Michele Roohani

Christmas is here with all the usual joy and gore! I took some pictures last night from my neck of the woods. Welcome to the winter in the Lala Land.

We are trying so hard to look like New York or Boston in the winter holidays but Los Angeles stays Los Angeles, a comfortable 55 F on Christmas eve.

The Beverly Regent (AKA the pretty woman hotel) looks great in red.

“My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet”

Of course what is all this without music?

And these are some of my favorite store windows - the fabulous Rem Koolhaas‘ Prada flagship is amazing. I’ve always liked his Seattle public library as well.

Red has always been my favorite color.

I have added Blue as another favorite some years ago.

I like them equally now.

By the way, I hate shopping/the crowd/malls - I wished people would stop accumulating extra-everythings (from candles to cars)…We all know people that are hopelessly deluded, bathed in trivia, mesmerized to the point of idiocy by almost any celebrity, amusing themselves to death, self-defeating and absurde at times. I made you read!

I just saw this wonderful film, Starting out in the evening, about an old writer who has outlasted the social order in which his life made sense. How can you go wrong with New York in the fall and tons of books? I can’t believe that the lead actor is the same guy who played in Superman returns.

I am a movie junkie but so much of what’s being produced now is blissfully forgettable; I know I like a film if I keep thinking about it the next day and when I start talking about it to others. These are a couple of them: The lives of others which got an oscar is about the constant question of how a good man acts in circumstances that seem to rule out the very possibility of decent behavior. The actor, Ulrich Muhe, was amazing - unfortunately he passed away in July.

The one movie I will always remember is Into great silence. The film is an eloquent achievement in capturing the slow and delicate rhythm of the Carthusian monks’s daily lives in silence - a great meditation if you are stressed out. “Silence. Repitition. Rhythm. The film is an austere, next to silent meditation on monastic life in a very pure form. No music except the chants in the monastery, no interviews, no commentaries, no extra material.”

I enjoyed Children of Men, a superbly directed political thriller - London has never looked this scary…

My favorite of all action movies was The Bourne Ultimatum. An unusually smart work of industrial entertainment with the great Matt Damon - as good here as he was in the two previous Bourne films. The music is so interesting I had to shell out a buck for Moby’s “Extreme Ways”.

All and all it’s been a good year for the low budget films and this makes me very happy. I am planning to see The diving bell and the butterfly, American gangster, and Persepolis.

I also hope to be able to find Primo Levi’s journey. (I am insisting that he didn’t commit suicide!)

I am trying to get a copy of the documentary, Out of place: Memories of Edward Said . He remains controversial even after his death.

and…maybe Beowulf for fun.

My eucalyptus tree attempted partial suicide (non-fatal self-destructive act, self-mutilation) a couple of days ago.

The California Eucalyptus are transplanted trees from Australia (ca 1850) - they were brought here in the hopes that they would provide a renewable source of timber for construction and furniture making.

I heard a big swooshing noise and a loud thump; what seemed to be my whole eucalyptus tree landed ten inches from my parked car at my doorsteps killing some poinsettias. I thought I’ve lost the tree but I found out later that “some species of Eucalyptus have a habit of dropping entire branches off as they grow. Eucalyptus forests are littered with dead branches. Many people have been killed as they camped underneath the trees. It is thought that the trees shed very large branches to conserve water during periods of drought.” Mine’s “accident” may have been caused by the wind or the heaviness of the branch.

The whole yard smelled wonderful though - by its very essence, eucalyptus has the scent of freshness and purification. I love trees especially the ones I grew up with - sycamores and poplars. “Suburbia is where the developer bulldozes out the trees, then names the streets after them.” Bill Vaughan

One whole day of yard work reduced the giant branch to these. Maybe my wood sculptor friend would be interested.

I can’t translate this poem without stripping it of its original beauty:

Dans la forêt sans heures
On abat un grand arbre
Un vide vertical
Tremble en forme de fût
Près du tronc étendu.

Cherchez, cherchez, oiseaux,
La place de vos nids
Dans ce haut souvenir
Tant qu’il murmure encore.

Jules Supervielle

Here is my favorite T-shirt:

I haven’t seen two poplars to be enemies

I haven’t seen a willow selling its shade to the ground

The elm tree freely bestows its branch to the crow

Wherever there is a leaf my passion blossoms

من نديدم دو صنوبر را با هم دشمن

من نديدم بيدي، سايه اش را بفروشد به زمين.
رايگان مي بخشد، نارون شاخه خود را به كلاغ.
هر كجا برگي هست ، شور من مي شكفد

Je n’ai jamais vu la haine de deux peupliers.
Je n’ai jamais vu un saule vendre son ombre à la terre.
Et gratuitement l’orme offre sa branche aux corbeaux.
Partout où frémit une feuille,
S’épanouit aussi le bourgeon de l’ardeur.

Sohrab Sepehri

I am crazy about scarves. This is one of my few indulgences: silk scarves to wear around my neck. One of my favorites is this Hermès piece:

It inspired me to make this card which is available for purchase :

and this t-shirt, available in several colors :

I have this resurfacing nostalgic feeling about snow every winter in southern california; being born here, my son doesn’t miss the snow much, but I, being born on a snowy December first, in Mashhad, Iran, miss it a lot…The quiet beautiful snow who always speaks softly…

There is this short novel I read a few years back called Neige (snow in french) and of course the great book of my friend Jean-Michel Maulpoix called Pas sur la neige. “Chaque flocon répète: nous n’irons plus au ciel.” (every snowflake repeats: we’re not going back to the sky)

I don’t know the name of the photographer of the above picture but I figured I would throw it in for all of you homesick persians.