Good Reads: "The Passage" by Justin Cronin

When will the Army learn not to mess with strands of DNA from Undocumented Diseases from Far Away Places?

Never, I suppose. Not so long as there are Zombie Apocalypse Epics to write. Here, the US Army is up to no good, using death-row inmates as guinea pigs for some top secret project with requisite top secret mountain bunkers, scientists, agents and goons. It's the Near Future with requisite acts of terror on US soil, a shaken economy and people working to create super-soldiers who heal overnight. All goes just fine, until a 6 year old girl, somehow and inexplicably, is chosen to receive a cocktail that will make her immortal. And then, of course, the world ends.

This is just the first few hundred pages in this door stopper of a novel. The next "act" is set further in the future, as a whole new cast unravels the folly of these mad men while dealing with the horror of unkillable undead and a failing world. And, "The Passage" would be another wholly forgettable end-of-world book, especially with the unnecessary exposition and incessant filler that renders whole chapters tedious and boring, were it not for how the author wove a very interesting bit of magic into the story that really keeps the story afloat. It's right in the opening and is sprinkled sparingly through the pages and it adds a sense of purpose to this bloated novel. The first third of this tome, however, is enthralling and impossible to put down, but still, the book has no business being over 700 pages(!) long.

Especially not when you get to the end and this damn thing doesn't end. Apparently, it's a trilogy now and I couldn't help be upset when I got to there. It stops on a weak cliffhanger that gives no reason to read the forthcoming books - ending with a look into a time well into the future, it renders whatever is yet to be written unnecessary - because right here, in the end is the proof of their eventual success.

A decent read, it is engrossing and really makes one wonder about the fragility of the day-to-day lives we lead. With some heavy editing, this could be a truly spectacular, thrilling book, but it too often reaches for the mediocre.

On: 24, Notes on A Magical Year

on my 25th Birthday

Time can be measured in any number of ways, and while a calendar year may be most common, my favorite is to count the days between my birthdays. August to August, I make mental notes of progress and orient myself and wherever I may be in life to the coming of the 15th.

My 24th was a very special year for me. It was magical for the single reason that that was the age at which my mother gave birth to me, in another time and world, in Tver, Russia. So, in my mind, those 365 days received a fine and invisible layer of meaning.

That summer, as I turned 24, was my first in this magical city where I've made a home. On that August 15th, I was wrapping up a whirlwind summer of moving to a new state, of knowing no one, of stumbling into the top-tier of the wedding industry and then unexpected graphic design work. How I earned enough to live on that summer is still a mystery, as I was quite bad at my job. But my boss saw potential and was very patient and forgiving. She even gave me more work. By that birthday, I went to Ohio for a friend's wedding where I designed the invites and learned an important lesson.

And then - fall. Networking, working, long hours, weddings. Some art, then winter, more of the same, more design, Facebook-ing, social media and more. Then more and more and more of the same. And it was glorious and wonderful and while not always fun - it gave me quite a base on which I am working off of now.


Here are the highlights.

• Seeing Shara Worden perform at Millennium Park with a full orchestra on my 25th birthday - a life-affirming, mind-melting performance.
• Being in the wedding of my best friend from college- I was the "maid of honor" and it was quite an honor to see her walk that aisle. And yes, I cried.
• Also, this year I've met some truly great, talented, inspiring people - several of whom are now my friends.
• Seeing the amazing Zoe Keating. While the music is haunting and beautiful, hearing her speak about finding success was the most wonderful gift.
• Networking. So. Much. Networking. There are so many amazing people in the wedding industry - and they all love hanging out, drinking wine and passing business cards. Working at a venue meant they all wanted to know me.
• This was also a year of a lot of self-discovery and while I now see and know myself better than before, there remains a lot to work through - I suppose that's part of the bargain, when it comes to life, and although the process may be daunting - there's little to do but roll up the sleeves and dive in.
• Spending my first Christmas and New Year with my mom in Chicago - and Thanksgiving with dear friends in Columbus.
• Mom & I also took a two-week road-trip to Colorado. Outside of seeing many people once very special and close to me, the trip also felt like a closing of a huge and terrible chapter of my life. My first 9 years living in America came to an end there, as mom & said goodbyes, took all our things and drove into the sunrise.


It was quite a year. But I'm glad it's history. The year I'm on is a different, more difficult, beast, but I am happy to be living it. Every day.

On: Spain, the Great Cost of Travel, Growing Pains and Letting Go. Part Two

Verdant. Lush. Unbelievable.

Bear with me.

When I arrived at the entrance to The Alhambra, instead of a sweeping vista of ancient walls, palaces and gardens, I was greeted with a wide parking area adjoining a group of buildings that could have been an entrance to a zoo, an amusement park, anything.

My obsessive research from The States pointed to that there would be no tickets, it being early September, but I just strolled up to a machine and, suddenly, we had an hour to kill before being allowed in. So mom and I wandered around the parking lots, past cars and tour buses, around long lines of tourists, to an area further back, and shaded from a heat that was not oppressive, but aggressive - it actually felt like the heat was pulling moisture out of me.

We sat on a concrete block that formed the side of a large area of earth filled with a colorful variety of plants that would be expected in such a climate, under a tree that sprouted not from this bed, but from the ground just a few inches outside of it. We proceeded to make lunch, which was an odd amalgam of leftovers from the past few days. We had sandwiches, with cheese and milk and some fresh fruit, and I had some sausage. We then sat and talked, made room for a noisy family with a few children also having lunch, drank water and then made our way back to the entrance, to stand in line before entering the palaces & gardens. 

The Partal Palace

That hour, of us sitting, talking, eating, waiting - it is the best memory I have from that trip. It was so simple, so effortless. Over all the years that have brought us here, my mother and I have shared so much, have come so far, that we've accumulated a lot of, well, baggage, if you will. This shared history translates into an invisible weight that sometimes can't help but get in the way from time to time. And so we struggle and argue, over stupid things, over ego and over emotions. And although that's just me talking, right then and there, it was beyond wonderful to just be. While I can't speak for my mother, I felt an ease and a calm that was so complete and so thorough that it left an impression I still feel today, months after. 

And, of course, afterwards, we two spent most of the day seeing one of the highest, finest, most spectacular and complete accomplishments of human art and engineering on the continent. And it changed my life.

On: Miscarriages and the New Front on Abortion

A most troubling piece of legislature is on its way to being ratified in Utah. Having passed both its House and Senate, the only thing in the way now is the signature of the governor and this being Utah, well...

The bill, HB12, will criminalize all miscarriages in Utah, even accidental, with up to life in prison. And while Utah has never been know for its moderate politics, this bill nonetheless sets a troubling example and carries chilling implications for every woman in America of child-bearing age.

The bill was inspired by a pregnant 17-year old, who paid $150 for a man to beat her stomach to try to miscarry. Clearly, she did not want the child, but had no legal alternative in Utah and no other means. Well, she failed, carried the child, and gave it up to adoption at birth. Yet, when her extreme measure was discovered, the authorities tried to try her for attemptet murder. But, at the time, the state could not actually charge her under the circumstances.

Instead of highlighting the obvious need for educating people about protection, or safe and legal abortions, the state decided to close the legal loophole they missed by going after the already traumatized and desperate women. They did not care why this woman was desperate enough to PAY for a stranger to BEAT her to force a miscarriage. They didn't care if the pregnancy was an accident, or maybe was the result of rape of if the child's father was her uncle - she should have had that fetus! In essence, by becoming pregnant, all her personal, human rights were trumped by a clump of cells in her stomach.

Clearly, the greater crime here is the denial of the choice and the desperation this denial causes. But in Utah, the desperation is instead made criminal. In Utah, it is assumed that every pregnancy is wanted. However, the bill is even more worrying because it punishes "reckless behavior that leads to miscarriage."

How do you define reckless? What constitutes reckless varies from person to person and imagine: if you are pregnant, don't wear a seat-belt and then are in an accident which leads to miscarriage, were you being reckless? What if your boyfriend is abusive, gets drunk and beats you, causing a miscarriage. Were you being reckless by staying, knowing full well that his drinking is a danger to the fetus? Or what if you fall down the stairs and miscarry, like a woman in Iowa, who was then investigated as to whether the fall was intentional? Under the bill, any of these are punishable with up to life in prison and the woman in Iowa was only set free because she was in her second, not third, trimester.

And at all times, the woman is secondary to her fetus and with this bill, the state of Utah is legally telling its female residents that so long as there's a fetus in them, they are nothing more than ovens.

This message is dangerous because it represents a whole new country for the anti-life, anti-woman fanatics to explore. Imagine the possibilities! If miscarriage is criminalized once, other states may follow. Even if they don't, this is another bullet to add to their arsenal, another means to push the fire-spitting, ignorant masses against Roe vs. Wade and with it, another step towards an America I'd rather not imagine.

More about this:

Here
Here
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Here

Twist: Vanity Fair Cover

Earlier, I wrote about the recent melotonin-less Vanity Fair cover. It seems actual members of Young Hollywood tend to agree with me as well. These are people I'd actually to pay to watch.

Thanks, ladies!
~V

Back to Drawing

For any and every other illustrator, drawing, in some form, is a natural, expected thing that you do all the time, that is a simple requisite of your profession. For me, it's not so simple and drawing and I have this Lifetime-movie of a relationship, where drawing is my high school sweetheart, but I'm the one who makes a terrible mess, leaves dramatically, swears to never come back, but at the end returns humbled, with a Faith Hill song playing over the credits. This is how it was all through college for me, but now we're back together and although the credits may not roll any time soon, I have pages and pages of drawings for the first time in years and just maybe, I can call myself an illustrator again.

~V

A Life; A Start

Born twenty three years ago in Tver, Russia, I lived in a home with no running water and no plumbing until moving to America eleven years later, with my mom becoming a catalog bride. My mother, then twice divorced, agreed to go to a dating agency with her friend, had her photos taken, her information recorded and placed in a binder of dozens of desperate, confused and curious Russian women, all looking for something other than what they had. Because often they had very little and more often than not, what they had was barely enough to survive. And sometimes, that included my mother.

Remembering the life I had then is akin to reciting aloud a novel I read as a child. The memories are faint and dull but persistent. They are simple fact, but seem more amazing with each year. And yet, there I am, as a child, inside my mind, in the photos and in the reflections of my mother's eyes. Yes, it happened. But how?

This hesitation is why I pland on spending some time writing down recollections, share memories and reminisce about a life that is now distant, impossible and very dear.

Chicago

This friday, I and some friends plan to spend a day and a half in Chicago. Not nearly enough time in one of my favorite cities. Why I favor it so, really, is beyond me. Not having lived there and only having visited twice, it is perhaps because each time I visit is a celebration, time spent with good friends and a dear aunt and a feast of art, culture and time spent in a vibrant, alien place. It's just too damn cold.

This will be the warmest time I've ever visited the Second City and I hope the weather will be kind. I plan to visit my aunt, see the museum and be gone in time to start the next work week.

Speaking of work. I am sorely lacking in this department, but it is not so simple as me being underemployed and I haven't really the words to voice just what it that has come over me. Have I changed, have I stalled - I do not know, but I become more and more upset each day. With myself, with my shortcomings, with my sudden lack of will and drive and movement. Excuses. I am lazy and, having been so suddenly dropped off from my illusion of decent work, I now don't have that cover and must actually roll up my sleeves and work. Can I do it? Of course, but how?

So I am going to Chicago. I do not intend to give the trip a lot of importance, but a change of pace is sorely wanted. My life needs to start now, to pick up. I need to go places, to meet people, to start something. I dally. With my future and my career, no less. I work to earn money but I am near content with the easy, mindless, labor and am near satisfied to not want anything more. But that is not who I am. Ambition, drive and passion are there inside of me and when released, it is a beautiful feeling, a wave that carries me from one moment to the next. But I dally. I do not look, do not apply myself, do not make myself known. Time is an excuse, but like all things, time can be made and the excuse is wearing thin.

It is hubris, though. How proud I was and how stubborn. I thought myself better, smarter and better positioned than my classmates and peers and now this. But I still have so much and have all my faculties to regain my footing. It will happen, what I need now is time.

New work, a new portfolio, a website and more connections are also in order. The furnace has grown cold and damp. Time to add fuel to the fire and let loose the fiery beast. Stupid analogy, but now more than ever I see myself as a great machine, idling, while the world moves ahead.

30 Second Review: Moon

Chances are you either have no idea what Moon is or already saw it and loved it. The short of it is that Moon is the directorial debut of Duncan Jones and is the best sci-fi film and one of the finest movies this year. As a film, Moon is the anti-thesis to the CGI nonsense of Transformers, Terminator and all other brainless sequels that littered the summer and is required for anyone with a brain. So go and watch.

Concerning the story of a man harvesting Hydrogen on the far side of the moon and then much more, the movie is impressive that it only has one actor and not many more roles, played brilliantly by Sam Rockwell. While others cram their sci-fi fare with explosions, CGI and dozens of actors, Moon is appropriately empty with its few roles, wide vistas and rather simple technology. It is a straightforward film that lays out its twist early on and builds off of that. Whereas others feel the movie leaves loose ends, I see it as the director not being content to spoon-feed his movie to the viewer. Yes, not everything is explained and is only hinted at, but put that imagination to good use. Also pleasant was how Jones did not play in to the expectations one might have about how the movie resolves itself, which might also be why some were let down.

The movie succeeds because it doesn't let the science get in the way of the story telling. It is also a gorgeous film that manages to make the common moon something of true beauty. Also of note is the music, composed by Clint Mansell, composer of the music for Requiem for a Dream and the Fountain, and a perfect companion to the film. Tied together by a single piano note, the execution adds a haunting touch to the film and is used to great effect throughout.

So do yourself and your brain a favor and go see it if you can. Otherwise, wait for the DVD, out November 16.

A Dream

I rarely ever remember my dreams. Though I know I dream often, they melt from my memory with the slightest hint of sun, leaving only cold sweat and the puzzling sensation of having just been somewhere else. But sometimes the dream is too unforgettable and lingers long enough for me to jot it down as I now always do when the occasion arises. And the dreams I remember are generally worth remembering. There was me being knighted by Sandra Bullock as the Queen of England, or me praying in a pew next to a mullet-ed Celine Deon. Or even my hard drive being stolen and tearfully returned by a secretary named Lakisha.

This one beats them all.

In this dream I am myself, but am some sort of water spirit/magician and appear from the seas with a companion with whom I have traveled to the end of the world to see an old friend. I bring her a small trinket - a light blue glazed ceramic starfish. We finally reach this friend, who lives in a dead tree trunk that rises right from the water and into which a home was built. My companion leaves and she opens the door and I am surprised to find she has become blind, and has her eyes wrapped, but I say nothing and hand her the starfish, which she takes and places on a shelf next to a pile of similar trinkets I've brought her over the years. In front of this woman, whom I can not place, I feel secure but nostalgic, and so sad about the passage of time. We talk and she asks I retrieve a book she recently tossed out. I agree and lay back and will the water to move me. I travel to a sea side city - with a brick promenade with white stars. I and the wave that carries me simply wash over these people but they pay no heed. I swim and eventually find the book - it is some sort of a simple crossword of arithmetic book, the kind you buy at gas stations for long trips. I bring it to her and promise to read it to her. Just then, she starts telling me how she lost her sight and I wake.

What I remember most vividly is the sensation of me being carried in the wave. So peaceful and serene, I could will it to move anywhere. In fact, I may have been sleeping while doing so. How interesting.

I can't say I know what this means, if anything, other than a product of an imaginative imagination. If nothing else, it's a pleasant treat.

The Woman on the Bus

There was this woman on the bus. She had her son with her who was no more than six. Her skin was the color of brown silk - perfectly smooth, matte, unblemished and her eyes were like thin almonds, as though squinting, they tapered at each end and were accentuated with the most beautiful pair of folds at their ends that made them seem twice as long and gave her face a sense of endless serenity and wisdom. Her lips were full, sensual, accentuated by the slight protrusion of her jaws and her cheekbones were plump, sitting high under her eyes. She was beautiful.

With her hair covered by a simple black rag tied into a knot in the back, she wore a plain white collared shirt that must've been two sizes two big and grey sweatpants and by any white standard she was overweight. With no jewelry save a three stone band and no makeup, save lipgloss, she was still beautiful.

Even if dozens of generations removed, I had the image of this woman dressed in vivid kente cloth that may have been the uniform of her ancestors. I saw her belonging more elsewhere, than here, in Columbus, riding the bus with me and dozens others and her son.

"You gotta eat vegetables to be strong." she told him "Don't you want to be strong?" she asked and struck a bodybuilding pose. "Nuh-uh" was his expected bratty response to which she laughed, pulled him close and kissed him on the forehead. Such a simple exchange, but one that had the full potential of melting glaciers, steel and any other thing in sight. The warmth was palpable and the amount of love pouring out of this woman was overwhelming. Now, to remove an eyelash from her eye she closed her eyes, leaned forward and had him pull open her lids slightly and blow right on it. Not producing the desired effect, she laughed again, rubbing her eye, saying "You're supposed to get it out, not blow it back in!" She had him do it again, more gently. "There you go." Another hug, another kiss.

I could not help but think of myself with my mother when I was that age. We rode the bus back then too - could we have had a similar exchange? In a different place, and time, with different words, but with the same emotions. The thought was almost overwhelming.

30 Second Review - Isabel Allende "Ines of my Soul"

My love affair with Isabel Allende continues with me reading her "Ines of my Soul," a novel that is the fictitious telling of the true story of the colonization of Chile, written from the point of view of Ines Suarez, the woman at the center of the founding of the city of Santiago and thanks to whom the city survived. It is an amazing story, made more unreal by the fact that it's linked by true events. The book is a novel because no true account survives of the journey the colonists took, nor of their difficult first years. Instead Allende uses the magic of her pen and a lot of research to craft this book.

Still, it did not truly dawn on me that this actually happened until the disclaimer at the end, because the story is so colorful, the people so large and unreal, their lives possessed by the allure of exploration, by the taming of a wild and dangerous land at the very end of the world. It is an amazing story. And again, the craft and quality that I've come to expect from Allende is there, in full force. Soft and gentle, the words demand your reading. This being one of her most recent novels, her writing has definitely improved and metastasized.

At the center is Ines herself, hailing from simple roots, who, by chance, destiny and her gift of finding water, becomes the mother of Santiago and all of Chile. Intelligent and cunning, she is surrounded by a host of strong women who maintain the city and its men. Also central to the novel is the systematic dismantling and subjugation of the natives of the continent and the wars the colonists wage on the them, especially the Mapuchu. A difficult subject, Allende does not gloss over the savagery that was so common then and while never excessively graphic, it's still sometimes shocking.

Beautiful, fascinating and meticulously written, this is another must-read.

The Luck Factor - 30 Second Review

I generally roll my eyes at any book that promises to somehow make my life better. Whether it's my happiness, my sense of style or even my shape, I can't help but doubt it's intent. So then me picking up a book called "The Luck Factor" and subtitled: "Changing Your Luck, Changing Your Life: The Four Essential Principles" is unprecedented.

Considering it's cheesy game-show-worthy title and the fact that it's written by a former magician, even I am surprised that I liked it. The book is written to try to understand why some people are so fortunate in life while others are not. Lucky for it, it's not especially full of itself although it struggles to stretch limited material with graphs and charts and does believe it's advise is life-changing.

Essentially, though, I liked the book because it says that the luck you get in life rests on the effort you make to be open to opportunity and that simple attitudes and behaviors have life altering effects. I'm not exactly giving anything away here, and do not detract from the message of the book because it's common sense. Still, I was never aware of the severity of that thought and "The Luck Factor" did an excellent job putting everything in perspective. In fact, the book has inspired me to take a more proactive perspective on my life, and has made me realize just how lucky I have been so far.

So keep your chin up and smile more. :)

http://www.amazon.com/Luck-Factor-Richard-Wiseman/dp/0786869143

On why I the US Holocaust Museum was disappointing

While in Washington D.C. for the Inauguration, I had time to visit most of the museums the city is so well known for. One of them, was the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, which I thought was especially important to see, not only as a human being, but being both Russian and gay, I would have not only been deported and gassed, but most likely suffered the Nazis' worst medicinal experiments because, while Jews were barely human, for Nazis, gays were something far worse. Also, having heard my grandmother's stories of surviving the war, I simply HAD to go.

So I went.

And it was exactly what I had expected. A big, moving, space that tells one of humanity's darkest stories in a succinct, moving, and powerful way. It was an experience I was glad I had.

Still, I was disappointed, because in the end it seemed like not even the museum could wrap itself around the meaning and impact of the genocide it commemorates. It's design, may be solid, with the top floor being dedicated to the build up of antisemitism before the war, and where the concept of racial purity arose. Then, there's a floor for the opening years of the war, for the ghettos, the pogroms and the beginnings of the genocide, and finally there is a floor for the final years, for the concentration camps and the eventual liberation. This design works, but the museum doesn't mention how between the wars, the German state was essentially dismantled by the Allies as retribution for the immense cost of the first world war. The museum doesn't mention how with their cities destroyed, no jobs or food, massive wartime casualties and post-war demoralization, the German people flocked to Hitler as their savior, instead portraying them as innately anti-Semitic.

That's only a minor quibble compared to what I felt was a glaring omission from the exhibit. Mentioned only once, and briefly, were the bizarre, disturbing and horrendous experiments conducted by the Nazis on everybody from twins to the mentally ill, to the handicapped and specifically on the Roma. I can image they don't want kids seeing it, but you know, it happened, and also wait until your kid is older or even better, explain it to them. Also not covered was the ethical question of using the Nazi's research, sometimes the only data available, in modern science.

Essentially, the museum did not do enough to convey the absolute maltreatment of human beings and the complete disregard and loss of humanity inflicted in the concentration camps. It came close, with videos of the camps' liberation, and a room filled with victims' shoes, but otherwise it relied on the numbers to tell the story and chose to end on a feel-good note of a survivor marrying her liberator. It's enough for most, I suppose, but this is the Holocaust and what was done must in no way be edited or watered down because the droves of people and school groups that visit everyday can not comprehend the meaning of it without first seeing it's extent.

One of the people I went with said she's noticed the exhibit being toned down over the years, because people couldn't deal with it's unabashed portrayal and that's truly disappointing.