Finished "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet" two weeks ago, around 2:30 am, policing a sleepover party. I read a feature on David Mitchell in the New York Times Magazine last year, and just had to get ahold of some of his novels. So for my birthday I got a NOOK, the Barnes & Noble e-book doohickey, an autographed paperback of "Cloud Atlas" (2004) and an autographed hardcover of "The Many Autumns of Jacob De Zoet" (the most recent). When my husband gets a good idea, he runs with it (but he does wonder wether NOOK will turn out to be the Betamax of e-readers.) I got one of my book clubs to read "Ghostwritten", his first novel (1999), and read it on the NOOK.

The weirdest thing, I find, about reading a book on an electronic thingy, is having NO IDEA how long it is! I can see the total number of pages displayed in the bottom right corner, but it's not the same as the sense of heft and type size you get from handling an actual book. I think other reading devices don't necessarily keep the same pagination as printed copies.

"Cloud Atlas" is one of the most audacious and startling and enthralling books I've ever read. I went into each of Mitchell's books close to completely cold, with no idea of the plot, and am just stunned every time. All I will say about "Cloud Atlas" is that in ranges through time and genre, changing with each chapter, with a symmetrical structure, from the past into the future and back again. The theme that emerges? Man's inhumanity to man throughout the ages, and the undying idealism to fight against it. The first and last chapters are in the form of the journal of a 18th century gentleman on a sea voyage. A debate as to why the... "White races hold dominion over the globe" is put to rest by a cynic thusly: ...of all the world's races, our love - or rather our rapacity - for treasure, gold, spices & dominion, oh most of all, sweet dominion, is the keenest, the hungriest, the most unscrupulous! The rapacity, yes, powers our Progress: for ends infernal or divine I know not. Nor do you know, sir. Nor do I overly care. I only feel gratitude that my Maker cast me on the winning side.

In the final passages, Adam Ewing defends his idealism in his journal, imagining the words of one who would point out the futility of his drive. 'He who would do battle with the many headed hydra of human nature must pay a world of pain & his family must pay it along with him! & only as you gasp your dying breath shall you understand, your life amounted to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean!' [and he responds] Yet what is any ocean but a multitude of drops?

Throughout the novel are only tiny connections between the stories, just enough to give the careful reader gratifying little payoffs as you move across centuries, dropping in and out of letters, journals, mystery novels, memoirs, and interview transcripts.

"Ghostwritten" I can barely even describe, again, it jumps around through time and location, dropping into the lives of vastly different characters with nothing apparent in common, and only very gradually does the real subject become apparent, which turns out to be...supernatural, in a way. But again, it really pays off. He has an amazing ability to get inside the heads of so many characters who often speak/think in the first person, in a broad range of cultures and time periods, all completely believable and authentic. There's a very brief description of the experience of giving birth, that, when I first read it, I thought, "how the fuck does he know that!" I look back at that passage now, it's only a sentence, but it's stays with me.

I finally made it to his most recent, "The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet". It begins with a very graphic description of a difficult birth, sometime before the advent of modern medicine. In very few novels will you encounter the word "vagina" on the first page, but there it is. You have my attention. The setting is an artificial island immediately adjacent to the Japanese city of Nagasaki, where Dutch traders are permitted to stay to import and export goods, but are prohibited from setting foot on Japanese soil, mostly in the years 1699-1700. Only official Japanese interpreters and highly placed bureaucrats are allowed to communicate with the Dutch, who are basically interned on this island. Much to my surprise, this novel is straight-up historical fiction, and a romance, even. For the first few chapters I waited for "something" to happen, or an abrupt shift in tone or setting, but in fact this remains a work of (apparently meticulously researched) historical fiction, about a time and place I knew absolutely nothing about. But in the style of his other books, Mitchell gets inside the heads of a multitude of characters of wildly differing varieties.

Tucked away at the end of this book is one of the funniest sentences I've ever read. "A smoke-dried Dane makes a Finn's cock of a tangled vang." Okay. This takes place on a large sailing vessel, so I found and online dictionary of nautical terms: a "vang" is... well, some particular rope of the, I guess, hundreds on a wooden ship. "Smoke dried Dane" I suppose refers to a grizzled sailor from Denmark. Now, as far as a "Finn's cock" goes (as it were), what I can't figure out is, and I think there are two basic options here, did he take that tangled vang and make it worse, or did he straighten it out? And I really did type "Finn's cock" into Google. Guess what kind of things came up? (And I swear, that REALLY WAS no pun intended.) In my other favorite moment, someone catches or protagonist looking utterly surprised and asks him, "Have you beshatten your breeches?" It's just funny. And I realize I may now be giving the false impression that this book is somehow overall quite bawdy. It is not. It does however get into a very weird area that involves some of the Japanese characters involved in a very demented serial-raping and killing plot. Mitchell does not go into detailed scenes of violence and victimization, but it was not at all what I expected from him. He is however a big softie in the end. He gives the reader the satisfaction of seeing the so-sympathetic main character go gently into that goodnight. (That's not really a spoiler, right?)

Oh gosh, I just wrote a book report/term paper voluntarily, didn't I? I love David Mitchell's writing, and I'm just as prone to nerding out over novels as I am over music, movies, or TV. Please read and enjoy.

And strangely enough, there is another Englishman named David Mitchell, who is one of the funniest comic actors/writers I've ever seen. "That Micthell and Webb Look", his sketch comedy show with Robert Webb was broadcast for a time on BBC America. It was the perfect combination of smart/twee/absurd. But that's another kettle of fish.

Philly food

We spent many happy hours this Saturday in Philly's Reading Terminal Market. It sounds like a tourist trap, but it is a 90% amazing food hall. (The sushi looks awful.) The best possible food court, plus fresh fish, meat, cheese, produce, wine, pastries, bread, ice cream, candy, Amish delicacies. No big chains. We bought cheese, Italian cookies, turkey jerky, spices, peach butter, and coffee.

For lunch, I went with a Vietnamese shrimp salad hoagie. Creamy, mayonaisey, fresh shrimp on a soft roll topped with vinegary slaw, jalapenos, and fresh cilantro. (Still thinking about it longingly.) And a Guinness. The Market was very crowded for lunch, you have to wait for a free table, (in true food court style) but you can bring your food into the beer garden, and have a drink. The only beers on tap are Budweiser and Yuengling, and a few more things are available in bottles, but this is no craft-brew experience. There's a baseball game on the flatscreen, and three little Amish boys are sitting just outside the bar to watch the game. Our lunch companion, though I had only just met her, let me have a bite of her fried shrimp, beef short ribs, and kimchee hoagie. She didn't cut off a piece, or tear off a hunk, just handed it over, then took it back and polished it off. My kind of gal! I didn't ask, but I guess she could see the pathetic longing in my eyes. (I think our sandwiches came from Coastal Cave.) Michael had tacos from two different places, one had some of the best refried beans I ever tasted.

There's a Chinese food stall that served up the best chicken soup I (and Lydia) ever had, the last time we were in Philly (two years ago?). Thin egg noodles and wontons on a cold, rainy dreary afternoon. So rich, so delicious, the best food I ever ate out of a plastic quart container. It was the very end of the day, and I think we got the last serving of soup, so I suspect it was long-simmered and concentrated. And you can get an individual Peking duck roll. If there's anything I love, it's meat slopped up with a sugary sauce. Sounds sorta gross when you put it that way, but what do you think is in barbecue sauce and ketchup? SUGAR. Mmmm.

This Friday we got to town too late have dinner at the market (they close at SIX!) so we searched online for a well-rated restaurant in Chinatown, and set off in the rain to Sang Kee Peking Duck. Chewy, slippery Chow Fun noodles with beef & black bean sauce, wonton soup, congee with pork and thousand year eggs, and some amazing Szechuan stewy chicken dish with garlic, hot oil, chili pepper flakes, browned onion bits (I think). So good. I dunked a bit of greasy fry bread that came with the congee into the flaming hot oily stew. It was so wonderful that first moment, then the hot oil stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I was a little bit sorry. Two different waiters asked were we sure we didn't want white rice, and we gave in. I was then grateful to have it. Then they asked was the dish too spicy for us. I will NEVER admit defeat.

When we made to the Market on Saturday, I was surprised to discover that the place that had so satisfied last visit was, in fact, a branch of Sang Kee. So I guess we did pick the right restaurant. I love Philadelphia Chinese food.

But why do things in other cities always seem to appealing (because you can't have them)? We occasionally go to New York's Chinatown. We took some out-of-towners last summer during the heat wave, and I swear I've never SMELT anything like it, and it was filthy. We NEVER go to the Union Square Market in NY, yet we longingly fantasize about driving the two hours to Philadelphia more frequently. Y'know the grass is greener or whatever.

We also had a nice morning at the Academy of Natural Sciences (dinosaurs, taxidermy dioramas, live butterflies). After lunch we visited the Magic Gardens, an outsider art style environment and gallery space, with outdoor courtyard, every surface covered in mosaic of tile, mirror, and found objects. Then we drove over to Wilmington, Delaware to catch Ivan & Alyosha opening for Aimee Mann. I literally had to say, "yeah, I'm with the band" for the actual first time. Insanely silly to really say it. And I had a tiny Spinal Tap moment, when I lost my way back to the dressing room and had to get an usher to point me in the right direction. Everything I say or do has already been parodied in a Christopher Guest movie, or The Onion, or Portlandia, or 30 Rock.

South by Southwest, just the highlights

SXSW really begins at the airport, where I look up from my seat at the gate waiting to board and see my husband embracing a woman I don't recognize. A split second of "Whaaaaa……?" Of course he'll run into someone he knows, also heading to Austin. I leave my seat on the plane for five minutes, and when I get back he's networking like mad with the guy in the window seat. He must be from Germany, Scandinavia…. Norway, it is. Yes, we did bring up Sondre Lerche. {see below}

So many people wearing Wayfarers ON THE PLANE. With guitars and vintage suitcases. And beards and dirty hair. And tattoos. And giant headphones. And a guy in a Bouncing Souls t-shirt. I would've stopped him and said "Hey, I knew that band!" but he disappeared.

(I must go back for a moment to the very beginning of this trip, where we had the greatest conversation ever with a cabdriver, about what are the best vampire/werewolf/zombie shows on TV. I shit you not. We suggested he find "Dead Set" [zombies] and "Being Human" BBC version [vampires, werewolves, AND ghosts]. I love to talk about TV.)

After leaving the airport and driving 30 minutes in the opposite direction (GPS let me down), I found our rental house on South1st St. Great location with several great restaurants, a flock of food trucks, and four vintage clothing stores and four tattoo parlors. A cute cottage with landscaped yard and a studio over garage for the band. This location was especially awesome since I've been here enough times to be able to navigate my way back and forth from downtown without map or GPS. Walking distance to S Congress! My actual favorite shopping street in the world. The very nice lady who owns this place is SO very nice, and there's TWO binders of instructions, including appliance manuals, a special letter about the beer in fridge (Shinerbock, not Lone Star, and we should just call her if we'd rather have wine), and labels on every light/fan switch. We don't have to check out at checkout time, or clean up. Nice.

South-by has certainly ramped up since I first made the trip, let's say, something on the order of fifteen years ago. There used to be mostly nothing but panels and such during the day, and we amused ourselves with touristy adventures. LBJ museum, nature walks, barbecue road trips, Travis County Rodeo, City-Wide Garage Sale.

Now, even pizzerias and Mexican restaurants have multiple stages rocking all day.

The musical highlights:

City and Color: Nice country-rockish songs (which I am extremely susceptible to), but every song is like another band's one slow song, I would like to hear it on a setting other than "slow burn". Very 70's AM radio vocals, made me think of Paul Carrack singing "How Long", Michael thinks Burton Cummings. I googled Dallas Green (get it? "city" and "color"), apparently he's a whole Canadian thing I know nothing about. But in general, y'know, heavily inked punk rock guy singing country songs, uh, no contest, I'm gonna be interested. Think Mike Ness with an actual pretty voice (AND geeky glasses). I watched a few videos of his punk band Alexisonfire, there's another guy doing the Cookie Monster vocals, and Dallas Green sings the choruses. (That's his hand above.)

Hey Rosetta!: Love the record, wondered now closely they would stick to the elaborate arrangements. Absolutely rigidly, apparently. I was hoping they would bring a little something extra to it, but it was impressive. Can't understand how everyone does not not love this. It has the feel of something so fully formed and complete, with intelligence behind it. I'm thinking Tim Baker could/should be scoring movies. I guess it's somewhere in the neighborhood of Arcade Fire. And a handsome boy, gorgeous voice. Girls chatting him up after the show. Also Canadian.

Jon Langford and Skull Orchard (at the Continental Club): It wouldn't be SX without John Langford (The Mekons are in my top five bands ever.)! Not a super amazing set, but he's one of those artists that I admire tremendously for just continuing to rock year after year. Very few people exude such enthusiasm and joy from the stage. Caught the last two songs by preceeding act David Garza, weirdly rockin' in a down and dirty blues-funk way that sounds terrible on paper, but was very convincing in person. He was wearing guyliner. People were DANCING. I thought that wasn't allowed in rock clubs any more.

Sondre Lerche: Was super excited to see him on the sched, I have repeated ad infinitum how he made me cry at the Alex Chilton tribute at City Winery with his rendition of "Kangaroo" (Listening to the original right now. Searched in vain on You Tube for a version by Sondre). Started listening to his records and really liked them. I saw a solo set at Paste party during the day on 6th St., was pretty great, went again for seconds to see him Friday night with a band. He announced he was going to perform his forthcoming album in it's entirety, and I thought, "he gets extra time?" Sets are confined to no more than a half-hour. After the usual allotted time had passed, he admitted perhaps he had underestimated now many songs he was going to fit in. I find his delivery - faint accent and talky singing very compelling, tantalizing and hypnotizing. There's just something about a non-native speaker of English. He's one of those artists who is not a traditionally "good" singer, but just puts over a song with style and conviction. And it doesn't hurt that he is super adorable in a sort of pixieish way. He has that Scandinavian mousy-brown hair and blue eyes. Can't get the chorus of this song out of my head.

Ivan & Alyosha: Made it to three performances. Watched from the greenroom at the IFC Crossroads House as they filmed their acoustic performance there; they do it so well. (Ted Leo came in and sat down next to me, I've never been a giant fan, but I know many who love him. He's from Bloomfield, the next town over, and we frequently pass by "The Frank M. Leo Building". Michael Googled it in the car one day, and that is Ted Leo's grandfather who passed away recently. So we just had to bring that up with him. He seemed embarrassed that such detailed information is available from a fan site.) Full-on electric performance at The Parish was well attended. Certainly the loudest I've ever seen them, and it sounded great. Video! When I turned around to scan the house, there were, surprise, very many girls. I was talking to someone (a guy) afterwards, who wondered why they would take it down a notch and close the set with "Glorify", "but then the girls all went {girly whimpering sigh}". "Swoon", that's the word he was looking for. See for yourself. Their afternoon set at Homeslice Pizza was supposed to be electric, but the plug was pulled before we got there. (Too close to residences.) To be honest, I wasn't really paying that much attention, I was standing on the side playing with Tim and Lindze's baby Henry (he's been on the road with the band). He starts jumping and dancing as soon as they take the stage, before the music even starts. A music biz lady standing next to me was just completely bonkers over him, I explained he's not mine, he's with the band. She had to know which guy he belongs to, and "does he know that's his dad on stage?" Uh, yeah, he does. (I'm guessing she doesn't have kids.) Then he put his little arms around my neck and fell asleep. Delicious. Found another video from the set.

Freedy Johnston: I was certainly going to make every effort to catch at least one set by Freedy, my favorite singer-songwriter and personal acquaintance. It turns out he was playing with some others as The Hobart Brothers and Lil' Sis Hobart (Susan Cowsill), at a restaurant a block away from our house. It was great to hear different songs, a little more rootsy, but still with an unmistakable Freedy sound. I'm willing to bet you've never seen a singer call out from the stage for "250 readers" (glasses)... and she got them. That's what I call keeping it real. I went up to say hi after, and he kissed my hand! Also picked up a copy of his covers record, which includes Matthew Sweet's "Waiting", very personally special to me. The only CD I had with me to listen to for my five-hour round trip to visit an old friend.

The Benson Interruption: So, Friday night, tired of waiting in line, and nothing we HAD to see jumping out at us from the schedule as a must-see, we decided to hit a comedy show at 9:30, featuring Eugene Mirman (the landlord on "Flight of the Conchords"). We strolled over to Esther's Follies on 6th St at 8pm, to see a huge line around the block. Better get in it, but it seemed awfully early. A volunteer crowd-wrangler told wristbands and badges to go to the middle. I thought he meant another line, and we and several others marched up to the front, looking for a special people line. Door guy at the front announces the line is stopped, they're checking capacity. Stoned comedian Doug Benson magically appears, and ducks inside. Capacity checked, only 20 more people. We're waved in, and scurry inside, realizing we just cut in front of 100 people. Sorry. They're putting chairs in the aisle to accommodate everyone, and we grab the last two. I'm still thinking we've come to see Eugene Mirman, and I'n wondering what everyone's going to do for the next hour and a half. Maybe there's a earlier show...but what is it? Oh...My...God...we just accidentally scammed our way into "The Benson Interruption" live show which he's done as a podcast and also on Comedy Central. For those of you unfamiliar, "The Benson Interruption" consists of Doug Benson, sitting in a chair onstage, ripping on another comedian who is trying to get through their act. Sometimes they do a tweet off (comedians are big into Twitter). And for those of you who don't know, Doug Benson is one of America's foremost stoners, being the subject of "Super High Me", a documentary wherein he DOESN'T get high for 30 days, to see what will happen when he does. And yeah, he did look, uh, really stoned when we saw him up close. Each comedian he brought out was progressively funnier. I hadn't seen Tig Notaro (had a recurring role on "The Sarah Silverman Program" as a cop), she was very droll. Brody Stevens, who I hadn't heard of before (apparently he's done warmup for "Chelsea Lately") was just nutty, in a Robin Williams sort of way, but in no way annoying. I thought Michael was going to plotz when he did a joke about the correct lifting of kettlebells. (It's a gym joke.) And the final guest...Aziz Ansari! OMG! I love him on "Parks and Recreation" and in "Funny People". (Michael downloaded his record for me, but we can't find it.) He was very funny ranting about friend's babies. (He's not interested in your baby pictures.) Apparently he hangs with Kanye, and has crazy Kanye anecdotes. I cried and snorted and cried some more. I will repeat one sample joke in a rant about babysitters. "...and what does the girl get out of it?...'hey, I need to give this guy a hand job...can I use your house?'"

Didn't want to wait in line to maybe make it in to see Duran Duran, so we ended up at what turned out to be the prettiest club, Swan Dive, another converted industrial space, but all roughly whitewashed inside. Sam...somebody was playing folksily. I turned around to see where Michael had gone off to, and there, cooly leaning backwards against the bar, OMG, is that Jon Hamm?!! I ran over to Michael to confirm. Yes. Yes, it is. And he was wearing his badge, with his name on it. Baseball cap, plaid shirt, Carhartt jacket, jeans, workboots, tall can of Lone Star, unshaven. Like the handsomest construction worker ever. Seeing him in person, I'm going to say that even if he was not a TV/movie star, you would take one look and say, "who IS that guy?" All the masculine charisma of Don Draper without the drunken womanizing. And he has a great reputation as a nice guy who is a comedy nerd with a cool girlfriend. I just read an interview with Paul Feig (Freaks and Geeks co-creator, movie director) , who says that Jon Hamm does quotes from "Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy" on the set. I don't even want to know that. Does he cook, too?

And on that note, let me just say that if you like (dirty, sweaty) cute rock boys, this THE place. Seriously. You'll be up to your elbows in them everywhere. And they're from all over the country and all over the world. Y'know how I said I've never seen so many handsome men as I saw at the "Sex and the City 2" premiere? Well, this is the place for tattooed miscreants in skinny black jeans. THOUSANDS of them. And my husband is very tolerant.

A few superlatives-

Most seen t-shirt: Joy Division

Most inscrutable tattoo: something involving a pomegranate, a flounder, and a tiger, partially obscured by a shoulder strap, I'm sure it's very personally meaningful. Or did she just open up a visual dictionary at random and point.

Greatest opening words of a song I've ever heard: "Bloody knuckles…." Don't you want to know where that's going?

If I have another few spare hours this week, I can perhaps begin to describe the awesome food, awesome shopping, awesome friends, awesome weather.

I went to the Underdog Film Festival and all I got was a wet hankie.

Today, I made it through about 6 hours of the Montclair Underdog FIlm Festival, showcasing all of the Academy Award nominated short films for 2010, live action, documentary, and animated.

Left because I have no more tears left to cry for (in the documentary category):

A) Pacific islanders losing their island to the encroaching sea, facing starvation after their small garden plots are ruined by salt water, begging neighboring islanders for a plot of land to call home.

B) Refugee and migrant children from 48 countries at a school in Israel. A little girl from South Africa whose mother was murdered shows her most prized possession - a jewelry box her mother gave her for her seventh birthday, a classic pink and purple plastic toy. The girl stares into it and says, "It can hold secrets too, it's like a temple, it's like a temple." (At this point, I start blubbering into my tissue.)

C) A "girl-next-door cheerleader" who enlisted in the Army at 19, now tormented by PTSD, wracked with guilt over the idea that she has traumatized innocent people (and children) by threatening them with her machine gun. In an aside that almost slips right past, she says she was considered a model female soldier, not in least part because she took the sexual harassment uncomplainingly.

D) A Jordanian man whose wedding reception was suicide-bombed, killing 27 members of his family. He now devotes his life to opposing Muslim terrorism, attempting to directly confront those who plan and execute these attacks, especially trying to make them understand that they especially shouldn't be killing other Muslims. His quest seems somewhat futile, as the terrorists he confronts seem fairly comfortable with the collateral damage.

Any one of these moving films would provide much to digest, to spark a consideration of man's inhumanity to man, the nature of good vs. evil, etc., but all in one day it added up to too much. But how can you turn away?

Providing some relief from the parade of misery, the animated shorts were engaging, the best being "Let's Pollute" (by former Pixar person Geefwee Boedoe), a parody of postwar educational films promoting consumption as the American way. "Always buy TWICE what you need! NEVER use the same thing TWICE! Waste TWICE as much as you did yesterday! NEVER think TWICE about it! You can ALWAYS care less!" (I'l admit I slept through "The Gruffalo", apparently based on a popular picture book.) "Day and Night" is a Pixar short you may have seen with "Toy Story 3". "Madagaskar, carnet de voyage" by Bastein Dubois was the most purely enjoyable, an 11-minute beautifully illustrated travel journal brought to life. Made one want to run home and pull out the watercolors and pastels. In "The Lost Thing", set in a familiarly bleak future/past dystopia of mysterious grey factories oozing black smog, a young man finds a half-amimal, half-machine creature that looks like a cross between a bathysphere and an octopus, and finds it it's rightful place in a magical world beyond the dead-end street filled with whimsical kites, coffeepots, and chalk drawings. Split the difference between Tim Burton, "Wallace and Gromit", and "Brazil" and you've got the gist of it.

In the live action fiction shorts, "The Crush", an eight-year-old boy threatens his teacher's fiance' with a gun. It's played for laughs. I found it tasteless. "God of Love" is a funny black and white student film about a dorky Brooklynite who takes over for Cupid.

I'm glad I went, but I can't really bring myself to watch another movie tonight.

The documentary shorts I mentioned are, in order, "Sun Come Up", "Strangers No More", "Poster Girl", and "Killing in the Name".