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Bonjour! I’m Erin.
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Monthly Archives: March 2014
File this under: Shows I’ve Binge-Watched in Jamal’s Absence, cross-referenced in: Shows from the Early 2000s. Hear me out.
In searching for Things To Occupy Myself these past two weeks, I decided to watch the entire series of “Veronica Mars,” the show about a father-daughter private investigation duo that was broadcast on the CW from 2004-2006. I’m only halfway through the second season, but I need to rave about how good this show is. I’d only caught an episode or two when the show was on 10 years ago, but better late than never, right? What stuck out visually back then, and what’s remained burned in my brain as the only real reference point I had for the series all these years since, was how hyper-saturated everything was. I’m not denying the light in Southern California is intense and gorgeous, but almost every scene is ablaze with red or orange or green or yellow. It’s Soderbergh-esque in its color hues, very vintage-Hollywood-film-noir, which is fitting given the plot. Veronica is in high school, so yes, there are the usual high school television show clichés and plot lines (love triangles! homecoming dances! SO MUCH MAKING OUT!), but there are also overarching mysteries in each season in addition to the smaller, single-episode mysteries they solve (murder, questionable paternity and maternity, ethnic biker gangs, etc.).
While it could easily toe the line of being cheesy, what I’m struck by most is the show’s slickness, maturity, and sarcasm. Thinly-veiled sexual innuendos, a cheerleader’s head bashed in, rich-kid-poor-kid conflicts, and, most impressively, a female lead who makes self-depricating jokes about her flat chest and can handle a taser. Not something you saw everyday on basic cable in 2004 (especially for a teenage-geared show). And did I mention the colors?
I went through 34 episodes in a week. It’s been fun to enjoy all of the circa 2005 Hollister/American Eagle/So-Cal-casual fashion (midriffs! hoodies with fur collars! puka shell necklaces on guys!), cultural touchstones (everyone has an AOL email address! Nokia flip phones still dominated the cell phone market!) as well as the America’s Next Top Model guest-stars (backstory: both shows aired on the same network, and challenge rewards during cycles 4-6 of Top Model were small roles in an episode of Veronica Mars. Cross-pollinating at its finest! Though I’d totally forgotten about it until Naima, Kim, and Furonda appeared on screen as a field-trip chaperone, car rental agent, and office receptionist, respectively). More notable guest stars include Jessica Chastain, Paris Hilton, Jane Lynch, Aaron Paul, Leighton Meester, Kevin Smith, Michael Cera, Melissa Leo, and the list goes on and on.
The first season finale (which I watched on my wild Saturday night-in) knocked me on my ass. There were so many plot twists and surprises I thought I was going to pass out from holding my breath. You guys. It’s that good. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I finish. Oh wait, yes I do!
Last year, after over seven years since the last episode aired, diehard fans who weren’t satisfied with having just three available seasons in the canon rallied together and funded a Kickstarter campaign to make a Veronica Mars movie. Over 90,000 people donated $5.7 million dollars (more than double the original goal), making it one of the most successful campaigns in the site’s history. The original cast filmed a new, full-length movie last summer, picking up where their characters left off ten years later.
It comes out Friday in theaters and as a digital download. I think we know what I’ll be doing.
Fellow Marshmallows (I’m allowed to use the lingo, I’m a fan now), I have a confession: Team Logan all the way. Don’t even argue.
March 11, 2014 / read / watch /
Exactly one year ago this week, I was on my way to Paris. We flew out on Thursday and arrived on Friday, and as the plane touched down on French soil I burst into tears. I had worked myself up so much for that trip, and though it had only been nine or ten months since my last trip to Paris, I was hungry for the city, the energy, the language, the food in ways that were overwhelming. Can you say ‘dramatique‘?
However much of a cliché it might be, my love for Paris is unquantifiable and all-consuming (exhibit A: my entire blog). It was passed onto me genetically, and though I might have fought it when I was an angsty teenager, if you know me at all you know that “Francophile” doesn’t even begin to cover it.
So imagine my surprise and heart-bursting joy on that trip last March, on the day we arrived no less, when my boyfriend went down on one knee in the gardens of the Musée Rodin, forever tying us together and to Paris.
Sure, I had to break up with Gary Oldman once we got home (but I still see him sometimes on the side!), but I’d say that was a small price to pay for the perfect engagement. We still have some wedding planning to do, but we took last year just to enjoy being engaged without the pressure of picking table linens and spending all of our money. All of those details are being sorted out now, don’t you worry, and I promise to share some more soon.
I can’t believe it was a year ago! Where does the time go? Surely I’m overdue for another trip to Paris, right? A year is just too long.
On one hand, I’m excited to share another post in this series (my favorite series, fueling the macabre fascination I have with art heists), but on the other, the simple fact that I have another art heist to share with you means that there was another art heist. Aside from being horribly depressing and scary (I was just at the museum on Sunday, and my heart sunk at the thought of blank walls where masterpieces should be), this particular heist is especially puzzling in its chronology.
Sometime last month, eleven paintings by Cuban painters turned up for sale at an art gallery in Miami. Not suspicious on its own, but art dealer Ramon Cernuda, who purchased a painting by Eduardo Abela (“Carnaval Infantil”, above) was astute enough to realize it had come from Cuba’s National Museum of Fine Arts in Havana, and, he surmised correctly, likely not legally. He contacted the museum and turned the painting over to the FBI. It wasn’t until late last week that the museum confirmed indeed roughly 100 works of art had been stolen from storage, “knifed out of their frames in a warehouse. The frames were re-stacked in a way that the canvases’ absence wasn’t readily noticed.” No signs of forced entry were discovered.
Not only did the museum not announce the heist had occurred at all until after the paintings were discovered elsewhere (a detail usually desirable in other art heist cases, where recovery of stolen works is rare), they have yet to release a full list of what exactly is missing. However, in a statement released by the Cuban National Council of Cultural Patrimony, it is believed that “most of the stolen works are from the period called Arte Cubano and are mostly pieces by Leopoldo Romañach.” Oddly, the FBI cannot “confirm or deny the existence of an investigation,” though Cernuda has stated The U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation “has begun grand jury proceedings in the case.”
Julian Radcliffe, superhero in the recovery of stolen art and chairman of the Art Loss Register, has offered to help track down the remaining missing works. The Art Loss Register has successfully recovered almost 2,000 pieces of stolen artwork since 1991 (what I wouldn’t give to work there!). The problem, Radcliffe, said, is that Cuba may be sensitive about the entire scandal, because “some missing museum items in the past included works expropriated from families that went into exile after the 1959 revolution.”
My mom’s birthday was Saturday, and on Sunday morning we met at (where else?) the art museum to have a fancy, champagne filled brunch (there were macarons! and eggs benedict! and a cheese board! and plenty of gossip!) and then wander our favorite galleries (European art, 1850-1900). In her words, in order of artist importance, “There’s Renoir, then Monet, and then blahbideeblahbideeblah.” I got her to relent a bit (Cassatt and Degas and Cezanne and Van Gogh!) when pressed, but she wasn’t budging on anything post-1920 which explains a lot about me. We happened to wander into the contemporary American art wing only to scramble for an exit like we’d been lit on fire upon discovering Duchamp’s toilet statue (I don’t even know, you guys), escaping back to the safety of the Impressionists.
Art, top to bottom: ‘Garden of Armida’ Wallpaper, Édouard Muller; ‘Under the Pines, Evening’, Claude Monet (and close-up); ‘The Large Washerwoman,’ Pierre-Auguste Renoir; ‘Pythian Sibyl’ , Marcello; ‘The Moorish Chief’, Eduard Charlemont; ‘Still Life with Flowers and Fruit’, Pierre-Auguste Renoir (close-up).