Sherlock Holmes Movie Review

I was raised on British television; I remember Masterpiece Theater, Diana Rigby introducing that night's mystery in her velvety tones and intriguing voice. I remember the really cheesy and low budget original Dr. Who with the fuzzy edged monsters. I was raised on Babar and Tintin cartoons and I'm always mystified that so many people mistake the boy detective of Tintin with the dog on Rin Tin Tin. No, they are not the same thing---go get yourself an Herge comic book and learn something from Tintin and his brave dog Snowy. I was raised on British productions of Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot and think no one could portray that detective better than David Suchet.

I was raised on British television. One of my fondest memories stems from watching the Sherlock Holmes series that featured Jeremy Brett. I have an extreme fondness for Robert Downey Jr and Jude Law, (something about them being great actors and my weakness for tall, dark and handsome men), but I wasn't sure I wanted to see someone else attempt to portray a character I associated so closely with the skilled arrogance and wise deduction of Jeremy Brett's Holmes.

However, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised by Downey's Sherlock. He's taken a page from Brett's book---Downey plays the character with a mix of conceit, arrogance, brilliance and social awkwardness. But Downey's Holmes is a bit more rakish; he deduces things about people Brett's Holmes wouldn't care enough about to even speak to. Downey's Holmes has a bit more warmth in his eyes as well. This new Holmes does not act as if Watson is a companion, but more like a best friend, a brother. And that's where the film's conflict comes from.

For Law's part, this Watson plays better than Holmes' sidekick; he's Holmes' adventurous equal--brave, strong, able to clock a man or two in the face. This Watson is also more fleshed out. We know about his engagement to a woman he cares for, and how his curiosity leads him into dark corners and dangerous alleys with Holmes even though he knows there's a good woman and warm household waiting for him.

If you haven't seen Sherlock Holmes and you think it might be your type of movie, or you're not sure if Downey and Law can pull off the first dynamic duo---go see the film. I'll warn you it's a bit long. But if you're down with a little occult mixed in with your crime mystery and thriller starring two great actors in beloved roles, you won't be let down.

"Revolution" by Miranda Lambert

When I'd first read previews of Miranda Lambert's latest album release "Revolution," I wasn't sure this "softer, more feminine, more well-rounded" Lambert was one I was going to like. Soft? From the woman who blazed into Nashville with the Steve Earle sound-alike-tune of Kerosene; that song where she growls "light 'em up and watch them burn." It was this very harshness and brashness of the Crazy Ex-Girlfriend that I liked.

And by the way, just so you're clear, I am so enamored of Lambert's strong voice, style and boldness that if she were my guy's crazy ex-girlfriend, I'd want to knock a beer down with her, lean over and kiss her, all the while being terrified of her vengeance. Make no mistake, when it comes to Lambert, I'm an unabashed groupie.

The real shocker of "Revolution" is that her softer, more wistful songs of which there are a good handful on the album, don't detract from that wild, brazen, fun-loving blonde we've come to admire and fear. Her sweeter, poignant songs enhance her personality as if to show that within a lioness lies a lamb and the heart of the lamb is as fierce as a lioness.

The same strength of character a person needs to make country music on traditional and pop-driven Music Row all while singing about burning tradition to the ground is repeated in songs like "Love Song" and "Makin' Plans." Are these softer? Undoubtedly. Amongst beautiful melodies Lambert knows herself well enough that she can sing about that strength of her relationship...."I'm not easy to understand/ but you know me like the back of your hand/ I'm your girl and you're my man." And in "Love Song" where she knows that sometimes the truest signs of love is when her man knows when to hold her when she's crying and she knows when you love a man, sometimes all he needs is some space.

Her brilliance for wordplay doesn't falter especially on her tune "The House That Built Me." Returning to a childhood home with a shattered sense of self, she revels in finding who she is; houses are built, but this song emphasizes how sometimes, a home can build a person.

Okay. Now that we've established her soft side isn't sickening, but strong in its vulnerability, I must return to what Lambert does best-singing rollicking songs to the gut. In her rougher-hewed album opener, "White Liar" she adds a twist to the story. Yes, he's a white liar and she doesn't understand. But Miranda, fed up with the lies of a bad liar let's him know she's vindictively been lying too.

When "Only Prettier" starts with a hard pounding guitar, thrashing drums and a fearsome scream--you know she's having fun when she's telling "high life people" she's just like them, only prettier (and cooler). She gives this same strict crowd a good one-two when she reminds them in "Heart Like Mine" that if Jesus could calm storms and speak of eternal forgiveness, He would be the perfect person to understand a rough heart like hers. Yes He would, and we do too.

Buy her album, turn it on, listen through, and you'll come to love Miranda more for her personal revolution.

2009

A few months ago, the owls came. Perched in pine trees and allowed my dogs to howl and howl at them. Were they a harbinger for what would come next?

Europeans believed that raptors and birds of the crow family were carrion-- war birds that feasted on death and signaled that the reaper was close at hand. Caesar said as much in Shakespeare's "Julius Caesar."

Symbolically, owls were also known as the bird of wisdom. Perhaps this was due to their flight and speed acuity and especially their keen ability to see in the darkness; a skill that humans admired as it is so easy to lose one's way when the darkness falls.

"I don't scare easy. I don't fall apart when I'm under the gun. You can break my heart and I'm not gonna run, I don't scare easy for no one/ I'm a loser at the top of my game."-----Tom Petty

The year of 2009 started out devastatingly....Last Christmas I barely made it out of frozen Portland, all but my airplane grounded due to snow. I wanted to see my family and did, and saw Amelia in the apartment and life I wished could be mine. I took one look at my cat Phoebe lying next to my mom under the covers and I knew then that I didn't want to leave. Dragged my ass back to PDX where I realized how lonely I was. Wanted and deserved a pet, something to love. Found Miss Kitty on the chair under my window. Took another cat in and found the limits of a friendship I thought would be there and have my back forever. Discovered a new friendship with a fellow writer. Mara took me in during those dark weekends. As did Lora and Emily. Almost lost Miss Kitty. Miss Kitty and I are told to move out and started to look for a new place where I could find companionship. Did that and was laid off. At this point, saddened beyond tears that I couldn't stay for my beloved Portland spring and summer. April. Packed up the car, almost cried at the Oregon/ California state border. Still pining for Sean. Got home. Restless, listless and felt completely lost. Freelanced for Pasadena Weekly. Sat at coffee shop typing away in the heat and look to my left, notice a good looking man that seems very familiar. Joel Garcia? Yes. Exchange numbers. Go out. Butterflies and kisses. Carnovsky tea parties and meeting new people. Front page feature story for Pasadena Weekly. Rekindle old friendships and gain new ones. Good people all around. May/ June, Gallus and I no longer dating. Saddened and try to kill pain. Put myself out into the world and meet Greg. Good, good man. He shows me they exist, those men that are kind and sweet and ones that have loving hearts---ones that can love me. Stray and hurt him. Sorry, so sorry. Los Angeles Magazine contacts me. I start interning and writing for the publication's website. July 29, Lucy's 51. Young man, head bent, sitting in the shadows facing the door. I stand there and look at him. Andrew. He finally looks up from his phone and I shake his hand and say, "Hi, I'm Carolyn," full of nerves, so nervous, I'm about to jump out of my skin. Can he see I'm shaking? Peach flavored drink later he takes my hand and tells me how pretty and feminine it is. He looks at me and brushes the bangs off my forehead. Walking towards Warner Brothers at a crosswalk and he looks down and kisses me. Sit in my car at end of night and smile. Early August. Andrew drives me to the beach. Rock scaling. Packed lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and water bottles. Sun hitting his eyes harshly. Makeshift tent with his jacket to shield our eyes. Drive up the coast, into Ventura. Gained boyfriend and relationship. Drive to Griffith Park Observatory where we talk on a hill looking at that full moon. Start working as a Page for CBS. Paycheck and future possibilities. August 29, one month. Special day and night. October 3rd. Celebration of my birthday at Getty Villa and fancy dinner. November, he is present at our Thanksgiving dinner table. He feels welcome in my house. December. I scare him into thinking I might run. He says his anxiety over me leaving is outweighed by his love for me.

The year is winding down and I can't help but look back at my progress. I went from a job that paid the bills but not the soul. Came home and was pleasantly surprised to be embraced lovingly by old friends. Relationships strengthened and I met more good people. I now consider myself extremely lucky because I have a great group of new and old friends who care about me. And I have a very good man that loves me. And I love him.

At the top of the year, I feared I no one outside of the Portland Sentinel would publish me. I've now written for two additional publications. The year's not over yet and that's fine with me, because it's been the worst of times and it's been the best of times.

Buttermilk Truck Review: Tasty, Cheap, Small Portions

Buttermilk Truck. The name reminds me of the days when milkmen brought freshly bottled, wholesome milk to the front door twice a week. Reminds me of black and white television days, homemakers straining to prepare hearty, large dinners of pot roast and pot pies.

Buttermilk Truck provides a niche service in the burgeoning market of gourmet lunch trucks in our City of Angels. The truck's menu consists of breakfast goodies like buttermilk pancakes, cinnamon french toast sticks, rosemary hash brown patties, coffee, tea, bottled orange juice and such. They offer a Friday and Saturday night "late-nite" munchies menu similar to its day time menu. Look out for the LA soul food special item of waffles and chicken!

REVIEW:
I ordered my favorite college breakfast menu item: the breakfast sandwich. Buttermilk upped the ante with a lightly greasy, dense-yet-fluffy biscuit which housed a fried egg, yummy apple chicken sausage and cheddar. I added a rosemary-hash brown patty and the total food tab came to $3.50. Not bad. Really not bad.

So the price and the food is tasty; just beware that as possibly filling as protein + biscuit + cheese is, for some, it may not be enough, which is okay, seeing as how Buttermilk Truck also offers up additional pancakes, pastries and french toast sticks for good prices as well.

Just beware: sodas, juices and especially water bottles can be expensive at $1.50, whereas other trucks will sell these beverage items for $1 or $1.25.

BOTTOM LINE: Korean-Mexican food truck fatigued? Go enjoy Buttermilk Truck for good, cheap, breakfast food.

Thanks for All the Years Zoe

Dad had to put Zoe down last night.

She started knuckling, which meant that she was no longer able to operate her own left back foot and instead of sitting on it, like a rabbit sits on its long haunches, she was dragging her foot, and later her leg around. Her kidneys had started to go and she was losing weight fast, so it didn't surprise me when I knew the time had come. It's just that no matter how you know the time is coming, it still hurts.

Make no mistake---I've seen my fair share, more than my fair share of the life cycle. Animals are small, you love them as babies, they grow older, and inevitably decline. As loving guardians, our job is to be strong enough to end their lives when they have no quality of life left, or they are suffering. I've been a part of this process several times and have seen many beloved animals go to the grave; my dearest Henry, Arthur, Nell, Mr. Jeeves, Bear---just to name a few.

Zoe was never my favorite cat; but her presence will be missed, perhaps more than the others. She was the last living member of what I call the "Old Gang"---the cats that adopted us (or did we adopt them?) when we moved into our house on Oleander in the late summer of 1992. She was perhaps the oldest cat we've ever had and we saw her go from infancy, to motherhood when she had two litters. We got her fixed as soon as we could and she lived outside amidst our lush garage garden for many years, until she had an accident and ripped one of her toe nails out. We took her to the vet and thought she was too old, although she was only middle-aged and still wily, to live outside. On the eve of my mother's baby cat, Nell, being put down, that very week, (or was it the day?) we had to help Zoe, and it was her turn to come inside and live with us in a more domesticated setting.

She had a full fluffy tail then, and until my girls came, long, silky haired giants, I thought Zoe had the biggest tail I'd ever seen. She was unique in her voice. I've never heard a cat cry with so high a pitch, almost like a bird calling in the trees, and my friend, Jessica, called her "the bird cat" since then. She reminded Jess of a bird.

Zoe has passed, and her passing reminds me that time moves forward, I am getting older, and things at the Oleander house, so much a part of me, will never remain the same; they are ALWAYS changing. There will be one day, unless I have the money to buy the home from my parents, that I'll have to leave the house that saw my childhood and womanhood, my tears, laughter and growth. Zoe was a reminder of the beginnings of my life in this house. She lies in the slope at the side of my kitchen door, buried with her comrades. This is not morbid, but a testament to the animals that I have loved and that have, and will remain, so much a part of my life.

Sleep well, sweet Zoe.

Fall and Writing

Fall makes me nostalgic. I watch people gather around television sets to watch college football shenanigans and it almost makes me wish my alma mater had a football team. Almost.

Walking invigorates me, especially when I'm walking in crisp November morning air, especially when I know that by midday in Los Angeles, that air will be at least 15 degrees warmer. Fall brings me back to Oregon autumns with yellow trees, textbooks, lawns spread over college quads and the fog that subsequently hides the construction docks and ships from sight.

Feet hitting the ground=words on paper, and with words comes the hope for my professional writing future.

Good Ol' Soul Food Cookin' at Larkins in Eagle Rock

I had heard many a thing about Larkins and knew that it had already been reviewed by Los Angeles Magazine (with whom I currently intern), and given great reviews. I'd driven past it's craftsman home location countless times as well, and even stopped once or twice only to find it closed on Monday AND Tuesday.



But this last Wednesday, November 4, I drove there with the intention of finally sitting down and eating the food I'd heard about. Why my haste? Even in the best economies, opening a restaurant and having it stick around is tricky; I couldn't be so sure this one would tough it out in these hard times.

Not to fear; I entered the restaurant and found two couples already sitting there, and while sitting with my eating companion, my mother, Karen, we saw at least six people come inside to eat. Apparently Larkins ain't doing so bad.

But how was the food you ask? Tasty, and a bit unexpected. To my delight there were more than a few bbq items smothered in bbq sauce. The menu featured the consummate corn-breaded catfish, meatloaf, gumbo and jambalaya. I was in the mood for fried chicken, and I ordered macaroni salad and potato salad as accompaniments.

The fried chicken plate consisted of three all-dark meat pieces (just the way I love it) and fried to a crispy finish. No complaints here.

The only thing I can complain about are the salad sides. Both were two sweet and pickel-y for my taste. The macaroni salad was cooked to an al dente finish, impressive, since most people cook pasta until it becomes flimsy and soft. The potatoes were cut chunky style, instead of mushy, but in the end tasted too much like vinegar and pickle.

Karen ordered an amazing hot links bbq po' boy that offered everything it claimed it would. The hot links were meaty, smoky and hot enough to leave a burn in the back of your throat. The bread was pillowy, and the bbq sauce was smokey, thick and sweet; the way good barbecue sauce should taste. Her sandwich came with a dainty salad side.

To finish everything off, Karen ordered unsweetened iced tea and I ordered bottomless house-made lemonade. She didn't liked her iced tea and thought it had a bit of a weird aftertaste. I tasted it and summed it up to being over-brewed (not altogether a bad thing, either, considering that under-brewed tea tastes like nothing). I couldn't ask for more with my lemonade--it was sweet, tart, refreshing, bottomless and served up in a mason jar.

Mama Larkins came out and served us our dessert: a triple layer red velvet cake with three layers of cream cheese frosting. Nothing too complicated or gourmet. But a tasty, moist, rich finish to an all together tasty meal.

Would I go to Larkins often? No. But if ever the mood strikes me for southern barbecue or soul food, Larkins is first on my mind.