The ad was created by Saatchi & Saatchi of New York. This was Tide's first attempt at a Superbowl commercial and the first in four years for Proctor and Gamble. The ad shows a man with a stain on his shirt being interviewed. The stain begins talking and overshadows the whole interview. The ad received a Cannes Silver Lion award in 2007.
Read both Jodi Picoult's The Tenth Circle and Margot Livesey's The House on Fortune Street. Can't say nothing but wow about the latter. TTC was good, but was a bit too CSIish for me. The plot was predictable: mom's having an affair with one of her college students, dad is a stay home graphic artist with a mysterious past, rebellious teen, somebody gets killed. who dun'nit? I did enjoy the use of second person--very clever--and the characters were developed with such ease it seems.
THOFS was out of sight! It, in my Auntie's words, "raised hell." Characters were so interesting and intriguing you just wanted to stay that fly on the wall and see what happens. Beautifully rendered with craft and wit. Lots of visits and modern perspective on classics. Characters are artists: writers, photographers, dramatists. Male characters are unbelievebly believable, female friendship written with depth. Jaw dropping passages that keep you mesmerized.
Favorite passages from The House:
"I had no idea," said Dara. "From the outside you always seemed so sure you were destined to be together." "One of us had to be." She gave the frying pan a shake. "I know this sounds arrogant but I used to think there were special cases, and that I was one of them. I'm attractive and I have an interesting life. Sean changed that. Over and over he said one thing and did another. People may make extravagant claims when they first start fucking, but once the novelty wears off, they pretty much revert to type." "But so you still love him," said Dara, "don't you?" She was startled by the bitterness in Abigail's voice, and by how much she sounded like her old, pre-Sean self. "Yes, but not in an 'I will go to the ends of the earth, die without you' way. I was right when I thought that was all an illusion, a nice, big middle-class illusion. For a year I woke up most mornings with a quote from Keats running through my head: 'Life must be undergone.' According to Sean" --she stepped back from the stove-- "he believed that suffering is what gives us souls."
People couldn't live without food and air and shelter and money. Romantic love was an extra, nice if it came along, but definitely superfluous to the main requirements of existence.
That evening, she told Abigail that her own despair had helped her to understand that of other people. "It doesn't matter how stupid the reasons are, if you're in the grip of a feeling it isn't stupid. You can't imagine it will ever change."
"One day you can see that someone is perfectly ordinary and the next the same person is brilliant, unique, amazing. Then, if things don't work out, they go back to being ordinary and you can't even remember what made them so special."
Very super-duper-ly recommended: The House on Fortune Street
The not so great reason to live in a rural area. A water duct underneath the narrow street burst this past weekend. Water was shut off in the middle of the afternoon, hot and humid. Luckily, we had had a morning-shower and a frig full of bottled water.
But then came a Bang-Bang-Bang! at our front door. A lady stood breathless and in panic. She wore terri-cloth light blue house shoes, the kind with the flimsy would-be rubber soles. Her arms flailed and beads of sweat had gathered above her top lip giving her a wet mustache. She didn’t have on a bra, so her D-sized breasts ran down her stomach underneath a yellow and red stripe tank and knee-length peddle pushers. She stomped and pleaded, “Water! Is yal’s water off too?” Highly unconcerned and accustomed, I said “yea.” She said, “Oh Gawd no! I got perm in my hair and it’s gon burn if I don’t take it out! Oh Gawd!” I wasn’t sure what to say. I asked if she could drive to a nearby relative’s house because I was sure the water was only shut off on our street. The panic grew stronger across her face. She looked over to a neighbor’s, then yelled at someone further on down the street, “Ey! Roscoe! Ey! Yal got water?!” He yelled back “Nawl!” “Damn! My hair gon fall out! This shit is startin to sting already!” She stomped then began shaking her hands (sort of like when you miss the nail and hit your finger--reflex). She dashed off the lawn past the gate, never looking back at me. I followed with a “sor-ry.” She didn’t respond. I closed the door. Just then Gera came from the kitchen with a big bottle of cold Aquafina. “Que paso?”
Didn’t get to take Ruby for ice cream, but she did spend two weekends with us. We rented Bee Movie and Spiderwick—the former was absolutely a riot! we watched it 3 times! – we bought her fried shrimp and french fries instead. She was soooo happy and didn’t want to go home. It’s funny how adults lie to children to keep them from crying. Ruby has caught on to her grandparents (Gera’s brother and sister-in-law); they can’t trick her like they used to. She’s smart enough now to know when they are being manipulative. When we take her back home, she holds on to my hand and will not let it go. She tugs me to her room and wants to play; she slams her door, shutting everyone else out. She follows me to the bathroom and when her grandparents say “Okay, Ruby, Nae-Nae and Tio have to go,” she wails! This is the sad part about loving her. The physical pauses until we steal her again.
For my daughter’s death anniversary (7.31), Gera took me to a live wrestling match in Dallas. Two adult guys sitting in front of us were extremely serious about their favorite wrestlers. For each fav, they wore a representing head mask and yelled at the enemy. Beer and nachos! Aside from living on our street, it was one of the most hick-ish things we’ve ever done and such a blast. What a metaphor!
It's May 2012 and nothing has changed since November.11. I am all smiles at my relationship and myself. My honey and I continue to amaze each other on a daily basis. We're still ever so 'in' with each other. I completed my MA in literature last May and I'm teaching four college English courses to really smart students. I am hopeful to enter a doctorate program soon. This way, I can run out.All is scary good.
upon hearing your voice life again expands like moon crest like pomegranates swell to the sun and you are patient because god calls
when he came for you this morning you were bent into the flower bed singing black hymns so he left you alone until this third afternoon but even then he found you elbow deep in jewel weed with a mouthful of figs from a nearby tree again he waited because each time seemed to him an inconvenience and a wrong moment
and it was your persistent humming that drove him up and back until he could get his timing perfect he waited another day or so until
your gardening tools rest into porch corners your paring knife shines deeply into a drawer your hair comb lies slanted in a shoebox your wedding band hides in the mattress your fishing rod stays stolen
the sound of your voice desires to sing or hum but this time is perfect he has covered you like lavender-colored silence but he has also added streaks of olive green and pink because this is what the other soul-folk has told him to do and he has become tired in the process and therefore begins to rush sonances of your body he finds you the least complex when you are not outdoors digging in that garden, humming hymns and thriving and for a moment he questions his own timing its perfection and everything goes accordingly until he finds you have buried fruit peels and wandering jew petals underneath your back this does not anger him but it tilts his agility to deliver you and in his own questioning and presence of smells that he cannot privilege all this over powers his choice all this reels his otherwise perfection into letting you go
when i see you sitting in the plush squares of limitless St. Augustine your eyes are lit like crystal warmed soil releases from each of your hands
how did i get to this point this point of knowing you for you are nearly a century old