A review : My Sister's Keeper

I read Jodi Picoult's book about 3 years ago, a present from Other C for my birthday that year. While I like reading about controversial subject matter, I find Ms Picoult's books rather tame fodder in how sometimes there isn't a good enough conclusion, she tackles a subject but stops short of going for the kill.

Last night, MNET showed the movie version of the book as it's Sunday night movie.

As Hollywood likes to tear apart a book, the story in the movie differs quite substantially from the book itself which I found rather distracting. The story tackles the controversial subject of designer babies as spare parts for a sick child.

In this case, the child in question has a cancer of the blood. Her younger sister (in the book she is 13 and in the movie she is 11) is designed and born to be a walking body parts replacement for her. Until they want her to donate a kidney. Then she sues her parents to become medically emancipated from them. In the book at the end, she wins her case but dies in a car accident and her lawyer, who has power of attorney, authorises the removal of her organs for her dying sister.

In the movie, her sister is the driving force behind the court case because she wants to die, she is ready to die. The film ends with her dying, the younger sister winning her case and not having to donate a kidney and going on to live out her life.

Another large departure from the book is that the brother, who is a juvenile delinquent who likes to burn things (his father, a fireman, taught him a thing or two), becomes a dyslexic artist.

While the movie showed the emotion behind the designer babies bred as spare parts angle much better than the book did, I have to say it was overly disappointing as the ending totally negates any good or bad points made around the debate.

WHO TURNED OFF THE HEATER?!?!?

Damn but it's cold right now!

After a few days of wonderfully warm winter weather, it's like someone turned off the sun and moved the Arctic here! My joints are so sore and stiff and it's already after 10am.

Yesterday we were running around in tshirts and shorts, today I look like the Michelin man. And I am still cold.

Does this make me the Anti-Christ?

This morning I made myself some Earl Grey tea, switched on my monitor and opened Outlook. At the bottom right hand corner the ticker counting down the number of email messages being downloaded said RECEIVING 1 OF 3 MESSAGES 34KB OF 666KB.........

Breasts and the model's brain size

It's breastfeeding week time, from 1 - 7 August. Which is a good thing. It promotoes a great source of nutrition for your baby, you can eat mostly whatever normal amounts of food you want without gaining weight while your child sucks everything right out of your body and it keeps the little one healthy too. No one is arguing the point that breast is best under the right conditions. And really I most certainly don't care what you feed your baby as long as your baby gets food and doesn't starve. But when people spout off silly things without thinking, it makes me think that sometimes, the lights aren't on all the time iykwim?

Giselle Bundchen proves, sometimes, that a model's breast size directely correlates with her brain size. Miss Bundchen has a handful, quite a nice handful, but that doesn't bode well for her brain. Especially when she says that a global law forcing women to breastfeed for 6 months should be considered. Really. Read it here.

Wow. How to go about in support of women.

Moby Dick lives again in Cape Town

A couple of days ago a scene reminiscent of Mellville's Moby Dick played itself out in Table Bay harbour. Two people took their yacht, the Intrepid, out for a spin in the harbour when a whale breached itself a few times before coming to land on the deck of their yacht. No one was hurt.

Missing home

I was sitting behind a Jeep yesterday in traffic when it struck me how completely different the composition of the traffic can be between Cape Town and Pretoria.

I grew up near Milnerton / Tableview where the beach was a 5 minute drive from home. Cars were mostly rusted junkheaps from all the saltwater, older cars that kids would inherit from their parents. Newer cars stood out like a sore thumb. Here it's all about shiny and new. My little 13yo Polo sometimes looks out of place in the school parking lot amongst all the Audis, Mercs and BMs, SUVs. Everyone is always in a rush to get somewhere and nobody smiles.

I drive with the music blaring singing away in a car that looks like it belongs at the beach. For the first time in a long time I really missed home.

The Mommy Wars

I am a mother. My first priority is to raise my children to be good, conscientious little people who grow up to be compassionate passionate empathic adults, to make sure they have a good basic grounding to build on.

My first priority is not to compete with you so that I can have bragging rights to whose parenting method is the best.

My first priority is not to consistently try and outdo you whenever you feel slighted because my kid has joined some society or outside sport or the library.

My first priority is not to dress my kids in designer brands because you deem everything else cheap rubbish.

My first priority is not to be that mom who always manages to embarrass her child because she's competing fiercely for title of Mom of the Year yet manages to neglect the tiniest need of said child.