Book review: "Happiness Sold Separately"

A revised version of this review is in The Pulse this week. Should you be so inclined to read the thing twice, here you go.

Resturant Review: Bacchanalia

Oh lawdy.

All that really needs to be said is that if offered a prix fixe menu that has the option to spend $40 more for risotto with shaved white truffles, spend the goddamn money already. White truffles are actually quite taupe but good lord if ever a food made me believe in God, this was it. While eating it, I LITERALLY felt like I was floating above the table.

LITERALLY!

LITERALLY!!!

It made me wonder if all the fuss over truffles was connected to all the fuss over those other magic mushrooms (which I have never had but have heard that they taste rather gross). I rather wish I had had only had this for dinner. And chocolate truffles? Hah! They will never cross my palate again.

That said, the meal itself was lovely too. Dinner began with a glass of Laurent-Perrier, which was expensive, delicious and appropriately celebratory. There was a cheddar puff and dab of potato soup - if plural, are they still amuse-bouches? I started with oysters, and then came a lovely 2001 Barolo. Risotto ecstasy followed, nicely complimented by aged Parm with dates. My human date had a swathe from the cheese board, and oh, those were heavenly too. Dessert was sadly unimpressive - a far too sweet and eggy huckleberry souffle. But the petits fours, cookies, and the final touch, a slightly undercooked madeline, made the entire night an affair to remember. Minus, alas, Cary Grant.

Still, this was the most expensive dinner I have ever had and I must say, Billie Holiday could have joined me at the table.

SOTU wine review

Mas Carlot 2005 Les Enfants Terribles Costieres de Nimes. $13. This wine is named for the winemakers' four children, who must be quite a handful. The name suggests a youthful, brash wine. While the vintage is young, the wine is less brash than one might think. A blend of old-vine Mourvedre and Syrah grapes, this red definitely needs a lot of breathing before its complexity becomes apparent. It made even our fine president's speech seem a little bit more weighty. Alas, it could work no magic of the plethora of bad hairstyles in the room. Maybe I would have needed to drink the whole bottle to make Margaret Spellings look cute.

Book review: "The Blind Side"

"The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game." By Michael Lewis. W.W. Norton. $24.95. 299 pages.

Call it "Moneyball 2: Between the Hash Marks."

Just in time for the NFL playoffs, best-selling author Michael Lewis returns with a freakonomic look at football’s offensive line, specifically the left tackle position.

"The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game" starts in the middle of a Washington Redskins/New York Giants game — the infamous 1985 Monday Night Football game where Lawrence Taylor sacked Joe Theismann and gruesomely broke his leg, ending Thiesmann’s career. (On the field, anyway; one kind of wishes Taylor would sack Thiesmann in ESPN’s broadcasting booth and end his presence on the current Monday Night Football, but that’s a different column.)

The book goes on to explain how defensive players like Taylor, combined with the growing appeal of the West Coast offense (the short passes popularized by 49ers coach Bill Walsh), created the need for a new prototype of the left tackle position on the offensive line to protect the (normally right-handed) quarterback’s blind side.

Left tackles, on average, are now the second-highest player on NFL teams behind the quarterback, yet no one knows who they are — seriously.

Do you think Peyton Manning would have all that time in the pocket if it weren’t for Tarik Glenn?

Tarik who?

Exactly.

Lewis makes this point in "The Blind Side" by intertwining two threads, one analytical and one personal, as he did in "Moneyball." In that book, Lewis took Oakland Athletics general manager Billy Beane as a case study to examine the growing influence of Bill James’ SABRmetrics on the sport of baseball. In this work, a young high school player from Memphis named Michael Oher (pronounced “Oar”) becomes the foreground of an explantation of how the left tackle position has become essential to the NFL offense.

While Beane became an oddly compelling hero in "Moneyball," Oher becomes much more than that. If your eyes haven’t watered by the end of the book, whatever your gender, then you have no heart. None. (I have male friends who confessed to me that they cried while reading this, so I know.) By the same token, if this book has not made you laugh aloud, then you have absolutely no sense of humor.

Oher was what has, sadly, become the norm in the inner city — a forgotten child with a drug-addicted mother, abandoned by the system that should have protected him. Through a series of events that can only be described as a miraculous, whatever one’s religious inclination, Oher manages to survive. He becomes cared for by another black man who had escaped those same projects and who enrolls Oher at a private, mostly white, Christian school.

There, Oher is recognized as the most promising left tackle talent in the country. A rich, white, conservative Christian family takes him in and adopts him. Despite being recruited by almost every team in the country (literally), Oher follows in his new father’s footsteps to the University of Mississippi, where he remains at this moment, having just finished his sophomore season.

Lewis takes his time revealing Oher’s dismal past, ostensibly aping the slow pace Oher himself has taken opening up to his new parents, Sean and Leigh Anne Tuohy. When the grim details finally spill out all at once in the next to last chapter, it seems like the material for another book. Lewis is a great analyst of the weird way in which sports, statistics and economics intertwine. In "The Blind Side," he proves himself a humanist, too, although one cannot help wondering how much more powerful the story of Michael Oher would have been if told by someone like Adrian Nicole LeBlanc.

Still, for all its flaws, "The Blind Side" makes you root for Oher’s success. Although "Moneyball" was raved about by baseball fanatics when it first came out, as the years have gone by and Billy Beane’s top prospects in the book have yet to prove themselves in the majors, many fans (and commentators) have taken to dismissing the book.

But Kevin Youkilis, one prospect Beane could not lure away from the Red Sox organization, is finally starting to become a star. One can only keep one’s fingers crossed that in a few years, NFL fans are shouting “Oooooooaaaaarrrrrrr!” like Boston fans have started shouting “Yoooooooooooook!”

The State of the Union

First of all, this is awesome. There is no telling how many drinking games Wonkette could create from this graphic. You can discover all sorts of interesting facts, like in 2004 (Election year) Bush mentioned marriage nine times. This year? None.

Otherwise, my review of the SOTU goes like this:
Margaret Spellings has awful hair.
Nancy Pelosi is the most stylish female politician, like, ever (in that Washington way).
How clever that Hilary is seated directly above Obama. Did the networks plan it that way?
Bush’s suit is far too blue. It’s that cheap-suit blue. And what’s with the pale blue tie? Ugh.
Who is that guy with the big nose? Oh, it’s Sen. Chuck Grassley. As I said, who is that guy? What is he running for again?
Bush wants to support Belarus? Huh? Since WHEN?
Webb has some bad hair too. He also has no charisma, at least in this speech.

In brief, before you go on national television for the wonkiest night of the year, go treat yourself to a good stylist. And, as you should have learned from watching "The Princess Bride" in childhood, never get involved in a land war in Asia.

Book review: "Happiness Sold Separately"

“Happiness Sold Separately.” By Lolly Winston. Warner Books. $21.99. 296 pages.

A few days after finishing this, I’m still not sure what I think. You know when you think you know what you’re getting into when you start reading a book and then it turns out by the end that it’s completely not what you expected and it makes you really angry? That’s what happened with this book. I finished it all in a rush, eager for the payoff that I was sure would await — but then it never came. While that probably makes the book a better novel, it still made me mad.

Lolly Winston published “Good Grief” a few years ago, and it became a best seller. Like the works of Jennifer Wiener (“In Her Shoes”) or Marian Keyes (“Rachel Takes a Holiday”) or Anna Maxted (“Getting Over It”), “Good Grief” was upscale, emotionally therapeutic chick-lit. It was perfect book club material — a young wife has to deal with the unexpected death of her husband, something that just isn’t supposed to happen when you’ve just gotten married and think you have the rest of your life all settled. The book made you cry (well, it made me cry anyway), but it was also funny, as Winston’s narrator was able to laugh at how ridiculous she was being in her grief. By the end of the novel, she has moved on — which is exactly why this book became a best seller.

As anyone who has dealt with grief knows, it doesn’t usually end so neatly. You take one step forward, two steps back, five steps forward, one and a half steps back. But it’s always a part of you, somewhere, even when no one else is paying attention and you have “moved on.” Yet for some strange reason, even after you’ve dealt with losing someone, it’s nice to read stories where other people’s grief has a tidy ending. Thus, I expected “Happiness Sold Separately” to have a happy ending too, or at least some version of it. And I guess, in a weird way, it does. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Happiness Sold Separately” is the story of Elinor and Ted Mackey. A workaholic lawyer, Elinor put off having a family until, as she discovers when pushing 40, it is too late. Their grief over miscarriages and painful and ultimately worthless fertility treatments has placed an unbearable strain on their marriage, only five years old, and Ted begins an affair with a younger nutritionist at the local gym. Elinor discovers the betrayal at the beginning of the novel, and things fall apart.

Like Winston’s prior novel, this book focuses on grief — grieving the loss of the children one will never have, grieving the loss of the marriage one took for granted. Unlike the previous novel, the grief is never resolved. Nothing is resolved, in fact, when the novel ends. Is it a happy thing that the failing marriage is probably over? Well, I suppose it will make the characters happier. But that’s not the happy ending that I wanted. If the character were going to break up, couldn’t they have found true love elsewhere, however unrealistic?

That’s the problem with this book. It tries to be a realistic novel, an Ann Beattie-type of book where a marriage is falling apart and no one is happy and everyone is deeply flawed yet somehow redeemable. The lack of any kind of resolution is what actually happens in real life, after all. But Winston never manages to cross over into Beattie’s world. Her characters need a happy ending. And in this book, they don’t get one, leaving them, and us, hanging.

Week in Review

Rocked my world:

AIGA Tenshow: This is what New Year's should have been like. According to my trusty Hello Kitty calendar, Jan. 20 was actually the Islamic New Year, so perhaps that had something to do with the unbridled debauchery at what may have been the best party this city has ever seen. Ok, maybe not. And actually, the debauchery was quite bridled. But still, to have this many people in a church in a neighborhood with crack dens down the street, all to celebrate the best graphic design in the state? Amazing! The only thing that could have improved the festivities would have been champagne. And despite falling down a flight of stairs and skinning my knee and bruising my elbow and scraping my forehead and ruining my tights and scratching my glasses, the afterparty was pretty damn cool too. I don't know when I have last had so much fun on a swing. Hell, I don't know when I have last had so much fun. If every weekend in Chattanooga was like this, I could be persuaded to stay.


Celine Dion'd my world:

UGA/'Bama: Come on 'Dawgs, you're ahead the whole damn game and then you fall apart in the final two minutes? At least you weren't playing Tennessee.

PillowPillowPillow

Is there anything cuter than a puppy or a kitten?

Yes, a baby panda. But PillowPillowPillow has to be a close second.

Because "my" digital camera was reclaimed when I lost my job and the pictures on the website are in Flash, I cannot show you how amazingly adorable these pillows are. You will have to go to the site and see them for yourself. But I can say that if I had the money, this is what I would have gotten every single one of my friends for Christmas/Hanukkah. As it was, I got one for my mom (Sofie), one for my sister (Scooter), one for CSR (Amy) and one for me (Elliot).

PillowPillowPillow is the brainchild of Aaron Stewart. I don't know Mr. Stewart, but I have seen his commercials. Of course, I didn't know they were his until I went to a holiday party with my hip artist and designer friend MB at Mr. Stewart's place of employment. The room was filled with the cutest animals I had ever seen. I debated the ethics of taking one, but I decided since they were spending all this money on an open bar with top-shelf liquor, it wouldn't be very polite to walk out with a little puppy. Plus I was already carrying around a book from my trip to Columbia and only had a tiny Coach clutch, so I didn't really want to carry around a stuffed animal the rest of the night. Plus, I never steal anyway, so it wasn't actually an option.

Anyway, the next week, I called up Hornet and asked about the animals. I was directed to the website, where I found the name of the only place that (at this point) sells PillowPillowPillows — Shady's Waggery. The fine folks there were more than happy to tell me about each animal they had in stock and to listen while I debated the merits (and costs) of each. Then they shipped them to me.

In short, if you have $45 or so burning a hole in your pocket, there is no cuter way to spend it than on a PillowPillowPillow, as baby pandas are a lot more expensive. And isn't $45 a small price to pay for something that puts a smile on your face every time you see it?

My mom went to Atlanta shopping and all I got was this lousy bottle of wine

Oriel 2004 Barona Rias Baixas. $22. Seriously? This wine is actually quite good. But compared to the four pairs of boots my mom bought herself (she had the biggest bag from the Cole-Haan store that I have ever seen), would a Chloe bag from Saks really have been that much to ask for? (Ok, so maybe it would have been.) Anyway, this wine (easily found at The Grape in Atlanta, from whence it came) is a quite flavorful Spanish white. Oriel makes/distributes wines in a number of countries, but I had only seen their U.S. wines. Now I know that I have been missing out (although I can't really afford them unless I splurge in a restaurant, as I did earlier today after a job interview at the Inman Park Grape, where, alas, no Usher was present). The Barona is made from Albarino grapes, a light, dry white grape not unlike a Sancerre or Muscadet. I love Sancerre and Muscadet wines. I have less experience with the Albarino, due to the lame distribution in my part of the world (and Georgia, I'm not talking about you). But the few that I have tasted have been just as tasty. Unlike many lighter bodied whites, an Albarino grape, like a Sancerre, is rather minerally. If done right, one should just taste crisp mineral and citrus, maybe some apricot. It should not be fruity. It should not be golden, nor should it be grassy. It should be just exactly what a perfect spring day tastes like. This wine tastes like that. When it gets really grey and rainy over the next few weeks, when you just cannot wait any longer for spring, go splurge on this wine and pretend that it's May outside.

Wine review

Conde de Valdemar Reserva 2000 Rioja, $19. Those who know me know I love my Rioja. So when so some good things happened yesterday, I decided to splurge on this bottle (why $15 seems like a normal price for wine and $20 seems like a splurge, I don't know. Maybe John Tierney could explain.) Unlike some other recent splurges, this was a good choice, and fully cleared my palate of the terrible Red Guitar. This Rioja is a blend of 85 percent Tempranillo grapes and 15 percent Mazuelo. The wine is aged 24 months in American and French oak barrels and then aged in the bottle 20 months. Despite the two years in oak, the wine is hardly oakey. (I assume the bottle-aging makes it more subtle? I am still learning.) It has a subtle range of flavors and is deliciously complex, a tad peppery with hints of red currant and cherry. This is a wine to be savored on its own or with a nice Manchego. I cannot wait until I have something really exciting to celebrate so that I can splurge on the Gran Reserva ($31).

Two wine reviews

Hayman Hill 2005 Russian River Valley Chardonnay, Reserve Selection, $14: I bought this wine because it was chilled and not Kendall-Jackson. It was a surprisingly complex Chardonnay for the price — a little bit of oak, deliciously buttery, yet with a crisp citrus aftertaste. A pleasing wine to serve with dinner that should delight your average white-wine-drinking friends.

Red Guitar 2005 Navarra Old Vine Tempranillo/Garnacha, $12: The vines might be old, but the wine is not. This is not a good thing, though I doubt aging could improve this bottle one whit. Tempranillo/Grenache blends tend to have a pleasant spice and acidity to them; however, I can't imagine that even Robert Parker with his love of "fruit bombs" could find anything pleasing about the overload of syrupy plum and cherry in this wine. My sometimes significant other tasted the wine and asked if I had added fruit punch to the wine. If you must buy this wine because of the cute label, use it only to make sangria.

Book review: "The Cinderella Pact"

"The Cinderella Pact." By Sarah Strohmeyer. Dutton. $24.95. 290 pages.

Earlier this month I wrote an essay in which I mentioned that September 11, 2001, changed my life in two ways — I can no longer watch horror movies, and I became a hardcore news junkie (whereas before I was just a casual user, you know).

I lied.

September 11 changed a third thing in my life too. It is just isn't as cool, so I only talk about it with that inner circle of female friends who feel the same way. Before that tragic day, I read a lot of serious, depressing literature. After it, I found comfort in chick lit.

Ok, there, I said it. I read chick lit. Not as much as I used to, but sometimes, just like you binge on chocolate or margaritas, sometime a chick lit binge is needed, sometimes for no reason at all.

So last night, despite almost falling asleep while watching "24" at 10 p.m. (I know, how is that possible? But that's how tired I was.), I opened up "The Cinderella Pact," intending to read just a few pages. At 3 a.m., now on a sugary high from the saccharine content, I put down the book, finished.

As I finally fell asleep, I thought to myself that compared to some of the recent chick lit that has crossed my path, "The Cinderella Pact" was refreshingly clever. But when I woke up this morning, once again sober and determined to avoid sugar at all costs (my next book is an almanac, 'kay?), I was really angry at the book, angry at its nonsensical plot, unrealistic romance, fairytale ending and two inch cream cheese frosting.

"The Cinderella Pact" is the tale of three overweight friends who make a pact that this time they will really lose the weight they have been trying to lose for years with little success. They plan to meet in six months, newly slender, and go on a shopping spree. Their weight-loss plan is based on the advice of a famous British columnist in a women's magazine. The only problem? The columnist is really the invention of one of the friends, who is an under-appreciated assistant editor at said magazine.

Ok, off the top of your head, name a columnist for a women's magazine, like Glamour or Cosmopolitan.

My point exactly.

British, stylish, mysterious or not, there is no way a columnist that no one has ever seen in person would become a world-wide celebrity. Especially, as in the case in this book, if her trademark fashion item were pink cowboy boots covered with rhinestones.

While reading the book, I bought into the whole preposterous set-up (and yes, there is an evil step-editor, a Prince Charming, a fairy godmother and a ball), just as when cramming one's face full of coconut cake, it's hard to stop. But then afterwards you realize that the coconut cake wasn't really that good and why in the hell did you eat it?

I suppose I am not the target audience of the book. I suspect it is geared towards women who care less about fashion than me, those women who love Sex and the City but have no idea whom Carrie is wearing in any episode, not to mention the fact that they would never, ever spend upwards of $400 on shoes. When the three friends finally do lose the weight, they go on a shopping spree and Ann Taylor and Talbot's. Seriously. If I had just lost 40-50 pounds, even if I was still a size 14, I would want to buy something more fun than professional business attire.

The only redeemable aspect of "The Cinderella Pact" is the way in which it treats weight loss. As each of the three friends drops pounds — one through surgery, one through a personal trainer, one through healthy eating and exercise — their lives change, but not in the ways they expect. As overweight women, they discover, they had blamed all their problems on their excess pounds. When those pounds are no longer there (in a realistic manner, I should note, which is another plus — no one goes from being old Oprah to new Oprah in six months), the women realize that their problems are still around. (Of course, they all resolve themselves by the end of the book, but you wouldn't expect less, would you?)

In short, do not be fooled by the photo of a diamond-encrusted Christian Louboutin shoe on the cover. This book is a pink cowboy boot with cheap rhinestones.

Week in Review

What rocked my world this week:

Routas Infernet 2003 Grenache/Syrah, $15: Since the Bush administration started hating France, I have made it a point to drink French wine during every nationally televised address. This week, maybe it kicked in, because he apologized. Oh wait, he's still sending troops to Iraq? Never mind. Anyway, this wine is quite tasty. It has a lot of spice, a little oak and a touch of fruit. Perfect with the pimento cheese and Melba toast I have been eating all week. I've had this wine several times now — in fact, I'm drinking it again as I write this — and it's a very sophisticated bottle for the price!

Cuvaison 2004 Zinfandel, Napa Valley: $20ish???: I "borrowed" this bottle from my wine-drinking friend and neighbor after running a number of errands for her instead of accepting payment (she knows; I do it all the time and always replace the wine, unless it is a form of payment, like this bottle); thus I have no idea exactly how much it cost. (And I think she bought it at the vineyard on a trip to Napa last fall, but anyway ...) I am not much of a California wine drinker, as you have to spend upwards of $20 usually to get a tasty bottle, and my meager wallet draws the line at $15, except for special occasions. But this wine, while a little fruit-heavy, was still a pleasant surprise. It was a tad spicy and full of character, and I would definitely buy it (or borrow it) again.


What Celine Dion'd my world this week:
[If anything is the opposite of rock, it is Celine Dion. From now on, she will represent the epitome of critical badness.]

Financial advisers (pick any, pick all): I really am trying to get a budget together. But even the financial advisers who say they aren't like the rest of the other financial advisers are still evil twits. All of them, I suspect, have their own special level in Hell awaiting them. I don't care how practical it may be, what is the point of living if one isn't suppose to do anything fun and instead should save all one's money in case one gets laid off or injured or has to quit one's job to take care of an ailing parent? Suggestions I have read this week included: working 80 hours a week, canceling your cell phone, selling your car, selling all your stuff on eBay, paying only in cash, and opening a second checking account. If I can't balance one, why on earth will having two checking accounts do anything but wreck my life? Do these people not have friends? Do they not have a life? WHO LIVES LIKE THIS?

Season 5 of "24"

So far Season 5 of "24" far, far surpasses any of the previous seasons. A full review will follow when I get through all the DVD's in the next week.

A Family Daughter

"A Family Daughter." By Maile Meloy. Scribner. $24 (paperback out 2/07, $14). 336 pages.

I hate to admit it, but sometimes I’m wrong. Really, really wrong.

Based on a few short stories that I read in The New Yorker, I thought Maile Meloy was totally overrated, although her short story collection Half in Love received much critical praise. More adulation followed for her first novel, Liars and Saints, which came out in 2003. I never read either.

When I came across a copy of A Family Daughter in the library, I decided to check it out (solely based on the book jacket copy, which mentioned entanglements “with an aging French playboy, a young Eastern European prostitute, a spoiled heiress, and her aging jet-set mother”). Within minutes of opening the book, I found myself completely wrapped up in the world of the Santerre family.

A Family Daughter revolves around Abby Santerre and her complicated relationship with her family, especially her mother Clarissa and her uncle Jamie. In some ways, the novel is a coming-of-age tale, but in other ways, it is a postmodern examination of the very genre. Abby writes a novel about a fictional family similar to hers. As the publication of the book begins to change her real family’s lives, Abby feels suddenly responsible for every twist and turn in Meloy’s work.

The plot unfolds at a breezy, rapid pace. Things happen so quickly that I caught myself rereading passages to figure out what, exactly, had just happened — did Jamie really just have sex with that girl? Did that person really just die?

But this pace is part of the novel’s charm. Within the first 25 pages, Abby’s father has died. Ten pages later, she’s involved in an incestuous relationship that comes across as sweet and sexy instead of creepy, a testament to Meloy’s skill. Over the next 300 pages, relationships come and go and come back and evolve in completely unpredictable ways that are alternately hilarious and heartbreaking.

The entire novel is a reworking of Liars and Saints, which tells the story of the Santerre family from a different perspective. Since I haven’t read that novel, I can’t compare the two. All I can say is that A Family Daughter is one of the two best books I read in 2006, along with Claire Messaud’s The Emperor’s Children. Undeservedly overlooked, I hope the paperback edition of the novel in February will bring it the attention it merits.

Rocky

Rocky Who?
My punch-drunk holiday introduction to the Italian Stallion

Nothing quite says Christmas peace and joy like a boxing flick. Blood, punches, fighting and the triumph of the will — what could be more representative of the birth of baby Jesus?

The new (and ostensibly final) sequel to Sylvester Stallone’s Rocky, Rocky Balboa, opened three days before Christmas, following in the grand holiday tradition of movies like Million Dollar Baby, Raging Bull, Rocky IV, Rocky V, and, of course, Rocky, which probably started the whole thing.

Having never seen a single Rocky movie (seriously, this is how bad it was: I didn’t know “Gonna Fly Now (Theme from Rocky)” was the theme from Rocky until a few weeks ago when I saw a commercial for Rocky Balboa and finally connected the two), I decided to fill the giant gap in my cultural literacy by watching each movie in order (within the space of 48 hours) before venturing to the Bijou to check out the new one.

I now know more about boxing than I ever thought possible. I’m not a fan of the sport, preferring the violence of football to two men beating the hell out of each other. But now I know that a match without a knockout goes 15 rounds, that each round is three minutes and that one can literally “throw in the towel” to end the match.

I also now know that underneath the same plot in every movie (the scene is set, conflict arises, a match is set, the conflict hurts the training for the match, the conflict is resolved, training for match improves, the match happens, Rocky starts off losing the match, then comes back improbably and drags it out for a long time to either win or tie), the series of films reflect a society’s changing cultural anxieties about race, gender, class and aging.

The first Rocky was released in time for the holidays in 1976. Although its most recognized scene is Rocky running up the stairs in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art (a scene referenced in every subsequent film), the movie is actually a quiet character study that went on to win three Oscars.

Rocky Balboa is a small-time hood with a heart of gold that sees the beauty in the quiet, mousy Adrian (Talia Shire). When heavyweight champion Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers) decides to fight Rocky because of his nickname, “The Italian Stallion,” Rocky is forced to prove to himself that his longtime dabbling in boxing will allow him to go the distance with the champ.

Sylvester Stallone wrote the script himself, as he did for every other Rocky movie. The film has a slow pace, and the movie ends just after the climatic fight scene, as Adrian pushes her way through the crowd to hug the semi-victorious Balboa, as the 15-round fight is a split decision going to Creed.

Rocky and Rocky II, a rematch with Creed released in the summer of 1979, clearly reflect the unease of the 1970s. Both films take place in economically depressed sections of Philadelphia — other than the museum, the streets of the town are dingy and grim.

In the original film, Creed makes it clear he wants to fight a white boxer, highlighting a cultural anxiety about the rise of black athletes. In the sequel, Rocky is forced to fight the rematch after he fails to provide for his family with commercial endorsements after the first fight, to the dismay of his wife.

“I didn’t stop you from being a woman, don’t stop me from being a man,” Rocky shouts.

Adrian almost loses her baby and falls into a coma after working too hard outside the home; when she wakes up, she is fully in support of her husband (and never works again in any of the remaining movies).

I know that Rocky’s love for Adrian is supposed to be his defining characteristic throughout the films, showing that he is a fighter with “heart,” but I never bought their relationship. Only in Rocky Balboa, in which the mourning Rocky returns to the ring to get over his grief at losing his wife (and growing old himself) does their relationship seem to have any kind of resonance.

Rocky is a great movie — beautifully filmed, carefully considered, one of the all-time classic sports movies. The newest film echoes the first one in many ways, in its pace and lack of an actual win in Rocky’s final match.

But after watching every film, I have to say that Rocky III, released in the summer of 1982, is the best one. Not only is this the film in which “Eye of the Tiger” becomes the new theme song of Rocky (although Bill Conti still scores the film), and not only does Rocky fight Hulk Hogan (once) and Mr. T (twice), but this was the only film that I actually found myself rooting for Rocky to win.

Rocky III explores the fleeting nature of fame once the underdog is the top dog. Rocky gets knocked out by Mr. T’s character, Clubber Lang, so Apollo Creed (who becomes Rocky’s trainer after his longtime trainer Mickey Goldmill (Burgess Meredith) dies) takes Rocky to the slums of L.A. to train for the rematch.

The difference between this movie and the first two is the difference between filmmaking in the 1970s and the 1980s. This is a movie focused on a plot, a soundtrack and lot of fighting. It is also a lot of fun to watch.

Rocky IV, however, is just terrible. Despite starring Dolph Lundgren as Soviet boxer Ivan Drago and Brigitte Nielsen as his wife, this 1985 movie’s only redeeming feature is the over-the-top performance of the late James Brown singing “Living in America.”

Rocky V is pretty terrible, too — the dialogue is leaden, the flashbacks are trite. But it is the only film in the series to end not with a bout in the ring but a full-out street brawl, between Rocky and his former protégé, Tommy Gunn (real-life boxer Tommy Morrison), which Rocky, of course, wins.

Rocky Balboa is, in its way, a brave film. Stallone directed the film (he also directed Rocky II, Rocky III and Rocky IV) and clearly realizes how ridiculous it is for a 60-year-old to attempt climbing back into the ring against the young heavyweight champion Mason “The Line” Dixon, played by boxer Antonio Tarver.

Balboa’s arguments about his return to boxing with the Pennsylvania Athletic Commission (to get his license) and then his son Robert (a.k.a. Rocky, Jr., played by Milo Ventimiglia of Gilmore Girls fame) sound like arguments Stallone must have had with the studio heads to get this film made.

In the final fight scene, despite his extensive training, Stallone’s flesh sags and jiggles in sharp contrast to Tarver’s smooth muscle-bound skin. It’s gross. But it is also courageous — he is willing to make a fool of himself, but, surprisingly, he doesn’t.

Rocky Balboa is an homage to all previous Rocky movies. It also returns to the series the sly humor of the first three films.

If you liked the films, if they were a part of your childhood, then you’ll enjoy the movie. If you somehow escaped watching Rocky, go rent the first one, at least, before seeing the new one.

Better yet, watch them all and be filled with your own punch-drunk love for Stallone.

The best of 2006

Books of the Year
1. “The Emperor’s Children” by Claire Messaud - Forget the backlash, and just go read it.
2. “Special Topics in Calamity Physics” by Marisha Pessl - Not as good as everyone said, but still highly entertaining and clever.
3. “A Family Daughter” by Maile Meloy - I have a new favorite author. This book is so awesome that I cannot believe I ever disliked her short stories in The New Yorker. It is funny, sad and sexy. Go read it now!
4. “Heat” by Bill Buford - If you like food, you will like this book.
5. The Whole World Over” by Julia Glass - This second novel by the NBA-winning Glass got little attention and kind of falls apart in the end. But the writing is beautiful, the characters are deeply felt, and I really loved it.

Books I haven’t read yet but would probably be on my list if I had not just gotten them for Christmas or had not had to return them to the library
1. “The Echo Maker” by Richard Powers - I started this, and it was recalled from the library. So far, so good ... that is to say, a lot more awesome than “Galatea 2.0,” which I enjoyed but thought was overrated. Is it worth the National Book Award? Time will tell.
2. “The Night Watch” by Sarah Waters - Wow, what a change of pace from the sublime Waters! Shortlisted for the Booker, it tells a deeply affecting story backwards. I can’t wait until I can get it again from the library so I can find out what happens.
3. “The Blind Side: Evolution of a Game” by Michael Lewis - This book was excerpted in the NYT Magazine and made me cheer and cry. I can’t wait to read the whole book.
4. “The View from Castle Rock” by Alice Munro - There’s no way this is not going to be great.

Worst book of the year, even though I haven’t read it
1. “The Lay of the Land” by Richards Ford - I HATE HATE HATE Frank Bascombe. “Independence Day” is one of the most insufferable novels I have ever had the displeasure to read. (I read it on a bet from B. that I couldn’t get through it in a week. As if!) Who cares about some middle-aged white guy having yet another stupid middle-aged crisis? Tedious, unpleasant and incredibly overrated.

Dinner of the year
1. My 29th birthday at St. John’s
2. Union Square Cafe in December
3. Chez Panisse in May
4. WD-50 last Christmas Eve just before the start of 2006
5. A few trips to 5 & 10
6. A lot more trips to St. John’s and the Meeting Place
7. Sotto Sotto (three times)
8. Kyma
9. Sally's, always the best pizza in the whole wide world
10. Pura Vida

Clothes of the year
1. BCBG bubble skirt that I have worn non-stop all month
2. My sister’s black skirt that I took over after she left for Africa
3. Strapless brown dress that I stole from my mom
4. Blue Velvet dress I got at Anthropologie for my birthday
5. Juicy trench coat

Things I finally decided to like in 2006 that I had previously rejected
1. Juicy Couture
2. The Killers
3. Death Cab for Cutie
4. “24”
5. “Veronica Mars”

Things I tried to like in 2006 but still can’t stand
1. Pickles
2. Bright Eyes
3. The Tennessee Vols (ok, I never really tried to like them, but living here, it’s hard to not get immersed in the media coverage)

Best fashion trends
1. Bubble skirts
2. Big bags

Worst fashion trends
1. Skinny jeans
2. Leggings
3. Skinny jeans tucked into boots

Best album
1. Phoenix - “It’s Never Been Like This Before” (easily my album of the year)
2. Ghostface Killah - “Fishscale”
3. Justin Timberlake - “FutureSex/LoveSounds”

Best song
1. “When You Were Young” - The Killers
2. “Crazy” - Gnarls Barkley
3. “Stuck Between Stations” - The Hold Steady (yeah, yeah, I know, but after Ben played it about 8,000 times I finally started liking this song - verdict is still out on the band)

Most disappointing album
1. Gnarls Barkley - “St. Elsewhere”