You need a series. And your series needs a hook. And here’s your hook, you homeschooling moms: a family of ten children, all homeschooled by their brilliant inventor father whose lab is in the basement and their brilliant creative-type mother (a mashup of Martha Stewart, Emily Dickinson, June Cleaver, and Dorothy Parker). Ten kids, ten books, each focusing on a different child. They are all, of course, impossibly literate and sophisticated (though still very much children), and each with a particular talent/gift. You’ll make a fortune. I’d do it myself, but…I suck.
Archives for September 2006
The NYT reviews Little Children:
“That Ms. Winslet is so lovable makes the deficit of love in Sarah’s life all the more painful. She is married to an older man named Richard (Gregg Edelman), whose profession is marketing and whose vocation is masturbating to Internet pornography, pursuits that leave him with little time for his family.”
This little detail aside, I’m very much looking forward to this one.
Children of Men gets at the question of what keeps civilization going.
True Confessions: we have a terrible weakness for that run of common terms/Proper Names that Garrison Keillor reels off at the end of his show: Guy Wire, Norman Conquest – does he do Amanda Hugankiss?
Anyway, our Muse, vicious creature that she is, hit us with one tonight: Fay D’Acomply.
Godsbody: rapidly obsolescing…
Okay, so we’re five years late on this one, but art is timeless, right? At any rate, Michael Schrauzer is a local, and a fellow I’ve been privileged to meet on a number of occasions. Until he finishes his novel, do spend some time contemplating his more visual stuff. I may not know much about art, but I know what I like
Here, and imagines Woody Allen delivering a few of them.
A propos of the previous post, Mrs. Darwin has a bone to pick with the House of Mouse – specifically, with its handling of Pooh & Co.:
“I have a fondness for Pooh (as who does not?) and I loathe almost everything about the Pooh cartoons — the simplification of Ernest Shepard’s charming illustrations, the reduction of the stories from a form that necessitates adult interaction with a child to a smear of bright colors and noise, the dumbing-down of Milne’s delightful prose — but most of all, the voices. Pooh’s querulous hesitancy, Piglet’s effeminate stutter, Eeyore’s moronic drone, Tigger’s hyperactive lisp — no more!”
(She does take a moment to wonder what sort of accent Kanga should have – am I overly obvious to suggest Australian?)
At any rate – take comfort, Mrs. Darwin: they never got Pogo.
Disney Lens? Someone with a tendency to see life as operating according to the ethos of Disney films?
The suspicious way that “bourbon” almost rhymes with “suburban”…