gets the nod over the other Yimou Zhang movie I saw this year, "House of Flying Daggers," because it had a better storyline and for its striking use of color. Props to Zhang for featuring the type of strong leading female roles that seldom appear in American films.

1. "Sideways." This is the only movie that came out in 2004 that I didn't want to end; I almost wish it had been a miniseries, so I could have kept following these characters' lives for several hours more. If I ever go down to Santa Barbara's wine country, I'll half-expect to run into Miles, Jack or Stephanie in a tasting room.

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All content © 2004-05 by Sue Trowbridge, except the photo on this page, which was taken by Judy Watt.