memoirs of a geisha - now, with digressions!

Listen to me, for I am about to impart some wise advice upon the masses: it is always a bad idea to start a new blog when you don't have time for the blog you have. I am not just a mysterious book diva, who sits in my papasan chair all day, eating Pringles and Dove chocolates while a mysterious and sexy book slave delivers me book after book. No, I have multiple Real Jobs, with an annoying sort of responsibility attached to them, that often prevent me from talking about books as much as I'd like. (i.e. the 50% of the day that I am not sleeping or talking about clothes. I brought home a present for my roommate yesterday, a shirt she'd admired that I picked up with my associate discount at Prominent Mall Retail Establishment, and as she tried it on, I made various flattering comments. Her reply: "is that how you talk to all the fatties that try on clothes at [retail establishment]?"

That said, I re-read Memoirs of a Geisha this week. (That "currently reading" area on the right? TOTALLY A LIE. That is what I would be reading if I were responsible, but I am not. Ha!)

God. Do you ever just forget how good a book is? Or, actually, do you remember that a book was good, despite forgetting all the major plot points AND the main character's name in the year and a half or so since reading it?

(Forgetting character's names is a point of mine, unless of course the character's name is in the title or is Holden Caulfield. This is why I am fond of the phrase "the protagonist," as it is not only perfectly substitutible, it is also BIG and makes me sound smart when I use it.")

Anyway, the overwhelming feeling I had coming away from the book both times was I WANT TO BE A GEISHA!, despite the elaborate hairstyles and impossible shoes (or perhaps BECAUSE of the elaborate hairstyles and impossible shoes). Most of all, it made me wish I lived in a day and age when I could wear kimono and get away with it. Beautiful embroidery is a weakness of mine, along with impossibly high and complicated shoes.

The bad news is that I re-read Memoirs of a Geisha while I should have been reading from the stack of books-coming-out-in-May that I have in my possession. In May, I seem to be heavy on the crime dramas and thrillers and mysteries. I'm not sure what that is about, since I am much more the type to pick up a Red Dress Ink title. Then summarily mock it. (Last year at Printer's Row Book Fair in Chicago, I learned that RDI was one of the few publishing houses that still accepted unsolicited manuscripts, and had to keep from snorting. It totally shows - although I hear that they do not do that anymore.)

Although I generally hate books-into-movies, especially books-I-love-into-movies, I am quite excited for the Memoirs of a Geisha film. This is because when I first saw "House of Flying Daggers" in the theatre, with its beautiful dance sequence, I remembered that a Geisha film was in production and thought to myself that Zhang Ziyi would be a fabulous protagonist (because, of course, I did not remember her name) . Lo and behold, I went to IMDB and discovered that she WAS, in fact, playing Sayuri, in spite of the fact that she is Chinese, not Japanese. People on the message boards seemed to be in a bit of a huff about that, but I am generally against the kind of stupidity that goes on in message-board land. It ranks between the stupidity of people who leave babies and pets in cars in Texas in the summer and people who vote for the next American Idol. Personally, I will reserve judgment until I see the film, or until I see the previews, when I will end up being disgusted with the fact that what I see on screen does not match my vision of what I imagined on the page.

(This is the reason that I am not going to see The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy. Instead, I will sit at home with my consolidated five volume in one Hitchhikers, and pout.)

Actually, I will probably end up seeing Memoirs of a Geisha regardless, just because I want to see the kimonos.