The Sheila Variations

"showin' they respect"

You just have to read this post. A public school teacher in The Bronx (read the tagline of his blog - hahahahaha) describes the week where he showed To Kill a Mockingbird to his class.

I'm in tears! So so funny, but it just GETS ya at the end. I am HOWLING about how openly bored his students were with The Pearl -

“Mista! ‘Da Pearl’ again? Pearl, pearl, pearl. All the day ‘The Pearl.’ I go the bed at night I see ‘Pearl.’ Morning again, ‘Pearl.’”

“Indira, I uhhh…” I tried to interject, but she was on a roll, and I…

“Mista. When your wife wanna go out… Dinner? Movie? Da Club? Naw… you say ‘Da Pearl?’”

Ouch.

hahahaha

Anyway - AWESOME post. sniff, sniff ...

via Kimberly Swygert

Word cloud

I created that. Pretty cool. If you're a blogger, you can go here and create your own if you feel like it.

Got this from Mental Multivitamin.

The ABCs of Sheila

From Lisa!!

[a is for age:]

We won't start out well if that's your first question. MYOB!

[b is for booze of choice:]

I like margaritas. But in general - my booze of choice is scotch and soda.

[c is for career:]

Renaissance girl.

[d is for your dog's name:]

I have ... no dog ... (rip at shirt like Laurence Olivier in The Jazz Singer)

[e is for essential items you use everyday:]

Oil of Olay regenerist night cream. Can't live without it. It's like a mini face-lift. Amazing. Also my Eucerin Q-10 anti-wrinkle cream that I use in the morning. I've been a loyal fan of that product for years. I hope they never discontinue it. Also - my plastic barrettes. I wear a plastic barrette every day.

[f is for favorite song(s) at the moment:]

"The Wizard and I" from Wicked

I am also having a big ol' Avril Lavigne moment and falling in love with Sk8er Boi all over again.

[g is for favorite games:]

Trivial Pursuit. Pictionary.

[h is for hometown:]

Let's just say that Washington slept there.

[i is for instruments you play:]

Piano.

[j is for jam or jelly you like:]

The only time I like jelly is when I buy a strawberry-jelly donut from Dunkin Donuts, which is about once a decade. I love that jelly. But I never use it on my own. Blech.

[k is for kids:]

I have ... no kids ... (rip at shirt like Laurence Olivier in The Jazz Singer)

[l is for last kiss:]

He was Irish. That is all I will say.

[m is for most admired trait:]

Hmmm. I'm loyal. I'm smart. I'm funny. You'll have to ask my friends what they must admire about me. It might be my freckes, I have no idea.

[n is for name of your crush:]

Patrick. (To my friends: no, not THAT Patrick!)

Oh, and also that random guy in Soldier's Girl who was a soldier and wore a cowboy hat and had a chunky body that I loved. Whoever THAT guy is ... is my crush.

[o is for overnight hospital stays:]

Never.

[p is for phobias:]

"s". "t". These qualify as PHOBIAS. Which is different than plain old fear, or not liking something.

[q is for quotes you like:]

How far that little candle throws his beams!
So shines a good deed in a naughty world.

-- Shakespeare, Merchant of Venice

"Make voyages. Attempt them. That's all there is."
- Tennessee Williams in Camino Real

""It is not that important to know who you are. It is important to know what you do, and then do it like Hercules."
-- Stella Adler

"Develop interest in life as you see it, in people, things, literature, music - the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself."
- Henry Miller

"Learn to pretend there's more than love that matters."
- Indigo Girls

[r is for biggest regret:]

Bah. I have a ton of regrets.

[s is for sweets of your choice:]

I guess, if I had to say, I would say Reese's Peanut Butter cups. I just don't have a sweet tooth.

[t is for time you wake up:]

6:00 am

[u is for underwear:]

I LOVE the new underwear the Gap has right now and have bought a gazillion pairs. Cotton, wonderfully made ... I like the ones that are almost like boy's underwear. I have a couple pairs of those. So comfy and also very very cute-looking.

[v is for vegetables you love:]

Broccoli. Red peppers. Purple onion.

[w is for worst habit:]

Nail biting.

[x is for x-rays you've had:]

Uhm - at the dentist.

[y is for yummy food you make:]

I very much enjoy how I place the strawberries on my Grape Nuts cereal. It is terrifically yummy. I made it myself. Hmmm. No, I make a good chicken and vegetables smorgasbord, involving garlic, and balsamic vinegar and a lot of improvisation. It is a staple in my small household of one.

[z is for zodiac sign:]

Sagittarian

Grizzly Man continued

The theme of the past week has been Grizzly Man. Check out Chai-rista's review ... she has a very interesting psychological theory with what was going on with Treadwell. It has to do with aging. I think she's onto something. Fascinating, as ever.

The Medici popes

This morning, I was up early. Rain against my window. Coffee brewing. And reading Innocents Abroad - literally SNORTING with laughter. Especially when Mark Twain just went OFF on the Medicis. He just goes OFF on them for about 3 pages, and ... it's just feckin' hilarious. He was like PISSED at the Medicis. He started to mess with the tour guides - who were showing this or that Medici corpse - with an air of reverence that Twain couldn't stand. He would say, in a tone of horrified uncertainty, as he stared down at the blackened skull of some Medici pope: "Is ... is he dead?" hahahaha He KEPT doing this, on every tour across Italy. He was so sick of the Medicis that he reFUSED to be in awe of them. "Is ... is he dead?" Just to see the befuddled expression on the guide's face.

Mark Twain, come to think of it, has the same response to the Medicis that Cashel did - my dad scrolling through the television, stopped for 2.3 seconds on the History channel - a brief picture flashed on the screen of some be-ruffed velvet-hatted Renaissance dude - Cashel saw that one picture, and rolled his eyes in boredom, saying, "The Medici popes."

hahahaha Cashel is OVER "the Medici popes" - Mark Twain seems filled with righteous anger about them.

It's a great book. A rollickingly wonderful read. It's a really good book that can make you laugh out loud at 6:45 in the morning.

Little green men ...

I love when CW does UFO posts. I love all his posts - but I particularly enjoy his UFO posts. Here's his latest. I have no idea what's true or not - but let's just say that I choose to believe that there is life on other planets - mainly because it PLEASES me to do so. Anyhoo - fun post by CW.

The Books: "The Collapse of Communism" (NY Times)

And here is my next excerpt of the day from my library.

I have now finished with the first bookshelf - in my kitchen - and have decided to now do excerpts from the books in my History/Biography bookshelf. I'm scared! But I will press on.

The first 3 shelves of this particular bookcase is my "history" section. As will become apparent - it is mainly the history of totalitarian regimes around the globe.

First book on this shelf is a favorite of mine called The Collapse of Communism - and it's a compilation of every article on the events in Eastern Europe, Central Asia, Russia and China (well - all over, actually) - from The New York Times - from winter 1988 to Summer 1991. We leap around - and because we read the actual articles, and not just a retrospective report on it - we feel like we are once again right in the middle of events. Things were happening almost too quickly for anyone to grasp.

It's a great resource, this book. I reference it all the time. They include, of course, enormous pieces of reportage - front-page articles - but then the editors also include the smaller human interest stories - which really give you a sense of the individuals involved.

It's hard to even choose an excerpt - the book is huge with so much in it ... reportage from all over the world - But I just flipped through and picked out one excerpt - it gives you a real sense of the immediacy of the whole book. It's from an article written on August 23, 1991. It's by Henry Kamm, and he writes from Tallinn, Estonia.

From The Collapse of Communism, by New York Times correspondents round the world - edited by Bernard Gwertzman

The Icons Topple

Tallinn, Estonia, Aug. 23 - From late afternoon well into the evening, the people of this capital city did something they said they had never done -- they flocked to Communist Party headquarters; then they stood there and laughed.

They stood in a large arc that constantly renewed itself as men, women and children came and went and stared and pointed at an empty marble pedestal. Until early today, a larger-than-life bronze statue of Lenin had stood there in the familiar rhetorical pose, opposite the entrance to the modern headquarters building.

A crew came this morning and carried out a Government decision to remove the statue in the aftermath of the failure of the coup by doctrinaire Communists against the Government of President Mikhail S. Gorbachev.

"It was done with respect," said Aino Siiak, a retired economist, her voice full of sarcasm. "A crane came; they put a chain around his neck and took the great philosopher away."

While in Lithuania and Latvia, the two other Baltic republics, the Communist Party was virtually outlawed today, Estonians expressed their sentiments through a symbolic act.

"Estonians do things slowly," Mrs. Siiak said. "We have no temperament." The way in which she and many others at the scene gave vent to long-suppressed emotion suggested otherwise. Voices trembled and faces quivered as Estonians recalled their sentiments through the tumultuous days that began with the ouster of Mr. Gorbachev on Monday.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 23

-- Bren and Cash and I came back to Bren's place, absolutely wiped OUT. Actually, Bren and I were the ones who were wiped out. Cashel promptly had to go into a room, lock the door, and re-enact ... movie scenes or something ... This is such recognizable behavior to me. Needing alone time. Fantasy time. I never could just get off the school bus and go running off with my friends. I always needed half an hour at home, decompressing, etc. If you're a cerebral imaginative little kid - then it takes a lot of RESTRAINT to hold all that stuff in check during school hours. It's exhausting. So anyway. Cashel just went NUTS in the other room. The explosions! The laser blasts! The random Jedi commands!

-- I was very entertained by Bren's two roommates. Bren is moving into his own place this week - so I'm glad I got to meet these two gentlemen. I've only heard of them ... but man. They're just both so so nice. Warmed my heart. They just opened their house to me. Both actors, both with a gazillion stories to tell.

-- We sat around and talked about the Inside the Actors Studio show - I regaled them with stories. They regaled me with stories. We DISHED on all of our celebrity encounters. Up close and personal. Half of the stories I am not allowed to tell. Jim started to tell me one, and he suddenly stopped himself and said, "I just realized I'm talking to the press." (hahahaha meaning - my silly blog) Then he said, "Is this OTB?" Off the blog. hahahaha We KEPT saying this over the rest of the night. "Now you're sure this is OTB?"

-- It was great. I really enjoyed the both of them. Really fun. I had heard so much about them, they're basically members of our family - through Mike, through Bren ... they're a big group of working actors out there, and have been friends for years - so it was wonderful meeting them. OTB.

-- It was heartcracking to me to drive off (Larry gave me a ride home) - with Cashel standing in the garage with Bren - waving at our car - and I can hear his little voice shouting, "BYE, AUNTIE SHEILA." I'm in tears right now.

-- The only thing that would have made the whole thing even more perfect would have been if Jean and Siobhan had been out there with us. We missed them both.

-- Alex and I spent our last evening together watching Dark Heart Iron Hand - one of our favorite shows on television. We continuously called it the wrong title. "Dark Head. Iron Glove." "Dark Hand. Iron Weed." Etc.

-- And yesterday morning I left. I drove off into the morning to get myself to the airport. Alex and I had kind of a melancholy parting. I mean, a big hug and everything ... but ... I miss her already. Ouch. I came home last night and wondered where the hell Alex was! We settled right into a great vibe with each other ... It was one of the nicest vacations I've ever had (even that first crazy day!!) But I drove off, waving to Alex, seeing her waving hand out the car window ... and tears started streaming down my face as I catapulted onto the damn 101.

-- I cannot even explain how insane it was ... the 405 ... I just have no words ... and I just stuck to my guns and followed the signs to the airport. I changed lanes. This continues to amaze me. I followed the damn signs. I ignored my instincts. I just followed the signs.

-- The airport was LUNACY. I made my flight with only minutes to spare.

-- Lauren Hutton was sitting in first class. She's just as beautiful and COOL-looking in person as I imagined her to be. Tousled hair, no makeup, showing her age ... but great body ... and wearing huge red and yellow running sneakers. I just love her. Friendly face, too.

-- Hey, Lauren! Whassup???

-- Oh, and Jimmy Connors was on my flight as well.

-- I read Innocents Abroad all the way home. I had a strange hurt in my heart. It was hard to say goodbye to Cashel and Bren, and it hurt to say goodbye to Alex.

-- The weather here has been unseasonably warm. Really no different from LA except wetter. It was rainy when I got off the plane. A rainy dark New York night.

-- It is good to get back to my apartment. To all my things. My bed.

-- I want to buy a Swiffer. I have been using an old-fashioned mop and bucket for years. But through Alex I have learned the error of my ways.

-- Weird: I didn't see the Pacific Ocean once during this trip! I also didn't see Window Boy. He lives out there. Haven't seen him in a couple of years and I thought it would be fun to track him down ... but it didn't end up happening.

-- I have no idea what I'm writing. I miss LA. I miss Alex. I miss Bren and Cash. I miss looking up and seeing mountains - especially at night - the mountains dotted with lights, lights sparkling out into the dark ... Heartcrack. HEARTCRACK. I miss my sisters.

-- A wonderful vacation. I have needed it. True relaxation. True love surrounding me. Not enough time with the cousins ... but that'll also have to wait for next time. I got my eye on Mike and Lisa's guest house.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 22

-- Bren and Cash came and picked me up at Alex's so we could head over to Universal Studios together. It was a bright warm morning. Cashel sat in the back seat, reading a book called Ghosts and Ghoulies. Within 2 seconds of me getting in the car, Cashel began to pontificate on the difference between REGULAR ghosts and POLTERGEISTS. "Poltergeists stay in the house ... and they are tricksters." Cashel said.

-- The studio was like a circus. Throngs of tourists, amazing sights to be seen ... everything artificial and fabulous. Cashel held onto my hand - we were afraid of losing his shortness in the crowd. He wasn't wacky about this, but he submitted peacefully.

-- First, we did the tour. Which was so so fun. Bren, Cash and I sat in the front seat of the little van - Cash sat on the edge. He had done this before, so he was letting me know what would happen. Our guide was wonderful - and I loved glancing down at Cashel and seeing his little face staring up at the guide, listening, laughing, and sometimes his jaw would drop in amazement at this or that little known fact. We saw fake New York streets, we saw fake Parisian streets, we saw fake Western streets - and the doors of the saloons and buildings in the Western streets were often strangely SMALL - they seemed made for Munchkins. This is because the directors wanted to make the star of the movie - the cowboy star - seem taller, bigger, outsized. He dwarfed the doors of the town he was trying to protect! We saw the city hall where many a movie has been filmed ... Our guide showed a ton of clips, where we could see the city hall in all its different guises. We drove through sound stages - we experienced an earthquake while in a San Francisco subway station - which was pretty spectacular. An enormous truck crashed down from the highway above us. A subway car careened at us and then split in half. Cashel was AGOG. Hell, CASHEL was agog? I was agog! We drove through a nighttime New York scene ... and suddenly we were going over a bridge - and there was King Kong, red eyes blazing, shaking the bridge back and forth. Cashel was clinging to me. Uhm, Cashel was clinging to me? I was clinging to Cashel!! We drove by the little Cape Cod town seen in Jaws - and suddenly - floating by us in the water - was the massive shark seen in the film. His name is Bruce. He was named after Spielberg's lawyer. We saw a flash flood. We saw a rainfall created. We drove through one of the sets for The Mummy. We also drove by an enormous plane crash - used in War of the Worlds. That was pretty freaky, I have to say. It was so huge - the plane was in 3 pieces - and it was a scene of total and utter destruction. Carnage. The wreckage still smoking. It's amazing because it LOOKED chaotic - but you know that every single piece of debris was carefully placed.

-- The tour was great. The whole day was great. Cashel kept wanting to talk about it, and kept finding ways to bring it up again. 8 hours later, Cashel was still saying to me, "So Auntie Sheila, what was the most BORING part of the day for you?" "What ws your FAVORITE part of the day?" "What was your LEAST favorite part of the day?" We covered our experience from every possible angle, just in order to KEEP TALKING ABOUT IT. DO NOT LET THE EXPERIENCE DIE. KEEP IT ALIVE.

-- After the tour, we did many many cool things, and saw many many cool sites.

-- Well first, we went to lunch in a huge Western type corral place. There were two wandering cowboy troubadours who went from table to table and took requests. One said to us boastfully, "We know every song ever written. Ask us to play one." The other said boastfully, "We haven't been stumped yet!" I requested "Peace, Love and Understanding" - Elvis Costello. They played it. They said, "Ask us to play any Stones song. Try to make it obscure." Brendan said, "Parachute Man." They played it. Then Cashel made a request. "Could you play Holiday, by Green Day?" And whaddya know ... they didn't know that song. They were stumped!! One of the guys was so funny, he said, "Awesome. Stumped by an 8 year old!" He said his musical tastes stopped in the late 70s and that he was now sinking into the La Brea tar pits of music. hahahahaha Go, Cashel!!

-- After lunch we moved on. We saw: Shrek 4-D - an amaizng interactive experience - we had to wear 3-D glasses, our chairs went this way and that, water sprayed down on us at certain points - there was also a HORRIFYING moment when an "s" suddenly dangled RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME ... and then it attacked - and the chairs were somehow rigged with small wires - so that it seemed as though you were being bitch-slapped by a giant "s". I literally screamed at the top of my lungs. Well, many people did. I was not alone. But Cashel, sitting next to me, wearing his huge bug-eyed green 3-D glasses, literally shook with laughter because of Auntie Sheila's nervous breakdown.

-- Then we went on the virtual reality Back to the Future car ride. It was AWESOME. You feel as though the car is plummeting through space. It was so so fun.

-- Then we went to see Terminator 3-D which, sorry, was reeeeeeeeaaaaallllllly dumb. Cashel said later, "It was kind of boring. Like - the whole thing had no point." Exactly. A discerning boy, that Cashel.

-- We saw Spongebob go skipping by at one point surrounded by bodyguards. Cashel's entire posture changed when he saw him. He became as alert as a mountain lion. That's Spongebob! Then off Cashel went, running to keep up with him. So he could talk to him. It was so funny - Cashel wearing his little hooded Red Sox sweatshirt, his cool wide-wale corduroys - running like a maniac through the crowds chasing after this enormous waving bright yellow sponge. We got our pictures taken with Spongebob.

-- Oh, at one point, Cashel was blithering on and on about the day, and how wonderful it was, how cool the tour was, how great the experience was - and he said the word "minimal". "Even if you just do ONE thing ... even if you just do the MINIMAL ... you're going to have a great time." I love it when he says stuff like that. Bren and I just glance at him over his little head, exchange a look, and then say to him, "You're right Cash. Even doing the minimal amount of stuff ... it's a great tour."

-- As we drove off, we discussed our favorite parts of the tour. Which became an ongoing theme for the rest of the day. We had to KEEP going over it. "I think my favorite part was when we toured the studio. Although Shrek 4-D was pretty cool, too." Etc. We all agreed that Terminator 3-D was a huge letdown.

-- The sun was now getting low in the sky. We were headed back to Bren's ... and they took me to one of their favorite spots. We drove up Mulholland Drive, a maniacal road, with death staring you in the face on one side as the cliff plunges straight down with nary a guard rail to protect you. But the view ... the view ... You just get an eyefull, you really do. It is beyond spectacular. You just can't get that kind of perspective on the city in and around New York. But here - 10 minutes out of the city - are the HOllywood Hills - covered in trails, leading to the tippity top - and you can get to the crests and see all around, 360 degrees. We went to Runyon Canyon Park - and hiked up to the top. We were now at sunset time. The smog, of course, does the most UNBELIEVABLE things to the sunset. It was a wash of brilliant colors - bringing out the hills in stark outline - the palm trees sketched against the gold and pink and purple in black silhouette. Cashel was a good little hiker. We got to the top - a dizzying moment. I had a bit of vertigo. Again, it's just a dirt platform at the top of the hill - with no fence or rail to keep you from plummeting to your death. But the view! There was the Hollywood sign - reflecting the sunset - Oh man. It all just took my breath away. I was so so glad we did that. Cashel climbing up the dirt path, talking to himself, occasional laser blasts emanating from his area ... he knows how to occupy his mind during a boring hike.

-- Then ... we headed back down the hill and went off to rent Back to the Future - which Cashel, amazingly, had never seen. Very exciting.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 21

-- Alex and I headed out into the day to go meet Emily. We had our directions. I spoke with Emily. We ended up being TWO HOURS LATE. We hit major traffic. But it was so exciting - I don't know - Alex and Emily have been bantering back and forth on my blog and on Alex's blog so it was so cool for them to finally meet each other. I love meeting blog-friends. Patrick: NEXT TIME I come out here I will meet you! Just too crazy this time. I just couldn't take time out of my busy schedule trying to infiltrate a major cult to have lunch with you ... NEXT TIME!! Okay?

-- Strangely enough, as we neared Emily's office where we were picking her up - Alex realized that we were driving through the town where she was born. We were literally blocks away from her birthplace - so strange!

-- And Emily kind of brilliantly covers our experiences. We sat in the food court of Hollywood Park (a massive casino) and IMMEDIATELY began to RANT AND RAVE about the couch-jumping cult-wads. We just WENT there. See, with people who do not share my obsession, I do try to keep it under control ... because when you start to shout about Xenu and stuff like that, people slowly edge away from you, quietly dialing 911. They are terrified. Also, if I'm talking to people who don't know as much as I do ("You don't know the history of $cient0m0gy ... I do. You're glib.") then I can tend to dominate the conversation. But with two other obsessives? Who know not only just as much as I do, but more? It was sheer heaven. We inhaled our food and talked like MANIACS. It was hysterical. We got right down to business. No "so where did you grow up?" and "so when did you start blogging?" None of the niceties were needed here. We leapt straight to Xenu. IT WAS AWESOME.

-- Then, very very exciting, we drove to see the Western Surplus store (now a T-shirt warehouse) where the Manson family had a shoot-out with the police. It was thrilling. There is still a sign, now blacked out, that said Western Surplus. We literally parked the car on the street, and sat there, engine idling, staring up at it. We are lunatics.

-- The segue from COS to the Manson Family was seamless. One cult to another. It all makes sense.

-- We drove by Emily's high school where the Beach Boys also went to high school. Alex went to make a turn into the driveway and Emily said from the backseat, "No - you can't go in there. You have to be fingerprinted by the state of California to go on any property." "Oh, Jesus," Alex said and merged back out onto the street. Later, Alex did a U-Turn - this was after we dropped off Emily - and Alex had to go into a driveway, briefly, to complete the turn. "Have you been fingerprinted?" I asked her. "Because otherwise ... I think you are FUCKED right now."

-- Emily took us by the house where she grew up - it's really an adorable little town by the way. These peaceful cute little stone houses with small yards ... It was amazing. We were driving through Emily's hometown! She told us about a guy who used to drive around the neighborhoods and call over high-school-age girls to the window for directions, and then be there, jerking off ferociously. "We called him Dildo," Emily informed us calmly.

-- We howled with laughter about the fact that when I develop my photos from this trip - there will be no PEOPLE in them - just pictures of the Hubman Life Exhibit Building and the damn Literacy Scam across the street. Like: WHAT IS MY PROBLEM????

-- After driving around for a bit, we dropped Emily off at her place - it had been an awesome afternoon. So good to see Emily, as always. One of the best things about blogging has been meeting and befriending people like Emily. As my father says, "That Emily. She's fantastic. So tough. So funny." Yup, Dad! I agree!!

-- There was one moment over our lunch in the casino when all three of us were talking at once - and we were literally almost YELLING about Hubman and his minions - everyone talking at the same time, emphatically, fiercely. At one point, Alex said, "My goal in life is to get one of them to admit to me the truth about Xenu." There was a long long pause and then Emily said, kind of cracking up, "Okay. That's kind of weird." hahahahahahaha It was SO FUN!!!

-- Alex and I then drove home, just all lit up with our afternoon with our friend from blogging. It was great.

-- We then watched one of the most enraging and STUPEFYING documentary ever created (meaning: it was great) called The Weather Underground. Oh. My. God. We were out of our minds with rage afterwards. We had a GREAT conversation about "people like that" ... just sputtering and shouting ... We got so worked up that we had to go out for pizza. The Weather Underground is obviously what the two main characters - Judd Hirsch and Christine Lahti - are involved in - or something like it - in the wonderful movie Running on Empty. These "revolutionaries" ... There was one guy who had been a member of the Students for a Democratic Society - who then watched as The Weathermen basically hijacked their group. The Weathermen were interested in violent confrontation ("bring the war home" or some such bullshit) ... and SDS was more about peaceful protests, a la Martin Luther King. But anyway, this guy was amazing - he said something like, "These people are now adopting the philosophy of Hitler, Stalin, Mao ... they are in that continuum." Yup. Yup. It was a FANTASTIC documentary but it truly made the two of us crazy.

-- Or I should say "craziER".

-- Wonderful day.

-- Today? I'm going on a tour of one of the studios with Brendan and Cashel!! Whoo-hoo!!

More fun news

-- I will be performing my one-person show 74 Facts and One Lie at a fundraising benefit for a theatre company in March. I submitted the script for their consideration - they had asked me if I had anything to perform and that is definitely something I have ... and they want me to do it! It's a good thing. I can't wait. It's been a while since I've done that piece for people - and I gotta say: it's a damn BLAST. Tee hee. Excitement!

Things experienced so far in LA - part 20

-- Family is so important to me. It's everything. I drove off yesterday afternoon to go to my cousin Mike's house. There was going to be a big gathering. My cousin Kerry is in town for pilot season - my brother Brendan is here - and actually, my uncle Tom is in town for a job as well - although we didn't get to see him. But it was going to be a big O'Malley confab. I haven't yet met Mike's two kids although I have seen many pictures - and I haven't seen his wife in a couple of years. Maybe Kerry's wedding was the last time - which is way too long to go without seeing family members!!!

-- When I arrived, Mike was away - visiting "the witches" - meaning his acupuncturists. He calls them "the witches". Everyone in the house was napping - but Kerry and Mike's assistant and good friend John (who is well known to me - just because every O'Malley except me has met him - he's terrific) were there to let me in, show me around. It's a gorgeous house - so peaceful, and beautiful. It's not brand spanking new - it has old wooden beams, it has a kitchen full of awesome little nooks and crannies ... Mike's office was so wonderful that I nearly cried when I saw it. A wall lined with books. I scanned them. Arthur Miller, Philip Roth, John Irving, a ton of entertainment biographies ... but just a WALL of books. The backyard is beautiful with these two MASSIVE palm trees shooting up into the sky. The trunks are so wide that four people standing with their arms outstretched around still probably couldn't touch hands. There was a quiet little blue pool. A cozy peaceful little guest house.

-- Kerry and I sat in the nook in the kitchen and talked. The light was low and warm in the sky.

-- Eventually, we could hear the stirring sounds of children waking up from naps. And then I got to meet the kids! Uhm ... the cute little fat hands, the staggering diaper-ass walk ... the random smiles ... It was so wonderful to see them. They gave me odd looks, like: "Uhm ... who is this person?" and then they were fine. It was so good to see Lisa. She's such a beamingly beautiful woman. So warm, so nice.

-- Mike came back from the witches. He immediately started giving me books from a box he was going to donate somewhere. Two of the books on Ovitz - which I really have wanted - the whole Ovitz journey in Los Angeles has always FASCINATED me. I remember when he "returned" to Hollywood and opened up his own talent agency - this was last year, I think? And there was a piece in Vanity Fair that literally had quotes from people that were like: "The devil himself has returned to La La Land." "Beelzebub is BACK!" Anyway, there were a ton of great books, and Mike - with his normal generous spirit - was like: "TAKE WHATEVER YOU WANT."

-- My brother came over for a bit. He lives a 3 minute walk away. He was going to a friend's one-person show that night and was going to meet us at the band afterwards.

-- At one point, we all went into the living room to watch the Oprah show where she interrogated James Frey. Mike kept pausing it so we could discuss it. James Frey took his beating like a man. The whole thing was FASCINATING and there were many disagreements, and arguments. Oprah playing to the audience ... when she discovered Lily hadn't hung herself ... she was clearly upset - turned away - the audience made a sound of horror - and then Oprah "acted" the next moment - when she nodded, and tried to accept that the book was a lie. Mike KEPT rewinding it and then playing it in SLO-MO so we could see how calculated Oprah was, how the audience pushed her to respond. Etc. And yes, there was certainly a feeling of blood-lust in that room. She stacked the deck against him. Mike and I both read that book so we knew what she was talking about when she talked about the horror of the dentist scene ... I ended up feeling bad for James Frey, which is amazing to me because I called bull shit on that guy TWO YEARS AGO. But I was, I have to say, very impressed with how he just went through that gauntlet. He said he "made a mistake" ... he didn't say he "lied". The whole thing is VERY interesting and VERY interesting to talk about. What is truth? What responsibility do publishers have? Memoirs are, by their very nature, what someone REMEMBERS - and memory is a very sketchy thing. Was Angela's Ashes LITERALLY true? No. He is recounting his memories as a small boy. Anyhoo - the whole thing is FASCINATING. It's polarizing, indeed ... Everyone has an opinion. I think it's all kind of fantastic. I can see both sides, I really can. Mike KEPT pausing the thing. To show me how I was wrong. "Sheila ... watch this part ... watch ... watch ...." Oprah slowed down to a crawl, her eyes moving this way and that ... it was hilarious. I love Oprah - the whole thing was just so damn INTERESTING. I'm not really defending James Frey, by the way ... the fact that he turned a 2 hour jail sentence into 87 days is just ridiculous - but the dude's an addict and he wanted to seem tougher than he was. Just the mere fact that he kicked alcohol and drugs wasn't interesting enough to him - he HAD to make shit up to make him seem tougher. He as much as admitted this. Oprah was relentless - you could see how LIVID she was. I actually love Oprah, and love her show ... but to me she looked just as fallible as James Frey did in that spot. She was trying to salvage her reputation, which took a blow in this past week. And what the heck was Frank Rich doing there? It was so funny - he went off on reality TV and Jessica Simpson and how that's not "reality" - it was just a stupid diatribe - and Oprah was like, "Uhm ... yeah. So what do you think about James Frey?" Like: "don't use my show for your own op-ed column. Stay on topic." She looked fantastic, by the way. Her suit was GORGEOUS. Kerry commented on her total and utter lack of nasal labial folds. Her makeup artist is a genius. Her hair also looked really nice. As you can see, there was MUCH to discuss.

-- Pizzas were ordered. Wine was drunk. People began arriving. To go, in an entourage, to the "rock concert". It was great fun. I just love being with my cousins. There's something so comfortable about all of it.

-- And then ... we were OFF! Driving in a caravan to the club.

-- I talked to my uncle Tom on Mike's phone on the way. He's out here right now. I don't know ... it was cool. Too bad I won't get to see him. But it was good to hear his voice.

-- The club was really cool. Spacious, dark, with random dark booths, and candles ... a big space. Opening acts playing. We were there to see Marah - a band from Philly that my cousin Mike adores and follows. Kerry, Lisa and I sat over in one of the booths and chatted - caught up with each other. Brendan arrived. He joined us. Mike was the grand master ceremonial leader of events. Getting everyone drinks, coming over to say to Kerry and I: "Okay, when the band starts - you guys are NOT allowed to sit over here." "We won't! We promise!"

-- The band was just fuckin' AWESOME. Brendan and I stood together for a while - there was a huge crowd - all just rockin' OUT - and Bren said, (he's seen them before): "It's like their shows are a total release for them - at all times." It's true. They just GO there. They behave like proper rock stars. (Another great observation from my brother) The two lead guys are brothers. They were great. The SOUND. It was so fun. Great songs, great atmosphere - everyone knows all the words - It was great - looking around and seeing Mike and Lisa together, Kerry over there, Larry over there, Brendan in front of me ... you know. The community of friends out here, all together for this one thing. It was great - haven't been to a club in a while for live music, and it was a blast. They did three encores.

-- Thanks, Mike ... for the ticket ... and for your extraordinary organizing abilities. The witches should be proud.

-- I drove home with ABSOLUTELY NO ISSUES WHATSOEVER. I didn't make one wrong turn. I didn't ever have to backtrack. I went from Mike's house to Alex's house scotfree. This is a major breakthrough.

-- And today? Alex and I are going to meet up with Emily. WE CAN'T WAIT.

-- Oh, and in other big news ... my post about the Hubman museum got linked on Cult News - one of my favorite sites ever. It is a proud proud moment.

This just in

My cousin Kerry will be singing the National Anthem at a Red Sox game in feckin' Fenway Park on July 13th. I just ... have ... no ... words .... The culmination of a lifetime of being a Red Sox fan and also a singer. She's a Red Sox fan at an almost autistic level. This is so dern exciting. Go, Kerry!!!

Things experienced so far in LA - part 19

-- After our time trapped in the maze of Hubman's cult ... we came back home and got ready to go to Alex's class. Very exciting!! To see Alex in action, teaching acting.

-- We had some time to kill so we drove up and down the Sunset strip, which was really fun ... and then we were off to her class.

-- Alex teaches Viewpoints (created by Anne Bogart) through the Steppenwolf acting program out here. She explained the Viewpoints to me beforehand so I would understand the activities of the class - it was really REALLY interesting. Alex told me that learning Viewpoints transformed her own acting - so I was excited to see how it all worked. She had given them homework - to watch either Capote or Sunset Boulevard - and to look for different "viewpoints" in these movies and to discuss how they worked, how they were effective, etc.

-- I met her students - all so sweet and young. The class began with a discussion of the movies they had seen. Their observations were extraordinary. How certain gestures can let you know everything you NEED to know about a character. How the architecture in Sunset Boulevard told half of the story for the audience. One kid noticed how, in the first scene, when the creditors show up at William Holden's apartment - they hand Holden a business card. And Holden, under his lines of dialogue, folds the business card up about 20 times, until it is no bigger than a spitball. A fascinating and very illuminating gesture - so so specific - it tells SO MUCH about the character, where he's at, what his state of mind is, his attitude ... And it's all done just with a GESTURE - no words. Acting is three-dimensional. Or should be. It was so great. I sat in the back and just soaked it all up. It was a great discussion. Alex is a marvelous teacher.

-- They worked on all of these different viewpoints - as a group - a lot of it seems to do with expanding your consciousness so you are aware of what is going on around you without having to LOOK. You are aware of what the person beside you is doing without having to look directly at them. This is how we live in real life - and yet, onstage, so often - actors forget how to do that. They have no peripheral awareness - or some accident will happen (a mirror falls off a wall over to the left - and the actor doesn't acknowledge it - when, in real life, you would just calmly walk over and fix the mirror, etc.) There were moments during some of the exercises, the group exercises, when the class literally seemed to become one organism. They were all picking up on each other's signals, completely communicating on an invisible peripheral 3-dimensional level. I love actors. Their commitment, their fearlessness - There was one moment when all of them - scattered over the stage - not facing each other - 15 individuals - and - as one - they each put their right hands over their hearts ... silently - with no signals (at least visible) passing between them. They were just in sync. They became one being. A beautiful beautiful silent moment of connection. It was great to witness it.

-- Alex was amazing - her commitment to her students is breathtaking. It takes a lot of energy, a lot of drive - to keep things going, to keep them on track, to reassure them, to push them ... to keep them in the game - and she is right there with them at every step of the way. These kids LOVE her. You can tell. They love love LOVE her.

-- Right before the class broke up, Alex had me come up on stage and tell my Liza Minelli story. She had warned me that she would do so. She wanted me to tell the story first of all because it is A GREAT STORY, but second of all - because it is so physical. It depends on the physical imitations - the wild gyrations of Liza's stick legs comin' down the aisle - the lolling head - the floppy waving hand - the ethereal voice: "Run that by me one more time?" Etc. Alex said, "I'm pimpin' you out. Be warned." It was great - they kind of ran out of time and were going into their scene study class - but one of the students said, as though they were 7 years old, "Can't we hear the Liza story, though?" hahahaha So sweet. So I got up - where the heck am I right now?? - and acted out the entire thing. I love sharing that story. One of the students afterwards said, "I can't believe that. A cracked-out Liza Minelli with bed head teaching a master class." Yup. Spread the story!!! At one point, one girl said, "This is making me really sad." hahahaha I said, "This is not a nice story! I know! My dear friend - who is a hippie girl with a huge open heart - started weeping when she saw Liza staggering toward us. It's horrible!"

-- We said goodbye to these sweet students - on their way to scene study - and drove home, just PUMPED with excitement. I loved watching Alex teach. It was just fantastic. Her students worked their asses off - they face their fears - they throw themselves into every activity - despite their fear of looking foolish or making a mistake - and it was just gorgeous to watch.

-- And today? I'm heading over to my cousin's house. To hang out wiht my cousin and his wife and their two kids ... and then we're all going out to a club to see "a rock group play a concert" - to quote one of my Diary Fridays. I'm psyched. Lots of O'Malleys all under one roof? Look out!!!

Things experienced so far in LA - part 18

-- Two big things happened yesterday. Alex and I went to the L. Ron Hubbard Life Exhibition (oh. my. God.) and I also went and sat in on Alex's acting class. It was so funny - Alex told Chrisanne our plans for the day and Chrisanne said, "Jesus - can't you guys go to the Getty Museum??"

-- To get to the "Life Exhibition", Alex drove me through Laurel Canyon. It is so so beautiful, I couldn't stop gaping out my windows at all of these specTACular houses clinging to the sides of the damn cliff. I mean, those people are living on borrowed time! But they sure have beautiful views while they get to live there! The WEALTH and the BEAUTY was beyond belief. These are gorgeous gorgeous homes. The road twists, turns - and the cliff careens off to your right, down into the canyon ... so you get these views across the canyons - greenery, and palm trees, and banana trees - with these gorgeous MANSIONS scattered throughout. At one point I said, "I wonder how kids up here get to school." And literally, in the next second, a yellow school bus came staggering up the hill in the opposite lane. "Oh, so that's how kids up here get to school." The driveways are on steep treacherous inclines and let you out RIGHT onto the street - treachery. But still - so so beautiful.

-- We get to Hollywood Boulevard - it's not as much of a SCENE as it was the first day we went there, because it is in the middle of a work day. There was still a random Darth Vader wandering around, there was still a Spongebob hanging out ... but without the crowds clustered around. Which makes them look even more surreal.

-- And then there it was ... glimmering on the left side of the road - a big golden-hued building - with an ENORMOUS sign jutting up out of the roof: CHURCH OF $CIENTOMOGY. We gasped as though we had spotted a movie star. "There it is! There it is! Oh my God. Okay. Okay. Calm down. Calm down."

-- We parked. We ate at a pizza joint across the street. We watched the activity across the way. We were on a stakeout. There was a woman standing at the front door, watching the people as they walked by. Sometimes she stopped them to talk to them (ahem - recruit). There were security guards at the other doors. Nobody was going in. Nobody was coming out. It was the Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory Life Exhibition. There were three very pretty girls sitting on a bench in front of the front door - eating sandwiches. For some reason, they looked very out of place. I wondered if they were plants. Told to sit there to draw the people in. Nothing is impossible. Alex finally said, "I literally cannot wait another minute. Let's go in."

-- Oh, I forgot to say. Next to the pizza place was a joint called the Hollywood Literacy Project or something like that - and I happen to know that that is one of the cult's many front groups. This is one of the main things that Cruise evangelizes about - because apparently he cured his dyslexia and found that he was able to read after going through this program. He found himself SO adept at reading that he was able to research "the history of psychiatry" in a matter of years. Don't be glib, mkay? L. Ron Hubman came up with a way to teach people how to learn ... and this is one of the ways that the cult infiltrates communities. You would have no way of knowing that this literacy program had anything to do with COS - if you go to their website, they do not mention the affiliation. So this group goes into schools, goes into communities ... sets up shop ... but what it really is is a recruitment arm of the cult. Alex and I peeked through the windows. It was a big open space, with tables and chairs ... people working out of workbooks ... It looks completely benign. But evil and SCAM wafted out of that place.

-- So then we walked across the street. I said, "So Alex - where are you going to be from?" We had discussed using accents. She said, "I haven't decided yet." All righty then. We are going to fly by the seats of our pants. Make shit up as we go.

-- We walked up to the woman at the front door - she was very friendly. "Hi!" "Hi there!" "Would you be interested in taking a tour?" "Yes! Very much!" All very friendly and nice. We enter the lobby, an echoey impressive marble space. She tells us she will be with us in a minute, and she gives us two fliers to look at while we wait. We don't really get to that because there is SO MUCH ELSE to look at. On one wall, there was a massive bust of good ol' Ron - beaming out at us like an insane cherub. Behind the bust - there was a wall where water ran down it - and then collected in a pool beneath the bust. It was so elaborate. So deified. Creeeepy. There was a lit-up wall with testimonials from people about this great great man. Travolta, Cruise, Anne Archer - you really really get the sense at how celebrities are used. For their brand-name (or nambrainz) recognition. It was literally like being in a church. "He is the greatest man who ever lived." "There is nothing that this man did not accomplish. He is a prophet." "It is truly incredible the discoveries he made ..." and on and on and on.

-- One quick thing: from the moment that Alex and I stepped into the exhibition, we kind of stopped dealing with each other. We HAD to. We did not look at each other, we did not glance at each other and roll our eyes, we did not mutter snarky comments ... it was too dangerous. While we were there - we were TOTALLY into it ... and we did not look at each other. I think I made eye contact with Alex once during the entire tour.

-- Then our woman came back to us and told us that the tour was about to begin. She had a very thick Spanish accent, so we referred to her, later, as Salma Hayek. We had our own personal tour. There was nobody else on the premises. Which is so damn creepy if you think about it. The exhibition is so elaborate - you would not BELIEVE it - and ... it's all just sitting there, in that building, waiting for stooges to stroll through. It's so bizarre. She takes us through these two huge white doors, closes them behind us - and there we were in the exhibition. The entire thing was very controlled. We were not allowed to browse or wander about on our own ... There were little walkways that we had to stick to - almost like a corral for cows - we had to stay between the bars ... We could definitely ask questions (and oh, did we ever ask questions) - but the tour was like a runaway train, and our guide was the conductor. There would be no loitering. It had a very set path that we had to follow.

-- Our guide was so knowledgeable. Of course, it's all BULLSHIT, but this chick had it DOWN. She was about 22, 23. Very pretty. Very sweet. She took us to the first part of the exhibit. There was Ron's Eagle Scout medal UNDER GLASS. That blew me away. They treat his Eagle Scout medal and his Boy Scout badges as though they are relics rescued from the Dead Sea. I'm serious. It's extraordinary. They literally think this guy is God. She goes through her schpeel - He was the youngest Eagle Scout EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET. He got THE MOST BOY SCOUT BADGES EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE BOY SCOUTS. Then the lights went down, and the screen above the exhibit lit up and we watched a small movie about Ron's childhood. There was one point when the screen showed the deep blackness of space, with stars glimmering - and suddenly, superimposed on that, was a glowing huge head of L. Ron - with a kind of halo shimmering around the shape of his head. This was the moment when I decided, for real: "I absolutely must not look at Alex. She is DEAD to me right now." I so wanted to turn to her and murmur, "Oh my God." But I couldn't. We needed to stay calm. Did you know that Ron went through the blood-brother ritual with the Blackfoot Indians AT AGE ELEVEN? Unbelievable.

-- That part ended and we moved on. I said something like, "It's so amazing that he did so much." Or some such jagoff remark.

-- Then we heard about his days as a seafarer. He went EVERYWHERE, y'all! His trips - all added up - means that he went around THE ENTIRE WORLD TEN TIMES! Oh my God, I just need to fall over dead in amazement. (That was the tone of all of this. How amazing he was, how extraordinary, how unbelievable, how nobody IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET has ever lived a fuller life ... It was so transparent ... so bullshit ... but they can't see it. Of course they can't. But still - it was amazing to be confronted with that.) He went around the world. Apparently he is the FIRST PERSON EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET to ever be sad about poverty. He is the FIRST PERSON EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET to wonder about the human condition. He is the FIRST PERSON EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET to study other cultures. He basically met some Japanese magician, he cavorted with the primitive people of Borneo, he hung out in China ... and through all of this ... he began to realize that ... nobody had ever actually studied mankind, and how man operates. (Oh really? Nobody, Ron? NOBODY??) But again. I maintained my credulity. I didn't roll my eyes once. I listened, openly, and with rapt attention.

-- Then we moved on to the next part of the exhibit (the whole thing was like a maze) - which was the beginning of his career as a "writer". There was an old-fashioned newsstand standing there - with a huge mannequin who looked completely real - the guy who ran the newsstand apparently. He had on a little cap, a striped vest, and he was smoking a cigar. He was creepily real. I thought he was an actor, for a second. Some poor drone of the cult - told to stand totally still for the entire day in the bowels of the Life Exhibit. But no - it was a dummy. The newsstand was filled with his books - all covered in plastic - again, as though they were precious relics rescued from a cave in the deepest mountains of Tibet. Did you know that he typed 94 WORDS A MINUTE?????????? HAS ANYONE IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET EVER TYPED FASTER? I wanted to say to her, "I actually type 96 words a minute" - which is true - but I decided not to bust her bubble. The entire house of cards would have fallen down if she had found out that 94 wpm is fast ... but it's not like ... MIRACLE fast. If he had typed 130 wpm or something like that, then maybe I would have given the props. Anyhoo. Onward. We have a LOT to cover. Right this way.

-- Next we came to the section about his life in Hollywood as a writer of 1930s serials. Alex said to me later, "They made it seem like he was literally responsible for Gone with the Wind or something." They really did. There was a big set of a box office over in the corner - and we had to sit in chairs in front of it - and then a small curtain went back, and there was a screen - and we watched a short film about Ron's TRIUMPHS IN HOLLYWOOD. We saw footage from the screenplays - we saw his typewriter - we saw photos of Ron hard at work ... Then there were shots of massive 1930s movie premiers - with huge floodlights swooping up into the sky. I swear. Nobody has EVER been more successful in Hollywood than this wack-job. I swear. John Ford? BAH HUMBUG. Billy Wilder? NAH! George Cukor? LOSER! NONE of them accomplished what L Ron did.

-- After that, we move into the sci-fi realm. Did you know that L. Ron was literally the creator of modern-day science fiction? Before L. Ron came along, sci-fi was all about robots and machines. But he revolutionized the genre by introducing HUMAN BEINGS into the mix. Wow. Really? Noooo, you're kidding me! Nobody EVER put a human being into a sci-fi story before him? REALLY???? "The style of science fiction writing today is exactly in the form that he introduced." informs our guide. "Wow," Alex and I reply accordingly.

-- Then we came to one of the surrealest parts of the tour. We walk over to a small set - which is a spaceship. There are two huge mannequin guys - dressed up in Star Trek-ish costumes - they sit in swivel chairs - and they are facing a huge screen - as though they are at the controls of a space ship. Our guide tells us about one of Ron's greatest achievements - a 10 volume sci-fi book called Mission Earth. The entire manuscript is there before us - under glass. It contains 10 MILLION WORDS. She kept saying that. As though the CONTENT of the book is irrelevant. It is the AMOUNT OF WORDS that is truly amazing. And then - good God in heaven - the mannequins came to life - and enacted a scene from Mission Earth. First a light would go on one of them - his chair would swivel a bit - and then a voice boomed out - supposed to be his voice. "But Captain Voltar - we are careening through the deepest of space - how will we capture the City of Ragtor?" Then the light came up on Voltar - and his chair swiveled a bit - and HE would speak. "We must accomplish our mission. If we do not, all will be lost." Or whatever. The scene went on for an unforgivable amount of time. And there stood Alex and I. Frozen in our spots. Watching this INSANITY unfold. Again, I could not look at Alex, or even deal with her. She was a silent watching presence beside me. We were riveted. But not for the reason that our guide hoped. We were frozen in terror - because it's SCARY when you see something completely and utterly insane.

-- After the re-enactment (BY STOREFRONT DUMMIES DRESSED UP IN SCI-FI COSTUMES) - we then move on to the next section of the exhibit ... which is Ron's "discover" of Dianetics. Oh my gosh. This is so exciting.

-- There was a small gallery of BULLSHIT oil paintings ... which showed different parts of Ron's life ... and how he started to put together the pieces, and how he started to "study" the mind. These paintings, people ... Alex said to me later, "Someone DID those paintings!" The image of some dude, standing at an easel, painting Ron in the jungles of the Philippines, or studying in his room ... was so crazy that I couldn't even be with the image for more than 5 seconds at a time. Our guide ZIPPED us through that gallery, man. She didn't give us a moment to think, or stop, or linger. "And here is Ron talking to a wise man in Japan ..." "And here is Ron in the VA Hospital ... he had lost his sight and the use of his legs ... he realized that the patients all around him were not getting better ... he wondered why ..." (Uhm - because schrapnel is embedded in their spleens? How 'bout THAT for an answer?) "And here is Ron with the people in the Philippines ..." He spoke five languages. NOBODY IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET HAS EVER SPOKEN MORE LANGUAGES THAN THIS GREAT GREAT MAN. The gallery was the lead-up to the talk about Dianetics. She asked us, "Have you heard of Dianetics?" Alex said something like, "That's a book, isn't it?" "Yes. But it is really a philosophy." "Oh." Alex said. Then - with a tone of revelation, "Wait a minute - HE was the one who discovered Dianetics?" As though she hadn't known what she was getting into. Alex, you're an asshole. I stared straight ahead, firmly, sternly, not looking at her.

-- Then we were in the Dianetics room. It was a small room, with a couple of folding chairs, a big TV, and every single edition of the book since it was first published. It was dizzying. The books lined the walls. The repetition of images was very effective - or WOULD have been if I hadn't known what the hell was going on. I know about brainwashing. I know how important repetition is to dull the brain. The first edition of Dianetics was a hard cover - there were no volcanoes on it - nothing - it was a black paper cover - with a white band across it - and in that white band were the words, in black - DIANETICS.

-- Oh man. I so so so wanted to ask the chick about Xenu. But I knew I couldn't. I would have been shuffled out of there so quick.

-- We watched the most ridiculous video ever created - about what Dianetics is. There were re-enactments of things - to show how the "reactive mind" works - which is such BULLSHIT ... but there they were ... pretending that Ron really discovered the way the mind works, and stores images ... which then cause you problems later. Those damn engrams. One of the re-enactments - having to do with someone being hit in the head by a baseball ... and how this causes problems in his later life - was laughable. There is absolutely no evidence that this is how the brain works. It is total and utter crap. I wonder what about it is so compelling, though. Like - it seems to make everything so boring and so literal. But ... that's not how the brain works. grrrrrr. The video was absolutely maddening and also utterly fascinating at the same time. This has to be one of the most successful scams in human history. When this organization falls - and it will fall - people will look back on it like: "Wow, man. How on earth did that take such a deep hold?" Fascinating.

-- When the video stopped, Alex and I asked a TON of questions. That was really fun. "So ... if you have asthma ... it's because of ... something that happened in your past?" You know ... all that stuff. You aren't ever REALLY sick. It's just your reactive mind acting out. But we asked questions in a credulous way - as though we really wanted to figure out how this stuff works. We didn't ask them in a cynical way. She was extremely forthcoming - answered all of our questions, yadda yadda.

-- Then we went up the stairs to another part of the exhibit. There seemed to be nobody else in this building. Nobody else was taking the tour. It was just Alex and myself. Oh, and I forgot to tell this part. When we were at the beginning of the tour - way back in the sea-captain part of the tour - we could still hear what was going on out in the lobby - which had been silent - but suddenly, someone from off the street obviously burst through the front doors and started hollering: "JESUS SAVES. JESUS IS GOD. JESUS SAVES. JESUS IS THE LORD." At the top of his lungs. It was quite a commotion. The guy must have been ushered off the premises - and I'm telling you - our guide never stopped talking. She commanded us to keep our focus on her (all silently, non-verbally) - she never even looked over her shoulder, she never said, "Huh - wonder what's up out there?" It was as though it wasn't happening. This was no tour. This was a recruitment attempt.

-- So anyway. After the Dianetics lecture, we went upstairs to the Scientology exhibit. I said, astounded, "Wait a second ... he discovered Dianetics BEFORE Scientology? Is that the timeline?" She nodded - I went on: "Okay, so I'm understanding now. He made all of these discoveries about the human mind ... and that's Dianetics - and then he decided to share his knowledge and that's Scientology." Our guide was VERY proud of my deductive reasoning skills.

-- The Scientology exhibit was so over-the-top deified that I felt terrified. For about 2 seconds and then I got into it. There was a whole wall of materials - his 5,000 lectures. Did you know he gave 5000 lectures? Nobody else IN THE HISTORY OF THE PLANET has ever given more lectures!! Did this man ever rest?????????? There were a gazillion booklets - she pulled a couple out to show us the tenets therein ... Here is, in plain view, the bread and butter of the cult. The people in the cult are hooked in ... maybe they take a stress test on the street ... and then ... you have to take classes - for each class, there is a booklet. You have to pay for each booklet. You finish that class, then you have to take an advanced class. That class has its own booklet. And so on and so on. The shelves and shelves of booklets (which, basically, should be titled: LESSONS FOR LIVING YOUR LIFE - IF YOU ARE A TOTAL MORON) stood there glimmering, and silent. How to Like Your Job. How to Communicate Effectively. Etc. Our guide pulled some of the booklets out to show us how it all worked. There was one REALLY scary enormous lecture tape standing in the display - and it was called CLEARING CONGRESS. You know ... these people want to 'clear' the planet of those pesky engrams.

-- This was the section of the tour where she flat out told us that it was a religion. "It is a religion." We said not a word. "He discovered that man is a spiritual being. He is a spirit. We call that Thetan. The words 'soul' and 'spirit' are not as accurate as Thetan." Okay, Salma, if you say so.

-- We then moved on to the e-meter room. There was a big glassed-in space-age podium type structure - with an e-meter under glass. When we approached the podum - it lit up into blue neon. I mean, honestly. These people are not messing around. She explained how the e-meter worked - and then we both had a shot at the e-meter. I stood beside Alex as she held those damn metal cans ... and I thought I was going to lose my mind if I didn't have a big huge belly-laugh and SOON. Alex was told to think of something that stressed her out and I am telling you - her needle went OFF THE CHARTS. Alex is so full of engrams that it is amazing she is able to get through her day. But later Alex said to me, so excited, "I have figured out how to manipulate the e-meter. This is so exciting. I HAVE MASTERED THE E-METER." I can barely write that sentence without laughing. Basically - if you just THINK about something - the needle will not move - but if you tense yourself up PHYSICALLY - the e-meter will register this as "stress" and off goes the needle. It's like isometrics. If you do a little isometric work as you are attached to the e-meter, then you should see some real engram-activity. I literally do not know who I have become right now.

-- Then we walked past an enormous display of e-meters throughout history. We saw the first e-meter. I nearly wept. Then we saw them progress ... we saw them get sleeker and more streamlined ... Genius.

-- We walked down the stairs to go on to the next part of the tour and Alex said, "Are you a Scientologist?" She said, "Oh yes." "And how long have you been into it?" "I started when I was 8." "8 years old? Are you from here?" "I am from Venezuela - my parents are Scientologists, all my brothers and sisters are Scientologists ..." I suddenly felt very very very sad. I wanted to arrest her parents. I mean, the girl seemed fine - she was friendly, sweet ... but man. 8 years old.

-- Then we got into the next section which was about Ron's discoveries about impurities - we learned about the "purification rundown". Which is what NYC is up in arms about right now - because of the 9/11 firemen, and Mr. Tom Cruise racing onto the scene 2 days after the tragedy to set up "purification rundown" tents ... which are still in existence. Anyhoo, I put my judgment out of my mind - just so I could LISTEN to her tell us about it. We all have impurities in our skin. If we take aspirin, if we ingest chemicals of any kind ... it is stored up in our bodies. In order to get rid of that shite, you must take saunas and take "vitamins". As we know, by "vitamins" they mean "niacin" - which is highly toxic - and which is why Katie Holmes was walking around with black blotches on her face merely a week after meeting Tom Cruise. Because he said, "I love you" and within an hour I bet she was in a sauna, popping Niacin like a druggie. No way would Cruise allow anyone into his life who wasn't "purified". Our guide told us that when she was a kid she had had surgery of some kind - and of course she had had anesthesia for that. When she did her first purification rundown, her entire arm went numb. "Because that was the anesthesia coming out of me." In her mind, that was her body getting rid of that old old anesthesia. Uhm - how 'bout DON'T SIT IN A SAUNA FOR FIVE HOURS? She had a friend who used to dye her hair red. And when she did her first purification rundown ... afterwards, she came out to dry her hair off - and all of this RED STUFF CAME OFF ON THE TOWEL. Oh man. These people. Hard to believe. Alex said, "So ... you guys don't believe in medication of any kind? What if you have cancer?" "If you have cancer, then of course ... you have to take the treatment ... " I so so so wanted to say, "What about Zoloft? How do you guys feel about antidepressants?" But I didn't. I WANTED to say it in a really innocent way, as though I had no idea that I was walking into a snakepit, but I didn't trust myself. Interesting, too: not ONCE in the tour did she reference the policy in the cult towards psychiatry. Not ONCE. I found her silence on that very very interesting.

-- Then we learned about Ron's teaching technology (on display in the literacy project building across the street). If you misunderstand ONE WORD in a sentence ... then you cannot learn. This is the policy. If you don't know what ONE WORD means then the entire sentence structure is lost on you. Now this is not true. And if you really think about it ... it's a way to actually SLOW DOWN the brain and CONTROL it. Because an agile brain will come across a misunderstood or unfamiliar word and think: "Hm. Let me look that up." OR - you can GUESS the meaning because of the CONTEXT of the sentence. This is normal. But no no no no no no, we can't have that! Because then that means you must think for yourself! Every single word you read, you have to do a check-in with yourself. "Do I understand that word? Yes. Okay. Next word. Do I understand that word? Yes. Okay. Next word." See how MEANING would then be lost if you broke up sentences like that?? But I kept my mouth shut. I listened, agog.

-- She asked us where we were from and what we did. Alex, "I'm a CPA." Me, "I'm a teacher." Salma asked Alex, "And where do you work?" There was a brief pause and then Alex replied, "A corporation." We are still laughing about that. That's the best you can come up with?? "A corporation????" Dying!

-- Then came the grand finale. We were again sat down in chairs facing a big movie screen. The lights went down. And we were treated to an over-the-top terrifying movie about THE NUMBER ONE CHALLENGE FACING HUMANS TODAY - and that is drug use. Really? The number one? I would say it is definitely a challenge ... but number one? How 'bout war? How 'bout disease? How 'bout ... poverty? NOPE. It's DRUGS. The lettering was jagged and red up on the screen - it felt like one of those films they show you in high school to scare the crap out of you. They showed a junkie sitting in his crappy apartment - shooting up - and they had a close-up of the damn needle going into his diseased arm. It was nasty. I couldn't look. I promise, Ron, I will never do heroin. YOU CONVINCED ME, RON. Oh, and Kirstie Alley showed up in the film - to rave about the drug program put together by the cult - It's called Narc0n0n. It's another one of the front groups. There were raving testimonials from people about how they got off drugs, and they got off drugs without having to be on other drugs. Etc.

-- The very last moment in the tour is something that defies description. I wish I could do it justice. We get to this HUGE space - one entire wall is covered by a curtain. It's got to be 20 feet high. Just to give you an idea of the scope. Our guide tells us about how "decorated" Ron was - and how many awards and plaques and honorary blah blah blah he received - and then - as if on silent command - the curtain flows back - and there is an ENORMOUS two-paneled wall of framed degrees and shiny plaques. Before we get a chance to really inspect them, those two panels move off to the side - revealing ANOTHER two panels covered in plaques - Before we can inspect those, they move off to the side - revealing ANOTHER two panels covered in plaques - and this went on for 6 panels. These panels are 20 feet high and they are literally COVERED in plaques - but we were not given enough of a chance to really look at them. Alex moved in closer to get a better look - I saw a glimpse of a couple of them that were totally bullshit. It's not like Honorary Degree from Harvard ... it's like - a tiny town in New Mexico thanked him for his community service - or whatever. I saw one (before it disappeared) from the mayor of New Orleans declaring such and such a day L Ron Hubman day. There was a giant glittery blue plaque from Venezuela - which makes me wonder. Just because of our guide, etc. Does it have a real foothold in that country? Oh, and I forgot to say - as this panel-moving display was going on - music started playing. Over-the-top symphonic music - You could just imagine members of the cult watching this display and being overcome by tears. At how great he was. That was the desired effect. For us, it was way more creepy ... because ... well. Here's the deal. If any of you ever decide to go to this exhibit - know that the last thing on the program is the "revealing of the plaques" and I suggest that you move as close to the panels as you possibly can and READ the fine print. The whole thing LOOKS impressive - like, day-um, I don't have that many plaques - but if you move in close, you'll see how stupid it all is. And the MUSIC. The swelling violins, etc. The last two panels finish pulling back to reveal a GIANT painting of Mr. Hubman. GIANT.

-- Literally. The greatest man who has ever lived.

-- We then emerge out into the lobby (still empty - the Jesus freak being shuffled off to a gated cult-facility somehwere) - There's a small display of books and pamphlets. For sale. Of course. (But the tour was free, by the way. We paid nothing for the experience.) But it wasn't a normal bookstore where there was a cashier and you could browse. If we bought a book, we would have to buy it through Salma Hayek. She showed us all the books - we could buy this one, or that one, we could buy this one or that one, and here's the booklet I showed you before, and here's the other booklet, and here's this and here's that and here's this and here's that ... We browsed for a respectable amount of time and then we said, "No thanks - but thank you SO MUCH for the tour!" And she let us go. She was sweet, she did not put the hard sell on us AT ALL ... and we were allowed to go. Unscathed.

-- We walked in silence for half a block. Trying to process it. And then we both began speaking at each other a mile a minute.

-- We talked about it the whole way home. We're still talking about it. We will never recover from what we saw ... especially the two sci-fi talking mannequins at the controls of the space ship. That in and of itself has become an engram that I will need to get rid of.

I must share this

I must share Betty. Alex and I have watched every one of her videos. We still can't believe it. We CAN'T GET ENOUGH.

Here she is. I highly suggest the Scientology video -- but ALL of them are spectacular entertainment. Beyond description.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 17

-- I had a hell of a time getting home. The 101 is North and South - and yet it actually goes east - west .... it's kind of like 128 in Boston. But I got so twisted up and so confused that eventually I didn't even know my own name. I literally had NO IDEA what I was doing. I kept seeing exits I had already seen - but I didn't know which way I should be going. East? North? WTF??? I kept exiting the freeway, turning around, going a couple of exits, and then realizing: I don't think this is right. I have learned an important lesson: STOP trusting your instincts, Sheila. Just follow the damn directions and IGNORE your instincts. I finally gave up. I pulled into a Mobil station and asked a lovely Indian man (yet again - he was lovely and friendly and helpful) for directions. He didn't want to open the door for me, and waved his hands at me: "WE'RE CLOSED!" I shouted through the glass, "I'M LOST!!" He read my lips, then nodded understandingly and came to help me. He gave me brief blunt and extremely accurate directions - I was not far from where I needed to be. I confessed my inadequacy right to his face, "I am so twisted up on these freeways that I literally don't even know my name right now." But he untwisted the freeways for me and I was on my way home.

-- Or so I thought.

-- I got back on the freeway going the right way. Then I saw the exit I needed to take. I have a whole analysis of what is wrong with the signs on the freeway here. I miss Route 95 and the signage therein. I don't mean to criticize ... but it seems that the signs on 95 literally treat you, the drivers, like RETARDS. They warn you miles ahead of time when something is going to happen - and then they continuously remind you ... the signs are like: "93 North is coming up in 3 miles." "93 North is coming up in 2 3/4 miles." "93 Norht is coming up in 1 1/2 miles." "GET READY. GET READY TO EXIT. IT'S COMING UP." They ASSUME that we are all IDIOTS and we need constant reminders in enormous letters. The letters on the freeway signs here are not iridescent like they are on 95 - at least not AS iridescent - you really actually have to READ them ... as opposed to being passively ASSAULTED by them. And many times they do not give you a lot of warning. Or - you'll only get one warning and then BOOM - from out the darkness - there's the exit.

-- Which is what happened.

-- My thought process: "Oh awesome ... here comes the exit! Thank you, kind Indian man!" And then - "OH SHIT ... THAT WAS MY EXIT ..." as I careened by at the speed of light. Like I said: drivers who don't know where they're going are retarded and need constant validation and reinforcement. Oh, and here's the other thing: Once you DO make a choice ... on 95 it is immediately validated whether it is right or wrong. You THINK you're getting off on Route 1. You make the exit. Within 30 yards on that road, you get a sign: ROUTE 20 NORTH. You know IMMEDIATELY you have made an error. This does not seem to be the case here. You make an exit THINKING you are hot shit and doing the right thing, and then you drive 30 miles until you get a validating sign. hahaha I am getting used to it now ... (after 5 days) ... I don't look for outside validation. I just try to follow the dern directions.

-- I got off at the next exit - and I recognized the street name as one being near Alex's. Of course I had no idea WHERE on that street I would be ... but at least I recognized it. At one point, I called Alex and told her the situation ... and eventually I saw something I recognized and voila - I was on my way home. Whoo-hoo!

-- Every time I drive on those freeways and I return home safely, I have a moment where I say: "Sheila. You are so ... FECKIN' AWESOME."

Things experienced so far in LA - part 16

-- Yesterday was awesome. In the late afternoon, I started off down to Santa Monica to see Maria and Cashel and Brendan. I was going to get to see Cashel's room! His house! Where he lives ... This is what I miss. Seeing him in casual everyday moments.

-- I had to take the 405. By the time I hit the 405, it was dark ... and there was, miraculously, almost no traffic on it. And I have to say - it was kind of exhilarating. There were moments, when coming over hills, and seeing the glittering city below, that I felt like I was flying. It was so so beautiful. Kinda stressful, sure, I mean I don't drive on freeways regularly in my normal life ... but this was fun. I was able to change lanes if I needed to - I went 65, 70 ... I felt comfortable there and nobody was on my ass tormenting me and harassing me and making me feel like I was about to die in a fiery mesh. I blasted the radio. It was wonderful. Just wonderful. I was on my way to see Cashel!! I haven't seen Maria either since this summer ... so I was just really excited.

-- The directions were superb. No wrong turns. (The way home was another story).

-- I got out of the car. The night was almost cold. I loved the feel of the air. It was a dark shadowy peaceful neighborhood - with beautiful little vine-covered houses lining the street. Vine-covered houses, yes ... but most of them had that kind of early mission-style architecture ... just so adorable. I was walking back to find Maria's house ... and I crossed over one street - kind of wider than the others - and it's lined with palm trees - up and down the street - way way up into the darkness - Just the kind of image that makes me just stop and stare up. How beautiful. The palm trees give the entire place such a whimsical air ... I love them. Like, I'm not "over" them yet. I still just get the giggles when I see a palm tree. But this one street was just beautiful - no cars coming either way, the streets dark and peaceful - with the palm trees quivering high high overhead.

-- And then there I was - in Maria's living room. I was so happy!!!! Cashel sat at the table, doing his homework. Very grumpy. You know. Homework's tough when you're 8. Bren was there. Maria gave me the grand tour. Her place is adorable. She was hanging curtains in her room. Billowy white curtains with blue and green flowers on it - very sunshiny and homey. Maria said, "I can offer you ... some water ... some orange juice ... or some sherry." hahahaha We decided to go out to dinner to a new place that Maria was excited about.

-- And off we went. Cashel chattered up a storm, naturally, the entire way there. Oh, and I got to see the letter Cashel got from George Lucas' secretary which is now framed on his wall. So cute!!! Cashel must have written a letter to LucasFilm - he asked a question about the upcoming Star Wars TV series ... in 2007 ... and the letter that came back was so adorable. "Dear Cashel: Thank you so much for writing to us and thank you so much for being a great fan ..." (That's hilarious. LIke they're lacking for fans! But still - so sweet!!!) Then the secretary went forward to talk about "George's" new projects. So that was very exciting. I think Cashel was proud of it.

-- There was a 20 minute wait for a table, so we decided to go over and see Cashel's school which was nearby. This, for me, was almost the most exciting part of the trip so far. To see Cashel's school! The place where he spends the majority of his time! I was so excited. It was night - but we were able to wander around the playground. It was so so fun.

-- Bren, Cash and I had a race around the track. Cash has turned into a good runner. He used to be so cautious physically that he would go up and down stairs slowly, putting both feet on each step at the same time. But now? There he was, charging off into the cool night ... and when he could feel us gaining on him ... he picked up the speed. It was like the O'Malley version of Chariots of Fire.

-- Cashel is really "cool", you know ... but I could tell he was excited to show me stuff. He was also really excited to be there AT NIGHT. He kept saying, "Watch this ... we aren't allowed to do this during the daytime ..." and he ran up a random set of stairs. He was thrilled to do things that "we aren't allowed to do during the daytime." He stood on top of a picnic table, and did a little tap dance. "We aren't allowed to do this during the day time!" He was HYSTERICAL with laughter. Literally falling all over himself with laughter as he got off the picnic table. What a thrill. He got to show me his room. I don't know ... I got a little choked up. Imagining Cashel, my little Cashel, in school, doing his thing, getting his education ... Man. It's amazing!

-- Cashel's school is really beautiful. White and blue stucco, murals everywhere ... I got a very good vibe from it. I'm really happy for the little guy.

-- We went back to the place, which is called BABALU - I thought of you, Val!! - and yet again: I was so impressed by the calm and kind customer service. This is just my impression, so it could be wrong: but it seems that the only time when people from LA are categorically ASSHOLES is when they drive. Other than that? Everyone is nice, friendly, helpful, mellow ... it is SUCH a delight. Like our waitress was this adorable girl who helped Maria figure out what Cashel would want to have to drink. "We have lemonade ... we have a sort of organic ginger ale ... but ... you know ... kids are always like: Organic? What??" It was very cute. So Cashel got some lemonade. Anyway: I just want to say to the people of LA, especially all of you who are in some kind of service-oriented job: GO, YOU. To say that this is NOT the case in New York City is an understatement. However, I have stated my theory on all of that before: It is not that Manhattan-ites are rude. It is that we are ON TOP of each other and we are all OBSESSED with manners. We have to be FIERCE about our boundaries because we cannot get away from each other. People from LA can get the hell away from each other, because they have to get in their cars, and drive around ... and so their public personas, when they bump up against humanity, seems to be universally friendly and helpful. It's really refreshing.

-- Cashel told us about his idea for a movie. It is called The Egg Heist and it is about a colony of ants who get tired of their queen and decide to start a new colony - so they have to steal all the eggs in their existing colony and transport them to a new location to start anew. I ask, "What's wrong with the queen?" Cashel shrugged and says casually, "She's a tyrant." I see. He starts to tell us the individual scenes - the ants go to pick disguises before the heist - and much hilarity ensues. One poor ant is obviously not the brightest bulb so he picks out an ant costume!! Cashel said, shaking with laughter, "So he still looks just like himself!!" The heist itself is a mastermind of technology. The ants have human-size duffel bags that they have to haul into the egg chamber ... Cashel found this image supremely amusing. Tiny ants with massive duffel bags. I think it could be a hit, actually. The Egg Heist. Coming in 2010.

-- Cashel made a joke. Instead of saying "barroom brawl", wouldn't it be funny if school kids called their fights "lunchroom brawls"?

-- He explained the intricacies of his relationships. How he is going to tell his two friends how to deal with the school bully. "I am going to stand up for my friends ... but I will not fight. I am just going to tell them to IGNORE him." Maria validated this choice. Oh, how complex it is to be a child. Isn't it?? So amazing.

-- The food was delicious. Cashel enjoyed his chicken kebobs. Which is a miracle in and of itself.

-- We headed back to the house. Cashel was now launching into telling us about the play they were working on for school - a play for Ancestor Day. When they all learn about their ancestors and act stuff out. Maria said, "So Cash - will you be Finn McCool?" I said, "Or Cuchalain?" Cashel said, "No. I'm a Greek immigrant named George." What? hahahahaha Cashel kept fantasizing about adding a scene to the play where George immediately stabs himself with a pencil upon getting off the boat at Ellis Island. "Hi! My name is George! I'm from Greece! My family came through Ellis Island." STABBED WITH A PENCIL. Many fake deaths occurred on the sidewalk on the way home. Cashel staggering around, moaning, and then collapsing into laughter. Poor George, the immigrant from Greece. He obviously has some emotional problems.

-- Once we got home, it was time for Cashel to go to bed. And I got to read to him for a while before bedtime. Which I used to do when he lived in Brooklyn ... so it just made me soo damn happy to lie on the bed with Cash, his little PJd body propped up beside me, reading out loud to him. We read 4 chapters of Treasure Island which Cashel has already read, but - as we all know - you can never read that book enough. I said, "Maybe we'll read 2 chapters, okay?" Cashel insisted, "The chapters are really short, Auntie Sheila. Let's read 4." When I came to the end of the first chapter, Cashel said triumphantly, "See how short that was???" It was fun. We got to the point where Jim Hawkins and his mother take the coins owed to them from the dead captain's sea chest ... and they flee into the "frosty evening" - from the approaching one-legged guy, tap-tapping his stick leg on the walk. Terrifying!! But it was so fun - I wish it wasn't so late, so I could have kept reading.

-- Then ... lights out.

-- Maria and I hung her curtains. They look great. Bren had taken off. Maria and I hung out in her living room, talking ... she starts a new job today ... we talked about the short novel I wrote that she read ... It was interesting - I kind of put that book away in a drawer ... haven't looked at it in over a year ... so talking about it, and trying to hash stuff out, was really really interesting - and I think I need to take that book out and work on it again. Talking about it was really helpful.

-- Then we took out a book of pictures of Cashel as a baby and pored over it. His day of birth. The newborn ... on his birthday ... Halloween ... wrapped up in an orange silk pumpkin costume. The pictures of Cashel as a fat-legged little smiley drooling baby. His face still looks the same ... but he was so little! When the heck did THAT happen? Now he's a movie mogul planning his next project called The Egg Heist ... was he ever that grinning toothless creature?? Amazing!!!!

-- And then ... it was 11:00 pm ... and I started off to go home.

-- Of course I have no idea what my rental car even looks like and I completely LOST it on the street. I walked up and down ... enjoying the cool air, and the palm-tree street ... but I was like ... tiptoing over the grass to peer at license plates ... I was peeking through darkened windows ... My behavior looked EXTREMELY suspicious. But finally I found my car. And off I went into the glittering already-going-to-sleep Los Angeles night.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 15

-- Okay, so back to Monday night's TV watching. Because that is what is REALLY important here.

-- First, we watched the newest and cheesiest and funnest show on television: Skating with Celebrities. I am HOOKED. Here are some of my observations:

-- Todd Bridges, for some unknown and mortifying reason, makes me want to weep. When he fell, I GASPED out loud, knowing they would not move to the next round.

-- Debbie Gibson is an asshole. Oh, excuse me: DebORAH Gibson. Bitch.

-- Dorothy Hamill is so glowing and so gorgeous that it is as though she is lit from within. I mean, she was always so so pretty, but have you seen her now? She is just glowingly beautiful. But she is very soft in terms of her scoring. Alex commented seriously, "Dorothy Hamill wants to be liked."

-- That guy from Full House is a cutie - and I despised that show and everything it represented. But suddenly - watching him skating around with Miss Toothy Whiny Biyotch Nancy Kerrigan - I felt a deep deep eternal love for him blossom in my heart.

-- Scott Hamilton is so cheesy! I mean, I realize that this is not a revelation, but I felt that I had to say it. His little "improvised" moments in between routines are cringingly awful. And what is even more awful - he commits to them fully. He doesn't even know how cheesy he is. My brother has this THING about Scott Hamilton - kinda like his THING about Laura Linney ... He saw him do a routine once where he just acted the CRAP out of it - he skated around in a tux - and somehow - at one point - with a big flourish of music - he ripped the tux off and there he was in a hippie outfit, with peace signs, and a vest, and bell bottoms. The audience, of course, went WILD. Brendan, however, was mortified. Here is how he described it to me: "It's like he is crazy with enthusiasm. He skates and it's like: 'I'm GAY and I have ONE BALL and I'M SCOTT HAMILTON!" Welcome to my brother's humor. I told you this as a set-up for what happened at the end of the show on Monday night. Scott Hamilton said into the camera, after all of the skaters did their thing, "Well ... this has been an incredible incredible show ..." and suddenly, I shouted at the television: "DON'T tell me how to feel, gay-ball!" Now ... I MEANT to say "one-ball" (I know ... I'm awful) but out came "gay-ball" and I am telling you - Alex and I were absolutely gone for about 10 minutes. We KEPT saying it. Her neighbors were treated to a neverending shouted chorus of: "DON'T TELL ME HOW TO FEEL, GAY-BALL" from next-door.

-- After Skating with Celebrities we settled down to what we had been waiting for and so excited for: The Lifetime movie starring one of our favorite actresses of all time: Judy Davis. A Little Thing Called Murder. Alex and Mitchell and I basicall think Judy Davis is one of the greatest and most versatile actresses of her generation. We just LOVE her. I remember loving My Brilliant Career but it was really her performance in Woody Allen's Husbands and Wives that clinched it for me. She is just deLICIously good. So we curled up on the couch ... SO EXCITED ... riveted to the television.

-- The first scene was not just good - it was an assault. It's not your basic Lifetime fare. There was a style to it, a camp to it. It did not let up. And Judy Davis was absolutely INSANE. Every moment with her is so rich, so full, so weird - that if it had been a tape, we would have been rewinding it constantly. Nobody but Meryl Streep (and Glenn Close, on occasion) is fearless enough to get as BIG as Judy Davis does. She just launches herself off the cliff - and it's extraordinary. She is an amazing amazing actress.

-- There were so many great scenes. We had a BLAST watching her just GO. The film was funny, psychologically frightening, and it's also just amazing to think that all of this really happened. What a wack-job!

-- Go, Judy Davis. She was terrific.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 14

-- Monday was a laaaaaaaaaazy day.

-- I woke up at the fiery crack of 7 am (very late for me) and made some coffee and blogged. Like a maniac.

-- I read Innocents Abroad. Please - anyone else who has read this book - I need to discuss it!! It is so WONDERFUL. I love his humor. I love his observations. I love the whole thing. There's just nobody like Mark Twain. People have made entire careers out of trying to be like Mark Twain - but they never really succeed. He is a true American original, and I just love him.

-- Alex and I lounged around FOR THE ENTIRE DAY.

-- We watched an hour of I Love Lucy. You kind of haven't lived until you have watched I Love Lucy with Alex. She knows every line of every episode. At one point, they came back from commercial, and within 1.2 seconds Alex said, "Wow. They just cut out a scene." We saw two episodes - the one where Fred's old vaudeville partner comes back into town - and apparently he is still doing vaudeville and has performed for royalty throughout Europe and Ethel and Fred feel embarrassed at their apartment, and their "lack of success" - so they ask Lucy to pretend to be their maid. Hilarity ensues. But then - they RIP YOUR HEART OUT during the dinner scene. Fred and his old vaudeville partner do a couple of numbers - and one was so ... touching ... that tears flooded my eyes. These two old gents, old warhorses in their own profession, sitting at the dinner table, singing "I want a girl just like the girl who married dear old Dad" - they sing it a capella ... they harmonize - and it is filmed simply and honestly - all in one take. With one camera angle. I don't know what it was that touched me so deeply - it was so many things. It just WORKS, first of all, as entertainment. It is a perfect moment ... fully realized. There is nothing wrong with ANY of it. But also ... it makes me sad, sometimes, to think that all the old vaudeville performers - the ones who were THERE - the ones who then made the segue to television and movies - are all dying out. We have lost a great resource. I mean, people come up now through television, and we have a lot of talent working, etc., no doubt about it ... but there was just something ABOUT those performers who came out of vaudeville. There was something about them so trustworthy, so versatile, and so humble. They just showed up, did the job, and moved on. And more often than not, they NAILED it. You need a touching moment? I'm on it. You need me to do a ba-dum-ching laugh line? I'm on it. You need me to create a hilarious piece of physical business that will last for 10 minutes and keep getting funnier and funnier? I'm on it. So to see these two old jowly guys ... singing in harmony ... and the silence of the studio audience ... and then the bursting applause at the end ... I glanced over at Alex and she had tears streaming down her face, so I was glad to know I was not alone.

-- I went grocery shopping. That was my big venture of the day. Other than that, I did not leave the apartment.

-- We watched yet another one of the movies Alex rented - a harrowing documentary called Stevie. Argh. It was awful. I mean, it was a good film but it was extremely painful to watch. The filmmaker is a guy who was a Big Brother to a little troubled kid named Stevie - he loses touch with him - and then goes back to find Stevie and find out what became of him. It is not a good story. And DURING the filming of the movie - Stevie commits a crime ... and the film then becomes about his trial, the appeals, and all of that. The people we meet in the film - they are unforgettable. Stevie's fiance is a retarded woman who ... well, you feel sorry for her, because she is with this horrible person ... but she also, in a strange and limited way, knows what she is doing. She is not an idiot. Alex and I were absolutely blown away by her best friend - a bedridden retarded woman - who ... she was just a philosopher, man. We called her "the bedridden philosopher". She just talked it straight to Stevie's fiance - and sometimes you could barely understand her, because of how she said words, but other times, she was clear as crystal. The whole film was wrenchingly awful, and unrelenting. Stevie was like a dog who had been beaten. The damage was done to him way early and the kid didn't stand a chance. This does not excuse his horrible actions ... but it does explain them a little bit. They go back to find the two people who were his foster parents for about 5 years - the only people who ever loved Stevie, who tried to help him, and who were there for him. These people (especially the wife) just blew our MINDS. There are some people who are just BORN to be foster parents. This couple were people like that. I sure as hell couldn't do it. They were beautiful, and accepting, but also ... tough as nails. You could see the transformation of Stevie in their presence - how he lightened up, and had fun, and relaxed. And you just wonder ... what would have happened if those two hadn't moved ... and had, say, adopted Stevie? Horrible.

-- We shake off the film. And then we get ready for an absolutely extraordinary night of television.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 13

-- Bren says he will be over by 9, probably - so Alex and I pop in one of the other movies she's rented. It is the 2003 TV movie Soldier's Girl which won a shitload of Golden Globes and which was written by a friend of Alex's Calpurnia Addams. It's based on something that happened to her. So we began to watch. It was incredible to watch it with Alex, because she knows Calpurnia and was friends with her when this incident occurred - this tragic incident, I might add. Alex was amazed by the lead actor's performance - well, all of the actors were incredible in the film - but the lead actor - Lee Pace - who played Capurnia - not only did an amazing acting job, but apparently did a kickass imitation of Calpurnia. It was a very moving and terrible story. You could tell what would happen ... that the ending would not be good ... but it still didn't lessen the hope within me that it would NOT turn out badly. This, I believe, is the true mark of a great tragedy. Dating back to durn Oedipus. We watch ... hoping against hope that ... something will happen to avert the tragedy ... that maybe THIS time it will turn out differently, and the characters will make different choices, and the stars will align in their favor ... It is that HOPE within us that makes the tragedy even more potent. People who say Death of a Salesman can't be a true tragedy because Willy Loman doesn't have as far to fall as a, say, Macbeth ... have no idea what they are talking about. We watch Willy ... and we hope, we hope that he can work it out ... that he can give up his ambition, and enjoy life on its own terms ... we hope he can actually appreciate his gifts, his simple everyday gifts ... we hope that THIS time it will work out for Willy. And of course - it doesn't. The ramifications are devastating. Soldier's Girl works on that level.

-- I also fell DEEPLY in lust with one of the soldiers who maybe had 2 lines, but to my eyes he just leapt off the screen at me. I kept talking about him. He always wore a cowboy hat. Even when he was in the background of scenes, he was totally alive. He had that kind of chunky look to his body that I love. Alex was so OVER me and my damn cowboy. "Please, Sheila. Have an affair with a guy like that but I beg of you ... don't marry him." I replied, eyes riveted on the television, "I literally don't hear what you're saying to me right now. That guy is HOT." Etc. And so it went.

-- Alex ended up calling Calpurnia during our viewing of the movie and telling her how proud she was, how amazing the film was and also to say: "Okay ... my friend Sheila wants to know who that one actor is ... he's one of the soldiers ... he always wears a cowboy hat ... he's got sort of a big chunky body ..." Alex turned to me and said, "Calpurnia has no idea who you are talking about." I stated, firmly, "DAMN! I WILL FIND THAT COWBOY. I WILL FIND HIM YET!" Alex rolled her eyes in exhaustion and went back to talking to Calpurnia.

-- So Bren arrived - which kind of amazed me. Here's Bren! Coming over!!

-- Alex made pizza. Or, rather, she popped a frozen pizza in the oven. Go, Alex. And we all sat on the couch and popped in Grizzly Man.

-- Guys. If you haven't seen this film ... then all I can say is: you HAVE to rent it. Tracey covered it very well here. I had read the huge piece in Vanity Fair about Treadwell - so I was really really excited to see this movie that I had heard so much about. It just blew our feckin' SOCKS off. First of all: the footage, mainly shot by Treadwell, is extraordinary. But ... but ... it ends up being this maddening psychological portrait of an absolute loony tunes. You watch him just LOSE it. We discussed the film like crazy afterwards. There's one section where he sits in his tent, filming himself, and he is pissed because there's a drought and the bears are eating their young. He wants it to rain. And he starts shouting up at "GOD ... or ... JESUS-MAN ... or FLOATY BUDDHA ..." (Yes. "floaty") But ... he's insane. He is truly ENRAGED that nature could be so cruel. It's like he missed the memo that most of us got way back when - that nature is unpredictable and the animal world can be cruel and unforgiving. So the next shot - is him sitting in his tent with a clear sound of a downpour going on ... and he is talking to the camera about how he brought the rain. You just have to see it to see how insane he is. He speaks in this high unearthly voice ... it is not his own voice ... when he goes into a rage at the end of the film, screaming into the cameras at the park rangers and poachers - now we suddenly see the Long Island boy he really was - now we hear his REAL voice. But for the most part, he speaks in this high gentle voice which ... is so calculated to make an effect. He thinks that that is how a bear-lover and nature-lover should talk. It is absolutely riveting. I love craziness. I am glad I am not crazy, but I will never stop being fascinated by those who are nuts ... and what makes them nuts ... and what was going ON with Treadwell. He thought he was "protecting" the bears. Uhm ... you're on a national park, dude. They already ARE protected. He also felt that bears were misunderstood. Uhm ... you are the only person who feels that bears aren't really dangerous. There was a great interview with an Inuit curator of a bear museum in Alaska. This guy was amazing. He talked about how his people have lived alongside bears forever ... and they know that there is an invisible boundary between them that must be respected. They stay out of the bears way, and the bears give the humans a wide girth. Treadwell did not respect that boundary. He fucked with Mother Nature. It is a truly fascinating and awful film and I HIGHLY recommend it. It's disturbing, no doubt about it - I can't get it out of my mind.

-- I just want to say that i was so happy - sitting up there on the couch with Alex - with my brother lying on the floor beneath us - head propped up on a pillow - all of us watching this film. I have missed my brother. I have missed hanging out with him.

-- It was a really special night.

-- Oh yeah, and there was some insane windstorm going on - the wind came over the mountains like a ravening beast from the jaws of death - and battered against Alex's window - and shrieked down the corridors of her apartment complex. You could hear the howling and moaning of the wind in the corridors, and all around us. It was pretty wild. I fell asleep that night to the shriek of the wind.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 12

-- Alex and I have never lived together, have never been roommates - and we have actually only been in one another's actual living and breathing presence for maybe 3 weeks ... mkay? And yet we have immediately settled into a comfortable roommate routine. We are almost OVER each other. It's hilarious. Alex lies on the couch and watches TV. I boil a couple of eggs for a snack. Alex makes fun of me. There is a running joke about Wheat Thins. Basically, on Saturday night - after our crazy day - with the brakes dead and the dead body - we sit on the couch, and we talk. We open up. We share our thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams. It is a deep conversation. Alex goes to divulge something to me. "You know, Sheila - when my mother died -" I interrupt. "Can I have a Wheat Thin?" This completely stops the conversation - and Alex was like, "What the fuck is wrong with you? YES!" We now cannot stop laughing about the Wheat Thin moment and re-enact it, adding embellishments. "You know, when I was gang-banged at a truck stop --" "Can I have a Wheat Thin?"

-- So Alex and I curl up on the couch, we watch television, and we pretty much do not move for the next 4 hours. This is literally why I came to LA.

-- At around 7 pm, Bren calls - and invites himself over. We are so excited. Oh, that's right: while I was hanging out with Bren and Cash, Alex went out and rented 6 DVDs - one of which was Grizzly Man. Bren hasn't seen it either so the three of us are going to watch it. Fun!!! To see my brother twice in one day? What???? Have I died and gone to heaven?

Things experienced so far in LA - part 11

- Sunday was my day to meet up with Bren and Cash. I woke up early and felt unbelievably refreshed. After the mania of the day before. I made some coffee, it was early, and I sat on the couch and read some of Mark Twain's Innocents Abroad which I have never read and which I am absolutely adoring. I am laughing OUT LOUD reading the damn thing. Bren called at 10 ... and I said I would be over in an hour or so. Let's try this driving down the 101 thing again, shall we???

-- Alex emerged from her beauty sleep right before I left. She said, "Lemme tell you something. If any disaster occurs to you today?" Pause. "Don't call me." It's been 2 days now and we are STILL laughing about that first day.

-- And off I go into the sunblasted gorgeous morning. Here I go! Look at me! In my Enterprise car! Careening down the 101!!!!!! Again!!!!! Now, though, I feel like I have had a great trial run with that first debacle of a drive, and nothing can shake me up now. I blast music. I enjoy the scenery. I change lanes. I am AWESOME.

-- 25 minutes after leaving Alex's, I pull up outside Bren's apartment. It is a beautiful neighborhood, peaceful, thick grass lawns, big trees, old buildings. I am about to see Cashel! In his natural habitat!

-- Bren lets me into his apartment. It is cool, big, and beautiful. Bren says to me immediately, "Sheil ... " (and I could see immediately from his face that a game was about to be played) "I'm really sorry, but Cashel was here a while ago and now I have no idea where he is." I say, concerned, "What?? But I really want to see him! Where did he go?" Bren, all sorry and sad, "I don't know ... but I can't find him anywh---" and then Cashel burst out of Brendan's room screaming and jumping up and down. To surprise me. I screamed, accordingly. Cashel was very happy about that. He immediately launched into what he WISHED he would have done - and that had something to do with spiders. The boy loves to taunt me. He said to me, slyly, "Auntie Sheila, have you seen King Kong?" I say, "No." He said, to me, seriously, as though he was some jowly cigar-smoking career advisor, "I really don't think you should see it." "Why, Cash?" "Because ... well ... there's a looooooootta bugs in it." "Oh no. Really?" "Yup. A looooooootta bugs." "Thanks for the warning, Cash. I really don't want to see a lotta bugs."

-- I met Bren's roommate and really good friend Larry - I have heard so much about this man, my parents love him, everyone loves him - so it was SO nice to put a face to the name. What a nice man.

-- Bren and Cash took me up to the roof so I could see. There's an outdoor pool up there. A deck with deck chairs. Tables. And a view like you would not believe. It was so beautiful that my breath caught in my throat. I want to hang out up there with my laptop and my dawn coffee. The palm trees just careen up into the air, above the horizon - giving a strange Dr. Seuss-ish appeal to the landscape - and right there was a huge hill with the HOLLYWOOD sign. The Hollywood sign! It was all just beautiful. Cashel, in his little fleece sweatshirt, and sneakers, kind of strolled around the pool, telling me how the water is heated and how sometimes he swims there. I, as always, struggle with my desire to SQUEEZE THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF CASHEL. I have to calm down. He's such a little cutie. I was so happy.

-- We drove to a nearby strip of shops and cafes - and Bren showed me the sights along the way. The apartment complex that was Mae West's after she retired - she would walk around the apartments and collect the rent. Can you imagine if Mae West was your landlord? And then Jack Haley's house - built like a ship. It looks like a ship - an ocean liner of a house - made of a light light green stone. You know what I also love about LA? The architecture. I love the OLD neon - you know? The kind of 50s style neon - big, brash, and retro. I also love the signs up on top of the old hotels - El Royale - or whatever - and these are not neon - but just swirly letters held up into the sky with steel poles. New York just doesn't have signage like that anymore.

-- We stroll the sidewalks. I am so happy to be with my family. I am so happy to see my brother and to be with Cashel. We sit and have lunch. We eat pizza. We overhear a couple next to us having an amazing conversation. Snippets that came to us: (oh, and it was only the girl that spoke. That poor guy) Anyway, here's some of what we overheard: "Anyone who thinks that Jesus had a son has mental problems." "I used to black out all the time in my 20s. I'd have a couple of drinks and then just black out." Bren might remember more. The three of us would be chatting, having a nice time, then there'd be a pause and some random snippet would come to us - stopping Bren and I in our tracks.

-- Back at Bren's place, we watch the films of two plays Bren did this past year in LA. Plays written and directed by Larry. Cashel said, rolling his eyes, "I have seen these so many times." Ah, yes, Cashel, to have your father be an actor ... what a BORE. But of course Cashel kept coming into the room for his favorite parts. He sat on Bren's lap, and I would glance over and see Cashel laughing, his little body shaking like a bowlful of jelly. They were GREAT. Truly funny and original pieces of work. Wonderful actors ... and the SCRIPTS! I love funny people. I love people whose minds work in comedic ways. It was great to see my brother acting again, as well. He's so good.

-- Alex and I were supposed to go horseback riding that night. Some thing where you ride horses and then have dinner at the Sunset Ranch. We literally had no idea what we were doing. We knew nothing. I mentioned to Larry what we were doing, and he knew all about it - said they do it every year - and you ride up the cliff by the Hollywood sign. So ... this will be an up and down journey. This will not be a flat-surface horse ride. I call Alex to tell her what I found out. She has a fear of heights (and it's debilitating - it's like me with "s"s) - and FLIPPED OUT. "I can't do that. No. I would cry and also pee a little bit." "And then you would have to be airlifted off the top of the cliff." "No. I cannot do this. I am so sorry, Sheila ..." "Oh God, no worries. If you said to me, 'Let's go hang out at the Tarantula Museum' I would say - ABSOLUTELY NOT." "Okay. I'm calling Meg." So horseback riding was out!

-- Bren had to take off at 3 ... so we all parted ways. I drove off down Cahuenga - waving goodbye to my brother and my nephew - Cashel's little head silhouetted in the backseat. Heartcrack!!

-- I was home at Alex's in 25 minutes. A miracle.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 10

-- Grizzly Man is out. It's Saturday night and most movies are out. We browse a bit ... but I find that my brain is a bit fried from the day and I can't even begin to make a decision on what else I would want to see. We ask the kid behind the counter if he could check to see if anyone has returned Grizzly Man. I am only mentioning this tidbit because, yet again, he was enormously helpful - once again, a customer-service person who went out of his way to try to get us what we want. At one point, he was on his hands and knees - literally INSIDE the returned-video compartment - picking through the returned DVDs. It was like a scene from Boxing Helena. No Grizzly Man. We thanked him profusely for his help and then headed off to go home.

-- And here's what happened next.

-- We turn onto her street. Alex has a gated car-lot in her apartment complex - but I can't park there and have to find parking in the street. Alex yells this to me from her car, and tells me she will wait for me on the sidewalk. I surge off into the night of the neighborhood to find a parking space.

-- A couple of things sort of happen at once. And it's all so immediate that I don't really process it - things just come at me in images, sensations, snapshots. It is only later that I put it together.

-- As I approach the next corner, I start to hear screaming. It is a woman's voice.

-- I see random groups of people out on the sidewalk - on all 4 corners. They are milling about. I think that maybe it's like my neighborhood - where everyone hangs out on the street. A low-income neighborhood. People don't hang out in their houses in low-income neighborhoods. They sit on their stoops, they gather on street corners, etc. This is not a dis. I live in a neighborhood like that. It's typical.

-- The screams, though - I can't tell if they're real - or if they're just some chick being loud and obnoxious. Not my problem, I don't really care.

-- I get to the corner - and I go to make a right. To my left I see out of the corner of my eye - a commotion. There seems to be a woman either struggling, or laughing, or something ... there's a lot of movement. Not sure. Across the street, are two guys in gang-banger clothes - you know, with the little tight caps round the head - they hover on the opposite street corner. They aren't moving.

-- I turn right. I am kind of nervous because I realize that I will now have to walk back THROUGH that and I kind of don't want to. Oh well. I park the car. I get my little glittery purse, I get out of the car - and it takes me a second to figure out that all the doors aren't locked. I then go around to lock all of them manually - and I HATE doing this ... because I feel that the behavior screams: "THIS IS NOT MY CAR. I AM FROM OUT OF TOWN. PLEASE COME MUG ME."

-- As I lock all the doors - this is when I see the first police car whiz by. He does not have his siren on, or his lights. He is like a shark, cutting through the blue deep. He is driving very fast. He screams past me to get to the corner I just passed. I am now locking the door on the curb-side, and ... I get so nervous that I trip and fall into the dirt. My glittery purse spills open - and my wallet, my cell phone, and my Burts Bees lip stuff falls out onto the street. Yet another behavioral moment screaming: "I AM AN ASSHOLE. PLEASE ATTACK ME." Little did I know that everyone at the street corner had far greater issues to worry about than the chick in the platform sandals half a block away, on her knees in the dirt, struggling to grab her cell phone from off the street.

-- I am now ready to walk through the gauntlet. I still don't know what I drove through. I thought some girl was being harassed by her boyfriend or something. I still couldn't tell if it was a domestic violence issue, or just a joke. I start for the corner. I clutch my purse to my side, and I try to walk tough. The police car has now stopped ... The two gangbangers I saw on the street corner are now nowhere to be seen. I am not focused, really, on any of this though. I am just walking tough, and trying to get to Alex.

-- I turn onto Alex's street - and suddenly - from out of nowhere - literally - it is as though they used a portkey or something - 5 other cop cars scream into the area - from all sides - whoosh - zoom - here they are - There are still no sirens, but the lights are flashing ...

-- And as I make the turn, I see a young man lying in the street, face down, in a pool of blood. The screaming woman was his mother, his girlfriend, whoever - she hovered over him, holding him, and SCREAMED. "HELP US - HELP US ..." The young man is not moving, he looks just ... well. He looks totally dead. I am stunned. I have walked into the middle of a gang murder scene.

-- I keep walking - but it is as though there is some hypnotic light emananting from the dead boy ... I am staring over at him ... as I teeter by on my stupid sandals ... He is so dead. He is so dead.

-- I remember the two shadowy figures across the street. Who were there - and the next minute - were not there. I believe that they were the murderers. The shooting had obviously occurred literally as Alex and I turned onto her street. I drove through the immediate aftermath.

-- Alex, meanwhile, was standing by her gate - I was still half a block away from her ... Cop cars are now arriving on the scene from every direction. I am horrified. I am just horrified at that dead boy in the street. He looks so dead. I just know he is dead. There was a huge pool of blood spreading beneath his body.

-- Alex does an imitation of what SHE saw ... me emerging from behind this grassy knoll, holding my little girlie purse in my hand ... and tiptoeing down the street on my high sandals ... hissing to her, "Alex! There's a dead body over there!"

-- Alex basically yelled, "GET THE FUCK OVER HERE."

-- I hadn't been moving quickly. I couldn't seem to move quickly. I still hadn't realized how ... yet again ... I had just escaped an awful fate. If I had driven by 5 minutes earlier ... I could have been in the middle of some kind of crossfire. This still hadn't occurred to me. But Alex's command put some urgency into me, an awareness of what was going on, and I started to run down the dark street, dodging the cop cars ... running like an idiot because of the damn beaded sandals. I was gasping, "oh my god ... oh my God! There's a boy back there lying in a pool of blood ..." Alex grabbed onto me and we RACED into her apartment complex.

-- We unlocked the door to the apartment ... got inside ... double-locked the door ... and stood there - we had never been so happy to be anywhere in our whole lives. We couldn't believe it. What just happened??? We sat at her main window and watched the drama unfolding on the street. The air was filled with the insistent flashing of the red and blue lights ... we could hear people screaming ... shouting ... We sat there, and we worked out the timeline. If we hadn't stopped to look for Grizzly Man, I would have driven right through the shootout. The universe was certainly up to SOMETHING on Saturday. Alex's theory of organized chaos.

-- We sat up and talked all night.

-- We could not believe we were home. And safe. A boy was lying in a pool of blood outside. His life was over. Our lives had been saved, by split-second miracles, all day. Why is this? It is not for us to know. We only know that it is so.

-- The next morning I walked to get my car, and there was a shrine set up on the side of the street - right where I had seen the boy. I mean, we hadn't KNOWN he was dead ... but he sure looked dead ... and the shrine confirmed it. There were tall candles with Jesus on them and Mary and crosses. There were tacky plastic flowers. All placed in a heap right where the boy had been. I could still see the bloodstain.

-- I had been in LA for 32 hours.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 9

-- Alex and I gear up for the drive back to her place as though it is a military maneuver. Her phone's batter has died ... so we will not be able to stay in touch if we get separated. I know the two major freeways we have to hit ... but after that, I would have no idea what to do. We make a pact: We will stay connected, come hell or high water.

-- And we're off. I am driving. Again. I follow Alex. Her left taillight is cracked - so instead of just red showing, it beams out like a white follow-spot. This ends up being EXTREMELY important in finding her on the highway, and staying with her. I just look for the light. I follow the light, baby!!!

-- We're on the 405. I am certain I will die at any moment. The 405 is like ... wrestling with a giant anaconda. It is like doing battle with a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It is like ... oh, you get the picture. Alex and I have also promised each other that we will drive like little old ladies, and we will not feel bad about it. We pretty much stay at th 60 mph mark. People despise us. But we do not care. There are some pretty awfully frightening moments when we have to switch lanes. I hate these moments. I wish to never have such moments again. I pray to the Lord above to help me survive such moments. I grit my teeth, and I feckin' change lanes ... despite the fact that every single cell in my body is screaming: STAY IN THE LANE YOU'RE IN. YOU CAN'T CHANGE LANES BECAUSE YOU WILL INSTANTLY DIE IN A FIERY MESH.

-- Finally - maybe 25 minutes later - we take her exit ... and then I see her pulling into a parking lot of a Denny's. I follow. We had discussed that again, we were STARVING ... and so Alex made the executive decision. Denny's. It is "her" Denny's. She goes there all the time. She has met lovelorn friends there at 2 in the morning to hear about their problems. "Meet me at Denny's in 10 minutes." She has shown up at this Denny's in her pajamas.

-- We sit down ... we are still shaken up by our experience wrestling the giant anaconda. Alex said, "That was really the only moment all day when I felt truly stressed out." We again read the menu as though we are homeless people being given a free meal.

-- Our waiter is a plump boy with glasses, and he is unbelievably sweet with us. He found out Alex's name and divulged this personal information: "That's my favorite name for a girl. And you know what my favorite name for a boy is? Alexander." We are overwhelmed by his cuteness and sweetness, and we validate his favorite-name choices. We order food. We order lemonade. And again ... it is the best food I have ever had in my life.

-- We sit, and we eat, and we talk about the extraordinary day. I start to tell her about my natural interpretation of such events. I take it personally. This is a groove in me as deep as the Grand Canyon, and I have to work - every single day - to not "go there". It's a struggle, but it's one that I embrace. I don't try to find a positive spin on everything, because I don't think there's a positive spin on everything ... but I do think that some things just HAPPEN. And it is up to US, the human being, to work it out - to work out a meaning that works FOR us rather than against us. I generally find meanings for things that work against me. Alex and I talked a lot about this. Alex then said, "Sheila, here's the deal. I don't know what this day is all about ... but I'm telling you, I think it's been important. I think that ... you honestly saved my life today. The way this has happened has been so perfect ... you could be dead right now. Or I could have died this week driving to my class. I don't know what it all means ... and I am truly not trying to say - " (and then she put her hands into a little precious yoga position, as though she were meditating - she also made her voice into a goofy mellifluous assholic new-agey type tone) "Oooohhhhhh ... everything is good ... everything happens for a reason ..." Then she was back to herself. "But I am saying that something happened today - a little miracle - and I believe that ... well, God, Sheila. You saved my life today." I admit that I was in tears. I guess what I felt in that moment was an awareness of that Grand Canyon groove in me ... an awareness of how often I choose the BAD spin on things ... how often I choose to look at events in a way that is detrimental to my happiness ... and Alex's assurances had the deep deep ring of truth to me. We still couldn't really process our day ... we still were IN the day ... but it was starting to resonate with us, we were starting to catch up with ourselves.

-- During our time at Denny's - we start to discuss the film Grizzly Man which Alex had seen - and which I really wanted to see. We decide to stop by the Blockbuster on our way home to see if the movie was in.

-- This pitstop ended up being yet another accidental miracle.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 8

-- After we escaped from the clutches of the Scientologists (and here's the thing: when Alex stood up - her guy stood up - when she started to walk away - he followed her, trying to keep the conversation going ... She gave him some line about how she "never does things on impulse - and that has been a real problem for me in my life - I am really working on it ...") we walked along the street, stepping on the stars of Edgar Bergen and BB King, talking a mile a minute about our experiences, and laughing hysterically.

-- The sun had started to descend and the sky began to glow with the beginnings of sunset. The tall black silhouettes of the palm trees against the glowing green and deep blue sky stopped my heart. .

-- We called Garry, our new Armenian best friend. We were informed that the car was ready. We got all scared and fluttery again and started back for the subway (what?)

-- When we emerged at our stop, night had fallen. It was quite spectacular - how quickly it occurred. It seemed that one moment it was day, the next it was twilight.

-- Garry explained that the car was fixed, he had replaced the yadda yadda, and he had retro-fitted the thingamajig and it was fine. Then he said the fatal words: "Let's take it for a test drive."

-- Alex and I got in the car, and Garry literally PEELED out of the garage. It was like that scene in Ferris Bueller. He screamed down the street at 70 miles an hour, and then said, "Get ready ..." and as we approached the stop sign, he slammed on the brakes. With a squealing of tires, and with Alex and I hollering like wounded animals, the car came to a complete stop. Alex turned to Garry, and said, sternly, "Don't EVER do that again." Garry said, bemused, "But I needed to test the brakes ...." "You scared the CRAP out of me, Garry!" We are now best friends with Garry.

-- We tell Garry our plans for the evening. We are now going to drive out to LAX to pick up my car. He tells us how to get there. And I'm tellin' ya ... Garry was a genius. Garry is the kind of guy who knows everything. A guy like that is good to know. I have to say this: I was pretty scared to get behind the wheel again. Especially because now it was night. Oh God. Please let me be safe. Please let me rise to this challenge! Please!!! This day has been so long and we have had enough!

-- Alex and I say goodbye to our new-found best friend and drive off into the sparkling Los Angeles night. The car works perfectly. We can't believe it. Alex raves about how lucky she feels to have found a reliable mechanic, a guy who now knows her, who she can go to, and trust. There's an interesting feeling shimmering between the two of us ... a feeling that we have been, somehow, very very lucky today. We are alive. We are okay.

-- We eventually get to the airport region - and I'm starting to stress out. Where is my e-meter when I need it???? I'm just feeling like: God, let the brakes dying on the 101 be the worst thing that happens today. Okay? Let me rise to the occasion, and drive on the freeway by myself, AT NIGHT, and be okay. You can do it, Sheila. You can do it.

-- We follow the signs to the Enterprise place. Another thing is stressing me out - because I didn't know we would be coming out to the airport that day, I didn't have my printed-out receipt in my bag. I just hoped against hope that that wouldn't matter and that my credit card would be enough.

-- There ends up being some issue with me and my car. Of course. They have no record of me. They ask for my receipt. I am now feeling harassed beyond belief. I explain the situation. I have to say this as well - one of the other things that was so incredible about this particular day was that pretty much every service-oriented person we met that day, every single one, from the yellow-toothed tow truck guy to the Denny's waiter later on ... was kind, polite, and helpful. You know the days when the opposite is true? When every single customer service representative you meet is surly, rude and downright indifferent to your issues? This day was the complete opposite. It was another mini miracle that Alex and I were thankful for. The Enterprise people were very kind - said that this kind of thing happened a lot - and if I still had the confirmation email in my email box I could check my email, and they could get the invoice number from there. Awesome! I can do that!

-- But of course for the first time in the history of my email experience, I could not get into my email. It kept bouncing me out at the login page. I couldn't believe it. What? This has never happened. Ever. I kept trying. Now I didn't know WHAT to do. Why won't it let me in? This is my blog email, and there are a couple of different ways in - I tried all of them. Numerous times. Alex hovers beside me, boa quivering with sympathy. She was so WITH me the whole day. hahahaha What a full day. The Enterprise person came over ... and watched as I tried again and again to get into my email ... She saw that I was getting upset and she said, "Look. Don't worry. No matter how it happens - you will leave here with a car tonight. So don't worry." Uhm ... I am now deeply deeply in love with the Enterprise woman. Anyhoo - after 15 minutes of trying, I get into my email. Halleluia. I scroll through. Find the confirmation email. I then click on the link within the email and of course I need some Expedia username and password to even view it. Which I have completely forgotten. Because I'm such a jagoff. So I request them to email me my password (I love the Internet) - and within 2 seconds, my username and password is emailed to me. Voila. I am now into the confirmation email, and there is my invoice number and all is gloriously right with the world.

-- There was also an issue because of the apostrophe in my last name. That caused issues with pulling up my invoice on their end. Look, people. MANY MANY folks out there have APOSTROPHES in their last names. It is just the way of the world. It is how we spell our names. It is not OMalley or Omalley - it is O'Malley. There are many Irish people in this country. But computers see an apostrophe and literally have nervous breakdowns and don't know what to do with us.

-- All of this is just the preface to the beautiful miracle: 10 minutes later I was sitting behind the wheel of my brand-new little compact car. Alex and I were beside ourselves. I couldnt' believe it. I have my car. Could it be that I can just drive out of here - without some identity-policeman pulling me over and saying, "Hang on a second ... there's been a mistake ... YOU can't have a car!"

-- I am going to drive Alex out to her car in the lot. I turn the car on. Everything is spanking new. And then somehow I turn on the windshield wipers instead of the headlights and we sit in the car, with spray flying at the windshield, and the wipers going a mile a minute, and I keep THINKING I've turned them off ... when I've only put them on delay ... so we would sit there, relieved that the frenzy had stopped - when - WHOOSH - there goes the wipers again. Alex was in hysterics. I tried to keep it together because I knew I looked like the biggest buffoon ... like the Enterprise people would see me, in the parked car, in the garage, with the windshield wipers going on, off, delay, off, on, spray, off, on, delay, spray ... and think: "Uhm ... can this woman drive?"

-- Finally, I wrestled the windshield wipers under my control and we were off.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 7

-- The subway station has enormous fake rock formations on the ceiling. It is as though we are in an amusement park ride. I love it. LA subway. Everything in LA has to do SOMEthing with artifice and the movies. The subways are IMMACULATE. Alex exclaimed, "My God, I could EAT off those walls." We follow Garry's instructions to the letter. Garry knew what he was doing. We get off at the right stop and climb up the steps. We emerge onto Hollywood Boulevard.

-- Oh and I forgot to say: the two of us are STARVING by this point. Like, it wasn't even funny. We were irritable. We needed food. The golden arches called. The streets were packed with people. There were all the stars in the pavement ... but I couldn't pay attention to them because of my hunger. We sat and ate McDonalds with as much gusto as if we were homeless people being given a free meal. We didn't even TALK to each other. Well, no - at one point I looked up from my McNuggets and said, "This is literally the best food I have ever had in my life."

-- Then there we were! Randomly! On Hollywood Boulevard! We had planned to come later in the week - sue me, I wanted to see Cary Grant's handprints. I lived in LA but I happened to be having a nervous breakdown at the time and was in no mood to sightsee. Now I AM in the mood! So there we were. We decided to just walk up and down, and see all the sights. We embraced the moment. We had a couple of hours to kill. We were on the make. We started to walk.

-- It was like a CIRCUS on the streets. I glanced across the road and saw Darth Vader chatting with a stormtrooper. I saw Superman standing alone, his faded cape whipping around his bony legs. I saw Spongebob take a sip from a soda.

-- We went and looked at all the handprints and footprints. We saw Cary Grant. We saw Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell. We saw everybody. We saw Gary Cooper, John Wayne ... it was great. It wasn't too crowded either. We marveled at how TEENY the feet of the women were. Gloria Swanson's feet are as small as a Geisha girl's. Rita Hayworth had the feet of a 7 year old girl.

-- All of these freak people dress up as famous people and mill around on the sidewalk in front of the Chinese theatre. There's Shrek and Wonder Woman and Darth Vader, etc. etc. A Charlie Chaplin tottered around - with a teeny black umbrella. Here was one of my favorite moments from this section of our day: I heard a little boy's voice gasp, "Mom! There's Charlie Chaplin!" I turned around ... and saw this little pipsqueak standing there, shaking Charlie Chaplin's hand, agog. It almost made me want to cry. Because of the history of it. The history of the movies, and the culture of movies, will never die. All of these PRESENT-DAY movie characters milled about ... but this little kid was so excited about Charlie Chaplin. I'm tellin' ya. I got a little choked up.

-- We then saw a line of Scientology slaves giving "free stress tests" across the street. We immediately clutched at one another and decided to go "take a test". We strolled towards them, all the little drones, sitting with their E-meters - and I watched unknowing people buying Dianetics... I watched them get sucked in ... There was one big tall guy walking up and down the line of "volunteers" - and he was obviously in charge - and I watched him "check in" with each volunteer, taking note of how many sales they had made. What a total scam. Man. We were accosted by two smiley friendly guys, "Would you like to take a free stress test?" Alex and I immediately adjusted our personalities and became enthusiastic and credulous. "Stress test? Well, we're very stressed ... so yes!"

-- I sat down in one chair and Alex sat down in the other. And there it was. Right in front of me. The e-meter. My guy said to me, "Okay, so just pick up those cylinders ..." I picked them up. I glanced over at Alex, and saw her holding onto the e-meter cylinders, and almost lost it. I could not look at her again. The guy said, "So ... this is an e-meter ... and it registers whenever you're stressed about anything ... so I want you to think about something that really stresses you out right now ..." I closed my eyes, and pretended to think of something. I was actually doing deep yoga breathing. I opened my eyes, and saw that the needle hadn't moved. This concerned my guy. "Is there anything that really stresses you out?" I said, "Well, I started up a business last year and I've now gone bankrupt and my investors have lost millions and millions of dollars." He said, "And this stresses you out?" I wanted to snark, "No, buddy, it makes me feel AWESOME ..." - what a stupid question - but I said, throwing him such a load of bullshit I'm surprised he didn't smell it: "I guess I just feel sad because it's been my dream to run my own business - It's been my dream to make mouse pads ... I had a great idea ... and it just didn't work out ... So now I need to figure out what I want to do next ... I don't know what to do ..." My guy hadn't heard a word I said. Or - he LOOKED like he was listening, but he wasn't. He said, "Are there any other ... situations in your life ... that stress you out?" I wonder if because I was LYING my e-meter reading wasn't stressed enough to please him. He needed more stress in order to hook me in. I said, "Actually, I'm pretty happy with where I'm at right now ... despite my financial difficulties ... I just need to re-group and try again. You know?" I tried to bond with him. I tried to see if he would bond with me, if he could at all hear what I was saying. Even though it was a LIE. And it was then that he went for the hard sell. He picked up a copy of Dianetics. He said, "Have you heard of this book?" I thought for a while. "Uhm ... no ... I don't think so." He got very aggressive with me - he opened the book and read John Travolta's quote on the first page, about how this book changed his life. I could SMELL this guy's ... need to sell to me. I said, "Oh wow - okay, yeah - I have heard of this ... I know John Travolta, I really like him." My guy said to me, and ... there was this rage behind it ... I wonder if it was because I admitted I hadn't even heard of it ... not sure ... He said, "20 million people round the world have bought this book. Don't you think that means something?" I said, "I think it's great. Do you ... do this?" (meaning Scientology) He said, again with that strange zealous gleam in his eye, "Are you kidding me? My house is full of Hubbard's books." Wow. Sad. I said, "So you've gotten a lot out of it?" He said, "If you want to know how to not be stressed out, if you want to learn how to get rid of stress - you need to buy this book. Trust me." "But ... how does it work?" He didn't like that. "Just buy the book. Everything is in that book." This is where I made my mistake. I should have kept him talking. Instead I said, "You said to me 'Free Stress Test' not 'Buy This Book.' I am really interested in this e-meter thing but you have got to chill with the hard sell." Our conversation was pretty much done from there. He had no more use for me, and my sad stress, and my failed business, and my mouse pads ... I wasn't gonna buy. I said, friendly, "Well ... thank you! This was really interesting!" I stood up - Alex was still clutching her damn e-meter ... so I walked off to the corner to wait for her.

-- Alex talked to her Scientology slave for TWENTY MORE MINUTES. She is truly a pro at this. She knows what she's doing. She told the guy that her mother committed suicide, her father committed suicide as well - because he was a Siamese twin - and after being separated from his twin (only recently) - he couldn't take it and he killed himself too. Alex told the guy she was married to an African American who was in jail and she was pregnant with his love child. It was a long conversation. I would glance over and see the two of them in absolute HYSTERICS. The woman is a genius. I know what I need to do the next time I sit down with "one of them". I need to keep them talking, and I need to be more confused. My learning curve is steep. I won't make the same mistakes again.

-- I just want to reiterate: Alex and I sat side by side, in folding chairs, on Hollywood Boulevard, attached to e-meters.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 6

-- An immaculate man named Garry seems to be the owner of the joint. He is obviously Armenian. He has a thick accent and a kind humorous face. He seems amused by the two fluttery girls, one with a boa and hair extensions, the other with beaded platform sandals, teetering around in his auto-repair shop, doing random jazz dance moves, practicing our jazz hands. We explain to him, breathlessly, the situation.

-- He says he will take a look at the car and let us know what the problem is. It's amazing. The service is amazing. Alex has now found a reliable mechanic in this town. Relationships were built yesterday. You cannot underestimate the value of an awesome and honest mechanic. We also were nervous because the two of us were so undeniably FEMALE ... I mean, there is nothing butch about either of us ... we feared he might take us for a ride. But he did not. He told us to wait in a little office room and he would take a look at the car and let us know what the deal was.

-- Alex and I sat in the bizarrest little room ever constructed. There was a refrigerator. There was a small table with a coffee pot and an old encrusted donut in a box. There was a glass case with an ivory statue of a girl on a swing, with billowing skirts. There were two random pieces of furniture - two huge VANITIES - leaning up against the wall - with rounded mirrors and girlie little drawers with knobby handles. There was a big scratched table - and on it was the workings of a very elaborate jigsaw puzzle, in process. There was a random phone. There was an ashtray. And a television was on, showing some obviously awful movie with Nic Cage, Samuel Jackson and David Caruso - who was clearly still trying to prove that leaving NYPD Blue after one season was not a dreadful career-ending mistake. Alex talked on the phone with Chrisanne about finances and paying for this thing. I struggled with my sense of shame and guilt. I KEPT saying, throughout the day, "I am so sorry I have depleted your nest egg." "Depleted your nest egg" became the theme.

-- I worked on the jigsaw puzzle. I made some progress.

-- Garry finally came back in and took us over to the car to tell us what needed to be done. It had to do with rust, and snow, and the brake pads being worn down ... The damage was extensive and obviously had nothing to do with the way I had been driving the car. The brakes going out was an incident just waiting to happen. Alex teaches a class and drives through Laurel Canyon on hellatious cliff-side roads ... and was imagining the brakes going THEN. She could have been dead. "Sheila, the way this has happened could not have been more perfect ... It's not that the planets are OUT of alignment today ... it is that the planets are beautifully IN alignment ... If the brakes had gone while driving to teach my class, I would have plummeted over a cliff to my death. If the brakes had gone while you were on the huge descent - you would not have been able to drift to a stop - if the brakes had gone while you were climbing UP the hill, you would have been in big trouble ... if the brakes had gone while you were going 70, you would have killed yourself and maybe many others ... A miracle has happened today. We are SO LUCKY." Garry told her what needed to be done and how much it would cost. I murmured, "There goes your nest egg." But it really wasn't as bad as we anticipated. We had thought it could be 5,000 bucks or something ... it wasn't Garry also said that he could fix it in a couple of hours.

-- There was then a whole conversation about payment, and credit cards, and etc. etc. Alex was on the phone with Chrisanne and she said, "Well, because your name is on that credit card - he can't take it - because you would have to sign it ..." There was a pause as Chrisanne responded, and I heard Alex say, "I know ... I know ..." and I just KNEW that Chrisanne had said something like, "Well IF WE COULD BE LEGALLY MARRIED THEN IT WOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM!!!" This is when that shite really gets to you. But they worked it out somehow, and all was right with the world.

-- Garry helped us out. He told us we should take the subway (what? the subway?) up to Hollywood Boulevard, walk around for a couple of hours, and come back to get the car at around 5.

-- Well, allrighty then. This was not the day we had PLANNED but it was the day we had.

-- So Alex and I staggered off to the subway station (what?) and began the second extraordinary leg of this extraordinary day.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 5

-- Our driver is a man named Peter. He is ALSO Armenian. He is very good-looking, I have to say, in a strong-featured very masculine way. He says he'll tow us to a car place he knows of for free and take a look at our car. We are both deeply deeply in love with Peter.

-- Peter drives us down Hollywood Boulevard. We discuss many things. He tells me he has never been to Armenia but he really wants to go. I say, "Did you grow up here?" "Yeah, I grew up in this shithole."

-- He points out the sights to us.

-- "Look, there's a hooker getting busted."

-- Alex grabs my arm and says, "LOOK!" We look. And there is the Scientology institute. I gasp. "OH MY GOD." Peter says to us, "Are you guys Scientologists?" We speak in complete unison: "Oh God no. But we are fascinated by them." Peter says, "They're freaks, you know. They stick to themselves. They own all the property in this block - they buy it all up. And to them - there is only one God - and this is THEM. They are their own God. Freaks." Alex and I both silently contemplate how deeply we love this Armenian man.

-- Peter informs us, "And here's where all the transexuals hang out."

-- I look at Alex. Alex looks at me. We stay silent. We wait. The magic of our relationship with Peter hangs in the balance. We don't know what to say. Do we ... divulge? Why did he tell us that? Was he trying to give Alex socialization tips? Or was it innocent? I believe it was innocent. He was just showing us the sights of his 'hood. He went OFF on the freaks of Scientology ... but he didn't say the word "transsexual" as though it had "freak" connotations. It was innocent. Kinda beautiful, actually. So we said nothing.

-- We're at the car place. It is overrun by Armenians. I cannot escape the Armenian contingent it seems, and maybe this is a sign. That I finally need to get my ass to the Caucasus.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 4

-- Alex informs me, "I am so horrible in crisis situations ... Let me call Chrisanne." Chrisanne is Alex's wife. She lives in Chicago. She is an amazing person who does not seem to experience panic in the same way that some others do. (Ahem - Alex and I) She remains calm, unruffled, and she knows what to do. Her voice does not rise in alarm. So Alex calls Chrisanne. From the side of the 101 in Los Angeles. Chrisanne immediately asks if I'm okay ... I begin to shudder with shame because I broke their car. Alex tells me to shut up. Many many many times. Chrisanne tells Alex what to do. Alex obeys. She calls the insurance holder. She is then wading through a bureaucratic maze ... trying to get a damn tow truck to come to us ... Finally, we get the word. The guy will come to us in 45 minutes. Little did we know that this guy would be yet another angel - in a long long long line of angels that we met during this incredible day.

-- So we stand by the car and we wait. We don't want to get in the car because of how it shakes when the traffic zooms by.

-- We have an absolutely HILARIOUS time of it. We pretend to re-enact the hitchhiking scene in It Happened One Night. We fantasize about baring our breasts to the oncoming traffic to see if anyone stops. We HOWL with laughter. We get into deep metaphysical conversations. She reassures me that if the brakes were going to die - then they were going to die regardless of who was driving it. It wasn't my fault. Oh, I know, I know ... but still!! I was the one at the wheel and it's not my car! We thank God again and again that I am all right. We shudder to think what could have happened.

-- Alex gasps like a crazy person: "THERE HE IS!" We see a tow truck has pulled into the breakdown lane ahead of us. We jump up and down. Alex has on a boa. Just so you get the full picture.

-- A scrawny little guy comes over to us, beaming a smile with long yellow teeth. We are both amazed by his teeth. We talk about his teeth later and how we couldn't stop staring at them. Turns out, he is NOT our tow truck ... but a guy from the freeway service - who careen around looking for people who are in trouble. We tell him we are porn stars, in from Illinois to do a job. We all end up laughing and joking around like we are old dear friends. We tell him a tow truck is coming. He tells us that we really have to get in the car and put our seat belts on. That we will be much safer. We scream at him in a panic about how Zeus shakes the car and that we are afraid ... he tells us we will be safer. We say goodbye to our new-found long-toothed friend and we clamber back into the broken car, and put our seat belts on.

-- We wait. We pass the time quite well.

-- Finally. We see our tow truck. There he is. And ... holy shit ... he is backing up towards us ... he is not stopping ... we both start screaming at him: "WAIT - WAIT - WE'RE IN THE CAR - WE'RE IN THE CAR ..." He does not hear us, he is a man on a mission ... he has the claw thingie out ... and in one fell swoop, he hooks the claw under the car - we feel a jolt - we both start SCREAMING LIKE BANSHEES. He doesn't know we're here!!!! He doesn't know we're in the car!!! Of course ... he DID know we were in the car and he was just getting the first leg of our journey under way. We freak out ... and clamber out of the car ... shrieking and sputtering like lunatics, Alex flipping her boa around ... we are clutching our purses, our cell phones ... we are out of control. The driver - a man named Peter - says to us kindly: "Just go get in the truck." Alex and I obey meekly. Our emotions are a roller coaster. The funny thing, too, is that we are TOTALLY in sync. The entire day was like that. We just rode the wave together. We climb up into the truck. Alex informs me bluntly, "I am so terrified." I say, with a certainty I do not feel, "Everything is going to be FINE."

Things experienced so far in LA - part 3

-- I sit there for a second, as cars THUNDER by me ... the speed of the cars on the freeway shake my parked car as though the Greek Gods of Old have a hold of my vehicle. I cannot believe this. It takes me a second to even comprehend what has happened. Here is where I immediately went, emotionally: "What the hell ... WHAT THE HELL, GOD? WHY?? You KNOW my problems with driving here the last time I was here ... WHY THIS NOW? AM I CURSED? ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING? ARE YOU TRYING TO REMIND ME THAT LA IS NOT FOR ME? WHY ME? I JUST BROKE ALEX'S CAR. I HAVE BEEN IN HER CAR FOR 15 MINUTES AND I BROKE IT. OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD." Then came the retroactive fear. I began to realize just how narrowly I escaped something truly awful. "I could have died. I could have just died right now. If the brakes had gone 45 seconds earlier ... I would be dead right now." Then I thought about how much I cherished my life, how much I cherished the breath going in and out of my lungs, what a miracle life is ... I need to make some changes in my life. I need to live every day to the fullest. This is all borrowed time. But meanwhile, weaving in and out of this (as my car is being shaken by Zeus Himself) was: "I BROKE ALEX'S CAR. I HAVE BROKEN HER CAR."

-- I also breathe a prayer of thanks to the cell phone gods - because I got rid of my stupid Sprint service - where I only got connection in a 3 mile radius of my stupid apartment ... I changed my service, and now my phone works anywhere. I know this is going to be a long crazy day. All my plans now scrapped. No Cashel, no birthday party. I call Alex. She answers, and I can tell she knows that something has happened. My voice is high, and unhinged - I can feel the panic in my own voice. "Alex ... the brakes died ... I'm on the 101." Alex starts SCREAMING. I can see her pacing like a lunatic, with her damn hair-extension scrunchie coming loose ... "WHAT? WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU OKAY???" "Alex, I am so so sorry ... I broke your car ... I drove it for 15 minutes and I broke it ..." She is hollering like a Wagnerian opera diva. "WHERE ARE YOU? I'M GETTING IN A CAB RIGHT NOW!" "I'm on the 101 --" She goes up an octave. "YOU'RE ON THE 101? OH MY GOD. ARE YOU OKAY?" "I'm in the breakdown lane ... I'm just past the Hollywood Bowl exit ... I have the hazards on ...." "I'LL BE THERE AS SOON AS I CAN!" She hangs up on me, and I can feel the frenzied WHIRLWIND of activity on her end - I can see her, in my mind, racing through the apartment, putting her cell phone in her I Love Lucy bag, putting on a sweatshirt, calling a cab ... a veritable Tasmanian Devil.

-- I call my brother. He's shooting a commercial, he's on the Universal lot ... I was supposed to go pick up Cashel and take him to the party. I inform him, brokenly, that the brakes have gone. I am fine. But I am on the freeway, standing in the dirt beside the breakdown lane ... and could he have one of his roommates walk Cashel to the party ... My brother is ... well. He's awesome. He can't believe it. He said, "Sheila, look at it this way ... at least you got it out of the way ... I'm so glad you're okay ... Don't worry about anything ... I'll tell Mike ... I'll have Maria pick up Cashel ... it's no problem ... and if you need me to chauffeur you guys around later, I should be off of this job by 9." "Okay! I'm fine! Don't worry!" I shout at him over the thunder of the freeway traffic.

-- I wait. It is a beautiful day. I look up at the hills above. There are palm trees on top. The sky is a blinding blue. The air is mild and spring-like. Yes, I am standing in the dirt on the side of the 101, and yes, I broke Alex's car, and yes God has cursed me by having this happen after my last debacle driving here ... but damn, that sky is blue, and damn, I love those palm trees.

-- I wait. Maria calls me. Her voice is humorous and kind. "So ... Sheila ... I hear you're having a little problem ..." I shout into my phone: "YEAH ... THE BRAKES DIED ... ON THE 101 ..." I keep thinking about what would have happened if the brakes had died a minute earlier when I was going 70. It is just too awful to contemplate. I think about my parents, and my sisters, and my brother, and Cashel ... and how they will never know how much I love them, and how ... I still don't feel like I tell them how much I love them ... I don't tell them this enough. I could have been dead. I also thought about my apartment and how I need to vacuum. If I had died, someone would have come in to clean it out ... and maybe woudl have thought: "Damn. Did she NEVER vacuum?" I make a promise to vacuum my rugs more often. Just in case I die in a fiery mesh.

-- I wait. Nobody stops to help me. The traffic has now let up and cars and semis hurtle by at breakneck speed.

-- I squint at every cab that goes by. Wondering if that will be Alex ...

-- Finally, I see the cab cutting across lanes of traffic ... I know it's her ... I can see her bouncy hair-extension crunchy in silhouette ... The cab pulls over and Alex emerges from it - wearing sunglasses, high-top sneakers - she has her arms out - and we run at each other - on the breakdown lane - and hug like lunatics. We hug and scream and hold each other. (To quote 40 year old virgin: "You know how I know you guys are gay? Because you are holding each other ... ever so gently ...") Actually, Alex and I are not holding each other, ever so gently, we are hugging FEROCIOUSLY. And shouting. We are both in a total and utter panic. Which makes us giddy. We start to laugh. We then laugh so hard that silence reigns between us for 5 minutes, as we lean against the broken car, gasping for breath, tears of laughter streaming down our faces.

-- The cabbie drives off, leaving the lunatic laughing girls on the side of the 101.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 2

-- I am geared up emotionally for the freeways. I keep saying, "You can do this, Sheila. You can do this. You are not the same girl as the one who lived here so many years ago, and who couldn't handle it. You can do this."

-- I am absolutely gobsmacked by the mountain vistas and the palm trees. What a psychedelic place. Beautiful. The weather is spectacular.

-- I follow Alex's directions to the letter, and yet still immediately get lost and find myself well on the way to Sacramento. Dammit. How did that happen? I pull off, and turn around, and get myself back on the freeway going in the other direction. I am a bit panicked, but I am still talking myself off the cliff. This time things go right. I surge onto the 101 South - one of the most terrifying roadways this side of the Autobahn and careen south. I count the exits. I am on my way to my brother's.

-- People drive like maniacs. I try not to let them pressure me into driving more dangerously than I feel comfortable with. You will not bully me!!!

-- And here's where one of the scariest things that has ever happened in my life occurred.

-- We hit a spot of traffic right after the Hollywood Bowl exit. Traffic slows down. I am in 2nd gear - so that gives you an idea of my speed. I still shudder when I think what might have happened if ... I had been going 70. I couldn't fall asleep last night reliving it, and reliving all of the alternative possibilities. I kept shaking myself awake, horrified. Horrible. Horrible. I could have died. I could have died in a fiery mesh. My God. Anyway, we come over a little hilll - not THE hill - but a smaller incline - and as I come around the corner, I go to put on the brakes - and the pedal goes all the way to the floor. I am not stopping. I am not stopping. Holy shit. I am not stopping. Also, thank God that I kept my state of mind beforehand and didn't let the crazy drivers pressure me into tailgaiting or going too fast - there was plenty of room between me and the car in front of me - but the pedal went to the floor and I did not stop ... I started gasping: "Oh my God oh my god oh my god oh my god ..." and I somehow became a stunt driver. On command. I put my blinker on ... surged into the right hand lane ... meanwhile, I'm just drifting ... the brakes don't work .... and I surged out of that lane ... I honestly don't know what would have happened if there had been cars on all sides ... a car was coming up behind me but there happened to be enough space to let me go to the right ... and then I went into the breakdown lane ... and since we weren't on a huge decline (thank GOD) I drifted to a full stop. "Safely" in the breakdown lane. I somehow find the clarity to put the hazards on - although I first turned on the air conditioner, mistaking that for the hazards button. I am now stranded on the side of the GD 101. With no brakes.

-- I have been in LA for less than 24 hours.

Things experienced so far in LA - part 1

-- I arrive in LA on Friday night and go to pick up my rental car. The Enterprise window is closed. I panic immediately. I drag my crumpled receipt out of my bag and see in TEENY TINY print at the bottom that the counter is closed after 9 pm. WTF?? I call Alex, panicked. She tells me to take a cab. We are giddy. We can't wait to see each other.

-- I get in a cab. I have yet another astonishing cab drive, in a long line of astonishing cab drives. My driver is an Armenian man named Ruben. I happen to know a lot about Armenia. We talk about Armenia for the ENTIRE TIME during the 35 minute drive to Alex's. I am deeply deeply in love with Ruben. He is so so so happy and amazed that someone knows about Armenia. He said, "From my bedroom window, growing up, I could see Mount Ararat out the window." I say, with eternal sadness in my voice, "Only it's in Turkey now, right?" I am very very sad about this. FOR him and for ALL the people of Armenia. There's a long long pause. Ruben glances at me in the rear view mirror. "You know a lot about Armenia." "I'm crazy," I inform him. When he drops me off at Alex's, he unloads his heart, in his thick Armenian accent. "You have made my day, Sheila. You have made my week. This is the best ride I have given all week. This beautiful woman gets into my cab and she knows all about Armenia." "I have so enjoyed talking with you, Ruben. I would love to go see Armenia some day." He drags my 500 pound bag up Alex's step, and I pay him, and then he gives me a huge warm embrace. I love people.

-- Alex and I remain giddy and thrilled to be in each other's presence. We sit on her couch, in her beautiful apartment, and immediately launch into a conversation that could, conceivably, have changed the ENTIRE WORLD ... if only it weren't just the two of us in on it. We talked about blogging - we discussed our various commenters - we gloried in the value of the Delete button - we discussed Hilary Clinton, politics, the fall of communism, we talked about how our separate blogs inform each other - how we have helped each other to stay honest, or push the boundaries of what we write about ... We talked about literally everything. Oh yeah, and we called Mitchell. Mitchell was just LOVING the fact that these two people - two of his best friends in the world - were now together - WITHOUT HIM. Mitchell is that kind of a generous soul. He introduced us. And now I am visiting Los Angeles and staying with Alex. A person more sparsely spirited, more ungenerous, would feel jealous - about two of HIS friends surging off into a separate friendship of their own - but to Mitchell, there is nothing more glorious.

-- The car-rental issue is just the FIRST glitch in the first extraordinary 24 hours of my trip.

-- Yesterday morning I wake up early. I am going to a birthday party. My cousin Mike's daughter is having a birthday party. Cashel will be there. I make plans with my brother to drive (Alex let me borrow her car - a first string in a long line of what I now see to be MIRACLES ...) to his place, pick up Cashel, and then walk over to Mike and Lisa's. I am very excited. I also have a new outfit that I am very excited about. Yes, it makes me look a little bit like an upper-class women's studies professor - but I am pleased with my bohemian chic charm. I totter off on my platform sandals to Alex's car, get in, and drive off, directions laid out on the seat beside me.

-- The last time I drove in Los Angeles it did not go well. I am a little bit terrified, but also eager to put those old ghosts to rest. Los Angeles: you will not break me THIS TIME!!!

Diary Friday

Every so often I come across an entry that is too good not to share ... but is so embarrassing (even more so than usual) that I hesitate. HOWEVER. In last week's Diary Friday, a discussion ensued among my group of friends about this one day that a "rock group" came and played at an assembly - it was some Don't Do Drugs assembly - and this "rock group" (gotta put the quotations there) was part of that propaganda onslaught. We all lost our minds - and then that very night, they put on a concert in our gym - a rock concert. We all went (except for Betsy, sadly). Anyway- we could not remember the name of the damn "rock group" - and Betsy finally came up with it: Freedom Jam.

My entry describing the Freedom Jam rock concert is so mortifying that even I, with my love of self-exposure, find it horribly mortifying. I'm in my sophomore year of high school.

But here we go.

I give to you:

FREEDOM JAM!

TUESDAY

[written across the top of this page are the words FREEDOM JAM in massive massive letters]

LORD WHAT A DAY! NO FRENCH TEST CAUSE OF AN ASSEMBLY. WAIT TILL YOU HEAR ABOUT THE ASSEMBLY! [This is like a wartime telegraph. Lord what a day Stop. No French test Stop ...]

OK, it wasn't just a normal assembly. It was a CONCERT from a rock group - Freedom Jam. [Even my language there shows that I have no idea what I'm talking about. "a concert FROM a rock group"? What?]

Oh God!

I was in study first period, and I heard them rehearsing. I mean, they were REAL ROCK. [I am so sorry. I just ... I have nothing to say ...] I ran in there and got a good seat. The whole place filled up and kids had to sit on the floor. The whole set-up was all these speakers and microphones and synthesizers and a big yellow drum set up high. Then Josh Lott came out [Josh Lott!! He was so HOT!] and everybody screamed. This boy is a senior with the most incredible face, an even more incredible body, and he wears plaid pants. He's a freak. He's not conceited though. In fact, he is a National Merit scholar. He just stood there - adorably - waiting for us to finish, and he made a speech about the band and ended by yelling, "HERE'S FREEDOM JAM!" [This is so damn hysterical. It's like U2 came to our school or something.] The whole place screeched and I felt shivers as the guys ran out and immediately began to play. It was fabulous!! Smashing drums and guitars ... and the keyboards player. Oh my Lord. I'll tell you about him later. [Oh God. Please don't.]

They were excellent. All of them were about college age. There was a black lead singer, two white guitarists, a drummer [and here I wrote a little heart. Yes. A small heart.] and a piano player [another heart, this one much bigger.] All were good-looking and they sounded like a real rock group! [Holy crap. How awful!!! Why didn't I say "band"? Why did I say "group"? It's so geeky!!!]

They played some Ozzy and they played Loverboy [bwahahahahaha] and Men at Work. Piano player did harmony. I loved how he played. The lead guy wore olive drab, one guitarist had frizzy hair and woire this black suit with a holster [excuse me? A holster?], the other wore this red, white and blue soldier suit, the drummer wore a sailor middy [I am laughing out loud at all of this - THE DRUMMER WORE A SAILOR MIDDY? WTF? Is he Little Orphan Annie???] and the keyboard -- oh my heart. He was really small and lithe, and he had blonde hair and the most CUTE face. He was so small! And he wore a red, white and blue striped vest, white shirt, a red, white and blue garter on one arm [oh God, member that look??], black bow tie, black pants, and Darryl Hall sneakers. [The outfits are killing me.] I swear, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.

After they sang, they talked and stuff, and did some skits [Oh man.] pertaining to music throughout America's history. They started off in 1776 and turned all of these patriotic tunes into rock songs. They were hilarious. Then, they went through the Civil War, WWI, the 20s, the 30s, 40s, 50s ... the lead guy did Elvis. Oh God! He had on this white glittery suit with spangles and a belt with a HUGE belt buckle, and this guitar with Elvis all over it, and he did the most hysterical things with his hips and eyes. [I am shaking with laughter. "So do you like that guy?" "Ah, whatever. He's all hips and eyes."] And he pointed to Heidi in the audience and made her stand up (she was so red) and point at him (she was laughing so hard) and he started to sing, "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog!" and she dropped right back in her seat! The 60s - "She Loves You Yeah Yeah Yeah" - I particular remember that the keyboards (Tom Caffey) was very cute in this. Oh, and when they got up to present, the drummer, who was also gorgeous, sang "Even the Nights Are Better" [Oh man - that song!!] and he took Heather Cavanagh out of the audience and up onto the stage with him and she was in hysterics as he was singing this romantic song to her, and he fell on his knee before her and (her face was red) she sat on his knee and he gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. [You probably couldn't get away with that now. Some overly-sensitive kid would claim that she was "traumatized" or "sexually harassed". I do think the "ain't nothin' but a hound dog" thing is kinda mean, though. Come to think of it. If they had picked me to stand up - and I felt so ugly and fat ANYWAY - and to be called out like that? It would have been awful. I don't think I would have sued the school, though. Okay. Onward.]

They were such great musicians and I can tell that they really care about each other. [Omigod.] AND- drumroll - during one of the songs, this is honestly true, I swear to the Lord, I was sitting there, chin in my hands, just watching Tom Caffey - Just watching him. And I guess he felt my eyes on him [Uhm ... he was on stage ... he had 800 pairs of eyes on him ... I almost wanted to cut this next part out, because it's just too awful - but here we go.] so he looked over at me, and THEN - he leaned on his elbows, put his chin in his hands, and stared back at me. Imitating me. [Oh wow. I remember that now. I FLIPPED OUT. He had called me out, personally. Thrilling!!] This is the honest-to-goodness truth. I tell you, I died! I went crazy!

After that, I was even more in love, and he kept looking over at me, as he was pounding away on the keys, and smiling at me. I was really brave once, and waved.

And at the end, they each talked to us and he finished with this touching speech about freedom. These guys are no space-outs. No way. [Did you walk into the assembly assuming they would be space-outs? I'm confused.] He talked about feeling proud of America - not just in times of crisis, like with the Iranian hostages - but always. But he talked about how when the crisis is over - like with Iran - the feeling of togetherness goes away, the spirit goes away. He also talked about name-calling. He said, "It strips away people's freedom. Names like 'nigger, honkie, spic ...' " [Wow. Again. You could never get away with this now.] Some kids in the back started laughing when he said those words, and he went, "Yeah, you may laugh now, but it's not funny. Not really." Mr. Hodge said to me later that teachers and parents can't make speeches like that to us because we know them so well. We just roll our eyes. But a rock group can and does make more of an impression. Not only were those guys talented, funny and gorgeous - they also really stand for something special and sacred. I love every one of them. They deserve to become stars.

And tomorrow night they're giving a REAL ROCK CONCERT and I am going! They said they could come down and meet us and I really want to meet Tom Caffey. What a day!

WHAT A DAY! After that, I could not think about anything else.

WEDNESDAY

I brought my camera, my tape recorder. [hahahahaha] And, after - Tom Caffey signed my dollar and shook my hand. He was standing up on a chair, and I went over and said, "Can you sign my dollar?" [After his patriotic speech, you ask him to deface our nation's currency??] He grinned at me, took it, and said seriously, "Yes. I will sign your dollar." Then he gave it back to me and I, in a fit of bravery, "Oh, could you shake my hand?" And oh Diary, he took my hand and squeezed it.

Oh Lord, it HURTS! MY HEART. I shouldn't do this to myself.

I got some great pictures - we sat down, and suddenly all the lights went out, it was pitch-black and when the lights flashed on, THERE THEY ALL WERE AT THEIR INSTRUMENTS! We all were screaming so loud! The music was louder. I'm practically deaf now. My ears are still ringing.

I got a great picture of Tom at his keyboards. [Oh yeah, we're on a first name basis now] Let's see. He had on a blue and white striped tight T shirt, blue handkerchiefs around his wrists [hahahahaha], tight black leather pants, white leg warmers and Darryl Hall sneakers. [That is absolutely hilarious. Leg warmers]

And Rick, the lead guy, made a speech and he said, "Y'know, people think that it's cool to have drugs, drink, whatever. But we want to let you know that the show you just saw, and yesterday morning's show, has been totally done without the use of alcohol or drugs. You don't need to do all that to have a great time." We all just screamed so loud! (Well. Except for a few spacey dorks)

Diary, I honestly don't know how to say what is going on inside me. I want to laugh, sing, make out with someone, scream, dance, but most of all cry. I get so emotionally worked up. They all just seemed so nice ... as guys, as a group, as people ...

They said they would come back to SK and I swear - no matter where I am - I'm gonna come back to see them. [I can see it now ... I'm walking along the Great Wall of China when my cell phone rings. I answer. "Sheila ... just wanted to let you know ... Freedom Jam will be playing tomorrow at SK ..." I immediately leap off the Great Wall and run to the nearest airport to get myself home.]

I can't even write what I'm feeling now. It has something to do with boys. And wanting a boy in my life. I have each image of the last two days etched in my brain forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy birthday to George Burns!!

"The most important thing in acting is honesty. If you can fake that, you've got it made."

-- George Burns

I feel so fortunate that I am old enough to remember George Burns as still being a public figure and entertainer. He died in 1996 at the age of 100 years old, and he pretty much worked right up to the end. An old vaudeville warhorse ... the changes he saw in his own profession ... and how he adjusted ... and yet how he still kept his own style ... It's sad to think that all those who remember vaudeville, who were THERE ... are gone.

Happy birthday, George!

The Books: "The Flowering Peach" (Clifford Odets)

And here is my next excerpt of the day from my script library:

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is The Flowering Peach., by Clifford Odets

And ... it is hard to believe - but this is my last book in this bookshelf!!! I started going through this bookshelf on April 19 - the first excerpt was from Hollywood Babylon. Of course ... I have since acquired books that are now in this bookshelf ... but I haven't read them yet ... so I will leave them for the next round. I am tireless. April 19! Good God! And now it's January whatever it is ... that's some bookshelf, huh???

The Flowering Peach is Odets' last play. I know a couple of people who call this their favorite Odets ... and it's not really well known. It's the story of Noah building his ark. It opens with Noah waking up from a dream, sitting in stillness in his dark house for a while, and then remembering the dream - he stands up abruptly and starts screaming: "No! No!" It's one of the most stunning beginnings of a play I've ever read. How does one play that?? Beginning a play with a vision of the end of the world. Odets. Gotta love him.

I love this play because he doesn't change his language to make it Biblical ... he still writes like Odets. It's a comedy. Suddenly, you get Noah and his wife bantering with each other like two old members of the Yiddish theatre, you get the classic Odets dialogue, crackling off the page ... It's a sweet play, I wish it was done more.

I'll excerpt a bit from the first scene. Noah has confided in Esther his dream. She thinks he's crazy. They have been married for so long that their back-and-forth almost has the quality of a vaudeville team. Noah is horrified ... he needs to get started building his ark ... he has never seen a boat ... he needs to alert his sons ... etc. Esther goes off to make breakfast (oh, and the set is a regular house ... not a tent or anything realistic) - so she goes off to make breakfast leaving Noah alone, and tormented.

He starts to call out to God. This is his monologue.

From The Flowering Peach., by Clifford Odets

[Alone, Noah rocks himself a little, as an old Jew does, in sorrowful musing, to comfort himself. When he speaks it is sole, humbly, sadly, and with devotion]

NOAH. Lonely times again ...? [sighing] Now I must go out in the world an' make meself for a big nuisance again ...? [Then] Why should she think I'm crazy? [abruptly standing] Now, just a minute! How do I know I'm not? I had a dream or not? [stamping his foot] Floor, listen to me! [slapping the table] Tell me, tell me, table -- I had a dream or not? [He listens, bewildered and fevered, but only silence answers him back, then he abruptly throws his arms upward and speaks angrily] If you spoke to me, Lord, I don't want it! I'm too old everybody should laugh in my face! I ain't got the gizzard for it -- No, sir! [Toning down to a softer devotional tone resting his mouth on clasped hands] Oh GOd, excuse me -- You are All and Everything an' I'm unworthy. You see me -- what am I good for? All I do is cough an' spit. Pass me by -- pass me by. Please ... [Now the Presence of God is heard: it is expressed by a certain musical rustle or widening shimmer, as if a gigantic tuning fork had been struck, its vibrations stern and imperious. With this comes one long thunder roll [which in the theatre is made by one good union stage hand rolling a lead ball across the back of the stage.] Noah falls to his knees as if struck, his head is bowed low. After a moment he tilts his head a little and his nose twitches like a rabbit's. "Lord?" he asks. The musical shimmer deepens, spills everywhere and then softens] You came out, God ...? [Then, listening reverently] Don't be mad. Because if I must, I must ... I must? [Sighing and shaking his head sadly. Gradually growing sly] What do I know about boats? Ast my Esther an' she'll tell you; when was I near water. Bread is bread, I know it -- a pickle is a pickle, a knife is a knife -- but boats? ... [Noah's slyness is reproved by a brief but angry thunder roll. Noah nods meekly but he is heartsick nonetheless] Awright, whatever you tell me to do, I'll do it ... [Then nodding] Yes, I remember everything to a "T". The length of the ark should be three hundred cubits, fifty cubits the breadth an' thirty cubits the height ... [Nodding again] I'll try to convince my sons to do what You say, but with my two oldest boys I'm altogether no good! You'll have to help me, 'cause they'll lock me up for a noisy old man. [Abruptly] You're here yet ... ? But wait a minute -- the main point we didn't get to! You're talking a total destruction of the whole world an' this is something terrible--! [He breaks off suddenly and gazes about, asking in a timid whisper] Lord ...? You're here ...? [He waits a moment and then painfully gets to his feet. The Presence of God has faded away into silence. Noah groans] Am I awake or am I asleep? I'm awake, but I wish I was dead. [But, cocking an eye, he looks around him, wondering if he actually is awake or asleep. He leans his cheek on an open hand, and, whimpering a little, draws delicately into himself. Antiphonal roosters crow proudly in the distance. The stage lights dim out quietly.]

CURTAIN

Now this is just perfect

You're Ulysses!
by James Joyce
Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.

More on Ben Franklin

Alex has an AWESOME POST up on this extraordinary gentleman. She kinda covers it all.

Movie quote

"Your car? Your running board? Is there anything in the world that doesn't belong to you?"
"Yes! You, thank goodness!"
"Now don't lose your temper."

Wicked

Again, I am culturally behind the curve.

This one I find particularly unforgivable. My dear friend Jen made me a mix CD for my birthday - and on it is the song "Defying Gravity" from the musical Wicked. I have been a big Kristin Chenoweth fan since her Charlie Brown breakout- and she is also AWESOME in the Annie movie - as Lily St. Regis. That chick can SING. And Idina Menzel? Fuggedaboutit. But ... I never saw Wicked and I knew NONE of the songs.

Man. I was so missing out.

"Defying Gravity" is a song that lifts me up out of myself. It's truly incredible. And one of those rare rare things: a duet between two women. Kristen and Idina? Just kill me now!

And yes - my friend Betsy pointed out to me that it's the line where Idina suddenly lets loose: "And so if you care to find me ... LOOK to the Western sky ..."

It's one of those musical moments that transcends intellect, or passive appreication. I have a visceral response to that line - over and over and over again. It's not JUST her voice - which is, in that moment, a high high thrilling belt ... it's also the words ... which just call up all kinds of feelings in me ... it's the build-up beforehand ... It is just THRILLING.

The other song which, so far, has been transcendent for me is Elpheba's song "The Wizard and I". Again: the girl's got some major pipes. But it is obvious (in the same way it is obvious with Chenoweth) that she's got acting chops as well. It's not just a pretty voice. It's a powerful voice - with a tidal wave of emotion behind it. Like Barbra Streisand in her younger days, when she let LOOSE. Uhm, "Cry Me a River" anyone?

Wicked is a truly thrilling musical experience and I kinda want to see the show now - even though Menzel and Chenoweth are long gone.

Dear condescending Euro-turds

If you come to my site by Googling "Drew Barrymore's tits" or "Golden Globes Drew Barrymore's boobs" or "Drew Barrymore Boobs Golden Globes" - then you kind of don't have a leg to stand on when you start railing in my comments section about how shallow Americans are. Mkay?

My traffic has gone up 25 or 30 percent in the last couple of days because of you all, over in Europe, Googling the words "Drew Barrymore's boobs" ... and voila ... you come to my site ... and then give ME a lecture about how shallow I am. Classic.

Just want to point out your hypocrisy to you. And I will delete all of your comments. To quote the judge at the end of What's Up Doc, "I will ... be ... merciless ... MERCILESS."

Love,

Shallow and Proud of it Sheila

The Books: "Standing On My Knees" (John Olive)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Standing On My Knees., by John Olive

Another favorite with actors because of the long great two-person scenes throughout the play - this play opened in 1982 - and it starred Pamela Reed. I'm not sure about this, but I think this was her first major part - I always wonder: What happened to her? I mean ... I am sure she is still working, and someone can go do an IMDB lookup, and I'm sure she's doing stage ... but sometimes I wonder why a larger level success didn't come to her. I think she's kind of wonderful, I really do. And this role in Standing on my knees is one of those plum parts for an actress - Not only is it a good part, with good scenes, but the character is schizophrenic and has just been released from a mental institution! Awesome! Actors love to play crazy people.

So we have Catherine - a poet, and a schizophrenic. She hears voices. She has just been let out of the institution and she is trying to integrate back into society. She's kind of successful as a poet - she has an agent who keeps talking to her about "when's the new book coming out?" - or "Have you been writing again?" Catherine can barely make it through the day at this point. She comes up against people's fears and prejudices about mental illness ... Her friend Joanne wants her to bounce back ... her friend Joanne also feels like Catherine has always been a little too intense, too much ... Catherine plods along, taking her drugs, she starts dating someone (poor guy, he doesn't stand a chance) - and eventually, she can't live with the fact that the anti-psychotic drugs dull down her imagination, kill her nighttime dream-life, and seems to kill the creative process. So she goes off the drugs, starts writing again, and falls off the deep end. The voices take over. She has her creative process again, she's able to write ... but at what cost?

All the parts in this play are great.

I'll excerpt a scene between Catherine and Alice, her agent. Alice is the one who "discovered" Catherine's poetry and she has ushered her into literary success. Catherine is now out of the hospital for only a couple of weeks, and Alice has lunch with her, basically to ask her: "Are you ready to get back to work again?"

Alice can't deal with mental illness ... although that will become clear once you read the scene. She tries to just talk about it as though it was a normal hospital stay, and Catherine kind of can't take it. It's a very sad uncomfortable scene. Alice tries to make small talk, Catherine can't put up a good front - it's too soon, she's still recovering ... Alice makes blunder after blunder ...

Oh, and just so you know ... the play isn't written in a linear way. The writing itself tries to reflect Catherine's madness - how voices blend together, how time skips around, how transitions don't make sense ...

I used this scene as my SECOND audition to get into the goddamn Actors Studio. Bastards.

From Standing On My Knees., by John Olive

[A spot fades up on Alice sitting at a table in the bare stage area with the remains of lunch and a bottle of German wine. Catherine starts to get dressed. A pause, and then Catherine and Alice both start speaking at once]

ALICE. You want some --?

CATHERINE. [overlapping] How's business?

ALICE. What?

CATHERINE. Hm?

ALICE. [laughing] You want some more wine?

CATHERINE. No.

ALICE. Coffee?

CATHERINE. Caffeine makes you crazy.

ALICE. Oh. Dessert?

CATHERINE. No.

ALICE. This is a good place, don't you think? German food.

CATHERINE. How's business?

ALICE. Oh, good. The Woman's Guide to Baseball's a big hit. Still understaffed, still have to type my own letters, pain in the ass. God, you look good.

CATHERINE. I feel good. All that healthy hospital food. [Catherine, dressed, goes to the table and sits]

ALICE. [after a beat] So.

CATHERINE. Hm?

ALICE. What was it like?

CATHERINE. [pauses, shrugs] You saw me.

ALICE. Yeah, Jesus, I'll never forget it.

CATHERINE. I don't remember a lot of it. Time flew.

ALICE. Because of the drugs? Thorazine, right?

CATHERINE. Plus a lot of vitamins. Megavitamins. "Orthomolecular Therapy." But mostly Thorazine.

ALICE. The Thorazine make you feel like your brain's gained fifteen pounds?

CATHERINE. It does slow everything down.

ALICE. Yeah? Can I have some? [A beat, looks away] Okay, okay. [Another beat] The hospital's all right, isn't it? I mean, it's not ... Cuckoo's Nest, padded isolation chambers, sadistic nurses, a huge institutional toilet?

CATHERINE. No, it's nice. There's a real sense of ... community.

ALICE. Yeah? The other patients interesting?

CATHERINE. Yeah.

ALICE. You miss 'em?

CATHERINE. Yeah.

ALICE. You glad to be out?

CATHERINE. No.

ALICE. [after an uncomfortable pause] Ed's fine. Some tiny town in Iowa commissioned him to make a huge bronze football for the civic center. He quit bein' a vegetarian, we don't talk much. Wants to go to Mexico. Beer is better there. You're makin' me nervous, babe.

CATHERINE. I make everybody nervous, I know. I feel like I should be wearing a big scarlet S.

ALICE. [nervously, too loud] SchizoWoman!!

CATHERINE. Alice.

ALICE. [looks around sheepishly] Shit. [A beat] Well, I'm jealous, you know that. You get to go lock horns with evil psychiatrists, commune with the supernatural. I have to live with Ed.

CATHERINE. [laughs] God.

ALICE. I know my curiosity is morbid and you hate me for being the gringo I am. [A pause. Alice continues, not looking at Catherine] So how you coming on the book? Working on it? Thinking about it, at least?

CATHERINE. Thinking about it a lot.

ALICE. Well ...

CATHERINE. But I haven't been working on it, Alice.

ALICE. Well, why not?

CATHERINE. Alice, I've been very ill.

ALICE. [laughs nervously] Doesn't that help?

CATHERINE. I can't work on the book right now.

ALICE. You wanna write it off? I'd really rather not. That's a lot of expensive staff time down the --

CATHERINE. Take it easy.

ALICE. [after a pause] You'll start working on it now.

CATHERINE. No.

ALICE. Why?

CATHERINE. Alice.

ALICE. Why?

CATHERINE. I was working on the book when I ... flipped.

ALICE. So? The book made you crazy? [laughs]

CATHERINE. [voice thick, looking away] I don't ...

ALICE. You gonna stop writing? That's what you're saying?

CATHERINE. I have to.

ALICE. [laughs again] You kidding? You'll never --- [stops, looks at her] It's your best book. I don't believe you're gonna --

CATHERINE. Alice. Stop it. Just -- [suddenly stands up]

ALICE. Hey. You okay?

CATHERINE. Gotta go.

ALICE. Oh shit, babe, don't pay any attention to me, I'm fucked up. You're fucked up, Ed's fucked up, everybody I care about's--

CATHERINE. I'm not fucked up. I'm sick. [short pause. Then Alice bursts into laughter. Catherine takes money from hger pocket, puts it on the table] Here. [starts to go]

ALICE. Catherine. [Catherine stops] It was gonna be your best book. The best one we ever did. It was gonna be beautiful. [Stands] Take care. [Exits

Notes on Project Runway

Okay, so this was the best Project Runway yet. I say this having just jumped on the bandwagon.

The designers had to design an ice-skating dress for the divine and fiery Miss Sasha Cohen. I LOVE that chick. I love ice skating. I know, I know ... it's not a sport ... the judging sucks ... but I LOVE IT. I also watched Skating with Celebrities tonight and actually CRIED A TEAR when I watched Todd Bridges skating. I CRIED A TEAR. I was PROUD OF TODD BRIDGES. I was proud enough to SHED A TEAR. Wow. I knew I was a geek, but I didn't know I was THAT much of a geek.

Anyway.

This was a huge challenge for the designers. Many of them had never even ice skated before. Zulema had skated once or twice ... but I thought her dress was gorgeous - and very Sasha-esque. Sasha is sassy - but also like a swan. Her dress reflected that.

-- Santino's dress BLEW. What? You make a skater look fat in her dress? You make her look like she has a fat ass? Are you out of your mind??

-- Heidi Klum continues to entice me with her pregnant belly, her adorable outfits, and her changeable look: sometimes red lipstick, sometimes nude ... she always looks fabulous and ... I adore her in an almost inappropriate way.

-- I felt a mixture of feelings watching Emmet at the end. His dress was a disaster ... but he's a menswear designer. This is not his bag. But something about his posture ... wearing that pink flouncy top (they all dressed up like ice skaters) ... and his soft open face ... I don't know. I like him personally. He came back, after losing, and said to the rest of the designers, as they all hugged him, "Best of luck to all of you ..." I don't know. The guy's got class.

-- Sasha Cohen is a cutie-pie. I loved watching her take notes during the runway show.

-- Andre (or whatever) is such a drama queen, but I loved how butch he got when he fixed the special sewing machine.

-- I was actually strangely charmed by Santino during this particular challenge. I forgive him his grease-ball ambience. He seemed kind of humorous, and self-deprecating and more part of the team.

-- Tim Gunn on skates, wearing trim little blue jeans, is an image that will get me through many a dark hour.

-- Nick is awesome. I truly wish that we were friends. "It was like international male gone g-g-g-GAY."

-- I loved how Kara was kind of insecurely looking for validation and Nick said to her, "Uh huh, right ... right ... but just trust your instincts."

-- These people are all so creative. If you set me loose in a bead store ... I mean, I GUESS I would figure out what I wanted ... but ... I have no idea what I would buy. These people have pictures in their minds, and they surge forward trying to make that picture a reality. The show is fascinating because of that creative process.

-- Chloe's dress was okay. Sasha liked it - but I wasn't all that wacky about it. It seemed like Sasha would get lost in it - but that sky-blue color would look beautiful on her.

-- I LOVED LOVED LOVED when Tim Gunn turned to Sasha and said, "What is important for you ... in terms of your costumes?" And she started talking about what the costumes needed to have. I don't know, I just loved that ... the professional respect Gunn gave her, and also - her knowledge about what she needed. Very cool.

-- I loved Daniel's dress - I think that guy is really talented. Here's the deal: He's not a wild crazy greaseball genius like Santino - but here's what I see: He took on THE PROJECT AT HAND. He didn't try to prove how brilliant he was. He actually seemed to think about Sasha Cohen. I could see her in that dress.

-- Seeing how nervous Zulema was on her skates ... she's not a skater, or an ice skating fan ... so then her face when Sasha said, "I will be wearing your dress in my next exhibition ..." Zulema's expression was unforgettable. Like ... she truly couldn't believe it. She went kind of blank and said, "Really?" I got a little choked up.

-- I am such a fucking geek.

Archie Leach Day!!

This is a re-post of something I wrote a while back - it has to do with the history of acting, of the method acting style, of Stanislavsky's teachings, and how I think Grant fits into that continuum. It's very very in-depth. Only true cinephiles, Cary Grant freaks, or acting fanatics should read this. Because it's nuts.

I popped in An Affair to Remember last night, basically so I could have a good long crying jag. The movie worked like a charm. Doesn't it always?

But now here comes the obsession:

One of the recognizable elements of the "Method" (popularized and institutionalized in America by Lee Strasberg - and embodied by actors such as Marlon Brando, James Dean, Robert De Niro) is that the actor is not just projecting emotions. He doesn't wear a mask, a "sad" mask, a "happy" mask, etc. The "Method" actor seems to be responding to internal stimuli, stuff that is unpredictable (but not unpredictable just for the sake of unpredictability) - and there is more going on within the actor than just what the lines say.

To give an obvious example:

The line may say, "God, I feel like crying." But because of something that happens within the actor, while saying the line, the actor bursts into hysterical laughter.

I might say this: this is closer to how people behave in real life. We aren't programmed, emotionally. You can have a fight with someone and not scream your head off through the whole thing. You might be kneeling at the coffin of a dearly beloved, and suddenly begin to laugh. Or suddenly start to rip up the flowers.

The Method was not "invented" by America. It's not like: Oh, actors were ONE way before the 1950s, and ANOTHER way after. That's missing the point.

Stanislavsky, the great Russian director, had realized, in observing actors - that some of them were better than others at seeming like they were having real experiences on stage. (This goes back to Hamlet's advice to the players. "What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba, That he should weep for her?" Hamlet here is pondering the essential mystery of acting. It is a complete fiction - and yet - actors since theatre has began have been crying real tears on stage, etc. One of the best definitions for acting I have ever heard is: "to come to life truthfully under imaginary circumstances". I think "truthfully" may be the key there.) Stanislavsky wanted to come up with a "system" that would help perhaps lesser actors to achieve what others did naturally, or with greater ease.

Also: If you'll notice, the best actors are the ones who don't know how to describe what it is that they do.

Spencer Tracy's advice to other actors? "Learn your lines and don't bump into the furniture."

Robert DeNiro is incredibly inarticulate when it comes to the craft of acting. "Oh... you know ... I do my homework ... I want to be truthful ..." etc.

Meryl Streep never talks about "how". The closest I've ever heard her come to describing how she does what she does is when she did a seminar at my school and said, "Acting, for me, is like going to church. When I'm praying at church, it's a private thing - I could never describe to you how I pray, or why I pray. I just do. And acting's the same way." Also implicit in that statement is the sacredness of it for her.

This has probably been the case with actors since the dawn of time. The ones who were the greats - Garrick, Sarah Siddons, Eleanora Duse, etc. - are the ones who had genius. Who could "weep for" Hecuba naturally, because their natural gifts always led them in the right direction. Hence: genius.

Stanislavsky began to experiment, at the Moscow Art Theatre, with training actors in a "system". A system designed to help actors relax, concentrate, and get to emotional truth. And not just once - it's easy to create a miracle of truth ONCE! That's why so many film stars fail miserably when they try to do Broadway. They are not used to re-creating. In the days of Stanislavsky, the main work an actor would get would be on stage, where you would be required to cry real tears for Hecuba night after night after night. What does one do when the well runs dry?

Stanislavsky's "system" (which is known, in America, as "the Method") was an answer to that problem. Or - ONE answer. Not THE answer.

There are funny stories from Chekhov about how Stanislavsky, when directing his plays, "ruined" them, made them all into tragedies, etc. This is all probably true.

But Stanislavsky's genius was: in addressing, for the first time really, the "problem" of the actor. The problem of the actor in the beginning stages of rehearsal - when you are trying to awaken your imagination, and dream yourself into the role. A genius like Marlon Brando, by all accounts, never needed any direction. His natural instincts were usually spot on (when he was cast well, I mean.) Elia Kazan talks about rehearsing with Brando for Streetcar Named Desire - and he described it as an ever-expanding process of just getting the hell out of the WAY.

Stella Adler, who had Marlon in her acting class, said, "Sending Marlon Brando to acting class was like sending a tiger to jungle school."

But most actors don't have the natural gut-level genius of a Brando, or a Duse. They need help, they need training, they need "a way in". Stanislavsky was the first to devote his life to addressing this issue.

Stanislavsky also addressed the problem of what you do when you're in a long long run of a show. How do you keep it fresh? How do you make every night feel like it's the first time? There's a craft to it. If you leave it up to magic (and your name isn't Eleanora Duse) - then you're gonna be in trouble. You need to get yourself some CRAFT.

The "Method" is a version of Stanislavsky's "system". It's what I'm trained in. I devoted myself to the whole thing long ago, because my idols (James Dean, Marlon Brando, Al Pacino) were all "Method" actors. I saw Dog Day Afternoon when I was 11, and thought, "I need to learn how to do what he does."

I mean, in general - the "Method" so overhauled what people expected of actors that it's hard to remember how revolutionary it was at the time. It raised the bar. And pretty much ... it's the style of acting which everyone does now. When you see old movies, and certain performances seem stage-y, or "dated" - that's really what you're seeing. That the styles have changed.

Now - there are those actors who didn't "need no Method" - and who actually scorned it - but these people, in general, are those whom I would call geniuses. Their acting has nothing to do with a specific time and place - their work would seem timely and fresh no matter WHEN it is seen.

James Cagney. Spencer Tracy. Gents like that. Their talent was so fluid, so flexible, so real - their imaginations were so engaged - they had no trouble relaxing - or Listening (the most important thing an actor can do.) You watch pretty much anything Spencer Tracy does - and one of my impressions of it is: you almost cannot imagine that the words he is saying were actually ever on a printed page. They seem improvisational. As though he is making them up as he goes along. I love him.

But all the greats - all the ones who STILL seem great today - and whose acting "style" has weathered the test of time - are ones who have that capability. Naturally.

It's good to have training as an actor. On-the-job training is the best. You have to have a flexible voice. You have to be able to relax your body, and relax your throat - so your voice can do whatever you want it to. You have to be able to concentrate in the middle of chaos - and sometimes that takes training. But training to become a genius like Spencer Tracy? No. Not possible. All you can do with someone like Tracy is WATCH him and try to LEARN from watching.

Actors like Humphrey Bogart, Spencer Tracy, James Cagney, Deborah Kerr - they stand out in the films they are in. They seem to be emissaries from REALITY, as opposed to actors playing parts. Their acting transcends "style". They could fit in today. Their work isn't dated. It's in a continuum. But then - there are plenty of those old-school actors whose work just doesn't withstand the test of time.

Now. Onto Cary Grant.

I watched Affair to Remember last night, yes, to have a nice big cry. But also - cause I wanted to study him. Watch him like a hawk. Deborah Kerr is so marvelous, so funny, so beautiful - that it is very easy for me to only watch her face during their scenes. So I watched him instead.

(This kind of behavior is extremely fun for me. I love good actors. Gee, can you tell?)

All of this "Method" preface was just to say that one of the things that Cary Grant does - and what he does so well - almost better than anybody else - is listen. He is always listening. Bad actors do not listen. Bad actors can be bad actors in MANY different ways - but one thing they all have in common is that they DO. NOT. LISTEN. They are consumed with self, they are trying to come off a certain way, they are going for an effect, they are thinking about their own experience, and not listening to the other actor. Listening is the most important thing.

Marlon Brando loved going to the movies, he loved being entertained, but he said he only "studied" 2 other actors: Spencer Tracy and Cary Grant. It's that LISTENING thing that these two actors have at an unbelievably real level. They fake nothing. They don't 'act like' they're listening. They really are. This is why they seem so spontaneous - so fresh - because they are willing to be surprised by the other actor. You never know what will happen in real life. Acting should be that way too. Or at least it should seem that way to us, the audience.

Cary Grant is, to my taste, one of the best examples of this.

Because what happens is - is if you are really listening to the other person in the scene with you - then they won't always say things the way you might expect them to say it - and you'll have to react. But you'll only be able to react if you notice them in the first place.

Humphrey Bogart. To me, he is most interesting when he's listening to someone else talk. Watch his face. Watch him take the other person in, have internal responses to things - you can see all the stuff he isn't saying. His face can be READ. We SEE his thoughts, his feelings, his responses ... But this is only because he's listening.

The scenes in Affair to Remember are such a TREAT because the two of them are such good listeners. It's hard to even know who to look at - you could watch each scene twice - just to make sure you catch all the little moments.

This is not my favorite film, by the way - I think it makes some huge missteps - but I'm talking about the deliciousness of the acting of the leads.

The film addresses that thing that happens between two people who fall in love in that particular way: you can read each other's thoughts. You can hear the unspoken. You know what the other person is thinking ... Language becomes extraneous.

I love those moments in the film. Deborah Kerr will be talking on about her life to him, then turn to him and say, "Hm?" Grant will say, "What?" Kerr will say, "Did you say something?" Grant says, "I didn't say anything." A smile crosses Kerr's face and she'll say, "Yes you did."

Grant is NEVER just playing the surface of the scene. There's always more going on. You know? He's always holding back, or he's thinking something he's afraid to say, or he's not sure how to find the words ... And the thing is - it all looks kind of improvisational. Like he didn't plan out his responses beforehand.

I've worked with very very "heady" actors. That's what I call them. No matter WHAT I do - their response will not vary. They have planned the whole scene out in their head beforehand. Sometimes it's fun to mess with that, especially if I'm annoyed. I'll change blocking. Just to mess up their little program in their head. I will randomly burst into laughter whereas the day before I hadn't laughed - just to see if they respond. It's hostile, but whatever. Can't stand working with headcases.

There is nothing better than acting with someone who is also listening to you - and who is also responding to internal cues - and so that means you do not know what they will do next. You start to feel like it's not acting - you are actually ALIVE. The two of you are "coming to life truthfully under imaginary circumstances". [See the example in one of the posts below about Jimmy Stewart and Grant in that one scene from Philadelphia Story - that's what I'm talking about. A lesser actor would have been thrown by Grant's improvisation, would have broken out of the scene, said, "Are you going to do that?" or whatever. Stewart just went with it.]

Here are a couple of Cary Grant's moments in Affair to Remember I will analyze:

The moments:

1. One of their last nights on the boat, when he comes to her room, saying they need to talk because "we have created quite a problem here"

2. When he returns to his grandmother's villa, after she has died, and walks through the empty living room

3. The last scene - when he realizes that she is crippled

Here we go.

1. One of their last nights on the boat, when he comes to her room, saying they need to talk because "we have created quite a problem here"

Here's the set-up: The two of them spent a 5-hour lay-over going to visit Nicky's (Cary Grant's character) grandmother in her idyllic little villa. They have a magical afternoon. They realize (with no words passing between them) that they are in love, and that they are engaged to the wrong people. [It's a very very cheesy scene - especially the praying in the private chapel - but for whatever reason - it ends up working - it's a sweet scene.] They return to the ship. She avoids him. He tracks her down, and finds her crying in her room. They have a tortured conversation. What should they do? She says to him, "There are rough seas ahead of us." He says "I know. We changed course today, didn't we?" She asks for time to think about what they should do. A couple days go by, and they run into each other - but there's no more of that loving banter, nothing.

One night, it's raining. She sits in her cabin, and she is obviously distraught, just thinking over what she should do. A knock on the door. She answers, and it's him. She begs him to leave her alone, because to be seen together would be "disastrous".

He says, "I know, but we have created a problem here!"

She begs for a bit more time. She says she can think better while he's not around. She's in a dressing gown, and is holding him off at the door. He's leaning in the door.

She says something like, "So please. Go away for now. You can sit and think in your cabin - and I will sit and think in mine ... and we will think this through separately " -- as she says this, he finally starts to back away, nodding, and right before she shuts the door on him, she can't help but add, in a forceful yet yearning tone, "while we are missing each other."

She must add that. She must let him know that she loves him and misses him.

And his response to that - is so ... spontaneous and so real that I re-wound it 3 times the last time I saw it. I feel like I have lived through that exact same moment with a guy or two in my life.

Anyway, you think at first that he is just going to accept her command and go away. He is about to. But then when she adds the "while we are missing each other" line - there is a brief pause - and he then comes back, leans his head in, and says with such simplicity, "Oh, that was very sweet." A brief pause. "What you just said."

Then he kisses her fingers, resting on the door jamb, and he's gone.

He seems so vulnerable in that moment, suddenly. Almost like a little boy. He is so happy that she misses him, too. But it's the way he expresses it ... how he puts his head back in the door, and the "oh that was so sweet" seems to be improvisational. It seems like he just thought it up. And the brief pause, before he explains further, "What you just said."

The gesture, the tone, his hesitation, the entire moment - has the breath of emotional reality. It's not a "played" moment. It is a moment that is actually happening.

2. When he returns to his grandmother's villa, after she has died, and walks through the empty living room

Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr both realized their growing feelings in this villa. The grandmother played piano with her wrinkled arthritic fingers, they had tea, they prayed in the chapel - something beautiful transpired. A dawning realization of the right-ness of the two of them together, as a couple.

Deborah Kerr fails to meet him on the day they had planned at the top of the Empire State Building. Cary Grant thinks that she has blown him off. He becomes bitter.

Eventually, there is a scene where he returns to the grandmother's villa - the grandmother is now dead.

All the scene consists of is this:

Cary Grant walks into the villa. He looks around. He stands by the piano, and puts his hand on the piano. An echo of the grandmother playing fills his mind. Then he walks over to the two chairs by the tea-table. He stands there. He looks around. Then he leaves.

It's an extended scene. No words. No other people. Just Cary Grant wandering around. It's all one take, too. No close-ups. Watch that scene. There are no close-ups to help him out, no close-ups to tell us HERE IS WHAT HE IS FEELING. He expresses the entire thing in his body, his gestures, and his face which tells us everything. Now that's an actor who was trained on the stage. Many actors today rely on close-ups to do their work for them (no shame in that - it's appropriate for the medium) - and when they come to do Broadway or whatever, they just cannot project themselves past the first 5 rows. They NEED the camera to help them act. Cary Grant was truly a great film star - but he also was a good actor, who could do it with or without the camera. The long one-take no-close-up scene in Affair to Remember is a perfect example of that.

And what he does with this simple scene is so extraordinary. It seems so easy. It's as though we're peeking in through a window at him.

He stands at the piano. He puts his hand on the piano. You can hear the music start. He stands there for what feels like forever. There is no movement. All we see is Cary Grant - thinking, feeling things, remembering ... but it's all subtle. He's not weeping, or wailing. He is just standing there. But you pretty much get the entire story of his life from his stance and the expressions crossing over his face. He doesn't need a close-up.

Then - he walks over to the tea table - where his grandmother and Deborah Kerr had sat, having tea.

The following moments are so beautifully done, so simple, so "Method"-y - and he makes it look so easy that I didn't even notice it at first:

The 2 chairs are big Victorian-ish chairs with padded backs. Cary Grant goes to one of the chairs, leans on it, and places his hand on the fabric of the padding. Rests his hand there. As though he is feeling for a heartbeat or a pulse. That's what it emotes to me ... the grandmother sat there ... we remember that from the first scene - so the way he touches the padding ... says everything. He stands there for a while. Then he moves to the other chair. The chair where Deborah Kerr sat. And he does the same thing. Rests his hand on the padding-fabric. It's almost like you can feel the painful beats of his own heart - because he misses the two women who sat in those chairs so desperately.

It doesn't appear that Cary Grant is actually DOING anything - but oh, he is.

He is feeling for these two women - he is trying to pick up some of their body warmth - trying to feel his way into the past. But he can't. They're both gone.

Objects are very important in Method training. An object can trigger a whole emotional response. Lee Strasberg said, "There are times when you look at your shoes and you see your whole life." That's what I'm talking about here.

That's what Cary Grant is doing with those chairs.

It's heart-achingly beautiful. And simple. That's the best thing about it. Its simplicity.

3. The last scene - when he realizes that she is crippled

He comes to her apartment. She is lying on the couch. He doesn't know that she has lost the use of her legs. He is hard on her, he wants to know why she didn't "keep their appointment". He's angry. She doesn't ever let on that she can't walk.

There is a moment, right as he is about to leave, when he realizes what is going on. A woman came into the gallery that was showing his paintings and wanted to buy the painting he had done of Deborah Kerr and his grandmother. Cary Grant says something to Deborah Kerr like, "She loved the painting - but she didn't have any money apparently - and not only that - but ..." He's about to say "she was in a wheelchair" - and in that second, he realizes. He realizes.

But watch his moment of realization. How subtle it is. It's not a big moment, a big "a-HA" moment, or a teary-eyed moment where he TELEGRAPHS to us his inner feelings. No. All it is is a slight adjustment in his eyes. It's so slight. But it's so apprarent. He realizes. You can see it in his eyes.

She keeps talking, he kind of bullshits back - but all the while, he is putting his coat and hat down, and hurrying over to the bedroom door, flinging it open - and there is what he knew he would find: The painting he had done of her. By seeing that painting, he realizes she's a gimp now.

The music of course swells to a climax, but the overdramatic soundtrack is unnecessary (and annoying) because the entire MOMENT is all there on Cary Grant's face where 5,000 things happen at once.

He's stunned. There it is. His painting. He stops. Stands. He sees it.

In the next second, he is overcome. In a very Cary Grant way. His posture changes, straightens a bit, and he closes his eyes - for a deep long pained moment. He is getting himself together to go back to her. He is so so sad. But it's that moment of closing his eyes ... The way he closes his eyes, ever so briefly, makes you feel the sword in his heart. It's not overdone or lingered over. It looks like real life.

I've said it before in my posts on acting: A general rule for actors is:

If YOU cry, more often than not the audience WON'T. If you do your damndest NOT to cry, if you work to hold BACK the tears, then you'll have to mop the audience up off the aisles.

Cary Grant closes his eyes. He is holding back his sadness for her. No tears. And yet there I was, with tears streaming down my face, even though I've seen the thing 15 times.

When he goes back to her side, his entire face is different. Open. Vulnerable. Concerned. Caring. Confused. In love with her. "Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

That whole sequence of moments: the coldness, the relentlessness, the shocked realization at the doorway, the stunned moment when he sees the painting, the pained closing of the eyes - is a masterful bit of acting. Just masterful.

Archie Leach day!

Here are 5 of my favorite Cary Grant acting moments in films: This list is in no way definitive:

1. Bringing Up Baby - The nightclub scene - when he slips on the olive dropped by Katherine Hepburn and his feet fly out from under him, and down he goes, crushing his top hat under his ass. I guffaw every time I see it.

2. Philadelphia Story - the great 2-way scene between Grant and Jimmy Stewart when Stewart shows up at his house wasted in the middle of the night. I especially love when Jimmy Stewart hiccups, and Cary Grant says, "Excuse me." That moment was improvised.

3. Notorious - the last scene. Cary Grant's acting has never been better. Especially the look on his face when he holds her and says, "I was a fat-headed guy full of pain." Such understatement, but so pained.

4. Holiday - er ... practically the whole movie. It's one of my favorites. I love his lonely little one-on-one scene with Hepburn up in that attic room, when they dance, and banter, and skirt around the sexual tension ... Beautiful work. He's beautiful in that movie.

5. Only Angels Have Wings - the first scene when he and Jean Arthur are alone, in the empty juke joint, at 1 in the morning. The sexual tension and repartee in that scene are out of this world. Out of context it might not read as well as seeing it - but they have the following exchange. She says, as he pours her a drink, "When are you going to get some sleep?" He says, "After your boat sails." (It has already been established that her boat is sailing at 4 a.m.) Cary Grant makes "after your boat sails" sound positively primal.

Please share your own favorite moments or performances!

Archie Leach Day ...

(It's his birthday today, in case you wondered what was going on. Okay - onward!!)

The Awful Truth has been described as a "tuning fork" for other comedies, and it's obvious why. The tone of this film is so light, so crazed, so assured - the laughs come like clockwork - you know you are in great hands. You can sit back, relax, and laugh your ass off.

You can see the set-ups for disaster and comedy a mile away, but instead of the plot feeling predictable, you just start to get excited, like: "Oh God, this is gonna be bad ... how are they gonna get out of this one??" You watch with ghoulish delight as other people's lives fall apart spectacularly.

Apparently, Cary Grant and Irene Dunne both wanted to walk off the picture. They had no script. Leo McCarey, the director, would walk onto the set every morning, and say stuff like, "Okay, so you come through that door, call the dog, and .... just stand over there ... and we'll see how it goes." They had no script. Cary Grant wrote an 8-page letter to the head of production at Columia, Harry Cohn, and he entitled it: "WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE".

Heh.

But eventually - Cary Grant saw that McCarey had a method to his madness, that his approach WASN'T random, and that he was asking the actors to trust the craziness of the situation, rather than trying to control it. Grant and Dunne, after commiserating with one another miserably about how insecure they felt, finally succumbed to the process - and thank God they did.

Half of the film is improvised. Which is so amazing, because it is so freakin' FUNNY. Like - laugh-out-loud funny. And it's subtle behavioral humor for the most part:

-- Irene Dunne playing piano as Ralph Bellamy sings "Home on the Range" very very very badly. Her FACE.

-- Cary Grant's little mannerisms, that go on throughout EVERY SCENE, in a private running commentary. His "tsk tsk tsk", and "Hmm", he always seems to be muttering to himself about the events around him. It's hilarious. Even when he's not the focus of the scene, he has 5,000 things going on with him.

-- When Irene Dunne breaks into laughter during a recital where she is singing - she sees Cary Grant fall off his chair in the back of the room - she's singing - and ... hard to explain ... but she laughs ... ON KEY ... and then somehow finishes the song. For me, it was the funniest moment in the movie - although Cary Grant's duet with his dog was also howlingly funny.

-- The woman who played Irene Dunne's Aunt Patsy ... This woman was a comedic genius. She hit a home-run with every one of her jokes. "Here's your diploma." Too. Funny.

The Awful Truth is about a married couple, who are obviously crazy about each other, but who fight all the time. He's suspicious that she's cheating on him, she's suspicious he's cheating on her. She seems to have more reason to be suspicious than he does. (After all, the first scene is Cary Grant lying underneath a sunlamp at his athletic club, trying to get a tan quickly, in order to convince his wife he had actually been in Florida for the past week like he told her - he says to his buddy, "Of course I lie to her - I don't want her to be embarrassed!").

He has a lot of "broad-minded" ideas about marriage - that the couples should keep having separate fun, not be so conventional, not get all caught up in having to be together all the time - (he has a big monologue about it: "The road to Reno is paved with suspicion...") However, he can't actually LIVE with a "broad-minded" marriage, and actually - HE just wants to have fun, but SHE can't start gallivanting about with other men - THAT isn't cool with him, and so when he thinks she's having an affair, due to some screwball misunderstanding, he flips OUT.

They decide to get divorced. They begin to fight for custody of their dog, Mr. Smith (the same dog Cary Grant chased around in Bringing up Baby). Both get involved with other people. And both start campaigns to mess up the new romances of the other.

Hilarity ensues.

Cary Grant has one pratfall which literally made me guffaw out loud. You KNOW it's coming, but knowledge doesn't hold a candle to first-hand experience. He falls once, and then the fall just keeps going and going and going ... and of course, he is in a situation where he is supposed to be very very quiet. It's riotous. You just LOVE him. I LOVE him for giving me joy like that.

And the last scene is rightly famous. They are (for various and sundry lunatic reasons, involving a crashed car, a busted-up dinner party, and rides on motorcycles) stuck out at her Aunt Patsy's house in the country, and their divorce is going to be final at midnight. She goes to bed in one room, he goes to bed in another room - both of them wearing borrowed pajamas. The sexual tension is huge. You are dying for them to make up, to kiss, something!!

A couple of screwball things happen - and he finally stands there in her doorway, staring at her - she's lying in bed, he looks ridiculous in his borrowed nightshirt - and they start to try to talk about their marriage, and where it went wrong, but basically what is REALLY going on, is that he is trying to figure out a way to say to her: "Can I get in that bed with you?"

It's even more amazing to look at the dialogue in this last scene, knowing that most of it is improvised. No wonder the two of them loved to work together so well. They're so in tune with one another. It's like a dance.

Here's a snippet of that exchange. The entire thing is done with desperate seriousness. That's why it's so funny:

Jerry: I told you we'd have trouble with this...In a half an hour, we'll no longer be 'Mr. and Mrs.' Funny, isn't it?

Lucy: Yes, it's funny that everything's the way it is on account of the way you feel.

Jerry: Huh?

Lucy: Well, I mean if you didn't feel the way you do, things wouldn't be the way they are, would they? Well, I mean things could be the same if things were different.

Jerry: But things are the way you made them.

Lucy: Oh no. No, things are the way you think I made them. I didn't make them that way at all. Things are just the same as they always were, only you're the same as you were, too, so I guess things will never be the same again...You're all confused, aren't you?

Jerry: Uh-huh. Aren't you?

Lucy: No.

Jerry: Well, you should be, because you're wrong about things being different because they're not the same. Things are different, except in a different way. You're still the same, only I've been a fool. Well, I'm not now. So, as long as I'm different, don't you think that, well, maybe things could be the same again? Only a little different, huh?

(I believe the spirit of this confusing conversation is also the inspiration for another one of the exchanges in What's Up Doc. She says glumly to him, "I know I'm different, I know. But from now on, I'm gonna try to be the same." He asks, "Same as what?" She says, "Same as people who aren't different.")

What started out as an annoyance to Cary Grant (the fact that there was no script, not really) ended up being the thing, the element, that shot him (and his career) off into the stratosphere. It was after The Awful Truth that Cary Grant became "important".

It's interesting: sometimes the things we resist most ferociously (in this case, improvisation) is EXACTLY what we need to do in order to succeed, fulfill our destinies, etc.

Other actors freeze up, or start to behave in highly conventional (read: BORING) ways when they don't know what they're doing, when they don't have a script. Their imaginations aren't fluid, they're too afraid that they're going to look foolish. Well, as we know, Cary Grant had no fear of looking foolish - that was part of his appeal. Improvisation is a gift and Cary Grant had it. He was, obviously, not just a funny man because the SCRIPTS he got were funny - he obviously was a funny man in real life, he had a relatively comedic outlook on things, and this was the first film where he really got to let that loose.

His fear at the beginning of the shootended up being a blessing: He just had to leap off that cliff, and stop trying to control everything.

Miracles of comedy followed. Zany, wacko, and STILL funny today. Still a reference point for other comedies.

Amazingly - everyone was nominated for Oscars except for Cary Grant. This is the price he paid for making it look so easy!!

Watch this movie and then watch Notorious and you'll realize: damn, this guy really is without peers.

Archie Leach day!

I love this story.

Jimmy Stewart says in re: Philadelphia Story:

I play a writer who falls in love with Katharine Hepburn. The night before her wedding I have a little too much to drink. This gives me the courage to go and talk to Cary, who's playing her ex-husband. So I go to Cary's house and knock on the door. It's obvious I've had too much to drink, but he lets me in.

It was time to do the scene, and Cary said, "George, why don't we just go ahead? If you don't like it, we'll do it again." So, without a rehearsal or anything, we started the scene. As I was talking, it hit me that I'd had too much to drink. So, as I explained things to Cary, I hiccuped. In answer to the hiccup, Cary said -- out of the clear blue sky -- "Excuse me." Well, I sort of said, "Ummm?" It was very difficult for me to keep a straight face, because his ad-libbed response had been so beautifully done ... Cary had an almost perfect humor.

Watch that scene again. It's the first take. You can almost see Jimmy Stewart lose it at Grant's improvisation - but he keeps it together. It's so obvious how much they loved acting with each other - because of that spontanaeity.

Archie Leach day!

That's a scene from the laugh-out-loud funny pinnacle of screwball comedy The Awful Truth. Sylvia Scarlett was the first inkling of the success that was to come - but the movie itself was a flop. The Awful Truth was an enormous success and it made Cary Grant a huge star.

Garson Kanin says:

The Awful Truth was enormously successful, and the studio was eager to come up with a second picture for Cary and Irene [Dunne]. Leo McCarey had a contract with the studio but, for complicated business reasons, did not want to direct. He asked me if I would like to do it. And of course, I was delighted. They were both big stars, very able, and full of personality. They had developed instinctively a fascinating team rapport -- something that cannot be directed, written, or inspired.

Irene Dunne said:

I loved working with Cary -- every minute of it. Between takes he was so amusing with his cockney stories. I was his best audience. I laughed and laughed and laughed. The more I laughed, the more he went on.

Garson Kanin remembers the My Favorite Wife shoot:

Cary was not one of those movie stars who gets out there just because he's handsome and has a flair for playing one key or another. He worked very hard. I remember that indelibly. Almost more than any other quality was his seriousness about his work. He was always prepared; he always knew his part, his lines, and the scene. And he related very well to the other players. He took not only his own part seriously; he took the whole picture seriously. He'd come and look at the rushes every evening. No matter how carefree and easygoing he seemed in the performance, in reality he was a serious man, an exceptionally concentrated man. And extremely intelligent, too. Still, he played far more on instinct than he did on intellect. I don't recall him ever intellectually discussing a role or a scene or a picture or a part. He trusted his own instincts, which had worked for him so well. He just polished that up and used it.

Archie Leach day!

Cary Grant said:

Comedy holds the greatest risk for an actor, and laughter is the reward. You must be laughed at. You know right away that you're a flop if no one laughs. An actor in a drama doesn't get that kind of immediate feedback. Unless it's a great tearjerker, you can't tell how you're doing. People think it's easy to get a laugh. It's not. There's a story about a dying actor who was asked how it felt to die, and he said, "Dying's easy; comedy's hard."

I liked making comedy films even though there was little flexibility. Your timing had to be modified for the screen. Since a laugh rolling up the aisles of a big city movie theatre took longer than one bouncing off the walls of a tiny rural vaudeville house, you had to time what you thought would please all audiences. And you had to think about theatre audiences because the film crews don't laugh. They are too busy doing their own jobs."

Archie Leach day!

That's Cary Grant in his breakthrough part - Monkley the Cockney con-artist in George Cukor's Sylvia Scarlett.

Random quotes about this weird little film which was a flop - but which changed Cary Grant's life:

Katharine Hepburn: "That was really the beginning for Cary. George Cukor had seen him and thought he was wonderful. George told me, 'We're going to have this unknown fella, but he's absolutely great. Cary was grateful to George for that."

Cary Grant: "Sylvia Scarlett was my breakthrough. It permitted me to play a character I knew. Thanks to George Cukor. He let me play it the way I thought it should be played because he didn't know who the character was."

Hepburn, again: "He was the only reason to see Sylvia Scarlett. It was a terrible picture but he was wonderful in it. He was very secure in his work. And God, he was fun. He had a tremendous vitality. He was heavier and huskier then. I liked the way he looked when he had that chunky, slightly pudgy face."

George Cukor, director: "Sylvia Scarlett was the first time Cary felt the ground under his feet as an actor. He suddenly seemed liberated. It was very exhilarating to see."

Wonderful film. It's not awful - sorry, Hepburn - you're wrong. Grant is, indeed, the reason to see it - but as a whole: I find the film haunting, bizarre, unclassifiable, and completely ahead of its time.

It's also GREAT to see Cary Grant so unplugged.

Archie Leach day!

The short-sighted Fox talent scout saw Archie Leach's screen test and was distinctly unimpressed. Wrote on the sheet of paper:

"Bowlegged. Neck is too thick."

This is right up there with the notes written on Fred Astaire's first screen test: "Bald. Can't act. Can dance a little."

Archie Leach day!

Here are Cary Grant's words on "playing himself" (I find it amusing how critics - and people who don't know what they're talking about - seem to think that's an insult. "He's just playing himself!" Uh ... YOU try to just "play yourself" ... "Playing yourself" truthfully is one of the most difficult things an actor can pull off. This is why Clark Gable is so LOVED, to this day. John Wayne. Humphrey You recognize John Wayne as John Wayne. He's "playing himself". Actors like that are rare, rare, rare.)

Anyway. Sorry.

Here's Grant:

To play yourself -- your true self -- is the hardest thing in the world. Watch people at a party. They're playing themselves ... but nine out of ten times the image they adopt for themselves is the wrong one.

In my earlier career I patterned myself on a combination of Englishmen -- AE Matthews, Noel Coward, and Jack Buchanan, who impressed me as a character actor. He always looked so natural. I tried to copy men I thought were sophisticated and well dressed like Douglas Fairbanks or Cole Porter. And Freddie Lonsdale, the British playwright, always had an engaging answer for everything.

I cultivated raising one eyebrow and tried to imitate those who put their hands in their pockets with a certain amount of ease and nonchalance. But at times, when I put my hand in my trouser pocket with what I imagined was great elegance, I couldn't get the blinking thing out again because it dripped from nervous perspiration!

I guess to a certain extent I did eventually become the characters I was playing. I played at someone I wanted to be until I became that person. Or he became me.

His process sounds so self-conscious, doesn't it ... so NOT natural. THINKING about how he was going to put his hand in his pocket, IMITATING guys he thought were suave ... and yet, the end result, finally, was total naturalness. He became that guy better than those he was imitating, if that makes sense.

How many times have you seen someone who is basically POSING their way through their life? You know? And maybe it started out that way with Mr. Grant ... he wanted to APPEAR relaxed, hoping that that would relax him INSIDE. And eventually, it worked. I mean ... nobody lights a cigarette, comes through a door, takes off his jacket, kisses a girl ... with as much naturalness as he does.

And yet ... he created "that guy" from scratch.

Amazing.

Archie Leach day!

Cary Grant met George Burns back in his vaudeville days, when he would go on tour as an acrobat, or with stand-up comedians. He met George, Gracie, Jack Benny ... all of these giants. He said that one of the greatest influences on him was George Burns. Cary Grant would stand backstage and just STUDY what it was that made George funny, HOW he did it.

I love comedians. I love them (even though they can literally ride your last nerve if they are the kind of person who can NEVER be serious.) I've dated a couple comedian guys. I mean, I lived in Chicago. Most people move there for the comedy scene ... you couldn't avoid it. Some of the wannabe comedians were toe-curlingly terrible. You ached, you wanted to run from the room screaming when you saw them onstage. Ick. Nothing worse than someone TRYING to be funny. But then there were others - people who stood out immediately as: "Okay. Wow. That person is feckin' FUNNY" - and all of these people are stars now. I remember seeing them perform in tiny grungy improv clubs, and now they're all on Saturday Night Live, or writing for Conan O'Brien, or whatever. So there were definitely some stars in the bunch, and I dated one in particular. He was a genius, that dude. He had perfect comedic pitch. Hard to explain. It's like being a mathematical prodigy or something. He just KNEW how to do it. Others struggled, flailed about, TRIED to be funny. He just WAS. And he made it look easy. AND he couldn't really explain HOW he did it. We talked about it all the time, and he was pretty much COMPLETELY inarticulate off stage (right, MJF?) – and yet onstage? You would laugh so hard your stomach hurt the next day. I found it fascinating.

Cary Grant’s earliest training came from hanging around comedians, old comedian pros … and watching them closely, studying them.

Cary Grant reminisced about George and Gracie:

I watched him and Gracie ever night I could when they were at the Palace. For their opening night five of us got together and chipped in five dollars apiece and bought them twenty-five dollars' worth of flowers, a princely sum in those days. I asked George when we should have the usher bring up the flowers, and he said, "After the third encore!" Now, that's confidence! George is an absolute genius ... timing his laughs with that cigar. He's brilliant."

And about that cigar. Here's what George Burns had to say about THAT. Now ... here's the deal. He's talking about something magical, he's talking about TALENT ... Like, any Joe Schmoe could follow George Burns' instructions below. Sure. Sounds simple. But to have it be so funny that you basically have sell-out shows for 40 years? That can't be taught.

But anyway. Here's George Burns on his cigar:

What is timing? Timing is this. You're working with somebody. When the people laugh, I smoke. When they stop laughing, I stop smoking and I ask the questions. I talk. So what's so great about timing? If I talk while the people are laughing, they'd have to put me away. So I use the cigar. It works for me.

Love that. "It works for me." Uh, yeah, George, I would say it did.

Cary Grant had started to get cast as "the straight man" in these vaudevillian touring acts. The "straight man" to the comic. The straight man's job is basically to set up the jokes by asking the questions. That's how Cary Grant studied all of these fantastically funny people.

Cary Grant had more to say about Burns.

George was a straight man, the one who would make the act work. The straight man says the plant line, such as "Who was that man I saw with?" and the comic answers it: "Oh, that was not a man, that was my uncle." He doesn't move while that line is said. That's the comedy line. The laugh goes up and up in volume and cascades down. As soon as it's getting a little quiet, the straight man talks into it, and the comic answers it. And up goes the laugh again.

George Burns' response to this? I love this. He read Cary Grant's words on being a "straight man" and he had this to say:

Now, that's one way of being a straight man. Another way is to do nothing. Gracie and I worked together for forty years. I said to Gracie, 'How is your brother?' And Gracie talked for forty years.

Archie Leach day!

Here is Cary Grant's description of what he learned touring the English provinces with the tumbling troupe, when he was 13, 14. He learned lessons that he used in his acting - years later, when he was a huge star. And of course, he was always famous for his acrobatics.

Touring the English provinces with the troupe, I grew to appreciate the fine art of pantomime. No dialogue was used in our act and each day, on a bare stage, we learned not only dancing, tumbling, and stilt-walking under the expert tuition of Bob Pender, but also how to convey a mood or meaning without words. How to establish communication silently with an audience, using the minimum of movement and expression; how best immediately and precisely to effect an emotional response -- a laugh or, sometimes, a tear. The greatest pantomimists of our day have been able to induce both at once. Charles Chaplin, Cantinflas, Marcel Marceau, Jacques Tati, Fernandel, and England's Richard Herne. And in bygone years, Grock, the Lupino family, Bobby Clark, and the unforgettable tramp cyclist Joe Jackson; and currently Danny Kaye, Red Skelton, Sid Caesar, and even Jack Benny with his slow, calculated reactions.

Surprisingly, Hitchcock is one of the most subtle pantomimists of them all.

Archie Leach day ...

Cary Grant describes being a little kid (named Archie Leach) and having his chemistry teacher (a sort of mentor to him) take him to see the acts at the Bristol Hippodrome. This was a revelation to the young Archie Leach. He lived a poverty-struck narrow life, in the slums of Bristol. But when he went "backstage" - he saw another world entirely - a world where class distinctions blurred (something very attractive to him until the end of his life):

The Saturday matinee was in full swing when I arrived backstage; and there I suddenly found my inarticulate self in a dazzling land of smiling, jostling people wearing and not wearing all sorts of costumes and doing all sorts of clever things. And that's when I knew! What other life could there be but that of an actor? They happily traveled and toured. They were classless, cheerful, and carefree. They gaily laughed, lived, and loved.

Archie Leach day ...

From Evenings with Cary Grant:

In 1913 Grant's mother disappeared. One day she was there squabbling as usual with Elias. The next day she was gone. When she didn't return, he naturally asked why. He was told his mother had gone for a rest at a nearby resort. Grant thought this unusual but accepted it. As the weeks went by, however, he realized that she was not coming back at all. There was no further discussion of her absence. Henry Gris describes Grant's bewilderment: "Cary told me it wasn't until many years later that he realized the depth of his guilt complex about his mother's disappearance. He believed he was the subject of his parents' many bitter quarrels."

By the time he learned his mother had been committed to a sanitorium for the mentally ill, following a nervous breakdown, Grant was an adult.

Cary Grant: I was not to see my mother again for more than twenty years, by which time my name was changed and I was a full-grown man living in America, thousands of miles away in California. I was known to most people of the world by sight and by name, yet not to my mother.

Happy birthday, Archie Leach!

From Evenings with Cary Grant:

His parents named him Archibald Alexander. Vicar EW Oakden baptized the child in the Episcopal faith on February 8, 1904, in the Horfield parish church. His baptismal certificate (which Grant said was lost in a Bristol fire during World War I) identified it as Alexander. Nonetheless, it was a child called Archie Leach who would become a man known as Cary Grant and achieve international fame.

Possibly because Grant himself had a lasting affection for his original appellation (he even named one of his dogs, a Sealyham terrier, Archie Leach), the public has long been aware that Cary Grant started out life as Archie. When he ad-libbed lines in His Girl Friday and Gunga Din referring to Archie Leach, they were inside jokes the audience understood. And when John Cleese played "Archie Leach" in A Fish Called Wanda, it was an homage to a beloved thespian.

Happy birthday, Archie Leach!

"I first saw the light of day -- or rather the dark of night -- around 1:00 a.m. on a cold January morning, in a suburban stone house which, lacking modern heating conveniences, kept only one step ahead of freezing by means of small coal fires in small bedroom fireplaces; and ever since, I've persistently arranged to spend every possible moment where the sun shines warmes."

-- Cary Grant

Picture above: Archie Leach at five years of age.

Get ready for a Cary Grant birthday onslaught.

Go to the top of my blog and start to scroll down.

And now Cullen presents:

Battle of the Spanish stars!

A reminder ...

from Alex - that, on rare rare occasions ... there is such a thing as an angel.

Cherished objects

One of my more constant activities in my life is weeding through the stacks of books I own, and getting rid of non-essentials. You may be surprised at how difficult this is. I have to get into a very cold-hearted mood. Turn a deaf ear to all of the instincts rising up in me, shrieking: "You might read this book someday! So-and-so LOVED this book!" Sometimes it feels like the book itself is screaming at me. "Nooooo! Don't throw me away! I'm really good!!"

But there are the tried-and-true favorites, books I will never discard. I'm talking about them as OBJECTS now ... not just books I love. I mean, if you lose your copy of Alice in Wonderland, just go buy a new one, right? Well - if any of you have had the same books around you for many many years - you know that some books have irreplaceable value. Buying a brand spanking new copy wouldn't be right at all.

I'm one of those people who loves to underline passages that catch my fancy, (not just philosophical passages, but descriptive passages, humorous passages - I take notes for myself, if necessary - I underline sentences I love and want to remember - or at least be able to locate quickly should the occasion arise) - so my copy of Catcher in the Rye is literally falling apart at the seams, held together with tape, with little underlines and asterisks in the margins throughout. It's like a code to decipher. I can't tell WHY I underlined certain things ... so it's fun to try to imagine myself back in time, to all of the different seasons in my life that I have read this book. Hmmm - why did I outline THAT passage? How funny .... A lot of times the outlines or underlines are just my way of communicating to Salinger: "I. LOve. This. Part." or "This part is just perfect." There is no other reason for most of those markings. So I can't get rid of that dog-eared copy! It means the world to me!

Other cherished books:

-- my hard-bound ancient copy of Alice in Wonderland. Red leather cover, with a gold stamp of the white rabbit checking his watch on the front. The pages are smooth, almost shiny, and thick - obviously a quality book, made a long time ago. Buying a new copy of it would feel sacrilegious. This particular edition was released in 1911. They just don't make books like that anymore. I'm talking about it as an object.

-- my dog-eared taped-together copy of Mating by Norman Rush - so written on and worked over that I could never lend it to someone. I have read that book 3 times through - and each time was a totally different experience. For a while, I felt that that book explained my own life to me. Not so much now - but then. The notes I have scribbled in the margins or in the blank pages in the back are like stepping-stones through time.

-- my falling-apart copy of Catch 22. Only read that awesome book once, and I think it's time I took it up again. One of the best books ever written, in my opinion. What an achievement. My copy is just a crappy paper-back ... with the cover fallen off ... but for some reason, having THIS edition - which obviously is from 30 years ago - as opposed to a shiny new copy - just seems good and right.

-- my taped-together copy of Hopeful Monsters by Nicholas Mosley, another all-time fave. I just don't want to go and get a spanking new copy ... That book, with coffee stains on some of the pages, underlines, notes to myself ... is precious. Also - the front cover actually caught fire by lying too close to one of my candles ... so the top corner is actually singed black. No WAY could I ever get rid of this book. It's a marvelous book, one of my all-time favorites - I poured my LIFE into that book ... so I think it's just so appropriate that the object itself is so BATTERED and BRUISED. I love that copy of that book.

-- my 5 Nancy Lemann books: Ritz on the Bayou, Lives of the Saints, Sportsmans Paradise, The Fiery Pantheon, and Malaise. She is a wonderful writer, a madcap quirtkyk Southern writer, so funny, so terrific - and her books are very hard to find, even though she's contemporary. I got half of those for half-price at The Strand, and I fear that if I lose them I will never track them down again. I guard those books with my life. They have given me such joy.

-- all my Lucy Maud Montgomery novels. I probably have 40 of them. From the entirety of the Anne of Green Gables series all the way down to her recently-unearthed TERRIBLE short stories. Cannot get rid of one of those little books. It would hurt too much. Also - some of them are now kind of hard to find. Like Rilla of Ingleside - which she always thought was her best book. Hard to find now. The Blue Castle - which is MY favorite of her books - hard to find. Jane of Lantern Hill - you can't just walk into a Barnes and Noble and find that book now. You could about 10 years ago, when Montgomery was having her heyday - but not so much now. I have every single paperback ... all lined up in a row ... Irreplaceable, again.

-- all my Madeleine L'Engle books. I have every single one the woman ever wrote. From her phenomenal fiction: Wrinkle in Time, plus the many many many others - to her non-fiction memoir-style books (total favorites of mine), down to her theological writing ... her Christian books are also kind of hard to find in mainstream stores. I ordered them online. Her Genesis trilogy is phenomenal ... sniff, sniff ... Those books, again, have gotten me through some rocky points. I have her poetry. I have her illustrated children's books. Etc. You get the point. If Madeleine L'Engle wrote it, I want it.

-- my massive Collected Works of Jane Austen - all her novels in one volume. A huge tome. It has a paper cover - which is ripping - and on it is an old-fashioned line drawing of a mansion with pillars. All her books in this one volume, so you can imagine - it's a big fat book. I've considered getting rid of it, and then buying new volumes of all of her individual books ... but I just can't. It's too beautiful an object.

-- my copy of Moby Dick, another one of my all-time favorite reading experiences. The book was almost TOO dense, TOO rich, TOO good. I could barely deal with it. Every sentence coming at me was so brilliant, so unbelievable ... I felt like I needed a break, a break to just deal with the brilliance. It's like how my cat Sammy used to eat sometimes: he would get so overwhelmed at all the goodies put before him, so discombobbled, that he would sink into a state of paralysis - staring at his bowl of food with intense anxiety. Reading Moby Dick was like that for me. The copy I have is no big deal - I think it's Vintage? I mean, they make good-looking books - and this is a good-looking book - but it's really about my first time reading that book - and all the notes I took in the margin. All the exclamation points - the feverish underlining ... Every time I flip through the pages I am transported back to when I first read it (well - I read it in high school but that doesn't count - I mean, first CHOSE to read it). I'm telling you. Most exciting reading experience ever. I love my copy of that book because of the memories it holds in its pages.

-- my exquisite copy of Riders of the Sea by John Millington Synge - given to me by an old family friend, a book collector and dealer - who knew that such a thing would mean the world to me. It is a precious object. You can tell when you pick it up. The dark green cover ... cloth ... the slightly embossed lettering of the title - subtle, elegant, not flashy ... and the beautiful spareness of the language on the pages. It is one of the nicest objects that I actually own.

-- my collected poems of Sylvia Plath. Had the volume (edited by Ted Hughes - very controversially) since I was in high school, when the Plath mania began. The Plath mania has calmed down, thank the good Lord, but I still love her poems, and love to read through them from time to time. I know a couple by heart. That book, again filled with my high-school-age jottings, is a piece of my own personal history. I have pages of looseleaf stuck in the book - with my own ramblings on it. I have also annotated some of the poems - as to how they correspond with real-life events in her journals, or in her letters to her mother. I don't care so much about real-life events now, and can love Plath's poems just as they are - poems - but it is amazing to me to flip through, and see how much STUFF I have crowded on the page. Getting a spanking new copy just wouldn't seem right.

These books are not just books to me. They have become part of my own biography.

Happy birthday, Ben Franklin!

Once upon a time, giants walked the earth.

This is a rather legendary tale about Franklin, oft told, and worth re-telling, over and over and over.

It comes from his long sojourn in France, when he was the darling of the world, the epitome of the new American, to Europe at that time he WAS America. All the while trying to negotiate matters between France and the rebelling colonies. He was, at that time, one of the most well-known (if not the most well-known) faces in the world.

Franklin, always the ladies man, was playing chess with the Duchess of Bourbon, and she didn't really know what she was doing, or how to play. She placed her king in check. Franklin, not following the rules either (but he KNEW he wasn't following the rules) captured her king. She knew enough of chess to know that this was not right and scolded him. She said, "In France we do not take kings."

Franklin replied, "We do in America."

Happy birthday, Ben. You rock, on so so so many levels.

The float

Joan, one of my favorite bloggers, tells an incredible story.

I have a simple question for you all ...

... and I've never asked such a thing before ... but based on the evidence... I was just wondering:

Does anyone know any hitmen?

Proulx's prose

I finally decided to put down the influenza book - thanks! - and am diving into Annie Proulx's Close Range - her first collection of "Wyoming Stories". I had only read "Brokeback Mountain" (a story in the collection) and that one I read when it first came out in The New Yorker in the late 90s.

Annie Proulx is a writer I find it difficult to talk about. My response to her is complicated and personal. She is back at the top of her game here (after a slight diversion with Accordion Crimes).

Listen:

This is from The Half-Skinned Steer - the first story in the collection:

Onto the high plains sifted the fine snow, delicately clouding the air, a rare dust, beautiful, he thought, silk gauze, but there was muscle in the wind rocking the heavy car, a great pulsing artery of the jet stream swooping down from the sky to touch the earth. Plumes of smoke rose hundreds of feet into the air, elegant fountains and twisting snow devils, shapes of veiled Arab women and ghost riders dissolving in white fume. The snow snakes writhing across the asphalt straightened into rods. He was driving in a rushing river of cold whiteout foam. He could see nothing, trod on the brake, the wind buffeting the car, a bitter, hard-flung dust hissing over metal and glass. The car shuddered. And as suddenly as it had risen the wind dropped and the road was clear; he could see a long, empty mile.

How do you know when there's enough of anything? What trips the lever that snaps up the STOP sign? What electrical currents fizz and crackle in the brain to shape the decision to quit a place? He had listened to her damn story and the dice had rolled. For years he believed he had left without hard reason and suffered for it. But he'd learned from television nature programs that it had been time for him to find his own territory and his own woman. How many women were out there! He had married three or four of them and sampled plenty.

The obligatory self-promo!

Voting here for all categories - but I'm up for Best Literary Blog:

Yeah. Literary. The Golden Globes is obviously a literary event!!

I think voting is open for quite some time (end of next week?) ... and you are allowed to vote once a day.

But this isn't just about me - I've discovered many new blogs from being included in this contest - and if I had time, I'd probably discover more. It's always cool to sort of get out of a rut - update the blog-roll, etc.

More Golden Globe stuff

Here is Alex's re-cap of the Golden Globes.

I loved this:

Speaking of which, Queen Latifah looked terrific. For some reason though, with her in that couture ensemble, her hair slicked back, pulled, and 14 pieces attached, and 63 pounds of make up and concealer on her, it’s hard for her to still have “Street Cred”. When she opened the show, she told us all it was “..time to get down.” No it’s not, Queen. It’s really not that time at all.

hahahahahahaha

And this - I could not agree with you more on this one, Alex:

I loved that Phillip Seymour Hoffman won his award, although my heart broke a little for David Strathairn. He’s one of those stellar actors who, for years, has been giving consistently great performances and rarely gets recognized. He’s a literal magician when it comes to his craft and he does it without flair or false bravado. He’s a quiet, gorgeous presence that always illuminates a role and always adds to the project. I hope this at least pushes him to the head of the line for an Oscar bid. At the very least, he deserves that for all the years of miraculous performances he’s given us. He was also very gracious when he lost. That broke my heart a little more.

He is stellar.

And Alex shares her thoughts about Felicity Huffman's win for Transamerica. Alex's experience with that project was up-close and personal ... Kind of heartbreaking, in that way that show-business can be ... So all I could think about as Felicity Huffman was talking - was of Alex.

I'm with Lindsay, Alex. Your time will come.

Golden Globes notes

Hell, yeah, I'll take notes as they're happening. I love the Golden Globes. They're my favorite awards show.

-- The beginning song is so dumb that I am embarrassed for everyone involved. "I hope the cast of Lost can find their seats inside ..." God. Stupid.

-- Eric Bana is smokin' hot. DAY-UM.

-- Queen Latifah - love you, but you're kind of just not as fabulous as you believe you are. Sorry. You're not.

-- Sarah jessica Parker looks beautiful, but I'm not wacky about her dark eye makeup. I think she looks better with the pale look.

-- George Clooney just keeps getting better and better looking.

-- Sorry, gotta say it: Crash was one of the best films I saw this year. I think everyone on the planet should see this film.

-- I already totally forgot about Cinderella Man. I saw it ... but instantly forgot it. Not a really good sign. Especially for me - a huge Russell Crowe freak.

-- George Clooney won for Best Supporting Actor in Syriana. "This is early ... I haven't had a drink yet ... " hahahaha

-- Ohhhh, a shot of Mel Brooks laughing. He's had a rough year ... but there he is laughing. Nice.

-- Adrien Brody and Natalie Portman are like automatons up there. They have no chemistry.

-- Rachel Weisz - you are GORGEOUS but what the hell is going on with your hair????

-- Rachel Weisz won for Best Supporting Actress for Constant Gardener. I didn't see it - not my cup of tea - but I have always loved her acting.

-- Her hair is really bad. And her dress looks like one of my anxiety attacks. Her eye makeup is way too dark. Her whole look is bad.

-- She's so damn sweet, though. I really like her.

Commercial break.

-- I love Luke Wilson's suit - it's hysterical. It's so corporate.

-- Best supporting actor in a TV movie or miniseries - Paul Newman in Empire Falls - The gorgeous little Jessica Alba accepted the award for him.

-- Teri Hatcher frightens me. What the hell happened to her? I yearn for the Lois and Clark days. What the hell is going on, Skeletor? You were a luscious woman back then. I am also deeply scared of her gold dress.

-- I just love Camryn Manheim. I wish we could be friends.

-- Best supporting actress in a TV movie or miniseries -Sandra Oh!! Now that I'm into Grey's Anatomy this is very exciting. She can't seem to find the stage. She is trapped out among the tables.

-- She begins with: "I I I I I ... feel like someone has set me on fire ..." Oh. She's making my favorite kind of speech. Nutty and funny. "Thank you SO MUCH to my team who has been with me through the years ...." Long pause. "I can't remember any of your names right now ..." Good for her. She seemed truly emotional. And that's what I'm in it for, baby. The EMOTIONS.

Commercial break

-- Brief shot of Shirley Maclaine, during the commercial break, sitting at her table and chowing down, talking to nobody. She cracks me up. I love her.

-- I honestly don't believe it is possible for me to love Drew Barrymore any more than I already do. Look at her. Look at her hair. Look at her glowing skin. Her dress. She's just so HERSELF.

-- Loved the shot of Spielberg, her director in ET, beaming at her as she entered.

-- There's something not there in Emmy Rossum or whatever her name is. I know she's getting great gigs right now ... but to me, she doesn't have "it"

-- Wow, Gwyneth looks sooooooo thrilled to be there. She barely had the energy to clap. She had a condescending look on her face, like she was just tolerating the whole event. Don't harsh my mellow, babe. I know you got a new bun in the oven (will you name this one Banana?) but I need excitement and emotions. Mkay?

-- I love love love Patricia Arquette. I've loved her for years. I kind of hope she wins for Medium - she's such a real actress.

-- Best actress in a TV Drama: Geena Davis. Never seen the show. But I think she's a cool woman. I'm okay with the choice. Her breasts are overwhelming me with their jewelled beauty right now.

-- "Well, that didn't actually happen ..." BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

-- I love that Geena's hair is kind of tousled and natural-looking. She looks beautiful, I think.

-- I have no idea who these next presenters are. I don't watch television enough. She looks a bit rough around the edges, whoever she is. Like she just took a bong hit before coming on.

-- Best actor in a TV drama: Holy crap. Matthew Fox. Hot. Hot. But I'm hoping Keifer wins. Yay!! Dr. House! I've never seen the show but I adore that actor. His brief part in Sense and Sensibility is genius.

-- He is randomly thanking people from scraps of paper he has in his pocket. That is so funny. hahahahaha "I'd like to thank the script supervisor ..."

Commercial break

-- Oh, Melanie, Melanie. Just stop. Stop what you're doing with your face. Please. Grow old. It's okay. You know you want to. I do like her bouffant hairdo though. And I think her personality is adorable - I always have. Very sweet and vulnerable. She kind of can't lie.

-- Russell Crowe looks mad.

-- Best mini series or motion picture made for television: I haven't seen any of these choices. Empire Falls, Lackawanna Blues, Sleeper Cell, Into the West ... no idea about any of them. And ... Empire Falls won! I heard it was boring. Great cast, but boring. They all looked like stiffs, though. "Issue" movies. Yawn.

-- Oh! There's Steve Carell in the audience!!! Love him!

-- Best actor in a TV series Comedy: Hi Jason Lee, you Scientologist jagoff!! Charlie Sheen looks very weird. What's up with his face? STEVE CARELL WON. I still won't see it ... argh ... I'm conflicted - but I couldn't adore Steve Carell more. He's so so wonderful. A well deserved success. Well deserved.

-- His speech is absolute genius. hahahahaha

Commercial break

-- Tim Robbins - comb your hair. Honest to God.

-- Jamie Foxx - take the sunglasses off. Honest to God. Oh wait - maybe they're not sunglasses.

-- Best Actress in a TV Musical or Comedy: Oops. Jamie Foxx said one of the nominee's name was "Laura Linley". It's Linney, babe. Take the sunglasses off. Maybe then you could read the card correctly.

-- Bettah be Reese. Bettah be Reese.

-- IT'S REESE WITHERSPOON! She's phenomenal. She looks adorable. I love her hair, her makeup is subtle ... I am so happy she won. She's a lovely lovely girl. "To my husband my children - you are my everything ... Nothing is worth anything if I can't have you in my life ..." She's so great.

-- Best actress in a TV Comedy: 4 nominees from Desperate Housewives. Wow. I bet that set is a nightmare of ego and diva bullshit. Marcia Cross - what a beautiful lady. Teri Hatcher - I believe I covered my response to her earlier. Eva Longoria - she cheered for herself., I mean, really cheered. I don't like her. And then Mary Louise Parker from Weeds - MARY LOUISE PARKER WON! HOLY CRAP.

-- Okay, she looks very very thin, and I can't stand her side ponytail. However, she won. So take THAT, Billy Crudup, you asswipe!!

-- Oh man. She just thanked John Spencer "an actor who made it look so easy ..." - I got a lump in my throat at that one. He is already so missed.

Commercial break

-- Emma Thompson: "I thought I had covered Jane Austen actually ..." hahahaha She is hilarious. More Emma Thompson is my motto.

-- Okay. I am totally having a PROBLEM with Eric Bana and his hotness right now. Hotness like that just ASSAULTS ME. STOP. Give me a chance to catch up! Argh. He is so hot.

-- This blog has so gone down the tubes.

-- Best actor in a TV miniseries - never heard of or seen any of these. I would like to see the The Girl in the Cafe, actually - it looked really good.

-- Eric Bana. Good God. Help???

-- Jonathan Rhys-Meyers won for the Irish one. Love the Irish accent. Help me. Can't wait to see the new Woody Allen with him in it. I loved him in Bend it like Beckham, Velvet Goldmine ... lovin' the accent. He is kind of humble and awkward, which is very charming.

-- Holy crap. Eric Bana. He's still presenting. I'M HAVING A PROBLEM.

-- Best Actress in a TV miniseries or movie: Okay, so we've got Halle Berry (I'm kinda over her), S. Epatha Merkerson - she's fantastic - a Law & Order workhorse ... Kelly Macdonald ... Cynthia Nixon as Eleanor Roosevelt ... I love her too. As you can tell, I am not critical. I'm not a snarker. Mira Sorvino in Human Trafficking ... Nevah heard of it ... S. Epatha Merkerson won. I am so damn happy for her even though I haven't seen it. The chick has worked for YEARS. A true craftswoman. The kind of career I would love to have. Good for her.

-- She is making me weep. "I am 53 years old. This is my first lead in a film." This is huge. This is why I love acting and actors so much. People like her.

-- Wow. That was really moving.

-- Okay, Eric Bana's done presenting. Thank God. I needed a damn BREAK from his HOTNESS.

Commercial break

-- Kathy and I are neck and neck here.

-- And here comes the Master of Hotness, Colin Firth! He looks very scruffy and English.

-- So so excited to see Match Point.

-- Mandy Moore looks bored out of her mind.

-- Virginia Madsen looks gorgeous, and Harrison Ford looks like an aging grizzly man. Harrison Ford walked on with a drink in his hand. hahahahaha

-- Best screenplay: WHOOHOO for Larry McMurtry and Osama bin Laden for their screenplay for Brokeback - thrilling!!! I love Larry McMurtry. Wonderful. Sorry - it's Diana Ossana. Yay - Annie Proulx got some applause. Always like that.

-- Cut to Johnny Depp, who looks gorgeous, and yet insane.

-- Larry McMurtry is awesome ... "I'll just thank our lawyers ..." McMurtry is killing me. He's talking about his typewriter - he's had it for 30 years.

-- Yay for them! Great adaptation of a phenomenal story.

Commercial break

-- I love that people coming from the Best of Blogs awards - looking to see my literary ruminations are instead going to find me saying: "Eric Bana is so hot!"

-- Best TV series, musical, or comedy: Curb Your Enthusiasm, Desperate Housewives, Entourage (blah), Everybody Hates Chris, My Name is Xenu, Weeds ... Desperate Housewives won. And they're all going up onstage. There are 50 of them making their way thru the tables.

-- I don't know ... I'm getting a kind of tepid atmosphere in the room in response to this win ... I don't know ... It just doesn't have the same buzzy vibe when others win. People were kind of clapping, kind of not ... Hmmm.

-- Penelope Cruz. You're gorgeous. Can't understand a damn word you say. Please work on your English if you want me to give a crap about you and your career. HOWEVER: good for you for running away from the Couch-Jumper. Good work.

-- Oh boy, here comes Matthew McConahoo. Where's my brother??

-- Best foreign language film: Paradise Now.

Commercial break

-- Not wacky about Catherine Deneuve's dress. She's so stunning. Hate the sleeves.

-- I don't think it's possible to be more beautiful than Rosario Dawson. Good God.

-- Best soundtrack to a movie: John Williams, Geisha. What - does he have 60 awards now? Probably more. "Oh, whatever - piece of cake - toss the award in the garage with the 500 other ones ..."

-- Here comes Mariah! She's got her act together again! No more crazy Mariah! She looks beautiful, albeit a little shiny.

-- Best original song: I'm hoping Mel Brooks won. Just because, you know? Oh well. He didn't win. Some song from Brokeback Mountain. OH - Bernie Taupin wrote the lyrics to the song - that's pretty cool. Emmylou Harris sang it ... no idea what the song is ... At least they don't PERFORM the songs on this awards show like they do on the Oscars. Sheesh. Oh my God - crazy musician leaning into the television screen and saying, "I'd like to dedicate this to Martin Luther King ..." He is wasted!!

Commercial break

Next up? Cecil B. DeMille award is going to go to Anthony Hopkins.

-- Gwyneth's dress is ludicrous. Also, you're not British. Knock it off with the fake accent.

-- Oh this is fabulous. A tribute. Lion in Winter. I have goosebumps.

-- Oh shit. Magic. That fucking terrifying puppet.

-- Look at Hopkins' face watching himself. Wow. He's one of my favorite actors.

-- He was so so exquisite in Remains of the Day. Acting don't get any better than that. Takes my breath away.

-- Everyone: You must see his new film when it comes out: "The World's Fastest Indian" - I saw a pre-release of it, and it's terrific. LOVE him.

-- What a career he has had. Look at how different he looks from part to part. He's truly extraordinary.

-- Gwyneth - his name is ANTHONY. Not ANTONY. Knock it off with the accent, you puffed-sleeve phony.

-- Oh my God. Elephant Man. Wow.

-- WONDERFUL speech. What a beautiful man. Thanking the crews and gaffers and prop people and costume people ... "They are anonymous people ... they work harder than anyone ..." What an actor.

-- Kathy, also live-blogging it, picked up on the stupid "ANTONY" thing as well and I love her because she quoted Eddie Izzard: "it's ANTHONY ... because there's a fucking 'h' in it."

Commercial break

-- Here comes Mandy Moore. She still looks bored out of her mind. Her hair looks terrible - like she just pulled it back in a ponytail. I really like her ... but her hair is awful.

-- Love Clint's tux. Real old-school.

-- Best director of a motion picture: Peter Jackson looks homeless.

-- WHOO HOO! ANG LEE!!!

-- Ang Lee ... so sweet. "I sometimes get too uptight ... too critical to enjoy films ..." Beautiful. He is all verklempt. "This has been an amazing year for American cinema." I agree. Look at his face. "I want to give my first thanks to my fellow film-makers ... " Beautiful. Why is he just killing me now? His little squatty body, his round face ... He's very moved.

-- Heath Ledger looks HAWT.

-- Hi, John Travolta! Love you! You're a freak and you're in a cult, and you need to deal with it.

-- Best actor in a comedy or musical: WOW. Joaquin Phoenix. Well well deserved. Good for him.

-- hahahaha He made a funny comment at the beginning: "Who would have ever thought I would win in the comedy or musical category?" He looks gorgeous.

Commercial break

-- Kathy's comment: "Peter Jackson is sooooo on Atkins." hahahahaha

-- Walk the Line - guys, it's a fantastic film. See it. It's so good.

-- Renee - what is your problem? I hate your sour face. I hate your whispery passive-aggressive voice. I hate your up-from-under-the-eyelids look you seem to find so attractive. Nice dress though. But hateful personality.

-- Best Comedy/Musical: Walk the Line. Awesome.

-- Renee looks like she literally RESENTS that she is not the center of attention. I fucking can't stand her. I mean it. She makes me pissed.

-- That guy's speech is killing me. "I'm just so sad that June and John couldn't be here to see this film ... I know they would be so proud ..." Ooh, he's married to Jane Seymour. She is WEEPING in the audience. Standing, and WEEPING. Beautiful speech.

Commercial break

-- Megan Malully or whatever is just a genius. I love love love love her.

-- Hey Debra: YOU'RE FROM RHODE ISLAND. I know you don't like to admit it, and you never mention us, and you never do anything for us - BUT YOU'RE FROM RHODE ISLAND, BEEYOTCH. I know your secret. You cannot hide.

-- Help - what is this award? Best TV series? I think so.

-- Lost is the winner. Sheesh. I feel so behind. I MUST watch that show ... I feel so out of it. People are literally lunatics with wild eyes when they talk about it. "Have you seen Lost?????" Etc. And of course there is the Matthew Fox factor.

-- 500 people are on that stage right now.

-- "I'd like to thank the Hollywood Foreign Press for the open bar ..." hahahahahaha

-- Dennis Quaid looks mussed up. Oh my God, he just made the joke that Brokeback Mountain rhymes with "chick flick". Racy!!! Quaid is hot, I don't care that his hair is messy.

-- Leo! The king of the world!!!

-- He looks like he's in the Addams Family, for some reason.

-- Best actress in a motion picture: Felicity Huffman in Transamerica. Wow. Alex - where are you right now? How are you doing???? Mixed personal response to this. Long story. "My mother thinks I'm on a TV show called The Women ..." hahahahaha

-- Amen to your speech, Felicity. Amen. Kind of an amazing moment, if you think about it. A breakthrough, and it makes me happy.

Commercial break

-- Hi, Hillary. Sorry to hear about the breakup of your marriage. It sucks. I liked you guys together. I know I've never met you, but oh well. I liked you all together.

-- Oh man. Russell Crowe looks insane.

-- This is for the Best Actor award.

-- Terrence Howard is an AMAZING actor. He caught my fancy way back when in Holland's Opus - but wait til you see Crash.

-- I gotta vote for Heath, though. That performance was iconic, for me. Above and beyond.

-- Philip!!!! Yay! I LOVE HIM!!!! Well deserved. Amazing actor.

-- I'm inappropriately pissed off at Jamie Foxx's sunglasses. I really need to let it go.

Commercial break

-- Denzel. Please lighten up. I'm sick of you. You're a great actor. You can chill now, mkay?

-- Best Picture: Brokeback Mountain. yayyyyyyyyyyyyy I literally clapped at this one, by myself, in my apartment. Yay!!

-- The producer is kind of overdoing it with the adjectives. "The understatedly elegant so and so ... the brash and gorgeous so and so ... the tender yet rough-housing so and so ..." Calm down.

-- But great film - I'm happy for it. Happy for all of them.

And that's all, folks!!

The 1918 influenza epidemic. Millions dead. Whatever.

I have been reading The Great Influenza since basically mid-1977. At least it feels that way. The epidemic in 1918 is something that has always interested me - and the book began as research for another project I had been working on. I needed to know what it was like during the influenza epidemic. Well. I had no idea how MUCH of a good thing this book would be. The book is 350 pages and it feels like it is an 8-volume manifesto. It's interesting, don't get me wrong ... the best parts are the parts about the virus itself, and how the virus worked. I like all the scientists, too - racing to try to handle the 1918 epidemic.

Great stuff!

But ... God. It's just ... plodding along. Why so long? Why is it taking me so long to finish the damn thing? I can't quite put my finger on it. There's too much extraneous stuff included. I'm 200 pages in, and we're still only in September 1918. The epidemic hasn't even peaked yet. And I'm actually IMPATIENT by that. I think: "Come on, let's get to the death. Let's get to the mass graves. Come on now. Wrap it up, wrap it up."

I'm now at the point where literally my response to the whole book is: "Yeah. Okay. I GOT it. Millions dead. Whatever. I GOT IT. So????"

But I'll be damned if I'm gonna put it down now. I've already invested so much time in the damn thing.

I'm also reading Annie Proulx's 2 collections of Wyoming short stories now as well. I need to counter the boring stupid epidemic (millions dead. Whatever) with some fantastic prose, and great stories.

1918 influenza epidemic. What a big yawn.

Favorite fictional characters

A revised list, from a post I did a while back. My favorite characters from fiction. I am limiting my choices to just novels - and leaving out such amazing characters as Hamlet, or Stanley Kowalski.

Here is how I choose:

My criteria? Characters who seem to live. Characters who seem to be emissaries from the real world - and not made up by an author.

Like Madame Defarge in Tale of Two Cities. I read that book in high school and I remember some of the descriptions of her almost word for word. She is, to me, unforgettable. Great creation.

The same with Queequeg in Moby Dick. The opening chapters of the book when Ishmael meets Queequeg - and then there's the strangely homoerotic moment when they lie in bed together and Ishmael wakes up, and Queequeg is hugging him in his sleep ... fascinating. I love Queequeg. He, to me, is a character who lives, beyond the pages of that book. He is alive.

I chose other characters because, in a direct way, they had an impact on how I lived my life, and who I have become. That's how Harriet the Spy is for me. That's how Jo March from Little Women is for me, and that is definitely how Scout Finch and Charlotte the spider are for me. You can NEVER convince me that these characters only live between the covers of their respective books. They have been, at various times, like little guardian angels to me.

I guess that, above all, was my criteria: a character who transcends his or her own genre, who steps up off the flat page, and lives. Lives on, long after you finish the book. Like Cathy in East of Eden. Or The Grand Inquisitor in Brothers Karamazov.

Anyway. PLEASE add your own in the comments.

And just a small note: There should be NO SHAME attached to your favorite fictional characters, and you should assume NO JUDGMENT from me or from anyone else when you put them down. If your favorite fictional character is a feisty brunette damsel in distress in your favorite bodice-ripping romance novel, put it the hell down in the comments here, and BE PROUD.

Okay. So here's my list.

Sheila's Favorite Fictional Characters.

Harriet, from Harriet the Spy, by Louise Fitzhugh. Hands down, my favorite fictional character EVER written. I believe I have covered this.

Jane Eyre. from Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Bronte

Charlotte the spider. from Charlotte's Web, by EB White

Queequeg from Moby Dick, by Herman Melville

Hester the Molester, from Prayer for Owen Meany, by John Irving (I love Owen, too, but Hester's my favorite one in that book)

Anne Shirley, from the Anne series, by LM Montgomery

Emily Byrd Starr, from the Emily series, by LM Montgomery

Miss Havisham. from Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens

Ramona Quimby. from the Ramona series, by Beverly Cleary

Yossarian. From Catch-22, by Joseph Heller.

Milo. From Catch-22, by Joseph Heller.

The Grand Inquisitor. From Brothers Karamazov, by Dostoevsky. (my rambling thoughts upon completing that book)

Bud White. from LA Confidential, by James Ellroy (can't resist)

Mr. Darcy. From Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen. (there was a kind of annoying po-mo article about the character - which I rambled about here.)

Phoebe Caulfield, Holden's sister. From Catcher in the Rye, by Salinger

Porfiry Petrovitch, the detective in Crime and Punishment, by Dostoevsky.

Olympia, from Geek Love, by Katherine Dunn

Huck Finn. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain

Leopold Bloom. Ulysses, by James Joyce.

Molly Bloom. Ulysses, by James Joyce (a really really fun Bloomsday celebration I attended ... where everyone knew the last "paragraph" of Molly's monologue by heart. Amazing fun)

Alice. from Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. (a cool excerpt from a biography of Lewis Carroll)

Huck Finn, from Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain

Stephen Dedalus. from Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, by James Joyce

Fagin. from Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens

Jo March. from Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott

Madame Defarge. from Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens

Atticus Finch. from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

Scout Finch. from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

Boo Radley. from To Kill a Mockingbird, by Harper Lee

Cathy. from East of Eden, by John Steinbeck (just the thought of her makes me shiver)

Quoyle, from The Shipping News, by Annie Proulx

Villanelle. from The Passion, by Jeanette Winterson (Villanelle is a web-footed cross-dressing redheaded daughter of a Venetian boatmen, during the time of the Napoleonic wars. Unbelievably great character)

Sam Clay and Joe Kavalier, from The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon

Charles Wallace, from Madeleine L'Engle's Time trilogy

The Books: "The Country Girl" (Clifford Odets)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is The Country Girl, by Clifford Odets

Odets. My man Odets. To my ear, nobody else sounds like him. He's one of those guys where you could show me a page of dialogue - and have me guess who wrote it ... Odets is unmistakable. He's like Mamet. Or Williams. Love Odets.

This play was produced in 1950. Steven Hill, of Law & Order fame was in the original cast - he played the hotshot young theatre director Bernie Dodd - a kind of Elia Kazan character. Uta Hagen originated the lead role of Georgie Elgin, the long-suffering wife who had once been Miss America. She won a Tony award for her work. And then of course, it was made into a film in 1954 - with Bing Crosby as the lead guy Frank Elgin, Grace Kelly as Georgie (she won an Oscar), and William Holden as Bernie Dodd. This play is a love letter from Clifford Odets, hero-playwright of the 1930s, to the theatre. He was an exile in Hollywood. Screenwriting and script-doctoring just couldn't hold a candle to his work in the 30s with the Group Theatre. But those days were done ... he needed to make a living ... You can feel his loneliness, his yearning in almost every word of Country Girl. Even his own stage directions - where he describes the darkened theatre, and the two men - Bernie and Frank - sitting alone - talking. You can feel Odets' loneliness for the New York theatre. I love this play and I would love to play Georgie, although I would never get cast as someone who once was Miss America. Just ain't gonna happen. But she is a terrific character - a great great part for an actress.

Frank Elgin is a washed-up actor. He once was considered great. Now he's a drunk. Bernie Dodd - the hot director - guns for him to take the lead in his next production. He really goes to bat for Elgin - he keeps saying, "I saw Frank give at least 2 great performances in 2 different shows ..." He wants to give this actor another chance. Frank, always on the edge, of either physical or mental collapse, says he will take the part - and he does. During rehearsals, he battles with his own demons - his own fear that he won't learn his lines, that he is not a good actor, that he will fail ... The booze just calls to him ... Meanwhile, Georgie is his sharp-as-a-whip wife - who has had a helluva time herself. The marriage is now basically about keeping Frank off the booze. Georgie is on the lookout for any tell-tale signs. She is no dummy. She is a long-suffering wife, but you could never call her a martyr or a victim. She chooses to stay with him. But it's not easy.

Here is the scene, early on in the play, when Bernie Dodd comes to the Elgin's apartment to offer Frank the part. This is the first time he meets Georgie - who can be quite formidable. Georgie's there by herself - at first - Frank eventually joins them - and Bernie cannot snow Georgie, or charm her. Bernie is a sexist ladies man, a perennial bachelor. He's not used to women taking his measure, and seeing right through him. It's unnerving for him.

A bit of background: when the scene opens, we see Georgie alone in her apartment, packing a suitcase. When Bernie knocks on the door, she hastily stuffs the suitcase under the bed.

So she is not just thinking of leaving Frank - she had made plans - she was packing her suitcase to go.

Also - in this scene - watch the subtlety of this unspoken dynamic: Bernie has come to convince Frank to take the part. But by the end of the scene, without saying a word about it, Bernie realizes that it is Georgie who must be convinced. He adjusts his behavior accordingly.

From The Country Girl, by Clifford Odets

BERNIE. I'm a busy man, Frank.

FRANK. What do you want me to do?

BERNIE. Make up your mind -- I want you to play that part.

GEORGIE. I'm an innocent bystander. Don't shoot me -- just tell me what this is all about.

FRANK. Mr. Dodd says he wants me to play the lead in his play ...

BERNIE. [briskly annoyed] It's a starring part that needs an actor who can stay sober and learn lines. Are you that actor, or not?

FRANK. [with flare] Well, I'm not one of those goddam microphone actors, like Billy Hertz! I'm an actor!

BERNIE. [waiting] That's what I used to think ...

FRANK. [evasively] What about the producer? If looks would kill, I was dead.

BERNIE. He's afraid you're a drinker.

FRANK. [sullenly] I don't drink on a show.

BERNIE. [sharply] Not according to Gilbert. I checked with him -- you worked with him in '44? What happened?

[Frank looks at Georgie before answering]

FRANK. We lost our little daughter ... that year.

[Silence. Frank sits on bed. Georgie pours coffee]

BERNIE. Can you stay on the wagon now?

FRANK. Look, son, I think we oughta forget it ...

BERNIE. Don't call me son! You've played bigger parts -- you used to be a star!

FRANK. [gloomily] Yeah, I used to drink a glass of money for breakfast, too.

BERNIE. What's the matter with you?

GEORGIE. [as if waking up] You don't listen, Mr. Dodd. Can't you see he's afraid of the responsibility?

BERNIE. But I'm willing to take a chance -- the gamble's all on my side.

FRANK. Why kid around? They open in Boston the 28th. I couldn't even learn the lines in that time! That part needs a Bennett or a Blinn --

BERNIE. [sardonically] Bad enough to go to Hollywood to cast -- now you suggest I go to heaven! [Bernie stares at them coldly; about to walk out, turns, says earnesly] Listen, Frank, you don't know me. But I was a kid when I saw you give two great performances in mediocre plays -- Proud People and Werba's Millions. I can get the same show out of you right now ... if you lay off the liquor! I have more confidence in you than you have in yourself!

GEORGIE. [sitting back, watching] Why ...?

BERNIE. Because I saw him as a kid -- I was a hat-check boy in the Shubert Theater. [to Frank] You and Lunt and Walter Huston -- you were my heroes. I know everything you did.

FRANK. Hear that, Georgie ..

[Georgie speaks with quiet thoughtfulness]

GEORGIE. Naturally, Mr. Dodd, you exaggerate the sentiment to make your point.

[Bernie turns, looks at her very carefully]

BERNIE. We killed the cat with sentiment? Okay, we'll bring him back to life with some antiseptic truth. I come from realistic people - I'm Italain. [pausing] I'm not blind to Frank's condition - he's a bum! But I'm tough, not one of those nice "humane" people: they hand you a drink and a buck and that's exactly where they stop. [to Frank] I won't hand you a buck ... but I'll think about you, if you take this job. I'll commit myself to you -- we'll work and worry together -- it's a marriage. And I'll make you work, if you take this job: I'll be your will! [Pausing] But if you do me dirt -- only once! -- no pity, Frank! Not a drop of pity! Joke ending, kid.

[Georgie looks carefully at Bernie. We can almost see her come to life as she stands and comes in closer]

GEORGIE. You'll be his "will" ... I like that. That's what he needs, a will. And "no pity". I like that, too. I like the "antiseptic truth". But what kind of contract do you offer?

BERNIE. Standard two-week contract.

GEORGIE. Not run-of-the-play?

BERNIE. No.

GEORGIE. Doesn't that mean you could let Frank out any time with two weeks' notice?

BERNIE. That's what it means.

GEORGIE. But suppose he takes the part and opens the show? He get syou over the top of the hill. How does he know you won't replace him?

BERNIE. No run-of-the-play contract. Suppose we have to drop him? For drinking or for not retaining his lines? What do you want? Drop him, replace him and still pay his salary for run of the show?

GEORGIE. [pausing] I don't think he should take it. He needs confidence. He won't have it with that two weeks' clause over his head. Would you? [She has spiked Bernie's guns by presenting him the same case he previously presented to Cook. Finally, looking from one to another, Bernie says]

BERNIE. I have nothing in my mind except for Frank to play this part!

GEORGIE. That's sentiment again!

BERNIE. I can't believe my ears! I came up here with the best intentions in the world -- now I find I'm victimizing you!

FRANK. May I get a word in edgewise?

BERNIE. What the hell did I do? Bring you a basket of snakes?

GEORGIE. Noblesse oblige, Mr. Dodd. Stop whirling like a dervish.

FRANK. Nobody wants to get your goat, Mr. Dodd. I ... what I mean, Mr. Dodd, it's only a matter of not wanting to bite off more than I can chew ...

BERNIE. You have the offer. We're booked into Boston for two weeks, but the season's young -- we can stay out till you're letter-perfect.

FRANK. And ... would you do that?

BERNIE. Do it? I insist upon it! Do I look green? [Then, looking at Georgie] I take that back -- I am green! [Then, to Frank] Call me at the office by three o'clock. That means not later. [Bernie starts out, stops] You need a twenty-dollar bill? You need it ... [Puts bill on radio and goes. Silence. Frank does not move]

GEORGIE. Is that boy as talented as he throws himself around?

FRANK. Best average in both the leagues ...

GEORGIE. He's wilful, but he meant what he said.

FRANK. I can't do it, can I?

GEORGIE. Doesn't it seem strange for you to ask me that?

FRANK. You're my wife ...

GEORGIE. Frank, we've been through all this before, many time before ... I'm tired, Frank.

FRANK. [brooding, not looking at her] What happened? Where did I get so bolloxed up? I was the best young leading man in this business, not a slouch!

GEORGIE. Scripts didn't come ...

FRANK. I knew it then -- on the coast -- I lost my nerve! And then, when we lost the money, in '39, after those lousy Federal Theatre jobs --! This is the face that once turned down radio work. [Pacing] What ever the hell I did, I don't know what! [abruptly defiant] But I'm good! I'm still good, baby, because I see what they think is good! [He waits, but she is silent] Don't you think I'm good? I think I'm good!

GEORGIE. Then take the part. Make it your own responsibility, not mine ... take the part. [He looks at her, it is plain that the idea frightens him] Don't wiggle and caper, Frank. [suddenly] Can't you admit to yourself you're a failure? You'd die to save your face, not to fail in public -- but I'm your wife; you have no face. Try to be clear about this offer -- think.

FRANK. I didn't hear him say he'd star me.

GEORGIE. [with dry weariness] I have a message for you, Frank: take the part!

FRANK. Yes, but what will you do if I --?

GEORGIE. Leave me out. Take the part and do your level best.

FRANK. But what about that two weeks' clause? You yourself tried --

GEORGIE. All I tried was to get a better deal. But you won't get perfect terms.

FRANK. You certainly gave him a scrap ... Georgie, I'll tell you! That two weeks' clause, they can give me notice any time, but I can give them notice too!

GEORGIE. ???

FRANK. Don't you see? They can let me out, but I can walk out any time I want! If I feel I'm breaking my neck --

GEORGIE. You can quit?

FRANK. Yeah, that's sort of what I mean, yeah. [Bright, shrewd] You see? Get it?

GEORGIE. [dubious, waiting] Yes ...

FRANK. [cunningly grand] Why, with this two weeks' clause, I don't even have to come into New York, do I? [Georgie murmurs a "no" as Frank chortingly seats himself] That's the thing, that's it -- two can play the same game! [Delighted at this discovery, Georgie much less so, Frank abruptly snaps his fingers, lights up even more] Wait a minute! Quarter to seven this morning I had a dream! I laughed so hard it woke me up! That's a sign, Georgie, a hunch!

GEORGIE. A dream ...?

FRANK. A big sign -- now get this -- a big banner was stretched across the street: "Frank Elgin in --" ... I couldn't make out in what. Mayor La Guardia was in the dream -- lots of people laughing and feeling good. I'm going to take that part, Georgie! You don't have to tell me not to drink - haven't I been a good boy all summer? This morning I got up early -- that funny laughing dream. And I was thinking about our lives ...everything ... and now this chance! Don't you see that all those people in the dream, they wish me luck. I won't fail this time! Because that's what counts -- if the world is with you -- and your wife! [Looks at her, earnest, boyish and questioning, appealing for her support. Finally, she says with reluctance]

GEORGIE. I don't have any appointments ... all winter ...

FRANK. That's what counts! I can't fail this time -- I feel like Jack-A-Million! I'll let Dodd know -- I'll go up to the office in person. [taking twenty dollar bill] But my first stop is the barber shop -- I want the tonsorial works. Anything you want me to bring you back?

GEORGIE. No ....

FRANK. Catch that, dear! [He throws her an extravagant kiss, really excited, and she catches the gift with an open hand. Alone, thinking, we see how unhappy Georgie is. Then she remembers her suitcase; she takes it from under bed, opens it and unhappily looks down at its contents. Then, murmuring, "My God, my God, my God ...", she takes out dress and goes back to wardrobe to replace it on a hanger.]

CURTAIN

Best Literary Blog? Moi!

Voting here for all categories - but I'm up for Best Literary Blog:

It's like the last scene in Seabiscuit over there, currently.

RIP, Shelley Winters

"I think on-stage nudity is disgusting, shameful and damaging to all things American. But if I were 22 with a great body, it would be artistic, tasteful, patriotic and a progressive religious experience. "

-- Shelley Winters

Here is my favorite story about Shelley Winters.

She was in her 60s. She had already been in the business for three and a half decades, and had a career that you can only dream about. So some new up-and-coming director was interested in having her in his film, but he made a grave error (he was the source for this story, by the way - I read some interview with him - whoever he was - argh, can't remember - and he told this story. He, obviously, never forgot it, and never forgot the lessons he learned.) Anyway, here was his error: He asked her to audition. For those of you who don't know - with someone of Shelley Winter's caliber - you don't ask them to audition. Actors have refused to take parts in films where they are asked to audition. You can't get away with it when you're young and inexperienced - but someone like Meryl Streep, or Paul Newman, or Robert DeNiro ... These people don't audition. Nor should they. They have, ahem, proved themselves capable. Now all you need to do is see if they like the script, if you think you can work with them, if the schedules work out, if the salary can be negotiated ... You COURT them. You don't ask them to audition. You might take them to lunch. Or have a script meeting. But someone who has made 80 movies - you don't ask them to AUDITION. It's obvious that they can act, mkay? So it was a huge faux pas.

Winters, though, was a worker - she loved to work - and she wanted the job, whatever it was, so she went to the audition. Her career lasted five decades, people. It's really amazing. Okay, so anyway.

She walks into the director's office. She is Shelley feckin' Winters in her 60s, and we all know what that means. She is an enormous flouzy blowsy fat woman, wearing a goofy little crushed-velvet hat, a huge overcoat, and carrying a lumpy bookbag over her shoulder.

She sat down in the chair. Before the director could even say a WORD - she opened the bookbag, took out one Oscar statue and plopped it on the desk. She didn't say a word. Then she reached into the bookbag, took out another Oscar statue, and plopped it on the desk, next to the other one.

Silence.

Winters barked, "Ya still want me to audition?"

Hahahaha I love that story - it says worlds about who she was - many times obnoxious, pushy, what have you - but she was a force of nature. Oh and yeah - the director gave her the part immediately. He realized instantly that he had fucked up, that this woman didn't need to prove anything, and that he would be thrilled to have her in his project. With humor, brash force, and honesty - Winters taught him a very important lesson. I wish I could remember who it was - but he spoke eloquently of what he learned in that moment. You don't ask Shelley Winters to audition. She knows how to act, okay?

Genius.

I'm very sad about her passing. Her work ethic, her no-nonsense approach to the characters she played, her longevity, her amazing career - has always been a beacon for me. I saw Place in the Sun when I was 12 years old. She had me hooked from then on.

"I'm not overweight. I'm just nine inches too short."

-- Shelley Winters

Alex's tribute is not to be missed.

Here is the entry for Shelley Winters from David Thomson's spectacular Biographical Dictionary of Film.

Blowsy, effusive, brash, and maternal, either voluptuous or drab, Shelley Winters is at her best when driven to wonder, "How did a girl like me get into a high-class movie like this?"

In fact, she had a very respectable New York stage training before her debut in What A Woman, followed by She's a Soldier, Too, Nine Girls, and Tonight and Every Night. She may be seen, briefly, walking across the screen in the wagon train dance sequence in Red River. But her first really worthy part was as the waitress in the Kanin/Cukor A Double Life and she featured notably in Cry of the City; Take One False Step; The Great Gatsby; Johnny Stool Pigeon; South Sea Sinner; Winchester 73; and George Stevens' A Place in the Sun, in which she is last seen hunched up in a rowing boat before Montgomery Clift's uneasy resolve drowns her.

This same vulnerability characterized Phone Call From a Stranger, The Big Knife, The Night of the Hunter, in which she is discovered on the bottom of the lake, still sitting up in a car, hair flowing like weed,

and The Chapman Report. But she is equally adept, if hard to restrain, in more domineering parts: Mambo; Executive Suite; I Am A Camera; Stevens' The Diary of Anne Frank for which she won the supporting Oscar; as Charlotte Haze in Lolita; The Balcony; A Patch of Blue and another supporting Oscar; The Scalphunters; the delicious Bloody Mama. Add to this Wellman's My Man and I; Fregonese's Untamed Frontier; Fred M. Wilcox's Tennessee Champ; Walsh's Saskatchewan; Heisler's I Died a Thousand Times; Wise's Odds Against Tomorrow; Frankenheimer's The Young Savages; Lewis Gilbert's Alfie, Barry Shear's Wild in the Streets; Curtis Harrington's Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? and What's the Matter With Helen?; and Paul Mazursky's Blume in Love; and it looks a very versatile career that has never lost its sense of loudmouth fun. Not least in The Poseidon Adventure in which she asks us to believe that, as New York underwater swimming champion, she once held her breath for two minutes forty-seven seconds.

She was garrulous still in That Lucky Touch; Diamonds; a casebook Jewish mother in Next Stop, Greenwich Village; the sleazy concierge in The Tenant; Tentacles; Pete's Dragon; The Magician of Lublin; and City on Fire.

Since then she has published two lively volumes of autobiography and appeared in Elvis: The Movie; SOB; Fanny Hill; Over the Brooklyn Bridge; Ellie; Deja Vu; The Delta Force; Very Close Quarters; Purple People Eater; An Unremarkable Life; Touch of a Stranger; and Stepping Out. And on TV, as the grandmother of Rosanne.

Now eighty, she has plugged on: Weep No More, My Lady; The Pickle; Is Silenzio del Prosciutti; Backfire!; Jury Duty; Mrs. Munck; Heavy; Raging Angels; The Portrait of a Lady, in which, on screen, she was married to John Gilegud -- you see, the movies are better than life; Gideon; La Bomba.

Rest in peace, dear dear Shelley Winters. I can't thank you enough for what your acting and your career in general has meant to me. You are a true American giant, and it just won't be the same without you.

The Books: "My Cup Ranneth Over" (Robert Patrick)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is My Cup Ranneth Over., by Robert Patrick

We used to have these one-act festivals in college - student-directed student-acted one-acts - and I swear, some of the best acting I have ever seen in my life came out of those one-acts - and it's weird - only 75 people saw these things, ever. But some of them were just unbelievable. My friends David and Brooke in Home Free. But that's just one example. We all just poured our hearts into our projects.

My Cup Ranneth Over was one of them - my friend Jackie (brown wool leg-wraps) and I were the stars - and Christian Gamella was the director. We rehearsed this thing as intensely as if it were a main-stage production. Christian was a wonderful director - He had a lot of ideas, he had a ton of enthusiasm, and we had so much fun working on this thing. Jackie played Paula - a wanna be writer whose goal in life is to get an article in Cosmo - Cosmopolitan is EVERYTHING to Paula. Paula is unhappy, on the VERGE of getting bitter (but not there yet) - and also (very important) kind of vulnerable. If Paula is played without the vulnerability - then she would just be a bitch on wheels, and that wouldn't be right. Jackie TOTALLY got that balance in her character. And I played her roommate Yucca - a musician (a chick with a guitar - along the lines of Joni Mitchell, or Tracy Chapman, or what have you). Yucca is the polar opposite of Paula - Yucca is laidback (but not lazy) - she sleeps until noon because she always had gigs the night before - and she and Paula are best friends. They support each other in their goals, they are there for each other. Until, randomly - Yucca gets a call that someone HUGE caught her show the night before - and suddenly people want to tour with her, the phone starts ringing off the hook - this magazine wants to interview her, that one ... she becomes an overnight success. Literally. This is the story of the play. And Paula, trying to field all of these phone calls - suddenly has to face up to the fact that Yucca's success bums her OUT because it makes her feel bad. She cannot deal with Yucca pushing ahead in the success factor.

Of course, it's a one-act - and it's a comedy - so everything works out in the end. But the main action of the play is what happens on the first morning of someone becoming an overnight success? What is that like?

Playing Yucca was one of the most satisfying things I've ever done - and on some level I have to say that I think that's the best acting I've ever done. I was completely free. I had no fear. I created somebody ELSE. Yucca was not me. But I felt totally unselfconscious being her. Etc. Etc.

Like I said: those student one-act festivals were pretty juicy. Great acting ... seen by almost nobody!

Here's an excerpt from the play - the scene that takes us to the final moment. Yucca finds herself famous - Paula tries to be a good sport about it - and they drink champagne in celebration. But Paula also has an article she's working on, and she's waiting for Cosmo to call her to let her know if they will take her piece or not - so there's THAT tension with the phone lines being hung up by incoming calls. Yucca keeps trying to bond with Paula, and let her know that their friendship won't change, etc. etc. - but she can never finish a sentence because the phone keeps ringing off the hook.

From My Cup Ranneth Over., by Robert Patrick

[The phone rings. Yucca answers gracefully, sipping champagne]

YUCCA. Hello?

PAULA. [wheeling and returning to her chair] Thank God!

YUCCA. Yes, this is she. You're very kind. You're very kind. Were you there? Your friends are very kind. You can get other opinions in the papers. All the papers. Daily Variety you read? Isn't that charming of them, and me a mere unknown. No, it's a sweat-stained T-shirt not a tea-stained sweatshirt! No, I don't have an agent. He just called me, though. Oh, you are, too? Are there two agents? That doens't really help me, I don't know any agent's names. I'm sure you are. I'm sure I do. I'm sure we could. You're very kind. You're very kind. You're very fast. Well, who is someone you represent then? [Awed] John Denver? You're very kidding. How do I know that? Look, could we possibly handle this this way? If you put me in touch with John Denver and he says you are you, and you are good, then I'll think about it, provided I think. I hope that's reasonable and I hope I can remember it. His number? John Denver's home phone number? Shoot. 303-236-8790? [Paula types each digit separately with one finger and hands it to Yucca] You're very kind. Thank you.

PAULA. You're very welcome.

YUCCA. Thank you, Paula. Goodbye. [Hangs up]

PAULA. I'm not going anywhere.

YUCCA. [dreamily dialing] Daily Variety said I had American eyes: red, white, and blue. [Door buzzer buzzes] Hello. I haven't finished dialing.

PAULA. It's the door, Yucca. [Presses talk switch] Hello?

MAILMAN. [over speaker] It's the mailman with some more of them heavy envelopes from Cosmopolitan.

PAULA. I'll be right down.

MAILMAN. Hurry it up lady. These streets aren't safe.

PAULA. Right down! [Goes to desk, turns on tape recorder] Yucca?

YUCCA. Hello. Please hold. What, Paula darling?

PAULA. My white knight is below with my daily fix of rejection slips. Whoever you talk to, remember you gave an exclusive on your clothes philosophy to Earl Wilson. [Pause] You've got John Denver on hold. [She exits]

YUCCA. Right. Hello? Oh, God, I'm sorry. Listen, you don't know me, but for various reasons I call myself Yucca Concklin, and -- you do? You did? That's very kind, especially from you, especially if you are -- you are? Well, why I called is this man said -- he represented himself as representing you and -- funny, that's the name he gave, isn't that a coincidence? And anyway he said he wanted you to be my agent. His. Mine. Him to be mine. Yes. You think I should? Well, I never doubted it, only my senses. Probably I will. House seats? I don't know. No, I know what house seats are, I just don't know if I get any. The subject never came up before. If you say so. You're very kind. You're very kind. [Awed] You would? Why sure. Uh -- look. I don't want to seem paranoid, but I've always had the intense conviction that worldwide conspiracies were working against my happiness, so could you please just say "Country Road"? [Pause] You're very John Denver. [Paula enters in great disarray with two or three big envelopes. Yucca hangs up] John Denver wants me to go on the road.

PAULA. I couldn't have put it better myself.

YUCCA. And I'm free after the show tonight.

PAULA. As far as I'm concerned. [Paula hands her the cassette out of the recorder]

YUCCA. Paula. How sweet. You recorded my whole first conversation with John Denver.

PAULA. I thought you might like to frame it in your new house.

YUCCA. New house?

PAULA. Or perhaps you'll move to a hotel. Where you can call room service. When you want more room.

YUCCA. [sees envelopes] Are those your rejections?

PAULA. All I've thought up so far.

YUCCA. Papers! I've got to go out and get the papers.

PAULA. You can't.

YUCCA. Sure. I'll put on shoes. And an official Yucca Concklin white T-shirt. [Phone rings]

PAULA. Yucca, you can't go out on the street.

YUCCA. Sure, I can. I've bled on those streets.

PAULA. Not yet you haven't. Listen. [She drags Yucca to door and presses listen button]

YUCCA. That isn't the door ringing, it's the phone.

PAULA. Yucca, listen.

VOICES. Yucca. Yucca. This is her house. This ain't her house. Yes it is. Whose house? Yucca Concklin. The big new singer. The one that wears the T shirts. Yeah, this is her house.

YUCCA. They're talking about me.

PAULA. They're talking about you.

YUCCA. They're bandying my name about on the streets.

VOICES. She lives here? Yucca Concklin? Yeah, this is her house. This is where she lives. The one that they were talking about on TV!

YUCCA. [into squawk-box] TV! What channel?

PAULA. [dragging her away] Yucca!

VOICES. This is it. Three thirty three. Just like in the song. See there's her name. Hey, Yucca!

YUCCA. Hey, yourselves!

VOICES. That's her mailbox. There's her name. Hey, let's take her mailbox! [Hideous wrenching sound, then silence. Phone is still ringing]

PAULA. Yucca, what song are they talking about?

YUCCA. It must be the new one I put into the act last night.

PAULA. What's it called?

YUCCA. "I'm just a street punk, just like you, from three thirty-three First Avenue." I'll take it out of the act.

PAULA. No, just take the act out!

YUCCA. What are you trying to say?

PAULA. I'm trying to say I want you to move!

YUCCA. Because you think I'm going commercial.

PAULA. Because I know I'm going crackers. This is impossible.

YUCCA. But it can't last. [answers phone] Hello? People Magazine? Can you call back in five minutes? [Aghast] You can? [Hangs up] Okay, it can last. [Phone rings immediately]

PAULA. But I can't. I want you to find another place.

YUCCA. It may not be real. [answers] Hello? Playboy? [Pause] Really? Can you call back in ten minutes? Thank you. [Hangs up] They want to photograph me without my T-shirt. It's real. [Phone rings at once]

PAULA. It's real, Yucca. You have made the jump. Turned the corner. Gone over the rainbow. Through the looking-glass. Round the bend. Taken the veil. Hit the parade. Made the grade. Started school. Crossed the street by yourself. You're late weather and news.

YUCCA. [runs to hall door] No, I haven't. Look, it's over already. [Presses listen button] See, they've stopped talking about me.

PAULA. No, they stole the squawk-box for a souvenir.

YUCCA. But I don't want to move. Where would I move?

PAULA. Maybe John Denver needs a roommate.

YUCCA. We've always stuck together.

PAULA. Stick it yourself, Yucca.

YUCCA. But I'm a success now. I'm surrounded by false friends.

PAULA. You won't know they're false after a while, yucca, they'll be the only friends you've got.

YUCCA. Maybe I'm not a success. You can never be sure.

PAULA. [with a harsh laugh] Answer the phone.

YUCCA. [does] Hello? [curt] Time Magazine? Call back in fifteen minutes. [Hangs up. Phone rings] I can be sure.

PAULA. You can be sure.

YUCCA. All right, I can be sure. But I owe it all to you.

PAULA. And three months back rent.

YUCCA. Oh, I know, Paula, but I can pay it all back now. I can help you now. Look what all I've got out of our relationship. What do you want out of our relationship?

PAULA. Out of our relationship.

YUCCA. You can't mean that. I owe so much to you. Every time I'd start to give up, I'd think of you over there, clawing away at that machine, writing articles no one wants, collecting rejection slips, people returning your stuff without buying it, without reading it, editors begging you not to waste your time, and no matter how many of thtem told you to go into social work or home economics, you kept on! Without hope or promise, all your friends laughing behind your back, editors taking sexual advantage of you, love and life and youth passing you by, and I'd say, Golly. If she can take all of that and still believe in herself, who am I to flag. That's what I owe you!

PAULA. Well, and here it comes back with interest. That's beautiful. That's some of your best work! Now would you like to hear the flip side? You've changed, Yucca, you've changed, success has changed you!

YUCCA. Me? [Answers phone] Newsweek? Later! [Hangs up] Me? [Phone rings]

PAULA. Anybody else in this house had success? You've changed overnight. You all of a sudden expect me to get the phone for you, pour your champagne, give your interviews, sacrifice my writing time!

YUCCA. I haven't changed.

PAULA. You have. You used to do everything for me and now you won't even move.

YUCCA. I haven't changed, I haven't had time.

PAULA. And on top of everything else, you insult my work!

YUCCA. I didn't insult it, I just said nobody wants it!

PAULA. Is that your concept of a rave?

YUCCA. I was just being honest.

PAULA. Well, that's a change.

YUCCA. I'm always honest. You just never listen.

PAULA. I listen to you practicing on your twelve-string torture instrument night and day for five years grinding out dime-a-dozen despair. [Imitates Yucca singing] "Oh, you may be goin' to Buffalo, but you ain't goin' to Buffalo me!"

YUCCA. Well, I listened to you on your [quick glance at typewriter] forty-two key racket-package and I listened to all those fumble-fingered rewrites of Sexual Politics and I never said anything.

PAULA. You never say anything! What's too silly to be said can be sung! [Phone is still ringing]

YUCCA. I thought you liked my music.

PAULA. I do. I love your stupid music, and now you've got me insulting it. You've changed, Yucca, you've changed!

YUCCA. I've changed? Honestly, Paula. You do a few simple things for me at a time of extreme crisis, things you never do for me, by the way, and which most friends would do for each other without even asking, you scream at me because I've had success, which you all of a sudden act like you never thought I'd have, and after we've struggled and starved together ever since matriculation, you try to throw me out on the streets!

PAULA. [running to hall door] You've bled on 'em, now live on 'em. [Into squawk-box] Look out, world, here comes Yucca Concklin! [Phone is still ringing]

YUCCA. I haven't changed. You've changed.

PAULA. You just hung up on Playboy, People, Time and Newsweek. You never did that before.

YUCCA. I only did it so I could beg you not to throw me out.

PAULA. Don't do me any favors.

YUCCA. Watch out or I won't!

PAULA. Just answer the phone!

YUCCA. It's afternoon now, it's your turn. If you don't want things to have changed, you answer it!

PAULA. All right. I'll keep up the empty shallow, hollow ... [Answers phone] Hello? [She listens, pales] --- Yucca, it's for you.

YUCCA. Paula, I'm obviously in hysterics. Can you take it?

PAULA. I can take a lot, but not this.

YUCCA. Oh God, who is it, National Geographic?

PAULA. It's Cosmo-Fucking-politan.

YUCCA. It can't be! I guess it can. What does Cosmopolitan want with me?

PAULA. Margaux Hemingway broke an eyebrow.

YUCCA. [takes phone] Look, can you hold? Oh, my God. [Grabs Paula by the arm]

PAULA. What is it? What did they say?

YUCCA. They said for me they'd hold anything. I'm sorry, Paula.

PAULA. I'm thrilled for you, Yucca. I'm tickled, I'm delighted, but will you please let go of my arm, give Cosmopolitan your fiftieth exclusive interview of the day, then bundle up your banjo picks and move!

YUCCA. I don't wanna move. I'll never be here anyway. I'll be on the road with John Denver.

PAULA. Oh, rub it in!

YUCCA. Paula, you're jealous!

PAULA. Gee, that would explain so many things.

YUCCA. You're jealous of me!

PAULA. I'm ecstatic for you, Yucca, but my cup ranneth over about two minutes ago!

YUCCA. I don't want you to be jealous.

PAULA. Then let go of my wrist so I can cut it. That's the alternative.

YUCCA. We've always had this very special feeling of trust between us, respect for one another's talents and abilities. We've always believed in each other, haven't we? Haven't we? We haven't? All right, I never believed in myself but I always knew you did and that's what pulled me through. Has that feeling just gone?

PAULA. Yucca, this is embarrassing.

YUCCA. But has it?

PAULA. It's just too humiliating to live together, Yucca. I'm jealous -- and for Christ's sake, of you!

YUCCA. What do you mean, of you? What's wrong with you? Me, I mean? What's not to be jealous of?

PAULA. I don't want to fight, Yucca.

YUCCA. Okay, but has the feeling gone?

PAULA. Only from my left hand! [Yucca releases her] Thank you, Yucca. I'm very glad for you.

YUCCA. You're being unreasonable.

PAULA. It isn't unreasonable to be glad for a friend.

YUCCA. All right.

PAULA. I just cannot spend the rest of my life thinking up clever quotes for your interviews, Cora Sue Concklin.

YUCCA. You what?

PAULA. I said ...

YUCCA. I heard you. [Into phone with great and growing style] Hey, Cosmo? Shoot. I want to be a star because I'm lazy, and stars only come out at night. I thought Yucca was my full name because my folks always looked at me and said, "Yuck". I wear T-shirts because I've always liked getting into men's underwear. Overnight success? I just hope it's not over tonight. My ambition? I want to go gold before I go grey. You want to print a cover story on me? Won't that hurt? But, seriously, I'd love it ... on one condition. It must be written by my roommate, Paula Tissot. She writes. I believe you are familiar with her work. That's the one. Now, come on, be fair -- give the kid a chance. She knows me better than anyone. In fact, she used to be my best friend. Here -- I'll give her to you ... [She extends the phone to Paula, who sits looking at it.]

CURTAIN

Top 50 movies

I'm always adding and subtracting to this list ... but some films will never be bumped off the list. Fearless, Running on Empty, Empire Strikes Back, On the Waterfront ... Others come and go in prominence.

Anyway. Here's my list.

Top 50 Movies - Revised yet again

1. Another Woman - my favorite Woody Allen film. It's one of his "serious" ones, which normally I find annoying. But this one haunts my dreams. It haunts my life. It stars Gena Rowlands. The woman is my idol. Too many great scenes to count. A brilliant story - like a poem, like a dream. Great acting by Sandy Dennis, Ian Holm, Gene Hackman - John Gielgud shows up for a couple of scenes and you think your heart might crack. Betty Buckley has one scene which is so painful I find it, frankly, unwatchable. And through it all, strolls Gena Rowlands - goddess of the independent film movement, one of the greatest American actresses ever. Thank God Woody Allen wrote this for her.

2. Running on Empty - This movie will always be in my Top 5 Films I Love. The scene between Christine Lahti and Steven Hill (now of Law & Order fame) is perhaps the best acting I have ever seen. Beautiful movie. Stays with you long long after it is over.

3. Fearless - I love Jeff Bridges. This film is one of the reasons why. A plane crashes into a corn field. There are only a couple of survivors. He is one of them. Because he escapes death - he begins to think he is immortal. If you haven't seen it - you really must.

4. Opening Night - A John Cassavetes film. Cassavetes created independent film-making, and did it before it was hip. Opening Night, while not his most famous (Woman under the Influence is his most famous - was nominated for Oscars) is his best. It stars his wife Gena Rowlands. It stars Ben Gazzara. I cannot tell you why this movie is so fantastic. I cannot defend my choice. All I know is - it grips my throat. Not a pleasant experience watching it. But DAMN. A film that is burned into my brain. It's about the fear of growing old, and it's also about choosing a life in the theatre.

5. Witness - Harrison Ford's best performance. I love this movie. It works on multiple levels. Also, if you see it now: look for a young Viggo Mortenson, as an Amish farmer (he has no lines in the film, but he is in the barn-raising scene, and many others.) Witness is evidence that you do not need to have one single sex scene to make an erotic movie.

6. Empire Strikes Back -My favorite of the Star Wars extravaganza. I saw it for the first time at age 11 or something like that, in a drive-in. I thought I had died and gone to heaven. A magical film.

7. Schindler's List - Not a movie I want to watch a million times, too painful - but I believe it is a work of art. The scenes between Ben Kingsley and Liam Neeson take my breath away. Ben Kingsley, with one single tear rolling down his face, but his features not moving: "I think I'd better have that drink now."

8. What's Up Doc? - One of the funniest movies ever made. Do not argue. Peter Bogdonavich, screenplay by Buck Henry - Ryan O'Neal and Barbra Streisand - and Madeline Kahn, in her screen debut ... It is a modern-day Bringing Up Baby. I can recite the film. "So how much is it without the Bufferin?"

9. Sense & Sensibility - This movie kills me. Great acting, great story - great realization of a project. The Jane Austen book is great. The film is better. If you want to see great acting, watch Emma Thompson's hysterical outburst that closes the film. She doesn't seem to be creating that. It seems to be HAPPENING to her. But more than just individual moments ... I think this is a perfect film, on every level.

10. On the Waterfront - Even just saying the name of this movie gives me the chills. I watch it now, and am still amazed at its relevance and at the power and timelessness of the acting.

11. Apollo 13 - This is what I call a "satisfying" movie. Every scene has its little arc, every scene accomplishes EXACTLY what Ron Howard wants it to ... and yet there is still a huge arc - the arc of the entire piece - and every scene fits into that arc. I have seen it, probably, 20 times. And it still gets me.

12. Some Like it Hot - the Billy Wilder classic. Another one of the funniest movies ever made. Jack Lemmon tangoing with the rose in his teeth, Marilyn Monroe's delicious-ness - I'll never get over being surprised by this film.

13. Ball of Fire - I know. It's a silly movie. Gary Cooper, Barbara Stanwyck ... but what a delight. What a total DELIGHT is this film. Gary Cooper plays a bumbling English professor working on an encyclopedia with 6 other bumbling professors. (The 7 Dwarfs - which I believe was the original title for this film). Into this intellectual cloister, comes Sugarpuss O'Shea, a floozy showgirl - played by the unbeatable Barbara Stanwyck. She is so good you don't know whether to kiss her or kill her. The dialogue scintillates (Billy Wilder wrote it) - it has wit, eroticism, it's smart, it's funny - and the chemistry between the two leads is so strong you never want the film to end. Another one directed by Howard Hawks. Hmmm ... how many films of his are on this list? I think he is the most represented director here. And rightly so.

14. Bringing Up Baby - Howard Hawks. Again. Probably one of the funniest movies ever made. A classic of the screwball genre. How many times have I seen Cary Grant slip on the dropped olive and fall on his ass? And how many times have I GUFFAWED at that moment? Every single time, that's how many times. This movie is delicious.

15. Casablanca - One of the things that I think makes a movie great, and not only great but LAST, is that there is a mystery about it. It cannot be too easily explained, labeled, pinned down. The discussion about it, the debate it, will continue on. I guess you could say this about the great movie stars, too. They don't give it all away. They hold their cards close to their chest, in some way, and keep us guessing about them. Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman are perfect examples of this. We can never have all of them. In the same way, that we can never have all of ANYbody (at least anybody who is interesting.) There's an essential mystery about their screen presences. I will never get tired of this film.

16. To Have and Have Not - Sigh. This movie gets me hot. Makes me squirm about in my undies, if you know what I mean. But besides THAT, it has an absolutely electric pairing between Bogart and Bacall. You can make the mistake of taking them for granted, since the two of them as a couple are so engrained in our culture now (Bogie and Bacall, Bogie and Bacall, BogieandBacall...) - but when you're confronted with what they actually DID, and what that chemistry was actually LIKE - you'll never get over the freshness. I wish their scenes would go on forever.

17. Arizona Dream - You've probably never even heard of this film. It got no distribution here, and is out on video - but in a highly truncated version. I saw the director's cut (which is so much better than the edited version) at a little art film-house in Chicago with my friend Ted and we could not BELIEVE it. We still talk about this movie. Faye Dunaway, Lily Taylor, Johnny Depp ... it is an insane film. With flying machines, and wandering turtles, and a big house in the middle of the desert, and a crazy dinner party, and Lily Taylor plays an enraged depressed accordion-player (it is SUCH a funny performance. She strolls through the Arizona desert, playing her accordion like the Angel of Death)The title is a perfect description of how this movie worked on me - it's like a dream. One of those dreams that lingers, that persists in your subconscious, trying to tell you something.

18. The Sting - Words fail me. Great movie. Like a big box of candy corn or something. Every. Stinking. Moment. Works. I love it. It also has such a zest, such a joy to it ... the sheer joy of film-making. It's infectious.

19. Moulin Rouge - I don't know why this film GOT to me so much but it did. I bought it, hook line and sinker. I didn't find it too self-indulgent, or too garish, or too flashy - I thought that was the point. What kept it all going for me was the depth and power of Ewan McGregor's performance - In the midst of this operatic flourish, he played it all totally real. To me, love has felt like what it looks like in Moulin Rouge. To me, that movie felt real.

20. The Double Life of Veronique - another movie which I can't get out of my mind. A girl strolls through the streets of Krakow. Suddenly, a bus drives by, and through the windows of the bus, she sees a girl who looks EXACTLY like her. Is it a doppelganger? Who is it? This movie broke my heart. Great acting. Irene Jacob stars. A painful film. Makes you think. Makes you think about identity, and death, and human connection.

21. The Big Sleep - Er. I believe I have covered this one before. This is my favorite, actually, of the Bogart and Bacall pairings. Even more so than To Have and Have Not.

22. Postcards from the Edge - Dammit, this movie is FUNNY. Meryl Streep's best work. She is a comedic genius. This is another movie which is like a big box of candy. I cannot count how many times I have seen this one. I own it. I can recite it from beginning to end. Don't get me started.

23. The Producers - Uh. Do I need to say anything else? I didn't think so.

24. This is Spinal Tap - This has got to be one of the funniest movies ever made. I can't even STAND it. I love, too, the 2 second cameo by Anjelica Houston, who plays the person who designed the "Stone Henge" for their concert ... to tragic results.

25. North by Northwest - The pinnacle of the Hitchcock-Grant relationship. Hitchcock's envy of Grant's beauty comes out in full force in this film - where Roger Thornhill is made to suffer like almost no other movie hero. He is a man caught up in forces beyond his control. He must hide in corn fields, and scale Mount Rushmore ... No matter how many times I have seen this film, I always find something new to discover.

26. Dogfight - I hate River Phoenix for being a drug addict and checking out of this planet, thus depriving us of his amazing gift for years to come. This film stars River and Lily Taylor. River Phoenix plays a cocky asshole Marine, just about to ship out to Vietnam, in the early 60s, before anyone really knew what they were getting themselves into. He tells Lily's character where he is off to, and she asks, "Where's that?" He and his cocky buddies are on leave for 4 days in San Francisco and they host something called a "Dogfight" - The contest is: who can invite the UGLIEST girl to a party they host? So they scour the streets for "dogs" - none of the women are in on the joke, of course - They are all excited to have been approached by hot young soldiers. Anyway, River Phoenix's character asks Lily Taylor's character to come - she has a big bouffant, she's plump, she's a goof-ball who wants to be a folk singer, a la Joan Baez. Needless to say - they spend an epic night together. Where he learns some important lessons about himself - and she learns some important lessons about herself. They are SO GOOD together. I never want this movie to end.

27. Raiders of the Lost Ark - I still have not fully recovered from the first time I saw this movie when I was in high school.

28. Contact - Science vs. God. Pure research vs. Applied science. Faith vs. Knowledge. Do they have to be in opposition? All of this wrapped up in a gripping story - with Jodie Foster's best acting job yet. Her "I had an experience" monologue during the Congressional hearings is superb. It's one of those movies I wish I could step into. I want to hang out at her little cabin near the telescopes. I want to be a part of an event like that. My only complaint is putting clips of Clinton in the film. Huge mistake. It dates it. It was a cute little trick - to insert footage of Clinton into the action of the movie - but I didn't like it. If you read the book, too, the President is female. And no one makes a big deal out of it. What a missed opportunity by the filmmaker! But despite that flaw - I love this movie. It's one of my all-time favorites. A beautiful experience every time.

29. Reds - This movie is still unmatched, in terms of storytelling. Nobody is brave enough anymore to do what Warren Beatty did, in this movie. Scenes start in the middle, and cut off abruptly. You are suddenly thrust into an argument, and have to catch up, figuring out what they are talking about. Nothing is spelled out. It feels like a documentary (not to mention the brilliant touch of interviewing all of the real people from that time). The scene between Diane Keaton (as Louise Bryant) and Jack Nicholson (as Eugene O'Neill) in the beach house is one of the sexiest love scenes I have EVER seen, and they never touch each other. Beatty knows what to keep in, what to leave out. He obviously loves actors. They trust him implicitly. Movies are not made like this one anymore. It is gritty. It is raw. Things look like they are really happening, nothing seems simulated. I love that. I love that reality.

30. Streetcar Named Desire - This film is so good that you actually can feel the humidity of the air as you watch it. It works on a script level, an acting level, a dramatic level ... but it's that sensoral level that is truly extraordinary. You can count the films on one hand that can literally transport you, and make you feel the environment. Iconic. Performances that still take my breath away.

31. Taxi Driver - still one of the scariest films I have ever seen. Watch the scene again where he talks to himself in the mirror. It has been parodied so many times, that it is easy to forget how terrifying the original rendition is. It is not a joke. It is fucking scary.

32. The Full Monty - Yeah, I know, ha ha ha, a bunch of steel-workers take off their clothes for money, ha ha ... But I think there is something deeper going on in this film, and that is why it works. It has something to say about men today, it has something to say about the "plight" of men. It has something to say about the emasculation of men and how we cannot allow that to occur. Men can't let that happen, but women need to be invested in that struggle too. We should not want our men to be emasculated and domesticated. That, to me, is what that movie is about, and why it brings me to tears every time.

33. Breaking Away - I LOVE THIS MOVIE. I still can hear Paul Dooley's horrified voice, "REE-FUND?? REFUND? REFUND!!! REFUND!!" A coming-of-age story with a great twist. I fell in love with every single one of the characters. Dennis Quaid in his break-out part. It just WORKS. On every level it needs to work.

34. Philadelphia Story - Oh, for so many reasons. So many. Cary Grant putting his entire hand over Katherine Hepburn's face and pushing her down onto the ground. Jimmy Stewart's drunk hiccuping scene (one of the best drunk scenes ever). The theme of Hepburn's character: she must come down off the pedestal, and forgive other people's weaknesses. I find that very moving. And I love to see the 3 of them together. The repartee, the dialogue ... it's brilliant.

35. Notorious - I don't just think this is a great movie. I am actually personally addicted to this movie, and have a PROBLEM. Hitchcock was the only one who saw the dark underbelly to Cary Grant's charm and handsomeness (well, perhaps Grant saw it himself). And Hitchcock put him in this vehicle and showed us a Cary Grant we had never seen before. It's unsettling. He's a bit sadistic, he's cruel, he's also vulnerable, suspicious, tender ... it's a tour de force. And speaking of tour de forces: Ingrid Bergman gives one of the most tortured portrayals of her career (well, Gaslight might be the MOST tortured) - a drunken neurotic nymphomaniac ... who wishes Grant could trust her, but he doesn't trust women. And another tour de force is Claude Rain's performance. The whole movie is a masterpiece of tone, mood, writing, and suspense. But ultimately - it's the love story that grounds the thing - the tortured dark bitter love story. One of my favorite movies of all time.

36. Citizen Kane - All the special effects in the world cannot hold a candle to what Orson Welles was able to achieve manually. This film is a huge visual accomplishment, yes - but like with all the movies on my list - why it's a success in MY book is because you care about the characters. Or - perhaps that's too simple. Tommy Lee Jones said, when he did a seminar at my school, "I don't think I, as an actor, need to like the characters I play. But I do think that you should want to watch the character." The characters in Citizen Kane are all flawed, all interesting, all highly watch-able. And I can recite the monologue about the woman in white seen through the fog on the ferry from memory.

37. The Misfits - Clark Gable's last film. Directed by John Huston. Screenplay by Arthur Miller. He wrote it for his wife at the time, Marilyn Monroe. Montgomery Clift is in it. Eli Wallach. The stories about the nightmares of this shooting (Clark Gable died of a heart attack soon after wrap) are legendary. A book has been written about it. Regardless: this is the kind of movie I love. With complex characters, all in highly stressful situations ... We, as audience members, can see them better than they can see themselves. All of the acting is top-notch, particularly Clift.

38. The Fisher King - Jeff Bridges is one of my all-time faves. For whatever reason, I absolutely adore this operatic mess (at times) of a movie. In it, Bridges plays a shock-jock who makes a terrible mistake: one of his casual comments on the air ends up having tragic consequences. He loses everything. Directed by Terry Gilliam - this movie is more allegory, more myth and legend than reality. And Mercedes Ruehl as Jeff Bridges's girlfriend (she won the Oscar, I think, or at least was nominated, and rightly so) is fantastic. I loved their relationship, the two of them together. The kind of relationship that can only exist between ADULTS. Where you are scarred, you are damaged by life, you have lost much - but you don't particularly want to talk about your past ... you just want a warm body beside you in the night. I love this movie.

39. The Wizard of Oz - I hadn't put this film on here originally - which was just an oversight. Nothing conscious. It's almost like my entire childhood is wrapped up in this film - its yearly showing on television was an event. The film still works. It never gets old. And Judy Garland is a wunderkind. Her close-up as she watches the sand drip through the hourglass is pretty much as good as it gets, in terms of film acting. A magic movie. Truly profound.

40. It Happened One Night - Clark Gable. Claudette Colbert. If you want to see what my friend Mitchell would call 'sheer liquid joy' - rent this movie. I laugh out loud every time I see it.

41. Lion in Winter - "Well, what family doesn't have its problems..." muses Katherine Hepburn, as Eleanor of Aquitaine. Classic.

42. Children of Heaven - absolute gem of a film from Iran. A lower-class family in Tehran, with 2 small children. The little boy inadvertently loses his little sister's shoes, her school shoes. They are afraid to tell their parents. So they set up an elaborate scheme - he goes to school in the mornings, then races home, gives her his shoes, and she galumphs to school wearing his sneakers (underneath her chador). She, of course, as any little 8 year old girl would be, is MORTIFIED at wearing her brother's sneakers. She is MAD. He sees that a running race is going to be held - and second prize is a pair of nice little shoes. So he decides: I am going to run in this race, and although I am a very good runner, the best runner in my school, I have to somehow come in second so that I can win the shoes. Oh shit, just rent it. It's absolutely exhilarating.

43. Titanic I will not apologize. This is not a guilty pleasure for me. I think that this is the most expensive art-house film ever made. Don't berate me. Make your own list. I loved this movie. Every stinking minute.

44. In a Lonely Place -One of Humphrey Bogart's lesser known films, but it might be my favorite Bogart performance. He plays a bitter screenwriter in Hollywood - I think it is some of his deepest and best acting. I can't count how many times I've seen it. I have some favorite moments. It's one of those movies that works on multiple levels, and which only gets better with repeated viewings. See it.

45. Sunset Boulevard - The best behind-the-scenes Hollywood film ever made. There are times when I watch it and all I can do is marvel at William Holden. There are times when I watch it when Gloria Swanson's performance is the thing that blows me out of the water. Billy Wilder at his sicko cynical best.

46. Roman Holiday - I almost forgot to put this one on the list. Audrey Hepburn - Gregory Peck - an escaped princess, a journalist - in Rome - somehow they hook up - and ... of course ... magic happens. It is a love story but in the greatest sense. This movie is the forerunner to so many other great love stories, only it does it better, with more grace. I love Gregory Peck. His expression when she says, ringingly, and with deep deep love: "Rome ..." It just gets you right in the throat.

47. Searching for Bobby Fischer - This one's in the pantheon, for me. I own it, I never get tired of it - and that is the mark of a film that just plain old WORKS. Ben Kingsley is heartbreaking and infuriating. Joe Mantegna is phenomenal. The little kid is so real that it feels like a documentary. And Larry Fishburne gives one of his best and most likable performances. It's a film that makes chess as exciting as basketball or football. It also rips your heart out. Beautiful movie. One of my favorites.

48. Stand By Me - The only word that really comes up for me when I think about this movie is "magic". It's just magic. That's all.

49. His Girl Friday - It's a perfect movie in every way. You never stop to catch your breath, Rosalind Russell is a force of nature (it's one of my favorite performances by an actress, ever) - and Cary Grant is brilliantly comedic - never makes a false move, never looks false... A non-stop pleasure-ride, this one. And it's executed with such skill, such knowing certainty. Great movie. And funny as all hell.

50. Only Angels Have Wings - What the hell is that, you might ask? Only one of the best movies ever made ... a forgotten genius piece of art. My thanks to CW, pilot, aviation-history expert and film-buff, for calling this movie to my attention. I can never thank him enough. Directed by Howard Hawks - starring Cary Grant and Jean Arthur - it is a story of the early days of aviation - and it's got everything. Gripping action sequences (revolutionary at the time), a sizzlingly erotic love story (in the true Howard Hawks fashion) - and one of Grant's best performances. I have seen this movie more times than I can count and I only just discovered it. I watch it to relax. I watch it to lose myself in fantasies. I watch it to marvel at Grant's work. I watch it to be entertained. Cary Grant plays the crankiest leading man in film history. And he's sexier than he's ever been because of it.

Memories

Alex's post is a must-read. I'm in tears because of that man behind the counter.

The Books: "Andromache" (Jean Racine)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Andromache, by Jean Racine

Francois Mauriac wrote, in regards to translating Racine into English: "Of all our authors, Racine is one of the least accessible to people of other countries." Translating French (especially poetry) into English is really difficult - I've read bad translations of Moliere and you think: What the hell is the big deal about this playwright? The rhymes clunk, the rhythm is predictable ... I don't get it. When you read it in French, it's a whole other ballgame. Moliere is stupendous in his own language.

The translation I have of Racine's Andromache is done by poet Richard Wilbur and for some reason I really loved it in college - but now, reading it again, I think the same thing I think when I read a bad translation of Moliere ... what on earth is the big deal here? The rhymes come off sounding like nursery-school rhymes.

I should probably get another translation - I know Robert Lowell did one. There are many translations. Tackling Racine and trying to make him LIVE in English is one of those rites of passage that many poets go through. Or maybe I should just give it a shot and try reading it in French even though I am so rusty that that might be a terrible idea.

But oh well. I have Richard Wilbur's and I absolutely loved it in college. I worked on a scene from it - and that's the scene I'll excerpt. It's a scene between Andromache - Hector's widow, prisoner of Pyrrhus - and her confidante Cephisa. I can't remember the plot-line exactly, and what just happened before - but it will all become clear within moments of this scene. And Andromache has a terrific monologue in this scene - it's a stand-alone kind of monologue and would make a fantastic audition piece for an actress. (It's the monologue that starts with "He may forget those deeds, but I cannot.")

From Andromache, by Jean Racine

CEPHISA.
I told you that, despite the Greeks, you'd be
Once more the mistress of your destiny.

ANDROMACHE.
Alas! You see where your advice has led!
Now, through my fault, my child's blood shall be shed.

CEPHISA.
Madam, your faithlessness persists too long:
Excess of any virtue can beb wrong.
Hector himself would urge you to comply.

ANDROMACHE.
And marry Pyrrhus in his place? Not I!

CEPHISA.
Not for your son, whose life's in jeopardy?
D'you think that Hector's shade would blush to see
You wed a conquering king who will restore
The sceptered rank which once your family bore,
Who'll tread your Grecian foes into the mire.
Forget that fierce Achilles was his sire,
Disown his deeds, and bid them be forgot?

ANDROMACHE.
He may forget those deeds, but I cannot.
Hector's dishonored corpse -- how not recall
Who dragged it round and round our city wall?
How not remember Priam fallen dead
Across his altar, staining it with red?
Think, think, Cephisa, of that night which for
A slaughtered nation ended nevermore;
Imagine Pyrrhus, his eyes alight with flame
As though our burning palaces he came,
Over my brothers' bodies picked his way
And, drenched with blood, still urged his men to slay;
Hear too the victors' shouts, their victims' cries
Cut short by flame or sword; and let your eyes
Find in that hell, half-crazed Andromache:
That was how Pyrrhus first appeared to me;
Such were the deeds for which Fame wreathed his brow;
Such is the man you'd have me marry now.
No, I'll not share his blood-guilt. Let him kill
Us, as his final victims, if that's his will.
I can't blot out such horrors and be his wife.

CEPHISA.
Come then, and see your dear son lose his life.
They bide your answer ... Madam, what makes you start?

ANDROMACHE.
You've waked a memory that stops my heart.
Cephisa! Can I watch them kill my boy,
Dear Hector's image and my only joy?
His son, the pledge of our fidelity?
Ah, I recall how on the day when he
Strode forth to meet Achilles and to die,
He held his son, and kissed the babe goodbye:
"Dear wife," he said, wiping my tears away,
"I know not what my fate shall be today;
This son, this pledge of love, I leave behind me:
If I am lost to him, through you he'll find me.
Tell him how in our days of happiness
You loved his father; and love my son no less."
How can I see this precious life undone,
And all Troy's lineage perish with my son?
O barbarous king, why must he bear my guilt?
Because I hate you, must his blood be spilt?
Has he bewailed the kin you would not spare?
Taxed you with crimes of which he's unaware?
But oh, my son, you die unless the blade
He holds above your head is somehow stayed.
I could avert it; and can I see you slain?
No, you'll not die; I could not bear that pain.
Let's go find Pyrrhus. But no: Cephisa, pray
Go find him for me.

CEPHISA.
What would you have me say?

ANDROMACHE.
Tell him I love my son so much that I ...
D'you think he means it, that my son must die?
Could passion make a man so barbarous?

CEPHISA.
Madam, he'll soon come raging back to us.

ANDROMACHE.
Go then, and say --

CEPHISA.
Say what? That you'll wed the king?

ANDROMACHE.
Alas! Am I free to promise such a thing?
O ashes of my husband! O Father! O Troy!
Ah, but your life would cost me dear, my boy.
Come.

CEPHISA.
Where, my lady? What have you decided?

ANDROMACHE.
I'll kneel at Hector's tomb, and there be guided.

Messier Mania

I walked by Madison Square Garden last night to get to the PATH and had to pass through full on Messier MANIA. (They were retiring the Number 11 tonight - and so there was an enormous celebration going on at the Garden). Along with the normal rush-hour foot-traffic - there was a manic THRONG filling the streets, heading to the Garden. There were murmuring scalpers, people frantic to get tickets ... the neon sign above the entrance to the Garden had a huge announcement: 'CELEBRATE THE CAPTAIN' - and I swear to God - 90% of all of the people I saw were wearing Messier jerseys. It was pretty wonderful. Not just that - but the feeling in the air around the Garden ... It kind of can't be described. You just knew that something HUGE was going down there - even without all the Messier jerseys and the flashing neon. It was a buzz, a frenetic excitement that seemed to even live in the molecules of air ... It was that present.

We then watched the whole tribute on TV at the bar we were at - which was really fun. Messier was just BARELY holding it together. The guy was in tears from almost the beginning of the tribute.

It was really really cool to watch. You would get these long shots of the entire Garden standing on its feet - pretty much everyone in Messier jerseys - and you just get goosebumps looking at it.

Alex Nunez has a great post up about Messier. Not to be missed.

The voting has started!

The Sheila Variations is a finalist in the Best Literary Blog category - (even though recently I have been writing mainly about Project Runway) I am very pleased to be nominated, and I have encountered a ton of new (to me) blogs which I have added to my blog roll. Lots of fun and artistic people out there, good writers, funny, observational ... the kind of stuff I love. (Here's just one example: Check out this blogger's photographs. Just look at them! Fantastic. Blog-rolled instantly. But there are many more!)

Anyway, should you so choose - you can vote for me by clicking on that button above.

Diary Friday

Okay, I'm about to embarrass someone yet again - with the following entry from my junior year in high school. This one's for Keith M. He'll know why.

NOVEMBER

WHAT A DAY!! I've got to tell you! Have I told you about Keith M? It feels like I have. He is -- the -- (I swear to God) nicest guy at our school. Wow. My heart almost hurts. He is gonna grow up to be one fantastic guy. He already is. It's unusual. I mean, the popular guys in our class - they're nice and everything - but not very sensitive. It seems like they make fun of everyone. They can be mean. But Keith! KEITH! What a name. [Uhm, okay - not only am I probably embarrassing Keith reading this, but now I'M embarrassed. It's the "What a name" moment that got me. Okay, onward.] He never makes fun of freshmen or unpopular kids. He's nice to everyone. But he's not overly sweet. He's sort of a tough guy, you know? [I ADORE my complex character analysis here.]

He's in my Chemistry and Math. He is a good student. He wants to understand and do well. It gives me a thrill whenever he says my name. [AHHHHH! How embarrassing!!] It's like: "He knows who I am!" But of course he does! I've been in his class since first grade. We were a "couple" in 4th grade. (Really heavy stuff. You know. I stole his comb and giggled when he came near me.) But in junior high, I drifted apart from all my old friends. They all became popular - Keith, Andrew - but now - this year, I just love being in classes with him. My old childhood friend.

I keep thinking I've told you this! [Er - I believe the "you" is referencing my journal] There's that moment in gym class - where a retarded kid showed up and he'd be doing his best, and everyone would be snickering- but Keith M. sat there, staunchly, firmly, calling out, "Great cut! Okay! Keep your eye on the ball! That's it!" You know -- pep talk. Whatever. GOD.

Keith M. has such a great start on being human. I told my mom that story about Keith in gym class and she went, "Now him. He will grow up to be an even nicer man." She's right. He's so friendly. We can talk to each other. I don't know. I feel comfortable with him.

[I have to just interject here. The fact that I wrote about Keith M so much and so rapturously in my journals is kind of surprising to me - not that he isn't a worthy object - but that I don't remember doing so. I don't remember having RAVED about him so consistently - his name comes up constantly in these old journals - and it's really amazing to look back and go: "Wow. He really meant a lot to me. Who knew??"]

I had gone on a field trip today with Drama to see Glass Menagerie and I came home and wondered who to call from Math to find out what I missed. I really don't know anyone in my class, not well enough to call anyway - so I thought of Keith - not that I know Keith like a brother - but God, the opportunity was there - I grabbed it. I was nervous though. I practiced what I would say. O God! [I am striking myself as unbelievably sweet here. Also, I love that I didn't write "Oh God" but I wrote "O God" ... it's a much more dramatic and poetic spelling, which was completely appropriate - seeing as I WAS ABOUT TO CALL KEITH M! I was so dramatic. Sheesh] I looked up his number.

I remember every second of this phone call. Keith has a distinct way of talking. His voice ... it sounds - not sharp - but clear. He is the best looking boy in our class, I swear. Heart pounding, I said to myself, "Cut it out, Sheila!" and dialed.

It rang twice.

"Hello?" It was his father, I guess. I could hear the news on in the background. Just saying, "May I please speak to Keith" gave me a heart attack. What was he thinking as he came to get the phone? Would he be bummed out that it was me? But really what I was thinking was just his name ... Keith. [Sheila, his name is Keith. Please get over it.]

"Just a minute," and he went off to get Keith and I thought, "Oh my God, he's home!" I wasn't nervous - just - I don't know. I really like him. But 4th grade is so far away now.

There was a pause - then I heard this sort of close voice, "Yeah! I got it!" His sharp clear voice. He picked up the phone. [Listen to how I am writing about this - I am writing as though calling Keith to get the math homework is literally the biggest cliffhanger ever. O God!] He said "Hello?"

I pushed on - "Hi Keith? This is Sheila from Math class." Dumb thing to say. We have been friends since six-year-old-dom. But he said, "Oh! Hi!" Really friendly. Not sort of suspicious, like: "Oh no - what does she want?" I once called Andrew in the 6th grade - Mary Lou answered and went running off screaming, "ANDREW! IT'S A GIRL!" [hahahahahahaha]

I said, "Uh ... I was wondering, since I wasn't there today if we had a quiz or what the homework is ..."

"Oh - okay. Uh ..."

I love how -- I just -- He just was so nice - very amiable. I have such an inferiority complex, especially with boys. I think everyone's suspicious of me. And I think that if they guess that I like them - they will be bummed out about it. It's weird.

He said, "We didn't have a quiz today but I believe we're having a test on Friday and - okay, the homework is the - uh - Chapter Review - Chapter Summary - whatever, and that's on page ... Do you have your book with you?"

[Look at that. I have almost no memory of this enormous cliffhanger of a moment in my life - but I would bet that that's almost word for word what Keith said. I had a knack - and still have it - for remembering conversations, no matter how benign or trivial - with word to word detail.]

"Uh - no -" I whipped out a pencil to mark it down. He said, "Well, it's either on 109 or 129 - I'm not sure - but one of those." I wrote that down quickly on my Glass Menagereie program and said, "Okay. Got it. Thanks a lot, Keith." "Yeah, sure." "Okay. Bye." "Bye."

AND THEN WE HUNG UP!

[If you could only see how huge those letters are in my journal. Hahahaha They're enormous. I am shouting "AND THEN WE HUNG UP". As though hanging up the phone is the most AMAZING development in this whole cliffhanger.]

Keith seems so natural - not inhibited - I can't explain this. I don't idolize him - even though I sit here going, "HE KNOWS WHO I AM!" It's not like that. I don't idolize him. I just care for him. He is special. That’s all. His whole personality. I know that conversation doesn’t sound thrilling – but Diary – all the other guys – I mean, I don’t know if they even know who I am – but you had to have been on that phone. He was not – Okay. I know. I remember. I know why he's different, and special. That’s what matters. I mean, I don’t think he likes me or anything, but it is the fact that he treats me so kindly, like a pal, like a friend – It comes so easily to me when I am with him. With all other boys – even the ones I grew up with – it’s always so weird and awkward. They act like I want something from them – just by talking to them. Keith never does that. Conversation comes naturally with us. Me, Keith, and Bill always end up sitting near each other because of our last names. That last sentence had awful grammar, and sorry about that. Anyway, in Chemistry, I sit in back of Bill who sits in back of Keith. One day, Mr. Amoeba started handing out papers for a “pop quiz” – ooh, isn’t he cool and scary – [Uhm, can you tell I despised that teacher?] Keith groaned, "Oh, great. Here goes another grade down the tubes." I said - not really to him - just to myself, and anyone who felt like listening: "Think positive!" Bill heard me. He leaned forward, tapped Keith on the shoulder, and said, "Excuse me, Keith. Sheila O'Malley wants you to think positive." [hahahahahaha] Keith turned around and grinned at me, giving the thumbs-up sign.

I can't believe how much I care for this kid. How has this happened? Just a friendship is more than enough.

Aren't human beings and human nature the most wonderful things in the world??????

The Oscars

Alex has now written Part II in her Oscars series. This time she talks about the Best Supporting Actor category.

The Books: "Hello Out There" (William Saroyan)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Hello Out There: A one-act play, by William Saroyan

A simple and powerful one-act play by one of our most treasured American playwrights. I did this play in grad school and it was a total gift to work on it.

Here's the plot (this is the synopsis written by Saroyan at the start of the play): Hello Out There tells about the bad luck of an itinerant gambler who is arrested and jailed in a small Texas town, charged with rape. The charge is a lie, but the only one who hears his call for justice and understanding is a young girl who cooks for the jail. The gambler gives all his money to the girl before a mob breaks into the jail and the lying woman's husband shoots him.

It's a tragic play. But the beauty of it is the connection formed between these two lonely characters. There's a fire of urgency beneath them as well. The young man knows that a crowd of vigilantes will come and kill him in his cell - which has pretty much been left undefended. He needs to get out of that cell. This young girl is his only chance. You think the play is going to be one thing - about this wrongly accused man's fight for justice ... but it ends up being a love story. Or maybe more just a kindred spirit story. These two people, in the tiny prison, in the middle of the night, understand each other. They 'get' each other ... in a way that neither of them have ever been 'gotten' in their lives. It's gorgeous and very sad.

Here's the start of this play.

From Hello Out There: A one-act play, by William Saroyan

[There is a fellow in a small-town prison cell, tapping slowly on the floor with a spoon. After tapping half a minute as if he were trying to telegraph words, he gets up and begins walking around the cell. At last he stops, stands at the center of the cell, and doesn't move for a long time. He feels his head, as if it were wounded. Then he looks around. Then he calls out]

YOUNG MAN. Hello -- out there! [Pause] Hello -- out there! [Long pause] Hello -- out there!

[A girl's voice is heard]

THE VOICE. Hello.

YOUNG MAN. Is that you, Katey?

THE VOICE. No -- this here is Emily.

YOUNG MAN. Who?

THE VOICE. Emily.

YOUNG MAN. Emily who? I don't know anybody named Emily. Are you the girl I met at Sam's in Salinas about three years ago?

THE VOICE. No -- I'm the girl who cooks here. I'm the cook. I've never been to Salinas. I don't even know where it is.

YOUNG MAN. You say you cook here?

THE VOICE. Yes, I do.

YOUNG MAN. Well, why don't you cook something good?

THE VOICE. I just cook what they tell me to. [Pause] You lonesome?

YOUNG MAN. Lonesome as a coyote. Hear me hollering? Hello out there!

THE VOICE. Who you hollering to?

YOUNG MAN. Well -- nobody, I guess. I been trying to think of somebody to write a letter to, but I can't think of anybody.

THE VOICE. What about Katey?

YOUNG MAN. I don't know anybody named Katey.

THE VOICE. Then why did you say, Is that you, Katey?

YOUNG MAN. Katey's a good name. I always did like a name like Katey. I never knew anybody named Katey, though.

THE VOICE. I did.

YOUNG MAN. Yeah? What was she like? Big girl, or little one?

THE VOICE. Little.

YOUNG MAN. What sort of girl are you?

THE VOICE. Oh, I don't know.

YOUNG MAN. Didn't anybody ever tell you? Didn't anybody ever talk to you that way?

THE VOICE. What way?

YOUNG MAN. You know. Didn't they?

THE VOICE. No, they didn't.

YOUNG MAN. They should have. I can tell from your voice you're OK.

THE VOICE. Maybe I am and maybe I ain't.

YOUNG MAN. I never missed yet.

THE VOICE. Yeah, I know. That's why you're in jail.

YOUNG MAN. The whole thing was a mistake.

THE VOICE. They claim it was rape.

YOUNG MAN. No -- it wasn't.

THE VOICE. That's what they claim it was.

YOUNG MAN. They're a lot of fools.

THE VOICE. Well, you sure are in trouble. Are you scared?

YOUNG MAN. Scared to death. [Suddenly] Hello out there!

THE VOICE. What do you keep saying that for all the time?

YOUNG MAN. I'm lonesome. I'm as lonesome as a coyote. [A long one] Hello -- out there!

[The girl appears, over to one side. She is a plain girl in plain clothes]

THE GIRL. I'm kind of lonesome, too.

YOUNG MAN. [turning and looking at her] Hey -- No fooling? Are you lonesome, too?

THE GIRL. Yeah -- I'm almost as lonesome as a coyote myself.

YOUNG MAN. Who you lonesome for?

THE GIRL. I don't know.

YOUNG MAN. It's the same with me. The minute they put you in a place like thsi you remember all the girls you ever knew, and all the girls you didn't get to know, and it sure gets lonesome.

THE GIRL. I bet it does.

YOUNG MAN. Ah, it's awful. [Pause] You're a pretty girl, you know that?

THE GIRL. You're just talking.

YOUNG MAN. No, I'm not just talking -- you are pretty.

THE GIRL. I'm not -- and you know it.

YOUNG MAN. No -- you are. I knew Texas would bring me luck.

THE GIRL. Luck? You're in jail, aren't you? You've got a whole gang of people all worked up, haven't you?

YOUNG MAN. Ah, that's nothing. I'll get out of this.

THE GIRL. Maybe.

YOUNG MAN. No, I'll be all right -- now.

THE GIRL. What do you mean -- now?

YOUNG MAN. I mean after seeing you. I got something now. You know for a while there I didn't care one way or another. Tired. [Pause] But I'm not tired any more. Hello out there.

THE GIRL. Who you calling now?

YOUNG MAN. You.

THE GIRL. Why, I'm right here.

YOUNG MAN. I know. [softly] Hello out there!

THE GIRL. Hello.

YOUNG MAN. Ah, you're sweet. [Pause] I'm going to marry you. I'm going away with you. I'm going to take you to San Francisco. I'm going to win myself some real money, too. I'm going to study 'em real careful and pick myself some winners, and we're going to have a lot of money.

THE GIRL. Yeah?

YOUNG MAN. Yeah. Tell me your name.

THE GIRL. Emily Smith.

YOUNG MAN. Honest to God?

THE GIRL. Honest. That's my name -- Emily Smith.

YOUNG MAN. Ah, you're the sweetest girl in the whole world.

THE GIRL. Why?

YOUNG MAN. I don't know why, but you are, that's all. Where were you born?

THE GIRL. Matador, Texas.

YOUNG MAN. Where's that?

THE GIRL. Right here.

YOUNG MAN. Is this Matador, Texas?

THE GIRL. Yeah, it's Matador. They brought you here from Wheeling.

YOUNG MAN. Is that where I was -- Wheeling?

THE GIRL. Didn't you even know what town you were in?

YOUNG MAN. All towns are alike. It doesn't make any difference. How far away is Wheeling?

THE GIRL. Sixteen or seventeen miles. Didn't you know they moved you?

YOUNG MAN. How could I know when I was out -- cold? Somebody hit me over the head with a lead pipe or something. What'd he hit me for?

THE GIRL. Rape -- that's what they said.

YOUNG MAN. Ah, that's a lie. [amazed, almost to himself] She wanted me to give her money.

THE GIRL. Money?

YOUNG MAN. Yeah. If I'd have known she was a woman like that, I'd have gone on down the street and stretched out in a park somewhere and gone to sleep.

THE GIRL. Is that what she wanted -- money?

YOUNG MAN. Yeah. A fellow like me traveling all over the country, trying to break his bad luck, going from one poor little town to another, trying to find somebody good somewhere, and she asks for money. I thought she was lonesome. She said she was.

THE GIRL. Maybe she was.

YOUNG MAN. She was something.

THE GIRL. I guess I'd never see you, if it didn't happen, though.

YOUNG MAN. Oh, I don't know -- maybe I'd just mosey along this way and see you in this town somewhere. I'd recognize you, too.

THE GIRL. Recognize me?

YOUNG MAN. Sure, I'd recognize you the minute I laid eyes on you.

THE GIRL. Well, who would I be?

YOUNG MAN. Mine, that's who.

THE GIRL. Honest?

YOUNG MAN. Honest to God.

THE GIRL. You just say that because you're in jail.

YOUNG MAN. No, I mean it. You just pack up and wait for me. We'll high-tail the hell out of here to San Francisco.

THE GIRL. You're just lonesome.

YOUNG MAN. I been lonesome all my life -- there's no cure for that -- but you and me -- we can have a lot of fun hanging around together. You'll bring me luck. I know you will.

THE GIRL. What are you looking for luck for all the time?

YOUNG MAN. I'm a gambler. I don't work. I've got to have luck or I'm no good. I haven't had any luck in years. Two whole years now -- one place to another. Bad luck all the time. That's why I got in trouble back there in Wheeling, too. That was no accident. That was my bad luck following me around. So here I am, with my head half busted. I guess it was her old man that did it.

THE GIRL. You mean her father?

YOUNG MAN. No, her husband. If I had an old lady like that, I'd throw her out.

THE GIRL. Do you think you'll have better luck if I go with you?

YOUNG MAN. Yes, of course. It's no good searching the streets for anything that might be there at the time. You got to have somebody who's right. Somebody who knows you, from way back. You got to have somebody who even knows you're wrong but likes you just the same. I know I'm wrong, but I can't help it. If you go along with me, I'll be the best man anybody ever saw. I won't be wrong any more. You know when you get enough money, you can't be wrong anymore -- you're right because the money says so. I'll have a lot of money and you'll be just about the prettiest girl in the whole world. I'll be proud walking around San Francisco with you on my arm and people turning to look at us.

THE GIRL. Do you think they will?

YOUNG MAN. Sure they will. When I get back in some decent clothes, and you're on my arm -- well, Katey, they'll turn and look, and they'll see something, too.

THE GIRL. Katey?

YOUNG MAN. Yeah -- that's your name from now on. You're the girst girl I ever called Katey. I've been saving it for you. OK?

THE GIRL. OK.

YOUNG MAN. How long have I been here?

THE GIRL. Since last night. You didn't wake up until late this morning, though.

YOUNG MAN. What time is it now? About nine?

THE GIRL. About ten.

YOUNG MAN. Have you got the key to this lousy cell?

THE GIRL. No. They don't let me fool with any keys.

YOUNG MAN. Well, can you get it?

THE GIRL. No.

YOUNG MAN. Can you try?

THE GIRL. They wouldn't let me get near any keys. I cook for this jail when they've got somebody in it. I clean up, and things like that.

YOUNG MAN. Well, I want to get out of here. Don't you know the guy who runs this joint?

THE GIRL. I know him, but he wouldn't let you out. They were talking of taking you to another jail in another town.

YOUNG MAN. Yeah? Why?

THE GIRL. Because they're afraid.

YOUNG MAN. What are they afraid of?

THE GIRL. They're afraid those people from Wheeling will come over in the middle of the night and break in.

YOUNG MAN. Yeah? What do they want to do that for?

THE GIRL. Don't you know what they want to do it for?

YOUNG MAN. Yeah, I know all right.

THE GIRL. Are you scared?

YOUNG MAN. Sure I'm scared. Nothing scares a man more than ignorance. You can argue with people who ain't fools, but you can't argue with fools -- they just go to work and do what they're set on doing. Get me out of here.

THE GIRL. How?

YOUNG MAN. Well, go get the guy with the key, and let me talk to him.

THE GIRL. He's gone home. Everybody's gone home.

YOUNG MAN. You mean I'm in this little jail all alone?

THE GIRL. Well -- yeah -- except me.

YOUNG MAN. Well, what's the big idea -- doesn't anybody stay here all the time?

THE GIRL. No, they go home every night. I clean up and then I go, too. I hung around tonight.

YOUNG MAN. What made you do that?

THE GIRL. I wanted to talk to you.

YOUNG MAN. What did you want to talk about?

THE GIRL. Oh, I don't know. I took care of you last night. You were talking in your sleep. You liked me, too. I didn't think you'd like me when you woke up, though.

YOUNG MAN. Yeah? Why not?

THE GIRL. I don't know.

YOUNG MAN. Yeah? Well, you're wonderful, see?

THE GIRL. Nobody ever talked to me that way. All the fellows in town -- they -- [Pause]

YOUNG MAN. What about 'em? [Pause] Well, what about 'em? Come on -- tell me.

THE GIRL. They laugh at me.

YOUNG MAN. Laugh at you? What do they know about anything? You go get your things and come back here. I'll take you to San Francisco. How old are you?

THE GIRL. Oh, I'm of age.

YOUNG MAN. How old are you? -- Don't lie to me! Sixteen?

THE GIRL. I'm seventeen.

YOUNG MAN. Well, bring your father and mother. We'll get married before we go.

THE GIRL. They wouldn't let me go.

YOUNG MAN. Why not?

THE GIRL. I don't know, but they wouldn't. I know they wouldn't.

YOUNG MAN. You go tell your father not to be a fool, see? What is he, a farmer?

THE GIRL. No -- nothing. He gets a little relief from the government because he's supposed to be hurt or something -- his side hurts, he says. I don't know what it is.

YOUNG MAN. Ah, he's a liar. Well, I'm taking you with me, see?

THE GIRL. He takes the money I earn, too.

YOUNG MAN. He's got no right to do that.

THE GIRL. I know, but he does it.

YOUNG MAN. [almost to himself] You shouldn't have been born in this town anyway, and you shouldn't have had a man like that for a father, either.

THE GIRL. Sometimes I feel sorry for him.

YOUNG MAN. Never mind feeling sorry for him. [Pointing a finger] I'm going to talk to your father some day. I've got a few things to tell him.

THE GIRL. I know you have.

YOUNG MAN. [suddenly] See if you can get that fellow with the keys to come down and let me out.

THE GIRL. Oh, I couldn't.

YOUNG MAN. Why not?

THE GIRL. I'm nobody here -- why, all they give me is fifty cents every day I work here -- sometimes twelve hours. I'm nobody here.

YOUNG MAN. Get me out of here, Katey. I'm scared.

THE GIRL. I don't know what to do. Maybe I could break the door down.

YOUNG MAN. No, you couldn't do that. Is there a hammer there or anything?

THE GIRL. Only a broom. Maybe they've locked the broom up, too.

YOUNG MAN. Go and see if you can find anything.

THE GIRL. All right. [She goes. She returns] There isn't a thing out there. They've locked everything up for the night.

YOUNG MAN. Any cigarettes?

THE GIRL. Everything's locked up -- all the drawers of the desk -- all the closet doors -- everything.

YOUNG MAN. I ought to have a cigarette.

THE GIRL. I could get you a package, maybe, somewhere. I guess the drug store's open. It's about a mile.

YOUNG MAN. A mile? I don't want to be alone that long.

THE GIRL. I could run all the way, and all the way back.

YOUNG MAN. You're the sweetest girl that ever lived.

THE GIRL. What kind do you want?

YOUNG MAN. Oh, any kind -- Chesterfields or Camels or Lucky Strikes -- any kind at all.

THE GIRL. I'll go get a package. [She turns to go]

YOUNG MAN. What about the money?

THE GIRL. I've got some money. I've got a quarter I been saving. I'll run all the way. [She is about to go]

YOUNG MAN. Come here.

THE GIRL. [going to him] What?

YOUNG MAN. Give me your hand. [He takes her hand and looks at it, smiling. He lifts it and kisses it] I'm scared to death.

THE GIRL. I am, too.

YOUNG MAN. I'm scared nobody will ever come out here to this God-forsaken broken-down town and find you. I'm scared you'll get used to it and not mind. I'm scared you'll never get to San Francisco and have 'em all turning to look at you. Listen -- go get me a gun.

THE GIRL. I could get my father's gun. I know where he hides it.

YOUNG MAN. Go get it. Never mind the cigarettes. Run all the way.

[The girl turns and runs. The Young Man stands at the center of the cell for a long time. The girl comes running back in. Almost crying]

THE GIRL. I'm afraid. I'm afraid I won't see you again. If I come back and you're not here, I -- It's so lonely in this town. I'll stay here. I won't let them take you away.

YOUNG MAN. Listen, Katey. Do what I tell you. Go get that gun and come back. Maybe they won't come tonight. Maybe they won't come at all. I'll hide the gun and when they let me out you can take it back and put it where you found it. And then we'll go away. Now, hurry --

THE GIRL. All right. [Pause] I want to tell you something.

YOUNG MAN. OK.

THE GIRL. [very softly] If you're not here when I come back, well, I'll have the gun and I'll know what to do with it.

YOUNG MAN. You know how to handle a gun?

THE GIRL. I know how.

YOUNG MAN. Don't be a fool. [Takes off his shoe and brings out some currency] Don't be a fool, see? Here's some money. Eighty dollars. Take it and go to San Francisco. Look around and find somebody. Find somebody alive and halfway human, see? Promise me -- if I'm not here when you come back, just throw the gun away and go to San Francisco. Look around and find somebody.

THE GIRL. I don't want to find anybody.

YOUNG MAN. [swiftly, desperately] Now, do what I tell you. I'll meet you in San Francisco. I've got a couple of dollars in my other shoe. I'll see you in San Francisco.

THE GIRL. [with wonder] San Francisco?

YOUNG MAN. That's right -- San Francisco. That's where you and me belong.

THE GIRL. I've always wanted to go to some place like San Francisco -- but how could I go alone?

YOUNG MAN. Well, ytou're not alone any more, see?

THE GIRL. Tell me a little what it's like.

YOUNG MAN. [very swiftly, almost impatiently at first, but gradually slower and with remembrance, smiling and the girl moving closer to him as he speaks] Well, it's on the Pacific to begin with -- ocean all around. Cool fog and sea gulls. Ships from all over the world. It's got seven hills. The little streets go up and down, around and all over. Every night the fog-horns bawl. But they won't be bawling for you and me.

THE GIRL. Are people different in San Francisco?

YOUNG MAN. People are the same everywhere. They're different only when they love somebody. That's the only thing that makes 'em different. More people in San Francisco love somebody, that's all.

THE GIRL. Nobody anywhere loves anybody as much as I love you.

YOUNG MAN. [whispering] Hearing you say that, a man could die and still be ahead of the game. Now, hurry. And don't forget, if I'm not here when you come back, I'll meet you in San Francisco. [The girl stands a moment looking at him, then backs away, turns and runs. The Young Man stares after her, troubled and smiling. He sits down suddenly and buries his head in his hands. From the distance the sound of several automobiles approaching is heard.]

Notes on Project Runway

First of all: the best way to watch this show is to have a huge feverish cell phone conversation about it with your friend Mitchell at every commercial break. Show stops, commercial starts. Phone rings. No hello, nothing like that. We just launch right in. "Kara is LOSING it, huh?" "I am not wacky about that fabric." "Which window did you like best and why?" "Oh, it's on again." Hang up. No good-bye. Just hang up. Only to repeat the entire thing at the next commercial interval.

Thoughts:

-- I think Tim Gunn is an absolutely riveting television personality. I love, first of all, how he talks - that voice of his - kind of clipped and precious - and yet totally eloquent. When he said "P ... U ..." about Santino and Nick's window... But I also like that his comments to all the designers as they make their creations are really insightful - and he's usually right. Like, I know nothing about fashion - but when he makes a comment, I can go: "Ohhh, uh huh ... he's totally right about that." I LOVE HIM. Also, I love him because ... to me, he is the definition of true CAMP. I don't really know what I'm talking about, but in my mind: true camp is NOT phony, or just surface flamboyance. Camp is supposed to exist at the cellular level. Tim Gunn is CAMP at the cellular level. But it's just who he is. Great personality.

-- Santino and Nick really blew it on their Banana Republic window design. It was crap. They didn't take it seriously and it looked awful.

-- I found Kara's emotional breakdown fascinating. Psychologically. And I loved how Zulema just kept going - and kept Kara working. "I don't care if you cry and cut ... but you better not cry and stop cutting." hahaha

-- Marla is way out of her league. And to quote Mitchell, "What I find most unforgivable about Marla is that she is wearing pink-flowered pants." I like her - and I feel bad for her - but that's no reason to win a contest!!

-- Daniel, once again, comes through. I think he's great. I thought their design was perfect - I loved the dress - and I also thought that the two of them worked together very well.

-- Heidi Klum is radiant. I mean, yeah, she's got the makeup and the hair and the shoes - but she's just radiant. You can tell.

-- Santino, here's a message: Please do something about your grease-ball hair. You really have some hygiene issues. I know that you're very talented - it's obvious - and you should NOT be designing for regular people - that's not your deal. You're going to be a high-fashion designer - one of those renegade weirdos - and everyone makes fun of the clothes on the runway ("Who would wear that???") - but eventually the trend will trickle down into the regular populace. But you have NOTHING to do with the regular populace, and you know that, and I think it's great. Your destiny is something different. HOWEVER, I must reiterate my original point. You could definitely use some deep-conditioner with that hair, especially if you insist on keeping it long. I bet your toenails are too long, too. I just have a feeling about that. Please trim your toenails.

-- I find the final comments from the judges SO interesting. Like I said - I know nothing about fashion, and I just don't have that kind of eye. So I just love to hear their responses - which, in general, seem quite apt - and right on the money. They made the comment that it was obvious that the outfit designed by Kara and Zulema was done by two designers. They picked up on that dynamic. It's actually all really interesting.

-- Santino is a big. Fat. Baby. Whiny long-toenailed grease-bomb. But damn. He's an awesome villain. He's a catalyst. You NEED Santino. Because he's dramatic. But the way he challenged Michael Kors on the runway - "I bet there are lots of women out there who don't even know who Michael Kors is ..." Hey Santino, here's a question for you: Who brought you up? How 'bout some manners, chappie?

-- Poor Nick. He was sucked into the vortex of Santino's narcissistic gross-toenailed black hole. I think Nick is quite good - and I would love it if he won. I'm kind of rooting for Daniel, though.

-- Poor Kara. She just couldn't stop crying. She was exhausted and she experienced a psychotic break with reality. Over fashion.

Yup. Great television, folks!!!

Goin' against the grain

I have been tagged by Norm. Fun!!

Name two films that I think are good that most people don't.

I'd also love to hear from you all: what films do you like that most people don't?

I will probably have more than 2, come to think of it.

Punch Drunk Love. I absolutely LOVED that film. I have seen it 10 times. I own it. Adam Sandler is fantastic, and I can't believe I just said that - but he is a fantastic dramatic actor. It's a marvelous performance but everyone's marvelous in it. Luis Guzman, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Emily Watson ... and the PLOT, and the CHARACTERS. I thought it was terrific.

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I thought it was the best movie I'd seen in years. I'll never forget the first time I saw it. Now of course I've seen it a gazillion times, but that first time? It was a completely three-dimensional emotional experience. I laughed, I cried, I thought really hard about stuff, I reflected, I marveled at the acting ... I think it's a brilliant film.

Living Out Loud Another genius film. Danny Devito's best work. Some of Holly Hunter's best work. I took this film personally. It's a painful movie - but beautiful as well.

Husbands and Wives I don't know - maybe people like this film - but it got kind of tepid and uncomfortable reviews when it came out - but not only did I love this film but it's one of my favorites of Woody Allen's. Uhm - Judy Davis? You cannot be more brilliant than she was in that movie. But it's not just about Judy Davis ... it's the whole THING. Everyone is at the top of their game. Liam Neeson, Mia Farrow, Sidney Pollack, Juliet Lewis - Blythe Danner ... all of them ... I just love this film, as depressing as it is. Love it, love it, love it.

I'm sure I'll think of more.

The Books: "Sexaholics" (Murray Schisgal)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Sexaholics, by Murray Schisgal

A very funny and also frightening play - about two people who are sex addicts. When we first meet them, they are having a mad sexual encounter, and are the kinds of people who are instantly emotionally intimate. We think it's great ... but slowly, as we watch the first scene unfold, we realize how messed up it all is. They are both married to other people ... and they are risking everything to have these one-night stands. It's a compulsion - they can't stop themselves. She (Julie) starts to really feel bad about it during the first scene ... and she starts to talk about wanting to go to "a meeting" where other people who can't stop themselves from giving in to the sex drive meet and talk and 12-step to Health. He (Tony) is totally offended by the suggestion that he might need help. I'm making this sound rather dreary and actually, it's a very funny play.

They both get into recovery - and the next time we meet them is a couple years later - when they have gotten the sex drive under control, they are "happily" married to their respective spouses, and all is well. But of course all is NOT well. The play is a kind of lampoon on the self-help culture in general.

Here's a very funny excerpt from the first scene. The two of them have just met. They just had mind-blowing sex. They come out of the bedroom and say, "So what's your name again?" They start to talk. It's obvious that these people are emotional vacuums. They have completely glommed onto one another because that's what addicts do. In this section of the first scene, they start to confess some of their past sins to each other. As you'll see, it is a mix of amusing and disturbing. Schisgal's a master at that.

From Sexaholics, by Murray Schisgal

TONY. I once had sex with two nurses. In the operating room of a city hospital.

JULIET. I once had sex with two bus drivers. On a bus traveling over eighty miles an hour.

TONY. I once had sex with a stewardess on a DC-10 going to Frankfurt, Germany.

JULIET. I once had sex with a scuba-diver, under water in Montego Bay, Jamaica.

TONY. How old was the oldest man you ever slept with?

JULIET. Arnie Schneider. Sixty-eight. You?

TONY. Emily Rhinebeck. Sixty-one. The youngest was sixteen.

JULIET. Fourteen for me.

TONY. Did you ever sleep with a black man?

JULIET. Of course. Did you ever sleep with a yellow woman?

TONY. In San Francisco. Did you ever sleep with a midget?

JULIET. I almost married a midget.

TONY. YOu're kidding.

JULIET. No. I was only eighteen when he proposed. I didn't wanna tie myself down.

TONY. I don't blame you.

JULIET. How much did the heaviest person you ever slept with weigh?

TONY. Two hundred and thirty-seven pounds.

JULIET. [skeptically] Tony ...

TONY. I'm telling you the truth! I met her in Miami, when I was nineteen.

JULIET. How did you know she weighed exactly two hundred and thirty-seven pounds?

TONY. Because I saw her weigh herself. In a drugstore. She said she wouldn't go to bed with me if she weighed over two hundred and forty pounds.

JULIET. Why not?

TONY. Because she was on a diet, that's why not! She said the only way she could keep her weight down was by not having sex every time she weighed over two hundred and forty pounds. Lucky for me she was three pounds under the limit.

JULIET. [hands him second martini] Listen to this. I once had an affair with a married man who decided he was getting too fat. He thought if he lost weight his sex life would improve. So he started a diet under a doctor's supervision. He ate nothing but steaks, skirt steaks, sirloin steaks, any kind of steak. And he went from two hundred and sixteen pounds to one hundred and fifty pounds in less than six months.

TONY. Did his sex life improve?

JULIET. Now that's the strangest thing. The more weight he lost and the more steaks he ate, the less interested he was in sex. He went from having sex three times a week, to one time a week, to one time a month until eventually he became completely impotent.

TONY. Did he go off his diet?

JULIET. No, he moved to California.

Cousins!!!

So the O'Malley cousins - and siblings - and aunt - and spouses - all got together at O'Flaherty's Pub last night for my cousin Emma's birthday.

An amazing feat. We are all so busy - and to coordinate even CHRISTMAS takes unbelievable planning - nobody's schedule is set ... but dammit, we organized the entire thing over 10 minutes of frantic emailing that very morning. We were all VERY proud of ourselves.

Of course my dear aunt Regina keeps saying stuff to us like, "I don't know how to email." We all were like baffled by this, like: "What the hell are you talking about?? You don't know how to email? Ya press send ..."

But then of course, Emma (her daughter) said something about the 25 emails in her mailbox from all of us later that day - and she said, "I wrote to Liam - cause I didn't know how to reply to everybody."

So perhaps there really are some email issues here. Kerry said patiently, "You just press 'Reply All'."

heh heh Anyway - we all couldn't get over how easy it had been to plan this dern gathering! The email was essential.

We sat around a long table by the roaring fire at O'Flaherty's and we all talked at once. 5 conversations going on simultaneously.

-- My cousin Ian's band just had a show recently - and nobody told us about it. Regina said she didn't know how to email us the information. We all were like: "What?" Then Regina said, "I know you're all busy ..." Kerry said, "Yes. We are all too busy to support our cousins. That's very true." Anyway - next time, Ian - we will all be there!!

-- Liam and Lydia had a helluva fall - what with her insane job, and his pneumonia and his jury duty. His birthday is coming up ... so I already need to gear up for another karaoke extravaganza which will obliterate me for about 3 days. I still don't think I have fully recovered from last year's party. Also - Liam is reading The Count of Monte Cristo and is absolutely looooooooving it. I've never read it - or maybe I did in 10th grade required reading, which kind of doesn't count - so now I think I have to give it a shot, based on his recommendation.

-- Emma is busy in her film class yet again - and has a SERIOUS case of senioritis!! She's such an awesome girl. We're already planning to drive up for the film festival again this year. I think it made her happy that we all got together to celebrate her birthday.

-- It was wonderful to see Adam and Kerry - it's been a long time. The last was at their apartment for a Red Sox game this fall - when Kerry served us ice cream in small Red Sox helmets. heh heh heh It's always good to see those two. What a pair. Kerry with her FABULOUS phone that can basically do everything for her - unbelievable. "Okay, and look here ... see what it can do here?" Kerry, Siobhan and I all just raved at each other about Bill Simmons' book and how great it is.

-- Oh, and I was requested to "do the 'Break it Up' lady" for the group. Which I did - to thunderous laughter. hahahaha It was fun - I haven't done that imitation in a long time. It's fun to be evil.

-- Siobhan is having a great time recording her new CD - everyone is really excited about it - we already are counting the days to the CD release party. I'm so proud of her. She's really worked her ass off to get to this point.

-- We heard that Seamus' first word was "Ted". As in Ted Williams. Yup. This is my family.

-- And Regina informed me (and I have no idea how I didn't know this before) - but when she performed at the Kennedy Center Honors show in the early 1980s, she was introduced to Cary Grant. What??? She was taken over to meet him - and he was old - with the white hair - the big thick glasses - and spectacular looking. He shook her hand, saying, "Very nice to meet you" in that classic Cary Grant voice. I am blown away by this information. I was like: "How on earth did I not know this? Tell. Me. Everything. Right. Now."

Much laughter, and eating, and toasting and we sang Happy Birthday to our dear cousin Emma.

Being a cousin in the O'Malley family is not something to be taken lightly. It's a commitment. It's kind of gorgeous, actually, if I really think about it.

Family. Family is IT.

Happy birthday to my dead boyfriend - Alexander Hamilton!

On this day, in 1755, Alexander Hamilton was born in the British West Indies. Happy birthday to one of the most compelling (to me anyway) founding fathers that we have. He was illegitimate (or - as John Adams called him: "the bastard brat of a Scotch pedlar")- his illegitimacy was a stain on his birth he strove to wipe away for the rest of his short life.

Hamilton:

Take mankind in general, they are vicious - their passions may be operated upon. Take mankind as they are, and what are they governed by? Their passions. There may be in every government a few choice spirits, who may act from more worthy motives [but] one great error is that we suppose mankind more honest than they are. Our prevailing passions are ambition and interest. Wise government should avail itself of those passions, to make them subservient to the public good.

Hamilton's also the one who said, at the end of his 6-hour long speech at the Constitutional Convention: "Decision is true wisdom." This is part of the reason why he is one of the most important members of that founding generation - but it is also the reason that people found him terrifying. Abigail Adams warned her husband, "That man is another Bonaparte."

There is a contradictory dynamic within him that I find so compelling.

I love the guy. What can I say. He's on my geeky historical freebie list, as well as on my: "People From The Past I would Like To Have At My Perfect Dinner Party" list.

Also. He's a bit hot.

Sorry. I love my dead gay boyfriend!**

Here's a big post I wrote a while back about one of my pet obsessions: the election of 1800. Some awesome information there about this man. Nobody was neutral about him. He was a polarizing kind of guy.

This past year, the New York Historical Society had a massive Alexander Hamilton exhibit and Bill McCabe and I went - it was so so terrific. It was one of those events in New York when I was so excited to see all of it that I actually felt a bit nervous. You know what really got me? His DESK. I love actual objects ... the stuff historical figures actually touched, used ... He sat at that desk ...Here's a re-cap of our trip to the museum. Bill said something funny like, "I think this might be the first time I've gone to an exhibit like this where I'm with someone who knows MORE than I do about the topic." Hahahaha. History geeks - unite!!

The following is a letter the 17-year-old Alexander Hamilton wrote to his father, describing the hurricane that hit St. Croix on August 31, 1772 - one of the worst in the recorded history of the island. A couple of days later, Hamilton showed a copy of this letter to Reverend Knox (a very important person in the story of Alexander Hamilton - a real father figure to the boy.) Knox was so impressed with the prose that he arranged to have it published in the "Gazette". The letter was so well-received that Knox set the wheels in motion to send Hamilton to the colonies, so that he could get a college-level education. This move changed Hamilton's life. Here is the letter. It's riveting:

It began at dusk, at North, and raged very violently 'till ten o'clock. Then ensued a sudden and unexpected interval, which lasted about an hour. Meanwhile the wind was shifting 'round to the southwest ... it returned with redoubled fury and continued so 'till near three o'clock in the morning. Good God! What horror and destruction. It's impossible for me to describe or you to form any idea of it. It seemed as if a total dissolution of nature was taking place. The roaring of the sea and wind, fiery meteors flying about it in the air, the prodigious glare of almost perpetual lightning, the crash of the falling houses, and the ear-piercing shrieks of the distressed were sufficient to strike astonishment into angels.

A great part of the buildings throughout the island are leveled to the ground, almost all the rest very much shattered, several persons killed and numbers utterly ruined, whole families running about the streets unknowing where to find a place of shelter; the sick exposed to the keenness of the water and air without a bed to lie upon or a dry covering to their bodies; and our harbors entirely bare. In a word, misery, in all its hideous shapes, spread over the whole face of the country ...

As to my reflections and feelings on this frightful and melancholy ocassion ...

Where now, oh! vile worm, is all thy boasted fortitude and resolution? What is become of thine arrogance and self-sufficiency? Why dost thou tremble and stand aghast? How humble, how helpless, how contemptible you now appear. And for why? The jarring of elements -- the discord of clouds? Oh! impotent presumptuous fool! Death comes rushing on in triumph, veiled in a mantle of tenfold darkness ... On his right hand sits destruction, hurling the winds and belching forth flames: calamity on his left threatening famine, disease and distress of all kinds. And oh! thou wretch, look still a little further. See the gulf of eternal misery open. There mayest thou shortly plunge -- the just reward of thy vileness. Alas! whither canst thou fly? Where hide thyself?

Uhm ... I look at my Diary Friday entries - written when I was 17 ... and ... er ... I hide my head in shame.

This is from a letter Alexander Hamilton wrote in 1780.

No wise statesman will reject the good from an apprehension of the ill. The truth is, in human affairs, there is no good, pure and unmixed. Every advantage has two sides, and wisdom consists in availing ourselves of the good and guarding as much as possible against the bad...

A national debt, if it is not excessive, will be to us a national blessing. It will be powerful cement of our union. It will also create a necessity for keeping up taxation to such a degree which, without being oppressive, will be a spur to industry.

"A national debt, if it is not excessive, will be to us a national blessing." Ah. They are just words. But they went over like a BOMB exploding through the colonies. WHAT IS HE SAYING? WHAT IS HE TALKING ABOUT? IS HE THE DEVIL? hahahaha

Alexander Hamilton made a SIX HOUR speech at the Constitutional Convention ... People scrawled down notes of it, because he spoke without notes (except when he laid out his plan for the Government), so whatever we have of that speech is from those notes. How I wish I had been in that room. It was a rousing call to a strong central government, a rousing call for the states to give up their power and their identities - to submerge themselves into America. This obviously did not go over well in some quarters. Another delegate to the Congress described Hamilton as "praised by everybody but supported by none". Anyway, here are some excerpts from his 6-hour speech in Philadlelphia, 1787.

All the passion we see, of avarice, ambition, interest, which govern most individuals and all public bodies, fall into the current of the states and do not flow into the stream of the general national government ... How then are all these evils to be avoided? Only by such a complete sovereignty in the general government as will turn all the strong principles and passions to its side.

In the context of the time, it is not surprising at all that people hated Hamilton, and thought he spoke treasonously. They had just thrown OFF the yoke of a monarch who had "complete sovereignty" ... and now Hamilton wanted to put the yoke on again?? This was heresy to this brand new nation.

More:

In every community where industry is encouraged, there will be a division of it into the few and the many. Hence, separate interests will arise. There will be debtors and creditors. Give all power to the many, they will oppress the few. Give all power to the few, they will oppress the many. Both, therefore, ought to have power, that each may defend itself against the other.

Hamilton read aloud from his notes - and what HE proposed as the set-up for the national government is basically what we have to this day (except for the "executive for life" thing.)

I think he went WAY too far out on some of his ideas - but that was his role, historically. I see him in that context. You always need someone like that - someone to be imaginative, bold, to push the boundaries OUT. It reminds me of that great EM Forster quote: "Don't start with proportion. Only prigs do that." I believe in my heart that Hamilton was the most far-seeing of all of our founding fathers. He saw the world we live in now. I don't know how he did, but he did. They all still lived in an agrarian society, where land was power and prestige. Jefferson couldn't really imagine any other kind of world. Hamilton did and could imagine it. He saw ahead to the industrial revolution. He knew our society's set-up would change drastically ... and he wanted the economy to be flexible enough to deal with those changes. Most of the commentary at the time from his contemporaries (all brilliant men in their own right) is all along the lines of: "Alexander Hamilton is frightening." "Hamilton is dangerous and must be stopped." Etc.

I think he was way ahead of his time, almost as though he had dropped in from the future - and people like that always meet resistance.

Here is the ringing first paragraph of Federalist 1, written by Alexander Hamilton, published on October 27, 1787, in the "New York Independent Journal" - the first of 85 essays (written by Alexander Hamilton mostly, but James Madison wrote Federalist 10 - maybe the most famous of all of them, and John Jay contributed 5 essays). The purpose of this onslaught was to put the case for the Constitution before the New York public for its review. Here is the first paragraph of the first essay:

After a full experience of the insufficiency of the existing federal government, you are invited to deliberate upon a new Constitution for the United States of America. The subject speaks its own importance, comprehending in its consequences nothing less than the existence of the UNION, the safety and welfare of the parts of which it is composed, the fate of an empire in many respects the most interesting in the world.

Uhm, yeah. That prose would have gotten MY attention - as I scanned the "For Sale" ads for ladies hats and buggy whips surrounding it.

Alexander Hamilton, as Secretary of Treasury, put forth a monumental report to Congress calling for a national bank. He wanted it to be run by private citizens, and not the government. The bank had the power to issue paper money - the federal government should not have that power. Hamilton opposed the government running the printing presses to produce money. He wanted it to be separate, entirely. A quote from his report:

The wisdom of the government will be shown in never trusting itself with the use of so seducing and dangerous and expedient.

Brilliant.

The following anecdote (and quote) is pretty much why people were terrified of Alexander Hamilton, and felt that he should be stopped. To give you the proper context: he was answering criticism from his former Federalist Paper collaborator James Madison that this proposed Bank of America was un-constitutional. Hamilton had asked for a federal charter for the bank, Madison said there was nothing in the Constitution saying that the government should fund corporations. Hamilton pointed out that the last article of the Constitution - the one about Congress being able to make "all laws which shall be necessary and proper" - He said that that article was sufficient evidence that a charter would be constitutional.

BUT - the way Hamilton summed it all up was not calculated to assuage his enemies who feared his lust for power. He wrote:

Wherever the end is required, the means are authorized.

Gotcha, Machiavelli. Thanks for sharing. Then he went on:

If the end be clearly comprehended within any of the specified powers, and if the measure have an obvious relation to that end, and is not forbidden by any particular provision of the Constitution, it may safely be deemed to come within the compass of the national authority.

Fascinating - the story of the turbulent national debate about Hamilton's financial plan for the country is amazing. I've read about it from all sides: Hamilton's side, of course - but then John Adams' analysis of it, his letters to his wife, Jefferson's side of it, Washington's side of it ... - If you don't know all the ins and outs of this debate, I highly recommend you go back and check it out, read a biography of Hamilton, read his financial essays ... Truly an incredible time in our nation's history.

And about that duel.

Joseph Ellis, in his wonderful book Founding Brothers, opens the book with the story of the duel between Hamilton and Aaron Burr on the riverside plain of Weehawken. (Ahem. I live there now. Life is awesome. There's an Alexander Hamilton Park right down the street from me. Love that.) Ellis approaches the duel with a forensic eye - there is still a mystery at the heart of what happened on that day.

Joseph Ellis closes his chapter on The Duel with these words - and I'll let these words close this post:

Oliver Wendell Holmes once observed that "a great man represents a strategic point in the campaign of history, and part of his greatness consists of his being there." Both Burr and Hamilton thought of themselves as great men who happened to come of age at one of those strategic points in the campaign of history called the American revolutionary era. By the summer of 1804, history had pretty much passed them by. Burr had alienated Jefferson and the triumphant Republican party by his disloyalty as a vice president and had lost by a landslide in his bid to become a Federalist governor of New York. Hamilton had not held national office for nine years and the Federalist cause he had championed was well on its way to oblivion. Even in his home state of New York, the Federalists were, as John Quincy Adams put it, "a minority, and of that minority, only a minority were admirers and partisans of Mr. Hamilton." Neither man had much of a political future.

But by being there beneath the plains of Weehawken for their interview, they managed to make a dramatic final statement about the time of their time. Honor mattered because character mattered. And character mattered because the fate of the American experiment with republican government still required virtuous leaders to survive. Eventually, the United States might develop into a nation of laws and established institutions capable of surviving corrupt or incompetent public officials. But it was not there yet. It still required honorable and virtuous leaders to endure. Both Burr and Hamilton came to the interview because they wished to be regarded as part of such company.

** Hamilton was not gay. This is a reference to the moment in Heathers when the weeping father sobs at his son's funeral: "MY SON IS GAY AND I LOVE HIM. I LOVE MY DEAD GAY SON!" I am sorry for any confusion.

Notes on Project Runway

Here's the deal. I am WAY behind the curve in television watching (obviously - since I just discovered Grey's Anatomy) - and somehow - this past weekend, I watched 3 consecutive episodes of Project Runway and I find it highly addictive. I love it, dammit, even though so many of those people competing are soooo obnoxious.

Some notes:

-- Santino is the kind of person who stands too close to you when he talks to you - and he probably never flosses. He's kind of gross. But I have to say: I think the guy is destined for success. Like, I think he could be a very big deal. He's creative, he's courageous, and I actually loved his controversial lingerie line. I think he's a wack-job, but HELLO. Most famous fashion designers are complete and utter wack-jobs.

-- I am deeply in love with Heidi Klum. I just love her personality, her essence, and also her big pregnant belly. I've got a girl-crush on her.

-- I loved (and I mean LOVED) Daniel's lingerie line made out of pin-stripes - I want it to be available at Victoria's Secret as soon as possible. I thought it was fantastic.

-- The sight of Santino kissing up to Nicky Hilton made me sick.

-- I love how they probably EDITED together footage to MAKE Nicky Hilton seem more pissed off than she was. Like random reaction shots, etc. It's so obviously just edited together to build the tension.

-- Lupe's dress was atrocious. I also don't like how she TALKS about her designs - as though she has literally invented creativity. "I like to push the boundaries ... I like to be out there ... I want it to be my vision ..." Well, sweetheart, Nicky Hilton ain't interested in your vision - and your little appliqued flowers all over that weird bunched-up "Japanese-inspired" dress. You're designing for HER, not to express yourself. I thought that dress was really really ugly. Even the model who had to wear it seemed pissed off about it. Like: "Can you believe this gross dress I have to wear??"

-- Diane (that's her name, right?) is very annoying - but I think she's creative. I don't like how - when she talks - only her bottom jaw goes up and down - so she looks like a ventriloquist's puppet - with the bottom jaw flapping away - and her upper lip staying completely still. Does anyone else know what I'm talking about? Or am I just insane?

-- I'm not wacky about Diane's personality, or her voice - but when they had a shot of Santino looking at her with such contempt and then murmuring to somebody, "She probably hasn't had sex in her life ..." I suddenly LOVED Diane and hoped she won the whole contest - just to shut him up. What a prick.

-- I love Heidi Klum in her little pregnant tank top things ... I just think she's adorable. I also love her accent.

-- That poor Emmet guy. He says point-blank to Nicky Hilton, "I don't want to impose my own ideas onto you - because I don't know you that well." Uhm ... fashion designers are paid to get to "know" celebrities so they can present a dress to them and say: "This, my darling, is SO YOU!" Nicky Hilton gave him a look like he was nuts.

-- And poor Marla. I know she's a mess and all, but there's something honest about her.

I'm kind of addicted to this show. I know I'm the last person in the world to suddenly "discover" it ... but that's the good thing about these reality shows: they are usually on in a constant loop on certain channels so it is very easy to 'catch up'.

I actually don't think that Santino will win ... even though I think he is the most obviously talented. He already IS a high-fashion designer - whether or not he is famous. But I don't think he will win. I think the producers of the show are setting him up - so that we THINK he will win ... and then at the last minute ... big dramatic finish ... he DOESN'T win.

I actually am hoping that Daniel will win. Not sure, though - his personality doesn't really make an impression - and that's what TV is all about after all - but I kind of hope he wins, based on that pin-striped lingerie alone!

So we'll have to see what happens ... but I think Santino will NOT win and it's going to be a huge brou-haha when he gets kicked off.

The Books: "Anne of Green Gables" (adapted by Donald Harron)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Anne of Green Gables : A Musical , lyrics and music by Donald Harron and Norman Campbell - adapted by Donald Harron

Well. I played Anne Shirley in a college production of this musical. I don't quite know what to say about it and I haven't written much about it - at least not directly. I've written about it indirectly - because of the boyfriend I had at the time - who played Gilbert Blythe. (Here's one of those posts.) We were co-stars. We started going out during the rehearsal process. And we proceeded to break up and get back together again and break up and get back together again throughout the entire run of the show. We were SO tiresome. But the fact of playing Anne of feckin' Green Gables - it was an absolute dream come true. I can't even describe it. It's rare that a dream that runs THAT deep can ever come true, but this one did. My experience of being that girl made such a deep impact on me - it changed me forever. It also was one of the most challenging things I had ever done. I'm a singer - but this role was way more difficult than anything I had ever done - being in the chorus is worlds away from being the lead - and having to carry the show - It was a daunting prospect. I lost 25 pounds. I have never been so skinny in my life. I weighed 100 pounds. I had amazing costumes. I had to go from the age of 11 to the age of 17 during the course of the show. I did this with costume changes, etc., but I had to ACT that change as well. I had to go from little girl to young woman. I had one quick change which had to occur in 20 seconds. I stood backstage, stock still, arms stuck straight out - and a crew of costume people basically undressed me and dressed me again - just in time for me to race back onstage in time for my next line. I wasn't allowed to "help" - no. It was quicker to have the team do it. It was amazing. Teamwork. Collaboration. I had three wigs (one that had to be green, for the infamous moment when Anne accidentally dyes her red hair green) ... it was a huge event. I felt famous. For a good month, I felt as famous as I had ever felt. I was famous. In Rhode Island, I was famous. The show became a finalist in the ACTF - a big deal in college theatre - THE big deal in college theatre - and we traveled the show to New Hampshire to the finalists. On a stage bigger than any stage I have been on since. Amazing experience. One for the books. To quote Anne Shirley herself, it was an "epoch in my life". A high-water mark. A true triumph. And well-deserved. I worked my ASS off.

The production was spectacular.

Here's the scene when Matthew first brings Anne home from the train station. Marilla and Matthew Cuthbert, farmers, brother and sister, had sent away for an orphan boy to help on the farm. But there was a mix-up and the orphanage sent a girl. Matthew, who is shy, was unable to tell the ecstatic Anne that she needed to be sent back ... they have a long drive home to the farm, and Anne, a chatty little girl who has had a terrible loveless life, raves about her happiness, and how excited she is. Matthew walks into the house with Anne - and Marilla - a stern spinster - immediately says: "Where is the BOY?" All hell breaks loose. Anne is devastated. Anne is a melodramatic fantasist - she speaks in flowery language - she "acts" out her life ... and yet, and yet ... she is always completely real. She is precocious - but she is not obnoxious. She must be, at all times, completely and utterly sincere. Mark Twain sent a note through his secretary to LM Montgomery after the publication of Anne of Green Gables - and here is what it said:

Mr. Clemens directs me to thank you for your charming book and says I may quote to you from his letter to Francis Wilson about it: "In Anne of Green Gables, you will find the dearest and most moving and delightful child since the immortal Alice."

It's wild - I'm looking at my script right now - filled with my stage directions and emotional notes ("Always retreat from pain. Retreat from any painful situation") scribbled in the margins. I was 19 years old. I feel very odd right now. Kind of melancholy. There are ghosts in this script.

From Anne of Green Gables : A Musical , lyrics and music by Donald Harron and Norman Campbell - adapted by Donald Harron

[Enter Matthew and Anne. Matthew hesitates, takes a deep breath]

MATTHEW. You come right on in.

MARILLA. [upstairs] Matthew?

MATTHEW. Yes, Marilla.

[Marilla comes downstairs]

MARILLA. Why, Matthew Cuthbert!

MATTHEW. Yes.

MARILLA. Who's that?

MATTHEW. Eh?

MARILLA. Where's the boy?

MATTHEW. Oh well ... well now, there wasn't any boy. There was only ... her.

MARILLA. There must have been a boy. We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy.

MATTHEW. Well, she didn't. She brought her.

MARILLA. This is a pretty piece of business!

ANNE. [slamming down the suitcase] You don't want me! You don't want me because I'm not a boy! Oh, I might have known it! [Sits in a slump at the table]

MATTHEW. I got to water the mare. [Exits]

MARILLA. There, there, child, there's no need to cry so!

ANNE. There is need! This is the most tragic thing that has ever happened to me!

MARILLA. Well, we're not going to throw you out of doors, tonight at any rate. Now what's your name?

ANNE. Would you please call me Cordelia?

MARILLA. Call you Cordelia? Is that your name?

ANNE. Well, no, it's not exactly my name ... actually it's Anne. Anne Shirley, but whenver I'm in dire anguish, I've always imagined that my name is Cordelia. At least I always have of late years.

MARILLA. Fiddlesticks! If your name is Anne, that's what you should be called. It's a good plain sensible name, you've no need to be ashamed of it.

ANNE. Well, if you call me Anne, would you please call me Anne spelled with an "e"?

MARILLA. What difference does it make how it's spelled?

ANNE. Oh, it looks so much nicer.

MARILLA. Very well, then, Anne with an "e", can you tell me how this mistake came to be made? We sent word to Mrs. Spencer to bring us a boy. Were there no boys at the orphanage?

ANNE. Oh yes, an abundance. But I distinctly heard Mrs. Spencer say that you wanted a girl, and the matron said she thought I'd do.

MARILLA. A girl would be of no use to us! We want a boy to help Matthew on the farm. Take your hat off over there. And help me with the table; we'll have supper.

ANNE. Oh, I couldn't eat. I'm in the depths of despair. Can you eat when you're in the depths of despair?

MARILLA. I don't know. I've never been there so I can't say.

MATTHEW. [entering] She's tired, Marilla. Best put her to bed.

MARILLA. Very well, child, bring your bag and come with me.

MATTHEW. Good night.

ANNE. How can you say it's a good night when you know it must be the very worst night I've ever had! My life is a perfect graveyard of broken hopes. [Follows Marilla upstairs]

MARILLA. What was that!

ANNE. That's a sentence I read in a book once and I say it to myself whenever I'm disappointed in anything.

MARILLA. You can sleep in here.

ANNE. [flops on the bed and stares out the window] .... OOOOOOH!

MARILLA. Mercy, child, what's the matter?

ANNE. A tree of your very own! Imagine!

MARILLA. It's a big tree and it blooms great, but the cherries don't amount to much. Small and wormy.

ANNE. Snow Queen.

MARILLA. What?

ANNE. I'll call the tree Snow Queen, because it reminds me of the blinding vision of the White Way of Delight.

MARILLA. You've got a tongue in your head, that's for certain. Now I want you to get undressed.

ANNE. I have my best underwear on. The matron said you never know when you might get cut up in a train wreck.

MARILLA. [looking in the suitcase] I suppose you have a nightgown?

ANNE. I have two.

MARILLA. They look kinda flimsy. You'd best wear both of them. After you're undressed I want you to say your prayers.

ANNE. Oh, I never say any prayers.

MARILLA. Don't you know who God is?

ANNE. The matron at the orphanage told me that God is the one who made my hair red and I've never cared about Him since.

MARILLA. I'm afraid you're a very wicked little girl to talk this way. This is a Christian house and while you're in it you'll say your prayers. And when you've finished, I want you to blow out the candle. No, on second thought I'd best wait here 'til you're done. You're liable to set the house on fire.

ANNE. You may take the candle. After I'm in bed I'll imagine out a nice prayer to say.

MARILLA. No, no, child. You must kneel by your bed to pray to your Maker.

ANNE. [kneels] I'm ready. What do I say?

MARILLA. Uh ... ah ... now I lay me down to sleep ... You'd best talk to the Lord in your own words, child.

ANNE. [Her voice getting deeper in tone] I'll do my best. "Gracious heavenly Father, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable ..."

MARILLA. Mercy on us, what was that?

ANNE. That's the way the minister who came to the orphanage used to do it.

MARILLA. Stop your chattering and get on with your prayers. And use your own words.

ANNE. My dear God ... Oh, Miss Cuthbert, even though I'm not going to stay here at Green Gables, I think I could make a much nicer prayer if I imagined that I am.

MARILLA. Never mind your imaginings. Just thank Him humbly for the blessings He has given.

ANNE. That's where I need my imagination!
Dear God,
Thank you for the White Way of Delight
and the Snow Queen.
I'm really extremely grateful for them.
And that's all the blessings I can think of just now
to thank You for.
As for the things I want
it would take a great deal of time to mention them all,
so I'll only name the two most important:
Please let me stay at Green Gables,
And please let me good-looking when I grow up.

I remain,
Yours respectfully,
Anne Shirley.

There, did I do it alright? I could have made it much more flowery if I'd had time to think it over!

MARILLA. Go to sleep now.

ANNE. Oh, I just thought. I should have said "Amen" in place of "yours respectfully", the way the ministers do. Do you suppose it will make any difference?

MARILLA. I don't suppose so. Now go to sleep. [Goes downstairs. Matthew is waiting in the rocking chair] This is what comes of sending someone instead of going ourselves. One of us will have to drive over to Mrs. Spencer's tomorrow, that's for certain. The child will have to go back to the orphanage.

MATTHEW. Yes, I suppose so.

MARILLA. You suppose so? Don't you know it?

MATTHEW. Well, now, she's a nice little thing, Marilla. It seems kind of a pity to send her back when she's so set on staying.

MARILLA. Matthew Cuthbert! You don't mean to say you think we ought to keep her! What good would she be to us?

MATTHEW. We might be some good to her.

MARILLA. I never heard of such a thing. She'll have to be dispatched straightaway back to where she came from.

MATTHEW. Well now, I could maybe hire a boy to help me ... and she'd be company for you. She's a real interesting little thing.

MARILLA. I'm not suffering for company ... I believe that child has you bewitched! I can see plain as plain that you want to keep her.

MATTHEW. You should have heard her talk coming from the station.

MARILLA. Oh, she can talk. I saw that straightaway. It's nothing in her favor either. I don't like children who have so much to say. I don't want an orphan girl, and if I did she isn't the style I'd pick out. We're not going to keep her, so you might as well spare your breath to cool your porridge.

MATTHEW. Well now, it's just as you say, of course, Marilla.

MARILLA. Where are you gadding off to? You haven't touched a bite of your supper.

MATTHEW. I don't suppose I'm hungry either. [Picks up lantern and exits]

MARILLA. How could Mrs. Spencer have made such a mistake?

Inside Out

This is unbelievably cool.

"Why'd it have to be ... snakes ..."

A really cool site - An Indiana Jones poster retrospective. Great commentary and images, very cool stuff.

The birthday girl

This is a re-post - in praise of my cousin Emma - who has turned 18. We're all getting together tonight to celebrate her birthday.

If you have ever read John Irving's A Prayer for Owen Meany, then you will know the relationship that I have with my throng of cousins. John Irving completely GETS the specificity of the whole cousin-thing - and it's really hard to describe if you haven't experienced it, or if you hate your cousins, or if you have no cousins. Owen Meany just GETS it. There is a manic quality to my relationships with my cousins - on both sides of the family - mainly because we would see each other rarely, and when we did see each other, we had to cram in months of fun into a 2 hour period. So we all would lose our collective minds. The FUN that was had was absolutely frenetic. Somebody always ended up bloody. Someone always cried. But the FUN. Insane. I have many many cousins. The oldest is in his 40s now, and the youngest is a baby. Typical Irish stuff.

Emma is a teenager. However, her soul is probably about 45 years old. Her soul has ALWAYS been about 45 years old. Even when she was 3 years old, she had this wise-cracking world-weary persona. It was as though she always had an imaginary cigar clenched between her lips. She was a 3 year old Robert Evans: a freckled chubby-cheeked toddler, making weary wisecracks, saying stuff like, "Lemme tell ya, sweetheart, that's what life is all about."

Uhm ... what? You're three.

It makes me think that this is definitely not her first time around on this planet.

There is a picture of Emma, standing on a hill in Los Angeles, with the Hollywood sign unfurling behind her in all its blindingly white weirdness. Emma must be about 3 years old in the picture. She is wearing huge movie-star sunglasses (not kid's glasses, but adult glasses, so they are enormous on her face - It looks like Glenn Close as Sonny Von Bulow), and a scarf around her throat. She holds up her arms in a victory gesture, and her face is absolutely insane. Her mouth is open, she is obviously screaming in celebrity triumph. It's like she's Harvey Weinstein or something.

But she's THREE.

Well, now Emma is a teenager. She's a beautiful young woman, still with the freckles and the rosy cheeks, still with the same "lemme tell ya, sweetheart, that's life" world-weary attitude.

Here is one of my favorite anecdotes, which will illuminate Emma's personality.

My cousin Mike got married a couple years ago. It was a massive affair, with hundreds of people. Emma was 12 years old at the time. I sat next to Emma in the pew. Emma dresses like she's Mary J. Blige or something. Big puffy coats, big chunky sneakers which match the coat ... Anyway, at the wedding, Emma was in a powder-blue Mary J. Blige ensemble. She looked great.

The ceremony was wonderful - very detailed - very traditional Catholic - and Emma, throughout the entire thing, peppered me with questions. Whispered under her breath.

"What's happening now?"
"What are those candles? What's that?"
"And what does that mean?"
"What's that about?"

Finally, I hissed at her, "Emma. I don't know."

There was a long pause. Emma did not respond. She turned back to look up at the pulpit, and didn't say anything. I continued to focus on the beautiful ceremony.

Then, I heard her say, out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes still looking forward, "Hey. Lose the 'tude."

I couldn't help it - her attitude was so right ON that I just burst into laughter spontaneously.

She was so RIGHT. I had a 'tude. She called me on it.

"Emma, you're right. I have a 'tude. I am sorry."

We still laugh about "lose the 'tude".

A couple of years ago, I was busy at work on a one-woman show. I am not going to say what it is about, because I fear piracy. But suffice it to say, it is based on the life of a real person. Who had an insane husband. This woman would write letters, describing how she could hear him moaning down the hall in psychic agony.

Emma and her mom were visiting my parents while I was home - and we were sitting out on the patio. Regina (Emma's mom) asked if she could hear a little bit of what I was working on. I said sure, fine. I gave a bit of background, before I launched into what I had written.

"So she has an insane husband, and he would moan all night down the hallway, and she would lock the doors of her study to keep him out."

Then I did my little reading - which, frankly, I thought went very well, and I was very proud of it. Basically, I was moved by MYSELF.

When I was done, there was a pause. Regina, who is also an actress, a wonderful actress, was deep in thought. I was excited for the conversation that would ensue. What did they "get"? What was their response? Did they understand? Had I translated my passion for this topic in a way that an outsider would be able to click into? Very exciting.

Then Emma piped up. "Hey, Sheila, you know what you should do? When you're doing that monologue during the production - here's how it should be done." (Suddenly, again, with the Harvey Weinstein persona.) "You should be standing downstage - and everything should be dark - and then - as you do the monologue - slowly - way over in the corner - a circle of light should come up on your husband and this is what he should be doing..." (Emma hunched over, biting her nails nervously, her eyes flitting about in a panic, and she began to rock - back and forth, back and forth - making strange odd moaning sounds.)

The precious little spell of my monologue was broken by this hysterical and almost Mel Brooks interpretation of insanity - and ... it all started seeming deeply deeply funny to me ...

Suddenly the madness of the husband is going to be used as a comic device??

Regina said, "Emma, please, let's have a serious conversation about Sheila's work."

Emma kept rocking back and forth, back and forth, rolling her eyes around in her head, making these cow-like moaning sounds.

In spite of herself, Regina started laughing ... I started laughing too - I'm laughing now...

Emma kept going. "So it'll go like this." She stood up straight, as me, and said, as though she were doing the production, "So I have always felt that life must go on - and that I must always focus on my work -" Suddenly Emma hunched over herself, and started rocking manically - moaning like a cow - Then she straightened up again, as me, and said, "My work. My work is the most important thing." Back to the lowing-like-a-cow husband in the corner.

Regina and I were CRYING.

One other Emma story -

Regina, Emma, my other cousin Rachel and I went to the anniversary production of "Forbidden Broadway", here in New York. The audience was full of Regina's old friends, people we all knew. It was a BLAST. Again, Emma looked like a little Irish ghetto goddess, with her puffy coat, and her big sneakers. Emma knew mostly everyone, too, because they were friends of her mother. One of the guys was the head writer on a major soap opera, I can't remember which one. Days of Our Lives, or something.

Emma buttonholed him before the show. This is a paraphrase of the conversation, but here's the spirit of it:

Emma said to him, point-blank, "Okay, listen, I just don't like what you have done to my favorite character."

He was fabulous, whoever he was. He said, "Oh no, which one?"

She told him how she didn't approve of the plot-lines for her favorite character, and that she thought that another actor (who was in most of the scenes with her favorite) was terrible.

"It's boring, my friend, boring." Emma said in a tired voice, basically scolding the head-writer of One Life to Live. She called him "my friend", in this kind of world-weary cynical tone. "That whole plot line is very boring, my friend."

He completely took her concerns seriously, which is why I loved him. He nodded seriously, and said, "Yes, we have had some problems with that actor. You won't have to watch him for much longer."

"Well, that's good to hear. Because he's very boring." (Again, I had the impression that she was chewing on a cigar, as though she were Jack Warner or something.)

This man was hungry for more feedback from the teenager. "What else, Emma? What else?"

She launched into an in-depth analysis of every element of the show - character development problems, boring side-plots, bad actor issues - She also made sure she complimented him on what DID work. He was very grateful for her praise (which she gave to him with the tired attitude of throwing him a bone - which was equally hysterical). I loved this guy. I loved how he was with Emma.

He said, "I should have you come in to one of our script meetings."

She is, after all, representative of a huge chunk of their audience.

As she continued on her long analytical monologue, completely unafraid, and also completely clear on what did work and what didn't work - I suddenly saw that the victory-dance in front of the Hollywood sign when she was three could actually be a prophecy of things to come. This girl could do anything she wanted to do. She really could. She could be a stand-up comedian (OBVIOUSLY) - she could be an actress - but she also could be a movie producer. Hell, Emma could run a movie studio someday.

She is a lovely girl, a kind person, very funny, and also - mixed in with all of that - she is a wise-cracking world-weary cynical movie producer who dresses as though she is Mary J. Blige.

I also love that she told me to "lose the 'tude." I'll never forget it. I needed to be taken down a peg, and she did it. She talks straight, she tells it like it is.

Whatever Emma ends up doing - wherever her life takes her - I know that I will watch with baited breath. It looks like it is going to be an incredible journey.

Happy birthday, Emma!

Word on the street ...

The whole JT Leroy thing has obviously reached some kind of cultural tipping point here if it's in an Overheard in New York snippet.

This is absolutely hysterical.

"proved it with like receipts and shit"

"Wait, Billy Corgan's dead?"

hahahaha

Courage

A blogger who writes about his experiences, and his struggles, openly - like in this post. He was in the middle of a struggle when he wrote that post. He lets us in on his thought process, his vulnerability, his ups and downs with it - and he uses the blog as a way to keep himself in a dialogue with himself, and his issues - as a way to say: "Okay - so I notice that when THIS situation comes up, all of these buttons are pushed ..." Or "I am noticing that THIS is a huge trigger for me." Etc. It's all about becoming conscious, it seems to me. Stopping the automatic responses to things, and just taking a second to NOTICE what is really going on. Very hard to do, and even more hard to do in public.

Really courageous stuff. I love people who engage with themselves that way. Especially if they can write, and Stevie can.

He's on this whole "core belief" journey - and I'm really getting a lot out of reading his posts, where he explores these negative core beliefs he has - stuff he is really WORKING on.

Good for you, Stevie - and congrats on the successful completion of your big project.

Neal Pollack comes out ...

and ... in the spirit of the brou-haha surrounding JT Leroy and also James Frey now apparently ...

tells the truth about who he is.

I killed all those children while addicted to crack, and weed, and heroin. That was very hard to do because I couldn't see very well due to the massive quantities of blood that were streaming from the always-open wound in my forehead, which was given to me by my childhood rabbi after he sodomized me at a strip club that we owned together. Also, I'm a transgendered prostitute who writes poetry, my mother was a whore, and my father was a sailor from Athens who was murdered by the original members of the Black Gangster Disciples after he tried to steal a shipment of amphetamines from them. I'm on the top ten wanted list in 37 states, and in the top five in the other 13. I've never met a woman who didn't want to fuck me.

heh heh heh heh

Good for you, Mr. Pollack. Feels good to tell the truth, don't it? Read the whole funny thing here. I particularly like: "It's been a hard life because the cops won't start--I mean stop--beating me up." hahaha In search of the authentic!!

The Books: "Mary of Scotland" (Maxwell Anderson)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Mary of Scotland, by Maxwell Anderson

Awesome play. First produced by the Theatrical Guild in 1930 with Helen Hayes playing Mary of Scotland. It's in verse. It's kick-ass. I've worked on the last scene before in acting class - it's between Elizabeth and Mary - Mary's imprisoned, Elizabeth comes to visit her. Historically inaccurate but HUGELY theatrical, and devastating to both characters - it's a vicious scene, absolutely fantastic - two women circling one another, trying to win. You think Elizabeth has the upper hand, and then Mary seizes it ... you think Mary is winning, and then Elizabeth seizes the reins back ... it's great great stuff for actors. Of course, because of the title of the play - Mary ends up being the emotional victor in the play - even though Elizabeth wins in the eyes of the real world.

I'll excerpt from that scene - it's the very end of the play.

EXCERPT FROM Mary of Scotland, by Maxwell Anderson

MARY. I have seen but a poor likeness, and yet I believe
This is Elizabeth.

ELIZABETH.
I am Elizabeth.
May we be alone together?

[At a sign from Mary the maids go out. Elizabeth enters and the doors swing to behind her]

MARY.
I had hoped to see you.
When last you wrote you were not sure.

ELIZABETH.
If I've come
So doubtfully and tardigrade, my dear,
And break thus in upon you, it's not for lack
Of thinking of you. Rather because I've thought
Too long, perhaps, and carefully. Then at last
It seemed if I saw you near, and we talked as sisters
Over these poor realms of ours, some light might break
That we'd never see apart.

MARY.
Have I been so much
A problem?

ELIZABETH.
Have you not? When the winds blow down
The houses, and there's a running and arming of men,
And a great cry of praise and blame, and the center
Of all this storm's a queen, she beautiful --
As I see you are --

MARY. Nay --

ELIZABETH.
Aye, with the Stuart mouth.
And the high forehead and French ways and thoughts --
Well, we must look to it. -- Not since that Helen
We read of in dead Troy, has a woman's face
Stirred such a confluence of air and waters
To beat against the bastions. I'd thought you taller,
But truly, since that Helen, I think there's been
No queen so fair to look on.

MARY. You flatter me.

ELIZABETH.
It's more like envy. You see this line
Drawn down between my brows? No wash or ointments
Nor wearing of straight plasters in the night
Will take that line away. Yet I'm not much older
Than you, and had looks, too, once.

MARY.
I had wished myself
For a more regal beauty such as yours,
More fitting for a queen.

ELIZABETH.
Were there not two verses
In a play I remember!
"Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair" --?
They must die young if they'd die fair, my cousin.
Brightness falls from them but not from you yet,
believe me,
It's envy, not flattery.

MARY.
Can it be -- as I've hoped --
Can it be that you come to me as a friend --
Wishing me well?

ELIZABETH. Would you have me an enemy?

MARY. Oh! if that were so, if that were so.

ELIZABETH. Aye?

MARY.
I have great power to love! Let them buzz forever
Between us, these men with messages and lies,
You'll find me still there, and smiling, and open-hearted,
Unchanging while the cusped hills wear down!

ELIZABETH.
Nay, pledge
Not too much, my dear, for in these uncertain times
It's slippery going for all of us. I, who seem now
So firm in my footing, well I know one mis-step
Could make me a most unchancy friend. If you'd keep
Your place on this rolling ball, let the mountains slide
And slip to the valleys. Put no hand to them
Or they'll pull you after.

MARY.
But does this mean you can lend
No hand to me, or I'll pull you down?

ELIZABETH.
I say it
Recalling how I came to my throne as you did,
Some five or six years before, beset as you were
With angry factions -- and came there young, loving truth,
As you did. This was many centuries since,
Or seems so to me, I'm so old by now
In shuffling tricks and the huckstering of souls
For lands and pensions. I learned to play it young,
Must learn it or die. -- It's thgus if you would rule;
Give up good faith, the word that goes with the heart,
The heart that clings where it loves. Give these up, and love
Where your interest lies, and should your interest change
Let your love follow it quickly. This is queen's porridge
And however little stomach she has for it
A queen must eat it.

MARY.
I, too, Elizabeth,
Have read my Machiavelli. His is a text-book
Much studied in the French court. Are you serious
To read me this lesson?

ELIZABETH.
You have too loving a heart,
I fear, and too bright a face to be a queen.

MARY.
That's not what's charged againt me.
I've been traduced as a murderess and adultress
And nothing I could have said, and nothing done
Would have warded the blow. What I seek now is only
My freedom, so that I may return and prove
In open court, and before my witnesses,
That I am guiltless. You are the Queen of England,
And I am held prisoner in England. Why am I held,
And who is it holds me?

ELIZABETH.
It was to my interest, child,
To protect you, lest violence be offered to a princess
And set a precedent. Is there anyone in England
Who could hold you against my will?

MARY.
Then I ask you as a sovereign,
Speaking to you as an equal, that I be allowed
To go and fight my own battles.

ELIZABETH. It would be madness.

MARY. May I not be judge of that?

ELIZABETH. See, here is our love!

MARY.
If you wish my love and good-will you shall have it freely
When I am free.

ELIZABETH.
You will never govern, Mary. If I let you go
There will be long broils again in Scotland, dangers,
And ripe ones, to mym peace at home. To be fair
To my own people, this must not be.

MARY.
Now speak once
What your will is, and what behind it! You wish me here,
You wish me in prison -- have we come to that?

ELIZABETH. It's safer.

MARY. Who do you wish to rule in Scotland,
If not my Stuart line?

ELIZABETH.
Have I said, my dear,
That I'd bar the Stuarts from Scotland, or bar your reign
If you were there, and reigned there? I say only
You went the left way about it, that since it's so
And has fallen out so, it were better for both our kingdoms
If you remained my guest.

MARY. For how long?

ELIZABETH.
Until
The world is quieter.

MARY. And who will rule in my place?

ELIZABETH. Why, who rules now? Your brother.

MARY. He rules by stealth!

ELIZABETH.
But all this could be arranged,
Or so I'm told, if your son were to be crowned king,
And Moray made regent.

MARY.
My son in Moray's hands --
Moray in power --

ELIZABETH. Is there any other way?

[A pause]

MARY.
Elizabeth -- I have been here a long time
Already -- it seems so. If it's your policy
To keep me -- shut me up -- I can argue no more --
No -- I beg now. There's one I love in the north,
You know that -- and my life's there, my throne's
there, my name
To be defended -- and I must lie here darkened
From news and from the sun -- lie here impaled
On a brain's agony -- wondering even sometimes
If I were what they said me -- a carrion thing
In my desires -- can you understand this? -- I speak it
Too brokenly to be understood, but I beg of you
As you are a woman and I am -- and our brightness falls
Soon enough at best -- let me go, let me have my life
Once more -- and my dear health of mind again --
For I rot away here in my mind -- in what
I think of myself -- some death-tinge falls over one
In prisons --

ELIZABETH.
It will grow worse, not better. I've known
Strong men shut up alone for years -- it's not
Their hair turns white only; they sicken within
And scourge themselves. If you would think like a queen
This is no place for you. The brain taints here
Till all desires are alike. Be advised and sign
The abdication.

MARY.
Stay now a moment. I begin to glimpse
Behind this basilisk mask of yours. It was this
You've wanted from the first.

ELIZABETH. This what I wanted?

MARY.
It was you sent Lord Throgmorton long ago
When first I'd have married Bothwell. All this while
Some evil's touched my life at every turn.
To cripple what I'd do. And now -- why, now --
Looking on you -- I see it incarnate before me --
It was your hand that touched me. Reaching out
In little ways -- here, a word, there an action -- this
Was what you wanted. I thought perhaps a star --
Wildly I thought it -- perhaps a star might ride
Astray -- or a crone that burned an image down
In wax -- filling the air with curses on me
And slander; the murder of Rizzio, Moray in that
And you behind Moray -- the murder of Darnley,
Throgmorton
Behind that too, you with them -- and that winged scandal
You threw at us when we were married. Proof I have none
But I've felt it -- would know it anywhere -- in your eyes --
There -- before me.

ELIZABETH.
What may become a queen
Is to rule her kingdom. Had you ruled yours I'd say
She has her ways, I mine. Live and let live
And a merry world for those who have it. But now
I must think this over -- sadness has touched your brain.
I'm no witch to charm you, make no incantations:
You came here by your own road.

MARY.
I see how I came.
Back, back, each step the wrong way, and each sign followed
As you'd have me go, till the skein picks up and we stand
Face to face here. It was you forced Bothwell from me --
You there, and always. Oh, I'm to blame in this, too!
I should have seen your hand.

ELIZABETH.
It has not been my use
To speak mcuh or spend my time --

MARY.
How could I have been
Mistaken in you for an instant?

ELIZABETH.
You were not mistaken.
I am all women I must be. One's a young girl,
Young and harrowed as you are -- one who could weep
To see you here -- and one's a bitterness
At what I have lost and can never have, and one's
The basilisk you saw. This last stands guard
And I obey it. Lady, you came to Scotland
A fixed and subtle enemy, more dangerous
To me than you've ever known. This could not be borne,
And I set myself to cull you out and down,
And down you are.

MARY. When was I your enemy?

ELIZABETH.
Your life was a threat to mine, your throne to my throne,
Your policy a threat.

MARY. How? Why?

ELIZABETH.
It was you or I.
Do you know that?
The one of us must win
And I must always win.
The Lords have brought a parchment
For you to sign. Sign it and live.

MARY.
If I sign it
Do I live where I please? Go free?

ELIZABETH.
Nay, I would you might,
But you'd go to Bothwell, and between you two
You might be too much for Moray. You'll live with me
In London. There are other loves, my dear.
You'll find amusement there in the court. I assure you
It's better than a cell.

MARY.
And if I will not sign
This abdication?

ELIZABETH.
You've tasted prison. Try
A diet of it.

MARY.
And so I will. I wait for Bothwell --
And wait for him here.

ELIZABETH.
Where you will wait, bear in mind,
Is for me to say. Give up Bothwell,
Give up your throne if you'd have
A life worth living.

MARY.
I will not.
This trespass
Against God's right will be known. The nations will know it,
Mine and yours. They will see you as I see you
And pull you down.

ELIZABETH.
Child, child, I've studied this gambit
Before I play it. I will send each year
This paper to you. Not signing, you will step
From one cell to another, step lower always,
Till you reach the last, forgotten, forgotten of men,
Forgotten among causes, a wraith that cries
To fallen gods in another generation
That's lost your name. Wait then for Bothwell's rescue.
It will never come.

MARY. I may never see him?

ELIZABETH.
Never.
It would not be wise.

MARY.
Oh! Oh! --
And suppose indeed you won
Within our lifetime, still looking down from the heavens
And up from men around us, God's spies that watch
The fall of the great and little, they will find you out --
I will wait for that, wait longer than a life,
Till men and the times unscroll you, study the tricks
You play, and laugh, as I shall laugh, being known
Your better, haunted by your demon, driven
To death or exile by you, unjustly. Why,
When all's done, it's my name I care for, my name and heart,
To keep them clean.
Win now, take your triumph now,
For I'll win men's hearts in the end -- though the sifting takes
This hundred years -- or a thousand.

ELIZABETH.
And you are gulled
By what men write in histories, this or that,
And never true? I am careful of my name
As you are, for this day and longer. It's not what happens
That matters, no, not even what happens that's true,
But what men believe to have happened.
What will be said about us in after years
By men to come, I control that, being who I am.
It will be said of me that I governed well,
And wisely, but of you, cousin, that your life,
Shot through with ill-loves, battened on lechery, made you
An ensign of evil, that men tore down and trampled.
Shall I call for the Lords' parchment?

MARY.
And still I win.
This crooked track
You've drawn me on, cover it, let it not be believed
That a woman was a fiend. Yes, cover it deep,
And heap my infamy over it, lest men peer
And catch sight of you as you were and are. In myself
I know you to be an eater of dust. Leave me here
And set me lower this year by year, as you promise,
Till the last an oubliette, and my name inscribed
On the four winds. Still, still I win! I have been
A woman, and I have loved as a woman loves,
Lost as a woman loses. I have borne a son,
And he will rule Scotland -- and England. You have
no heir!
A devil has no children.

ELIZABETH.
You shall suffer
For this.

MARY.
And that I can do. A woman
Can do that. Come turn the key. I have a hell
For you in my mind, where you will burn and feel it,
Live where you like, and softly.

ELIZABETH.
Once more I ask you,
And patiently. Give up your throne.

MARY.
No, devil.
My pride is stronger than yours, and my heart beats blood
Such as yours has never known. And in this dungeon, I win here, alone.

ELIZABETH. [turning]
Good night, then.

MARY. Aye, good night.
[Elizabeth goes to the door]
Beaton!

ELIZABETH.
You will not see your maids again,
I think. It's said they bring you news from the north.

MARY.
I thank you for all kindness.

[Elizabeth goes out. Mary stands for a moment in thought, then, going to the window, she sits again in her old place and looks out into the darkness]

CURTAIN

Chick lit!!

I have no idea how this happened - or who nominated me - but I'm a finalist in the Best Literary Blog category. God, I'm already exhausted remembering the voting process the last time I was nominated for something, but whatever. It's wonderful, and the other blogs in the category are fantastic. Click through them to see what they're all about. Very cool stuff, book-lovers!

And thanks - to the person out there nominated me. To all the newcomers visiting my site because of the nomination: I have a whole archive on Books I'm reading, and another one about writers - for you to scroll through.

Classics???

Here are the movies that I think will be considered "classics" 50 years from now. This is not based on my own wish-list - because if it were up to me, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind would be on that list. But I don't know if it will make it.

Here is what I believe will stand the test of time (and some of the movies have already done so):

The Breakfast Club (this isn't just a nostalgia thing - I believe that future generations will also get something out of this movie)

The Shawshank Redemption (It's basically already happened)

Groundhog Day

When Harry met Sally

Field of Dreams

Apollo 13

Schindler's List (maybe. Time will tell. This is one that I believe is a classic and I hope will last the test of time. We'll see)

I'm sure I'll think of more. Hmmm. LA Confidential? I'm thinkin' that might be on the list.

So what do you all think? Not just movies you love or you think DESERVE to be on the list ... but movies that you think will last, regardless.

Will the real JT Leroy please stand up ...

please stand up ... please stand up ....

If you at all follow literary events, then you have heard of JT Leroy: the child prostitute and drug addict become major hot novelist. There was such a buzz about Leroy about 5 years back that you would have thought Hemingway was reincarnated. An exciting new voice, a great life-story to work from - someone who was gritty, real, came from the outside, not a pampered writer's workshop talent ....

I haven't read of Leroy's work, but I still thought the story was kind of cool. Also, Leroy was YOUNG - barely out of teenager-hood - when this huge literary success came on him.

Anyway. Read this article in the Times about the latest in the life of JT Leroy. Un-feckin'-believable. Wow. It's all been a hoax - or - it hasn't been proven yet conclusively that there is no JT Leroy, but that article is pretty convincing. It looks like a woman named Laura Albert and her husband (who supposedly "adopted" JT Leroy and saved him from a life of prostitution) cooked up this character as a way to get theh attention of the literary world and get a book deal.

Here was the first inkling that Leroy might not be "real".

Wow.

JT Leroy is famously "reclusive". He makes few appearances. I remember seeing pictures of him, at this or that event - sunglasses, head down ... very cute and androgynous. Turns out, that it's a woman who basically - is PRETENDING to be JT Leroy. A hired hand, basically, in this huge hoax.

FASCINATING.

I LOVE IT. Even though it's SCARY!

It's pretty awful, too - because Leroy was given a lot of financial support by writers (heavy-hitters like Mary Gaitskill, Mary Karr) - who wanted to support this new voice. Again, I haven't read his novels - but the hype was all over the place. And this wasn't just the popular best-selling novelists singing his praises - Leroy had serious literary appeal - and serious writers were saying: "This is a very important new writer", and that gave Leroy even MORE cache. In my book, anyway. If Mary Gaitskill says, "This guy can write!" then I am way more apt to believe her than, say, Michael Crichton. Just the sad and blunt truth. Also, we're talking about serious literary circles here - the people who have stories in The New Yorker, and stuff like that. This is where Leroy made his buzz. So that's how I took notice. This group of writers (and, actually, musicians, artists in general) wanted to make sure that Leroy continued to be able to write - that he was financially viable - so they would contribute money to him, as a way of support.

So back to the bad part of the story: These people have been duped (it looks like) by this Albert woman - who made sure (somehow) that all checks to JT Leroy were made out to her (because she was - in her fictional story - JT Leroy's "legal guardian") ... Leroy also said (or - not Leroy - because it appears there IS no Leroy) - Leroy came out a couple of years ago and said he was HIV positive. More money just POURED into the coffers. I find this despicable. Whoever was the wizard behind the curtain in this hoax (but again - weirdly - the books got fantastic reviews, so SOMEONE is able to write in this scenario) - decided that the fictional author JT Leroy needed to have AIDS to make him ... even more sympathetic? To have even more people donate money to support his literary career? Disgusting and cynical. To use a terrible disease in that way.

A lot of people are very angry right now. And rightly so.

But still: I'll say this: it was a DAMN GOOD hoax. It has had people fooled for 6 years now. What a performance art piece! I've always had a little dream of doing something like that - hopefully without cheating people out of thousands of dollars - but I think hoaxes like this (and there are many, throughout history) are really really interesting. I think it could be quite freeing to write under an assumed identity - But to hoax the entire world, and hire someone to PLAY the fictional author? Now THAT is ballsy.

THERE IS NO JT LEROY. Amazing. I still can't get over it!

That article gives great background to this whole hoax.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Nothin' I love more than a big ol' literary-world dustup!!

My jaw is still basically on the floor after reading that article! I was duped too! Warren St. John who wrote the article in The Times was duped. It was a damn fine performance art piece. It fooled everybody.

Wow.

On multiple levels -just Wow.

The reason Faustus, MD is one of my favorite bloggers is because of sentences like this one: "O world, I thought, I cannot hold thee close enough!" And when you discover what he said that in response to ...

It just doesn't get any better than that.

Well, you just have to go read the post.

Wow.

More Hitchcock!

Last night, Ted, Michael and I went out to dinner - and then walked over to the Film Forum to see To Catch a Thief. Again, it was PACKED. There were no snickering jackasses in this audience. We were all completely involved. The movie isn't dated at all - it totally works on a contemporary level. Also: it's FUNNY. I had forgotten how FUNNY the damn thing is. Cary Grant, as always, with his little asides, his small expressions of befuddlement .... he is just perfect. The long scene he has with Grace Kelly (the picnic scene: "Do you want a leg or a breast?" "Your choice.") is just masterful. They totally play off of one another, and the dialogue is as good as it gets. Sparkling, witty, the characters are lying the entire time ... it's just great.

I also love this line - it got an enormous laugh - first of all, the words themselves are funny, but the way Grant says it:

"You know, I have about the same interest in jewelry that I have in politics, horseracing, modern poetry, or women who need weird excitement: none."

That Cary Grant voice: "or women who need weird excitement ..." With the fireworks out the window in the background.

It was great great fun. Fun to see it on the big screen, too - all the sweeping scenery, the helicopter shots, the curving roads with car chases - seen from above - all made to be seen on a large scale.

It was a blast.

The Oscars

So exciting. Alex has up a first post of what will be a series on the Oscars. Do not miss it.

The Books: "North of Providence" (Edward Allan Baker)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is North of Providence, by Edward Allan Baker

A Rhode Island playwright ... this was one of his early successes. I think it's a bit shrill and obvious - although I love his later stuff. Here, you can see him as a young playwright - turning up the heat on the characters, making sure the obstacles were in place - it has a bit of an artificial feel to it. Also - he fills his plays with Rhode Island references, which - naturally - I love. Here he goes a bit overboard - every other line has some reference to a RI landmark. It's funny, I still love it - but it's self-conscious. That's what this play is, even though the writing is quite good: it's self-conscious. It's like Tennessee Williams' first play - you read it, and you can see the later playwright there in embryo, you can see his themes, his concerns ... but he's a bit heavy-handed with the plot, you can see the puppet strings, etc.

The story of this play: Bobbie and Carol, brother and sister, in their 20s. They live in Providence, Rhode Island. Their father is dying of cirrhosis of the liver. They have a couple other brothers and sisters as well, but none of them are in the play. Their dying fahter was a son of a bitch. Bobbie lives at home with his parents still and is kind of a loser. He plays the Lotto, smokes cigarettes, and bums around. Carol has "gotten out". She's married, has a kid. The story of this play (it's very short) - is this: Carol comes to the house to MAKE Bobbie go to the hospital to say goodbye to his father. She has HAD it. Bobbie is refusing to believe that this is it - "He's been this close so many times before - what makes this one different?" Carol knows that this is it, and it is urgent - in her mind - that Bobbie come with her to the hospital. Of course the two of them end up fighting - and of course all kinds of old old stuff comes out. There's a ton of baggage there. The main thing is: Carol was raped while she was babysitting when she was 16 and ... Bobbie , who was supposed to have been babysitting with her, wasn't there. The two of them have never discussed it. The rape destroyed the family. Bobbie and Carol's dad had always thought Carol was perfect, called her Miss America - and after she got raped, he basically dropped her like a hot potato. His little girl was "ruined". Bobbie has never forgiven himself for not being there. He has given up on life.

Finally - all of this comes out during the play.

I'll post one of the lighter passages of the script - because his dialogue really is quite good. You also totally get the sense of siblings in this excerpt. It sounds very real to me.

From North of Providence, by Edward Allan Baker

CAROL. Anything out in the kitchen I can get for you? [He watches her put down pocketbook then looks back up at her]

BOBBIE. What?

CAROL. Anything out in the kitchen to eat?

BOBBIE. Probly something. Why don't you go look. [Bobbie gives a slight nod of his head. Carol exits. Bobbie immediately picks up her pocketbook and takes out billfold. He removes the cash and stuffs it into his pocket. Upon putting back billfold, he finds gun. He looks to the dresser and quickly puts gun in his suit-coat pocket. Pause. Carol re-enters]

CAROL. [sandwich on plate] Need I tell you what baloney is made of?

BOBBIE. Baloney is baloney.

CAROL. Tony went to see Dad the other night. He said Dad told him that if he found out Tony voted for Reagan, he'd haunt him forever. [Pause. Carol is eating raisins] You ever see that girl ... uh ... the one who had tits that stuck out like canons, uh ... she worked at Bess Eaton doughnuts.

BOBBIE. [eating] Cheryl.

CAROL. Who?

BOBBIE. Cheryl. [He puts down sandwich and looks around for large butt in ashtray]

CAROL. You smoke too much.

BOBBIE. Takes a man to face cancer. [Lights up]

CAROL. That's sick. [A beat] Cheryl, right. You brought her to Karen's wedding.

BOBBIE. Ann's wedding.

CAROL. Who was that you brought to Karen's wedding?

BOBBIE. I didn't go to Karen's wedding.

CAROL. You were too at Karen's wedding.

BOBBIE. Nope.

CAROL. It was my wedding you didn't come to.

BOBBIE. Where was Karen's wedding?

CAROL. I couldn't believe you didn't come to my wedding. I was pissed.

BOBBIE. [puts shoes on] Where was Karen's wedding?

CAROL. You went to all the other weddings but not to mine.

BOBBIE. I didn't go to Jean's first wedding.

CAROL. Nobody did.

BOBBIE. I went to Karen's wedding?

CAROL. You were with some other fat girl. I can't remember who but she was a blimpola, I remember that.

BOBBIE. Marsha?

CAROL. Fatter.

BOBBIE. Where was Karen's wedding?

CAROL. Harp and Shamrock.

BOBBIE. That the one when Uncle Ritchie was doin the strip tease and his false teeth fell outta his mouth?

CAROL. That was Kathy's wedding.

BOBBIE. At the Harp and Shamrock?

CAROL. Brunswick. [Beat] I was hurt you didn't come to mine. My only brother an you couldn't drag ya lazy ass to Seekonk.

BOBBIE. [putting sweater on] I was doin somethin. I forget.

CAROL. We were close Bobbie, me an you. Was always Carol and Bobbie. Like Donny and Marie cept we can't sing.

BOBBIE. Donna Cotter.

CAROL. What?

BOBBIE. Donna Cotter is the one I brought to ...

CAROL. Right, right. She had the legs that looked like they were upside down.

BOBBIE. [combing hair, putting on more aftershave] All you sistas married wops an I never said nothin about it.

CAROL. [on her own train of thought] We sort of ... uh drifted apart ... it was right after the ...

BOBBIE. Stop! Don't even talk about it.

CAROL. It's all right now. I can talk about it.

BOBBIE. I don't want you to!

CAROL. Too bad what you want!

BOBBIE. I don't want to hear it!

CAROL. It was strange ... well not too strange ... [Bobbie is nervously going through ashtray again] I thought it was weird that -- that you were at the trial the whole time an havin to listen to uh ... the details.

BOBBIE. Do you have to bring this shit up? Huh? Do you have to bring ...

CAROL. Yes! Talkin about it is what made it all better! It became thin an went away. It was back in another life!

BOBBIE. Let's drop the subject.

The Books: "Philadelphia Story" (Philip Barry)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is The Philadelphia Story , by Philip Barry

The story of Katharine Hepburn's self-generated comeback with Philadelphia Story is well known. It's one of the greatest theatrical triumphs an actress has ever had. She was DEAD in Hollywood. But she was determined and she went back to Broadway, playing Tracy Lord - a part tailored just for her. Hepburn was weird and very specific. She needed a part that would humanize her. Audiences tired of her haughty righteousness. Bringing Up Baby, which shows a softer more whimsical side, was a box office flop. Barry created Tracy Lord for her ... a "goddess" - a woman of implacable convictions, a woman who held other people to such high ideals that they could never live up to it ... a woman who needed to be "brought down" in order to join the human race. Genius. And if you think about it - most of the Spencer Tracy-Katharine Hepburn films (made after Philadelphia Story) had this dynamic as a theme. She was hoity-toity, independent, unflappable ... and it was up to Spencer Tracy to cut her down to size. Audiences loved seeing that. It was funny, it made her human.

Philadelphia Story was the first. It was the perfect marriage between actress and role.

Here's the scene between Tracy and Dexter out by the swimming pool. Oh, and Mike is looking on. This scene is deceptively simple. It's mostly exposition, though - which makes it extremely difficult to play. Dexter has all the exposition - and to watch Cary Grant make this scene real, and seem natural, is quite miraculous. He makes it seem effortless. All the information we need about their stormy marriage - about her virgin goddess pose - about her susceptability to alcohol - is in this scene. All of it will be very important later. This scene is necessary and it must be played perfectly - otherwise the rest of the play will not work.

From The Philadelphia Story , by Philip Barry

DEXTER. [sees Mike] We met at lunch, didn't we?

MIKE. Yes, I seem to remember. Connor's my name.

DEXTER. -- The writer -- of course! Do you drink, Mr. Connor?

MIKE. A little. Why?

DEXTER. Not to excess?

MIKE. Not often.

DEXTER. -- And a writer! It's extraordinary. I thought all writers drank to excess, and beat their wives. I expect that at one time I secretly wanted to be a writer. [He looks up at him and grins.]

TRACY. Dexter, would you mind doing something for me?

DEXTER. Anything, what?

TRACY. Get the hell out of here.

DEXTER. Oh, no, I couldn't do that. That wouldn't be fair to you. You need me too much.

TRACY. Would you mind telling me just what it is you're hanging around for? [Mike moves toward left] No -- please don't go! I'd honestly much prefer it if you wouldn't.

DEXTER. So should I. Do stay, Mr. Connor. As a writer, this ought to be right up your street.

TRACY. Don't miss a word!

DEXTER. Honestly, you never looked better in your life; you're getting a fine tawny look --

TRACY. Oh, we're going to talk about me, are we? Goody.

DEXTER. It's astonishing what money can do for people, don't you agree, Mr. Connor? Not too much, you know -- just more than enough. Particularly for girls. Look at Tracy. There's never been a blow that hasn't been softened for her. There'll never be one that won't be softened -- why, it even changed her shape -- she was a dumpy little thing originally.

TRACY. -- Only as it happens, I'm not interested in myself, for the moment. What interests me now is what, if any, your real point is, in --

DEXTER. Not interested in yourself! My dear, you're fascinated! You're far and away your favorite person in the world.

TRACY. Dexter, in case you don't know it -- I -- !

DEXTER. Shall I go on --?

TRACY. Oh, yes, please do, by all means.

DEXTER. Of course she is kindness itself, Mr. Connor --

TRACY. -- Itself, Mr. Connor.

DEXTER. She is generous to a fault -- that is, except to other people's faults. For instance, she never had the slightest sympathy toward nor understanding of what used to be known as my deep and gorgeous thirst.

TRACY. That was your problem!

DEXTER. It was a problem of a young man in exceptionally high spirits, who drank to slow down that damned engine he'd found nothing yet to do with -- I refer to my mind. You took on that problem with me, when you took me -- You were no helpmate there, Tracy -- you were a scold.

TRACY. It was disgusting. It made you so unattractive.

DEXTER. A weakness -- sure. And strength is her religion, Mr. Connor. She is a goddess, without patience for any kind of human imperfection. And when I gradually discovered that my relation to her was expected to be not that of a loving husband and a good companion, but -- Oh -- never mind --

TRACY. Say it!

DEXTER. -- But that of a kind of high priest to a virgin goddess, then my drinks grew more frequent and deeper in hue, that's all.

TRACY. I never considered you as that, nor myself!

DEXTER. You did without knowing it. And the night that you got drunk on champagne, and climbed out on the roof and stood there naked, with your arms out to the moon, wailing like a banshee --

[Mike slides off the chaise and exits]

TRACY. I told you I never had the slightest recollection of doing any such thing!

DEXTER. I know; you drew a blank. You wanted to -- Mr. Connor, what would you say in the case of -- [Turns and sees Mike gone]

TRACY. He's a reporter, incidentally. He's doing us for Destiny.

DEXTER. Sandy told me. A pity we can't supply photographs of you on the roof.

TRACY. Honestly, the fuss you made over that silly, childish --

DEXTER. It was enormously important, and most revealing. The moon is also a goddess, chaste and virginal.

TRACY. Stop using those foul words! We were married nearly a year, weren't we?

DEXTER. Marriage doesn't change a true case like yours, my dear. It's an affair of the spirit -- not of the flesh.

TRACY. Dexter, what are you trying to make me out as?

DEXTER. Tracy, what do you fancy yourself as?

TRACY. I don't know that I fancy myself as anything.

DEXTER. When I read you were going to marry Kittredge, I couldn't believe it. How in the world can you even think of it?

TRACY. I love him, that's why! As I never even began to love you.

DEXTER. It may be true, but I doubt it. I think it's just a swing from me, and what I represent -- but I think it's too violent a swing. That's why I came on. Kittredge is no great tower of strength, you know, Tray. He's just a tower.

TRACY. You've known him how long? -- Half a day.

DEXTER. I knew him for two days two years ago, the time I went up to the fields with your father, but half a day would've done, I think.

TRACY. It's just personal, then --

DEXTER. Purely and completely.

TRACY. You couldn't possibly understand him or his qualities. I shouldn't expect you to.

DEXTER. I suppose when you come right down to it, Tray, it just offends my vanity to have anyone who was ever remotely my wife, remarry so obviously beneath her.

TRACY. "Beneath" me! How dare you -- any of you -- in this day and age use such a --?

DEXTER. I'm talking about difference in mind and imagination. You could marry Mac, the nightwatchman, and I'd cheer for you.

TRACY. And what's wrong with George?

DEXTER. Nothing -- utterly nothing. He's a wizard at his job, and I'm sure he is honest, sober and industrious. He's just not for you.

TRACY. He is for me -- he's a great man and a good man; already he's of national importance.

DEXTER. Good Lord -- you sound like Destiny talking. Well, whatever he is, you'll have to stick, Tray. He'll give you no out as I did.

TRACY. I won't require one.

DEXTER. I supposed you'd still be attractive to any man of spirit, though. There's something engaging about it, this virgin goddess business, something more challenging to the male than the more obvious charms.

TRACY. Really?

DEXTER. Oh yes! We're very vain, you know -- "This citadel can and shall be taken -- and I'm just the boy to do it."

TRACY. You seem quite contemptuous of me, all of a sudden.

DEXTER. Not of you, Red, never of you. You could be the damndest, finest woman on this earth. If I'm contemptuous of anything, it's of something in you you either can't help, or make no attempt to; your so-called "strength" -- your prejudice against weakness -- your blank intolerance --

TRACY. Is that all?

DEXTER. That's the gist of it; because you'll never be a first class woman or a first class human being, till you have learned to have some regard for human frailty. It's a pity your own foot can't slip a little sometime -- but no, your sense of inner divinity won't allow it. The goddess must and shall remain intact. -- You know, I think there are more of you around than people realize. You're a special class of American female now -- the Married Maidens. -- And of Type Philadelphiaensis, you're the absolute tops, my dear.

TRACY. Damn your soul, Dext, if you say another --!

DEXTER. I'm through, Tracy -- for the moment I've had my say.

The Break It Up Lady

My first boyfriend had a very interesting background. He "came from" money - but his parents were hippies and alcoholics - who had had massive trust funds - and a lot of that money was squandered by the generation before my boyfriend really came into the picture. Yet, he grew up surrounded by big money Newport people, with yachts, etc. However - he always had to have summer jobs, he bummed around with his skateboard, his parents were always living on the edge of financial destruction. Yet my boyfriend was sent to one of the most expensive boarding schools in New England. You know ... one of those weird situations that only haapen in families who once were wealthy.

I'm strictly middle-class. That's my background. I didn't grow up knowing rich people. Not like THAT anyway. Most of my friends growing up were middle-class, too. We would take field trips to Newport to gape at the mansions, so we knew, obviously, that there is massive wealth in Rhode Island - but it just wasn't my crowd.

Suddenly, with the first boyfriend - I was introduced into that world.

I wasn't always comfortable. It takes a bit of getting used to. At least it did for me. I felt, at times, like Julia Roberts in the scene in Pretty Woman when the wonderful Hector Alizandro shows her about silverware. I mean, I wasn't THAT out of it, but there were times ... hanging out in those crowds ... when I figured the best possible way to deal with it would be to hang back, be silent, and just do what everybody else did. I had no experience with people like that.

People who knew about wines, and knew how to order them. People who ordered wines and then sent them back.

People who owned lots of toys. 6 mountain bikes in the garage - for one person. And a yacht.

People who were always suing their interior decorators.

This is another world for me. I don't mean to sound like a little country mouse, but that was kind of the situation.

I felt intimidated.

Luckily, the first boyfriend had a healthy contempt for all of it, and he also had a wonderful sense of humor. (Has.)

One of his best friends from childhood (whom I had met many times, and this man - this man-boy, really - was OUT OF HIS MIND. Like Robert Downey Jr. With unlimited amounts of cash. He never had to work. He had a pretend job. He was absolutely insane, and a lot of fun - I really liked him - for about 5 minutes at a time) - Anyway, he was getting married.

My boyfriend was in the wedding.

So, by proxy, I was involved in the entire thing. The rehearsal dinner, the wedding brunch, the wedding ... It was 3 days out of my life. The whole thing happened in Newport. This is old old old money. The groom was Newport money and the bride was Texas money. Two different types of wealth which came into stark contrast over that weekend.

What ended up happening was: the two rich families ended up competing with one another, in terms of who paid the most for which event. Which, of course, meant that it was a lot of fun for us - the guests. The reception was at the Sakonnet vineyards and was one of the most elaborate gorgeous events I have ever gone to. There was no love lost between the 2 families. As a matter of fact, they despised one another, and felt competitive with one another. Also, there was actually no love lost between the groom and the bride. I caught him, during one of the toasts made at the rehearsal dinner, give her a look of such contempt that it made me catch my breath. (They were divorced within 8 months.)

I had "borrowed" all of my outfits for the weekend-long extravaganza from the costume shop at the university where I went to school. I was terrified of what all those rich Newport and Texas girls woudl be wearing. So I "borrowed" a Jackie Onassis-inspired little black cocktail dress, and a vintage black hat with a little veil - I "borrowed" a black alligator-skin purse. I felt like a little girl playing dress-up. There was a lot of southern belle action going on around me, and I looked like no one else there ... but at least I looked pretty fabulous. I got a lot of compliments. Phew. I was relieved.

At the rehearsal dinner I was separated from my boyfriend, who sat at the bridal table. I cannot explain the WEALTH on display. It was out of control. And this is old classy money. Huge difference and (to my taste then) much more intimidating. And because I was separated from my rock, my anchor, I had no one to talk to - and I was sitting next to the sister of the groom - who apparently was an amazing artist but was so intensely shy that she would literally begin to weep during conversations.

I am not exaggerating. She was obviously terrified of people. There was a schism in her somewhere. The truest part of herself was in deep hiding. She would never let it out.

I tried to talk to her about her art. She sat there mutely. I wanted to put her out of her misery. In a good way. Let her know I was safe. But she was paralyzed with fear. I felt a kinship with her. I was a little girl playing dress-up, sitting at the Newport Yacht Club. She was extraordinarily rich but couldn't speak. We both were outsiders.

But we could not break through.

She began to weep maybe 2 or 3 exchanges into the conversation.

I gave up and then proceeded to get VERY DRUNK ALL BY MYSELF.

It was awful. I guzzled 4 glasses of wine in a 45 minute period, and then suddenly - voom - I was WASTED. I suddenly channeled my ancestors, many of whom had come over on the boat from Ireland, and worked as maids in the houses of the ancestors throwing this party!! I became the Irish maid guzzling the wine in the rich people's kitchen.

I sat in my chair. Afraid to move. I thought I would fall down if I tried to get up. I was WASTED. I never get wasted, but there I was. Jackie Onassis get-up, little black veil over my face, WASTED. It was terrifying.

My boyfriend kept throwing me sympathetic glances across the room.

At one point, I mouthed at him, very very slowly, "I .... am .... waaaaaayyyyy ... too drunk ... right now..."

When you're drunk, sometimes the truth comes out. Or sometimes you see things that otherwise you might gloss over.

I witnessed a moment between the bride's mother and her 2 children which was so awful - so cold - that I felt frozen in my seat. I looked at her face and saw Satan. It was like Cathy in East of Eden.

The bride and her brother had a big long gushy hug. They were siblings, and they were hugging. Whatever, it's a wedding - completely normal.

I was very moved by it. I sat there, drunk, watching the hug, in a daze of tears. Glad I didn't have to talk to anyone, because I was way too wasted to be of use to anyone. So I just people-watched, and got all misty-eyed watching the siblings hug.

Then it all turned evil.

I glanced directly at the mother - hoping to bond with her - I thought I would be the little supportive Irish maid - and we would share a glance of, "Oh, isn't it nice to see them hugging?" - but instead I saw this look of absolutely stiff-jawed mortification on her face. She was in a rage. In a rage at the public display of emotion. The bride's mother sat in her chair, she had her hand up against her chin, and .... Okay, here's what I saw.

Even though it was a private moment between brother and sister (the rehearsal dinner had broken up into a party, with different conversations going on, people milling about, lots of different stuff happening) - So even though, NOBODY was even paying attention to the bride at this point, the mother was a TOTAL narcissist - and believed at all moments that all eyes were on her. So she FELT like everyone was looking at her. She felt that everyone was looking at the gushy hug of her children, and judging it, and then looking at HER to see how she would take it. I saw all of this on her face. Paralyzing awareness of everyone looking at her (even though nobody was - well, except for me). Second of all, she was obviously tremendously embarrassed (and not only embarrassed, but offended) by emotion, and she could not wait for the hug to end.

I then heard her murmur, again - to herself - but it was really for the invisible audience that she has watching her at all times - she murmured, with this frozen smile on her face, "Break it up ... break it up..."

I was way too drunk, people. I felt a veil being drawn back so that I was staring directly into the heart of darkness. I couldn't speak. I clutched my stolen alligator-purse. I felt a breath of cold wind flow over my drunken soul.

BREAK IT UP? You want to BREAK UP a loving embrace between YOUR TWO CHILDREN??? What the hell is wrong with you? What happened to you that has made you SO miss the point of life? You are embarrassed because your children are hugging? Wow, lady. You're a loser.

I just ... my mind blanked.

My boyfriend, bless him, saw that something was happening with his girlfriend across the room. I was horrified. I couldn't stop staring at the bride's mother, and how her jaw clenched, and how she smiled a little bit, and glanced around the table (and nobody was looking at her - but she thought they were), and how her eyes were cold as ice ... I felt like I was going to lose it. I must have looked a fright. My boyfriend basically got up, left his table, and came over to me.

I tried to keep it together. I was WASTED. (Have I mentioned how WASTED I was? I only keep mentioning it because it is such a rarity. I was suddenly sloshy falling-down drunk. I didn't know what I was going to do. And I also was ... I couldn't believe how that mother looked at her own children ... I couldn't get over it ...)

My boyfriend sat down next to me, and I grabbed his lapel and pulled him close to me so I could hiss in his ear. "Help. Me. Help. Me. For God's sake. Help. I am too drunk to be in public right now."

"Okay. We'll leave soon."

"And I just saw something so horrible ... so horrible ... when I'm not so drunk, I have to do an imitation of it for you."

(Later, once I sobered up, I did an imitation of the "break it up" moment for him, and it very quickly has passed into folklore. He would make me do it for EVERYONE. "Do 'Break it up' Do 'Break it up'!" Mitchell still references "the break it up lady". As long as one can turn horror into comedy, life is worth living!)

Finally, my boyfriend said goodnight to the groom (who had completely ignored his bride-to-be the entire night - I felt like I was surrounded by lunatics) ... and came to help me back to the car. I was afraid to stand up. I was at the Newport damn Yacht Club in a cocktail dress I had, let's face it, STOLEN from the costume shop at the university ... and I was afraid I would fall down, or puke ... in front of all those people. I'll be honest: I felt like I was a better person, emotionally, than most eveyrone there. I felt so THANKFUL that the "break it up" lady was not my mother. I felt like I was glad I was ME and not THEM. But at the same time, they intimidated the SHIT out of me. I felt like they could SMELL my lack of money on me. I don't care about that stuff ... but it matters to those people ... and so anyway. I felt like I would never recover if I made a drunken slobbery fool of myself. My boyfriend, though, just like Cary Grant helping Katharine Hepburn leave the club in Bringing up Baby when her dress was ripped - made it seem like we were having a normal exit, he shielded me from having to walk out by myself ... I kept murmuring, as we walked out of that echo-chamber room on the Newport Bay: "Holy crap ... I cannot believe how drunk I am ... I am ... help ... how did this happen ... I have to tell you about the break it up lady ..."

Finally, we were out in the crisp salt air. We drove home with the windows wide open. I drank a gallon of water. I felt much better.

The wedding the next day was a whole other nightmare.

The groom's sweet pathologically shy sister had a nervous breakdown at the brief rehearsal at the church - and NOBODY WAS SYMPATHETIC to her, NOBODY helped her - except for my boyfriend and my boyfriend's beautiful brother. She was supposed to do a reading (which just goes to show you out of touch with reality this family was - you ask her to do a reading??? She can't even have a conversation and you ask her to do a reading??? I'm a STRANGER and I know she would not be capable of that!!) So she at the rehearsal she walked up to the pulpit, but she literally was shaking so hard that you could hear the paper in her hand fluttering.

I felt ... I wanted to stand up and scream STOP! I felt like I was surrounded by a bunch of lunatics!

She stood there for an interminable amount of time - and then - completely cracked - in front of the entire crowd - sobbing, sobbing into her hands.

I began to cry myself. I felt horrible. I felt angry.

The second she started to cry, I saw "Break it up" lady shake her head disapprovingly, and turn to her husband and murmur, "I told you she wasn't up for it."

She wasn't just disapproving of the choice of the shy girl as a reader - she disapproved of the public-ness of the breakdown. She also was visibly triumphant because she had been RIGHT. She had "I told you so" written all over her. She had contempt, as I said before, for emotion. No compassion. Not one drop of it in her veins. I'm telling you. She was an anomaly as a human being. Like Cathy in East of Eden.

Shy girl's family abandoned her up there. Nobody moved to help her. If I saw one of my sisters crying in public, even if they were speaking at a presidential feckin' inauguration - nothing would stop me from running up there, and helping them. I don't care if a gazillion people see! But she started crying, and nobody moved. Everyone was just stiff and mortified. Her brother didn't move to help her, her parents didn't move, and Break it Up lady judged, yet also SEETHED with triumph for having been right. It was horrible. There was something seriously wrong with all of these people. My boyfriend and his brother both immediately broke out of the groomsmen line and walked over to her, and helped her away, sobbing. Later, I saw my boyfriend's brother sitting with her - and he was such a sweetheart - so nice - he was one of the only people who get her talking about her art, about her life - she trusted him - and he even got her laughing about the breakdown. He read over her reading and said, "I don't even know what half of these words mean. It's a stupid reading. I wouldn't even know how to have it make sense."

See what I mean? He was a good person.

The whole thing was a travesty.

And yet: because I am who I am: HIGHLY enjoyable. In a weird way.

It was rich rich stuff. (Rich, in terms of people-watching, and rich, in terms of the money poured into this wedding between 2 people who didn't even like each other all that much!)

When the 3 day event was finally over, my boyfriend and I shrieked out of Newport in our Honda Civic, blasting Elvis Costello, and howling with laughter about all the lunatics. Thanking God we had escaped. "Do 'break it up' again - oh come on - do it again!" he would shout. I would tense up my jaw, make my eyes small and lizard-like - and I wouldn't even have to SAY anything ... I didn't even GET to "break it up" in my imitation - the second I would tense my jaw my boyfriend would GUFFAW with laughter. He was an awesome audience.

I had to have a private moment with her ... I just HAD to. I wanted to test the boundaries. I wanted to see if her evil really went that deep. I wanted to see if I treated her with kindness, openness, and gratitude if she would melt a little bit. You know how some bitchy people can be completely disarmed if you do not meet their bitchiness head to head and continue being kind and sweet? Sometimes they even start to apologize immediately, because you have disarmed them. "God, sorry ... I'm having a crappy day ..." Suddenly, their humanity comes out? You know how that happens sometimes? I just wanted to see what would happen if I did that with her. A little experiment.

So at the end of the reception, I went over to her to thank her for a lovely time. And, actually, we had had a lovely time. The reception was a BLAST. I walked over to her, and said, "Thank you so much ... I have had such a great time ..." She looked up at me with her cold lizard eyes, and again her jaw tensed, and she said, "The caterer is going to hear from me tomorrow, you had better believe it. The incompetence has been outrageous."

Wow.

Okay.

That's all the confirmation I need, lady! You're rich, but you're a loser, and you've missed the point of life!

Thanks!!

I have nothing against wealth, by the way. I'd like a little bit myself. But I walked away from that event feeling like I had been in a crazy fun-house. I knew what I had seen had been distorted - by my own intimidation, not to mention my drunkenness at the rehearsal dinner - I couldn't tell what was real, and what was my own projected anxieties - but I'll tell you one thing: I know what I saw on her face when she said "Break it up" - I don't care how drunk I was. I know what I saw.

Such a New York day

I went to 8th Street to go shoe-shopping. A couple of my favorite pairs of shoes are basically falling apart so I need replacements. Also, I just want some big stomping motorcycle boots. The day was cold - after a couple of mild misty days. There was a sharp wintriness to the light, falling on the bricks of the buildings. I wandered up and down 8th Street, browsing. I found nothing I liked, but I enjoyed the browsing. There were all these used booksellers along the street, with their wares set up on long fold-out tables. I bought Dostoevsky's The Possessed and the complete poems of Shelley - for a dollar. hahahaha Love that.

I walked up Fifth Avenue, enjoying the cold air. I walked by places I used to go in every day when I went to grad school in that area. There's where we had the playwriting/directing unit every Friday afternoon - a brutal vivisection of a class - which we all despised. But man, there was much comedy to be had in that class. Once I remember we were all sitting there, watching one actress try out scene after scene after scene - trying to nail down what her thesis project would be. She did a little bit of Shaw, a little bit of Moliere, a little bit of Durang ... people would comment, say "I like that for you", "No, that's not right for you" ... and she would try some Shakespeare, some O'Neill ... She went through the entire history of theatre in 20 minutes. At one point, Sam (my mentor - and a fantastic acting teacher and dramaturg) murmured, to himself, but we all could hear, "I'm having an out of body experience." And Michael, a friend of mine, a fellow student, sitting behind Sam, said, "You're lucky." I still laugh about that.

I went into Pier 1 ... and basically salivated over everything. There's one little lamp that I want to buy. So cute! It looks like a little Victorian-era lamp, with lots of little doo-dads on the shade - and it gives out a sort of deep-red glow, because of the color of the shade. The perfect lamp for me. I sat in arm chairs, testing them out. None of them were right. But everything in there is just so gorgeous. I loved browsing and furnishing my dream house in my mind.

Then I walked over to The Strand. Couldn't help myself. Across the street from the Strand is a very over-priced shoe store - I went in there, tried on shoes, preened in front of the mirror, and bought nothing. I can get it for you wholesale.

I had a bit of an orgy at The Strand. Again, I got a gazillion books for 20 bucks. This is so typical Sheila, by the way. Go out to buy shoes, and come home with 10 books. I can't help it.

I went straight to the back where they have the Film & Drama section. They have every biography known to man - on the most "obscure" people - stuff you could never find at Barnes & Noble. Books long out of print. Hard covers that you can buy for four bucks. For example, I bought what looks like an extremely cheesy book about Gary Cooper - and I bought it for a dollar. It may be cheesy and salacious (I flipped through and saw some quote from some starlet who slept with him who raved about his enormous penis - it's THAT kind of book ... To be fair, though, pretty much every woman who slept with Cooper and gossiped about it mentioned his huge penis - so there seems to be SOME credibility to the whole "He has the largest penis in Hollywood" story - hahaha), but a quick browse of it also showed me that, along with mentions of his sexual prowess, the book is also full of one of my favorite things: on-the-set anecdotes. People's remembrances of Gary Cooper acting. His acting process. There really isn't a "definitive" biography of Cooper ... for whatever reason, he's just not that "in" right now. Cary Grant is in. But nobody is delving into the Cooper phenomenon - and I have felt the lack, believe it or not. I went through a huge Gary Cooper phase last year, and could not supplement it with a biography. So whatever - I bought the cheesy salacious book. What the hell, it's a dollar.

I also bought Patricia Bosworth's mini-biography of Marlon Brando. She's a member of the Actors Studio and wrote what has to be the definitive biography of Montgomery Clift - she's a terrific writer.

I also bought David Thomson's HUGE Encyclopedia of Film or whatever it's called - I've wanted it for a long time - Thomson is pretty much quoted by EVERYBODY, he's a film historian, an authority - also a wonderful writer, so this book will be a good reference point for my library. It's like having a Thesaurus or a dictionary. They are ALWAYS good to just have.

Then - and I'm really excited about this purchase - I bought the diaries of Vaslav Nijinsky - famous ballet dancer and controversial choreographer who went mad and kept a journal during his breakdown. My friend Ted has read them - they're possibly one of the most famous "diaries" ever kept by anyone - it's up there with Anais Nin's - One of the incredible things about Nijinsky (who lived a fascinating life - not just because he went mad, but because of what came before - he was the one who choreographed The Rite of Spring which caused a riot - he was ahead of his time - classically trained, but really a modern dancer - when there wasn't even really such a thing as a "modern" dancer" - and apparently he was not just an amazing ballet dancer, but an incredible actor and pantomime - Just look at his face here, during his performance as Petrouchka. That picture reminds me of one of Bogart's definitions of good acting: "Truth should be 6 feet back in the eyes." Look at that photo again.) Anyway, sorry, back to my point: Nijinsky is a legend - and there is only an 11 minute film that exists of him dancing. That's all that has been passed down. Everything else is word of mouth, from people who saw him live. No one who saw him live ever forgot him. But besides all of that: he obviously had some version of schizophrenia, and he kept a journal up to the moment he was hospitalized. He never got well. Apparently the diaries are wrenching to read - he truly thought that he was God reincarnated - etc etc. I am VERY excited to read them. Finally! I've been hearing about them for years. (Sadly, I just missed the run of the documentary Ballet Russes, which was playing at the Film Forum. Bummer.)

I bought all of these books for 25 bucks. That's what the Strand will get you! You just have to know how to browse and dig. I love it in there.

I walked cross-town. It was getting dark now. I love looking in people's windows. The darkened rows of brownstones, with the gleaming of yellow lamplight from within ... glimpses of tall bookshelves, or spider plants, or one random red-painted wall ... the beauty of other people's lives ... who lives there? Who are they? Just a glimpse. Then you move on.

I went to Bar 6 - a cozy little place on 6th Avenue and 13th Street which sometimes is so packed you don't want to go in there - but I arrived at 6 pm or something like that. Maybe 5:30. The place was warm, inviting, candlelit, and not crowded. I sat by the window at a little copper-topped table. I had a glass of shiraz, and piled up all my new books in front of me, leafing through this one, that one. People walked by on the sidewalk outside, scarves bundled up around their ears, girls holding the arms of their boyfriends, two parka-clad bodies huddled up together as they strolled north on 6th Avenue. It was a nice warm respite after a couple of hours outside in the cold.

Then I packed up all my stuff and headed down 6th Avenue. Yes, I was meeting my friend Jen at the Film Forum so that we could see Vertigo. I was, yet again, BESIDE myself with excitement. Jen has never seen it, so I was even MORE excited for her to experience it.

The line for ticket-holders was down the block. Which, you know, always gives me a little lump in my throat. I have been holed up in my apartment for a couple years now, watching all these old movies, writing about them on the blog, loving that ... but it is SO satisfying to see these films "out in the real world", just like going to any other movie ... to realize the huge community of people out there, just like me. It's SO satisfying. The line was down the block. The people in front of me were speaking French. The chick behind me was speaking into her cell phone, and it sounded like Russian. You know. I just had a little moment of glorying in the big ethnic MESS that is New York City. Hitchcock fans, all of 'em. A beautiful moment.

Despite the fact that Jen and I were sitting behind a man who only has a PASSING understanding of personal hygiene ... we had a great experience watching that film. Jen clutched at my arm at a couple of different points ... when she puts on the necklace ... when her body is seen falling past the window of the tower ... It was wonderful. To be with someone who had never seen it. She experienced it viscerally. And the moment when the wonderful Barbara bel Geddes has a breakdown - when she paints a self-portrait and shows it to him and he rejects it ... Stewart leaves, and for the first time we see the calm smiling unflappable Midge lose it. It's heartbreaking. Just heartbreaking. She pulls back on her own hair, with tears in her eyes, and says, "You're so stupid, stupid, stupid!" Suddenly you see beneath the surface. She is in love with him. She can only love one man and he's it. And he doesn't love her. It's a beautiful piece of acting, and it really touched me.

There were a couple of jackasses in the audience. Idiots who snickererd at the soundtrack and the special effects ... people who know nothing about film, and are smug and "over" it. The special effects were seen as completely revolutionary at the time. And the soundtrack, yes, is in a different style - but DUH - films go through many stylistic changes. That was the style then. I wanted to smack the one bitch who kept laughing. Sorry, that kind of shit drives me crazy. Ignorant. Ignorant.

It didn't TOTALLY ruin it for me but it kind of pulled me out of it a couple times. Nothing like that happened at Notorious, strangely enough. You could have heard a pin drop in that theatre. Nobody snickered, or made fun of the different style of acting ... When we laughed, it was because it was funny - not because we were making fun of it. Not because we thought old movies were "quaint". And "cute".

Oh God, don't even get me started. Ignorant laughing bitch.

Got that out of my system!!! And tonight I'm going to see To Catch a Thief with Ted and his boyfriend Michael. Can't wait for that as well!!

Then Jen and I went out to a crazy pub and had some beers, and talked like LUNATICS for a couple of hours. It was great great fun. Many funny people-watching opportunities as well.

A truly New York day.

Firsts and lasts

I think I might have done this already but I can't be bothered to go checking. Anyway, many answers will differe on a day to day basis - so here goes:

FIRSTS
First job: library page
First screen name: Believe it or not, I did not have email until I came to grad school in the late 90s. I got email through school. Soon after that, I got an AOL account - but I can't remember what that screen name was.
First self purchased CD: I'm gonna go with "first self-purchased album" because "CD" assumes that you are a certain age. What do they think I am, 14 years old? I grew up with RECORDS, baby. My first self-purchased album was ELO's "Time". See this post.
First piercing/tattoo: Ears pierced at age 15. Tattoo on the back of my right shoulder. Got it during a heat wave when I had a fever of 103. Good times, good times.
First true love: A real live person? Or a celebrity? Because, you know, with me, the lines have always been blurred. First celebrity love? Ralph Macchio. Fist real-life true love? My first boyfriend Antonio. I was 21 when we started going out. Or maybe 20. Can't remember. In a weird way, though, I don't think I loved anyone as much as I loved Keith M and Andrew - when I was 9 years old and 11 years old. There is something so INTENSE about love when you're pre-adolescent. Because it's not about sex. There is nothing to be DONE about the love. There is no conquest, there is no destination. The love itself is the destination. It is pure. It is intense. You don't love them because they're hot, or sexy. You love them because they seem PERFECT.
First enemy: Hmmm. The terrifying bitchy girls in my home room class in 7th grade, who tormented me. I still hate them, even though I know they were just pathetic losers. They crushed my soul at the time. They would not leave me alone.

LASTS
Last big car ride: Drove back to RI from NYC with Beth, Tom, Ceileidh and Conor. Fun!!
Last kiss: None of your business! But it was damn good, I'll say that.
Last library book checked out: I'm more of a book-buyer. I know, I know - I really should go to the library more. I love libraries.
Last movie seen: Walk the Line.
Last beverage drank: Coffee
Last food consumed: Two soft-boiled eggs.
Last phone call: Long conversation with Alex the other night.
Last CD played: Eminem's "Curtain Call"
Last annoyance: Waiting for my damn bus to leave the other night - it was 3 am - and my bus is so low-budget that they wait for it to be full. I was a little bit drunk, and I just wanted to get HOME. It was so frustrating.
Last pop drank: ginger ale
Last ice cream eaten: I don't really eat ice cream
Last time scolded: I first read this as "scalded". hahahaha Scolded? Oh yes. Last night. My massage therapist dude scolded me. With love. But he did scold me. I deserved it.
Last shirt worn: A black fleece thing.

I....
I AM: a Red Sox fan
I WANT: to start taking pilates classes - but I'm afraid! I know I just need to bite the bullet, and go - but I fear the learning curve.
I HAVE: been to Greece, and the Isle of Nice, and I've sipped champagne on a yacht ... Just kidding. I'll answer seriously. I have every book that Madeleine L'Engle has ever written.
I WISH: I could go back in time and see all this stuff.
I HATE: moral scolds, bigotry, close-minded fuckwads, self-righteous prigs, people who so believe they are right that you literally are unable to have a conversation with them (hm, picking up on the theme here?) I also hate coconut
I FEAR: going blind.
I HEAR: that Angelina Jolie is pregnant
I SEARCH: for that one missing sock that always disappears whenever I do laundry. Where the hell does it go??
I WONDER: who wrote the book of love. I don't know - I wonder a lot of stuff! Why do you think I have all those science books on my shelf?
I REGRET: what I DIDN'T say during a certain phone conversation with a certain man many many years ago.
I LOVE: people who are curious and enthusiastic.
I ALWAYS: sleep with socks on. I am unable to go to bed bare foot.
I AM NOT: fluent in Farsi
I DANCE: in my apartment, by myself, blaring Avril Lavigne
I SING: in the shower
I CRY: at the end of Field of Dreams pretty much every time I see it. It's this moment ... "Dad?" The guy turns slowly ... Back to Costner ... who says, "Wanna have a catch?" I'm tellin' ya - I got tears in my eyes right now. Killer moment. Perfectly executed.

YES or NO:
YOU KEEP A DIARY: Yes. Obviously!
YOU LIKE TO COOK:. Not really.

DO YOU...?
HAVE A CRUSH: Yes
WANT TO GET MARRIED: Yes. Three marriage proposals and counting!! I said "No" to two of them, and "Yes" to one ... but ... well. Obviously I'm still not married. Long story there!! And it involves John Cassavetes, which I think is just perfect. hahaha
GET MOTION SICKNESS: . No. Because then how could I love roller coasters as much as I do?
THINK YOURE A HEALTH FREAK: Kind of. Not really. I try to be conscious, and not go overboard - I don't have stuff in the house which I know will tempt me - I cook healthy stuff. But "a health freak"? I know health freaks, and I am definitely not one of them.
CURRENT HAIR COLOR: Red
EYE COLOR: Grey
BIRTHPLACE: Beantown

FAVORITES
NUMBER: 7
COLOR: green
DAY: Thursday - I've always loved Thursday
MONTH: November
SONG(S): at the moment, I would have to say "Gone" by Kelly Clarkson
SEASON: Late fall
DRINK: probably Guinness

PREFERENCES
CUDDLE OR MAKE OUT: Make out. I've never been a big cuddler.
CHOCOLATE MILK, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: I don't do chocolate
MILK, DARK OR WHITE CHOCOLATE: I don't do chocolate
VANILLA OR CHOCOLATE: How many times do I have to tell you: I don't do chocolate

IN THE LAST 24 HRS, HAVE YOU...
CRIED? Well, my eyes welled up with tears at the end of Now I can Die in Peace, by Bill Simmons which I finished last night. I mean, I didn't BAWL or anything, but I did get misty
HELPED SOMEONE? Yes. I helped out this feckin' whiny bitch on my bus who sat next to me, and had a huge 20-pack of toilet paper on her lap - which she kept moaning and groaning about - "I can't even breathe" she said to herself - but loud enough for me to hear. I finally said, "Want me to put that up front for you?" She looked at me like I was nuts - it was one of those situations where she just wanted everyone around her to know how PUT OUT she was, being smothered by her own toilet paper - and yet she didn't want to DO anything about it - so my offer of help came out of the blue - and without waiting for an answer, I took the huge 20-pack of TP, walked up to the front of the bus, and placed it next to the driver. So yeah, I helped her out, but mainly it was to shut her up.
BOUGHT SOMETHING? Yes. A biography of Clark Gable and the book One Day in September about the massacre of Israeli Olympic athletes in Munich. A documentary was made about this horror - based on this book. It is also called One Day in September. I HIGHLY recommend the documentary.
GOTTEN SICK? No.
GONE TO THE MOVIES? No.
SAID 'i love you'?: No.
WRITTEN A REAL LETTER: No.
TALKED TO AN EX?: No.
MISSED AN EX?: Yes. Every time I write about John Travolta - which I did yesterday - I miss Michael.
WRITTEN IN A JOURNAL?: No.
HAD A SERIOUS TALK?: No.
MISSED SOMEONE? Yes.
HUGGED SOMEONE? Yes. A "happy new year" hug with my massage dude.
MADE A GIRL MOAN? Good lord. No. (Not that I'm aware of anyway.)

Sports Guy on Tommy Boy

I read this column on the NFL playoffs by Sports Guy (I just finished his book last night - SO GOOD!!!!) - and in the column he is describing his own writer's block. How he just could not write this one column. His mind was a blank. He takes us through the process. And he ends up making this point about Mr. Cruise which I agree with COMPLETELY:

Desperate to clear my head, I hung out with my kid for the next 45 minutes. The kid always clears my head. Not this time. I couldn't stop thinking about those stupid games. By 5, the kid fell asleep. Miraculously, "Cocktail" came on one of the Encore channels, giving me 110 minutes of obligatory procrastination with a sleeping baby. I mean, you can't pass up "Cocktail." Not under any circumstances. Especially when it's running unedited.

Well, I finally realized something during the movie ...

One of the prevailing themes of 2005 was that Tom Cruise turned into an insane person. I made that joke. You made that joke. Everyone made that joke. But when you watch "Cocktail" again -- a movie that was released in 1988, by the way -- it becomes abundantly clear that Cruise was bonkers way back then. Just watch the "Addicted For Love"/bottle-flipping scene again, it's absolutely no different than his doing somersaults on Oprah's sofa. In fact, his performance on "Oprah" was lifted right out of this movie. They're the same guy.

Here's the point: Cruise didn't change ... we changed. He's always been crazy. He tried to tell us in "Cocktail," we just never realized it. Now we know. And the same goes for Round 1 of the playoffs. It's always been screwed up, it's always been tough to pick four winners, but the biggest difference in 2006 is that there aren't any crappy coaches or crummy QBs to make it easier. There's no Anthony Wright at home, no Jake Plummer on the road, no Mike Sherman, no Mike Martz. Hence, there are no layups. We just have to work a little harder at figuring this out, that's all. Just know that Round 1 has ALWAYS been crazy. Just like Tom Cruise.

"He tried to tell us in "Cocktail," we just never realized it."

hahahahaha I SO agree with this. He was ALWAYS nuts. Nothing changed this last year. He just was unprotected by his publicity machine, and he also is now OTVII - which makes $cientomogists take it to the next level. The LOUD and CRAZY evangelical level.

The Books: "Laughing Wild" (Christopher Durang)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Laughing Wild and Baby with the Bathwater: Two Plays, by Christopher Durang

A two-person play about two absolute wack-jobs. The woman is literally a demented person wandering the streets of NYC, laughing hysterically (laughing wild) for no reason. She has a long and absolutely HILARIOUS monologue that opens the show. She obsesses on certain things - until she goes nuts. Like Sally Jessy Raphael. The thought of Sally Jessy Raphael makes this woman ANGRY. She can't understand why she is successful, and she can't stop thinking about it. Etc. The other character is a gay man who is also filled with obsessions - only he's not as crazy. He obsesses about Chernobyl, and nuclear winter, and the end of the world ... He cannot get black thoughts out of his mind. But he just took a "personality workshop" which taught him some positive mantras - which he keeps trying to utilize to block out all of his depressing thoughts. Naturally, it doesn't work. But he keeps trying.

Eventually - these two crazy people cross paths ... Because this is Christopher Durang, things get insane, surreal - The woman and the man both have the same dream - which is re-enacted. The woman has killed Sally Jessy Raphael and takes over her show. She ends up interviewing the Infant of Prague (played by the man) - don't ask me how that happens, but it all makes a sort of bizarre sense in the context of the play.

I loved this play in college - it was one of my favorites. Mitchell and I always wanted to do this play. It's way over-done now, everyone does it ... but still. It would be fun to work on.

I'll excerpt the Sally Jessy/Infant of Prague scene because it is just TOO BIZARRE. Anytime you see the woman say: "Ahahahahahaha" that, of course, means that she starts "laughing wild".

From Laughing Wild and Baby with the Bathwater: Two Plays, by Christopher Durang

WOMAN. And then the next night I dreamt that I killed Sally Jessy Raphael.

MAN. [from offstage] And now the Sally Jessy Raphael show! [The stage transforms itself into a talk show setting. In the New York production, a section of the supermarket aisle turned around revealing a blue carpet and a blue "interview" chair; behind it was just more of the supermarket cans, but all color-coordinated blue -- blue cans of soda, blue boxes of laundry detergent, etc. Thus the setting rather than being a literal talk show became a kind of crackpot "dream" talk show, mixing up the supermarket and the TV show. The Woman discovers a microphone and red-framed glasses, which she puts on]

WOMAN. Hello. Sally Jessy Raphael can't be here today because I killed her. My aggression finally got the better of me, but what can you expect living in New York? These are her red-framed glasses, however. Do you like me in them? Now when my eyes are bloodshot from weeping or from allergies, you won't be able to tell whether it's my eyes that are red or my glasses!

This isn't my first time before the cameras you know. The late Andy Warhol discovered me, and he said I should be as famous as Edie Sedgwick. That isn't very famous, of course, but those of you who follow the East Village scene and take drugs know who I mean. Ahahahahahahahahahahaa.

I hope you don't mind if I do that, but I'm hoping to make that my signature on the air rather than these fuckin' glasses. Ahahahaha.

Let's see. Sally Jessy Raphael used to say "troops" a lot. I'll try that. Hey, troops! How are you? Do you like my glasses? That way when my eyes are red, you can't tell if I've been crying or someone's punched me! Ahahahaha. Did I tell you about my father in the baked potato? I ate him. Now, troops, I don't mean sexually, I mean I ate him cannibalistically. Ahahahaha. Just kidding about that, troops, but know that my pain is sincere.

However, our show today isn't about cannibalism and it isn't about oral sex, although Dr. Ruth is a friend of mine ... That's a lie, I hate Dr. Ruth and I hate Mother Theresa! I want them to fight to the death with chains and nuclear-fueled revolving dildos! I'm sorry ...

[calls out to technicians in the distance or off-stage] ... can I say the word "dildo" on television? What? Read off the cards? Read off what cards? [Sees something, reads from it] A E I O U. [tries to pronounce it] Aeiou? Well, that's an eye chart, not an idiot card. No, these cards are not useful. I am not an optimist. No, that's a slip of the tongue. I am not an optometrist. I am a talk show host or hostess.

Today our show is about nuclear proliferation. And it's also about the destruction of the ozone layer. And it's about sex education in the schools -- should we tell our children about condoms or just wait until they get AIDS? And it's about AIDS, and it's about society's views on homosexuality -- is it disgusting or is it delightful? And it's about the electoral college in our voting system -- should we change it, should we rethink it, should we charge the delegates to the electoral college a tuition fee? And it's about free speech versus pay speech. Should people be allowed to say what they think? Should we demand that people who talk more pay more taxes? And it's about President Reagan and taxes. Does he know what he's talking about, or is he already dead?

Anyway, it's about all these topics -- nuclear proliferation, condoms and children, the ozone layer, AIDS, homosexuality, heterosexuality, free speech, necrophilia and the presidency, and changing the electoral college -- and we have to cover all these topics in under thirty minutes! So I better stop talking and birng out my first guest. Won't you please join me in welcoming the Infant of Prague!

[Enter the Man dressed as the Infant of Prague. Now what do I mean by this? The Infant of Prague is a 17th-century artist's invention of what the Christ Child, triumphant, might look like. Catholics are familiar with the look of this -- usually in Infant of Prague statues -- found in their churches, or sometimes on dashboards. Non-Catholics usually have not heard of the Infant of Prague, but some may recognize the "look". The "look" is this: a golden-haired child (of about ten to twelve maybe), dressed ornately. The most common look has white robes, embroidered with pearls and jewels, covered with a bright red cape, with white ruffles at the neck and wrists. On the top of the child's golden curls is a great big whopping crown, of gold and red, not unlike the crown in Imperial Margarine commercials on TV. [That is, it's big and has the "ball-like" red thing at the top of it. The Infant in his left hand always carries a large orb [usually blue, and with a gold cross on top of it], and always has his right hand raised, with his first two fingers held upright, and his thumb and other two fingers folded in on one another. Since the Infant of Prague is usually a statue or sometimes a large doll whose silhouette often spreads out like an inverted "Y" due to the fullness of his robes, the New York designer chose to make the costume resemble a statue rather than a person. The robes spread out very wide to the side [on a kind of inner tubing] so that as costumed the Infant looked rather like an enormous, walking chess piece. When the audience saw underneath the Infant's robes, they saw a smooth, stretched white covering out of which two slippered feet protruded -- again, looking very much like the bottom of a statue, and not that of a human being. Anyway, that, in words, is what the Infant of Prague looks like. And that is how the Man is dressed on his entrance. The Infant's personality, by the way, as played by the Man, is sunny and beatifically unflappable.]

WOMAN. [to herself] Why am I dreaming about the Infant of Prague? I don't even know what that is.

MAN. [to audience, not in character as the Infant, and perhaps lowering his upraised right hand] I dreamt I was the Infant of Prague appearing on the Sally Jessy Raphael show, though I've never even heard of her. [The Man raises his right hand, with its two upraised fingers, and resumes being the Infant]

WOMAN. Infant of Prague, won't you sit down?

MAN. Thank you, Sally, I only stand.

WOMAN. I'm not Sally. Sally is dead.

MAN. [with sympathy] Oh. And is she in heaven with my father?

WOMAN. I really don't know. Enough chit-chat. Tell me -- "Infant of Prague" -- is that your first name?

MAN. My name is the Infant of Prague, and I am a representation of the Christ Child.

WOMAN. Really. Where do you live?

MAN. I am housed in the Church of Our Lady of Victory in Prague, capital of Czechoslovakia.

WOMAN. [a penetrating question] Where is Prague exactly?

MAN. It's in Czechoslovakia.

WOMAN. And where in Czechoslovakia?

MAN. [confused] It's in Prague.

WOMAN. Ahahahahahahaha! [to Infant] That's my signature. Do you like my glasses? They're red. That way you can't tell if roving street gangs beat me up or not.

MAN. What?

WOMAN. Never mind. Tell us, Infant, a little bit about yourself. [The Infant addresses a lot of his comments directly and happily to the audience because he is a born teacher, and because he is divine]

MAN. A statue of me was given to the Discalced Carmelites in Prague in 1628 by princess Polyzena Lobkowitz.

WOMAN. Polly who Lobka-what?

MAN. The statue was a gift from her mother, Maria Mariquez de Lara, who had brought the statue with her to Bohemia when she married the Czech nobleman, Vratislav of Pernstyn.

WOMAN. Princeton? Princeton, new Jersey?

MAN. No, not Princeton. Pern-styn.

WOMAN. Uh huh> I wonder if I have any other guests that could come on. [calls off stage] Oh, Ed? Is there anybody back there? [to herself] Who's Ed? I don't know any Ed. Oh, never mind. [to Infant] Tell us, Infant, a little about what you're wearing. [to audience] That's pretty wild, isn't it troops?

MAN. I'm glad you asked me that, Sally.

WOMAN. I'm not Sally. Sally's dead.

MAN. Then she's in heaven with my father. My inner garments are similar to the priest's alb, and are made of white linen and of lace. [proudly shows a bit of his undergarments, or beneath a ruffle]

WOMAN. Oooh, this is getting racy.

MAN. Please don't make any sacrilegious remarks or I'll have to leave.

WOMAN. I always get the difficult guests. First Eartha Kitt, and now a tea cozy.

MAN. [turning as in a fashion show] Covering my inner garments is a miniature liturgical cope, made of heavy damask, richly woven with gold and embroidered with pearls. [In the NY production, the Woman actually went out into the audience to ask her questions, rather as Phil Donahue and Sally Jessy Raphael often do]

WOMAN. Wow, you could really feed a lot of starving people with that outfit there, couldn't you, Infant?

MAN. [firmly] Most people do not eat gold and pearls, Sally.

WOMAN. Sally's dead, how many times do I have to tell you that!

MAN. Three times, representing the Blessed Trinity. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

WOMAN. [referring to the orb] What's that little paperweight in your hand?

MAN. This is not a paperweight. It is a miniature globe, signifying the world-wide kingship of the Christ Child.

WOMAN. Uh huh. Well, fine, let's move on, shall we? [a glint in her eye] Let's talk about condoms for a bit. Your church isn't very big on condoms, is it?

MAN. When people ask me, the Infant of Prague, for advice on sexuality, I sometimes think to myself, what do I know about sex? -- I'm an infant. What's more, I'm the Infant of Prague. I can't sit down, let alone have sex. [laughs goodnaturedly at his quip] But what people don't realize sometimes is that God my father has a holy and blessed purpose to the mystery of sexuality, and that purpose is to create other little infants like myself to glorify God and creation. That is why condoms are wrong because anything that intercepts -- or contra-cepts -- this process is deeply wrong.

WOMAN. Now let's get real for a second here, Infant. People are always going to have sex, and now we have this deadly disease AIDS which is killing people, and one of the ways to protect oneself is to use a condom. Now don't you think we better get practical here, and get people to use condoms? Whaddya say, Infant of Prague???

MAN. We must instruct the people at risk to abstain from sex.

WOMAN. Oh, well, fine. And we can tell the waterfall to stop falling, but is that practical?

MAN. Moses parted the Red Sea. [smiles at the audience, having made an unassailable point]

WOMAN. Uh huh. So let's get this straight -- you would prefer that adolescents die from AIDS rather than tell them about condoms?

MAN. I do not prefer this at all, Sally. Yes, I know, Sally is dead. Sorry, I keep forgetting, Sally, I would tell all the teenagers of the world to be like me, an infant without sexual urges, until they were much, much older and ready to commit to one person for life, and to glory in the sacramental beauty of sex, within marriage, where during the actual act of intercourse all you can think about is "Procreation! Procreation! I am going to have a little baby, a little infant to glorify God!"

WOMAN. Well the teenagers in New Jersey are gonna love that answer. Come on, Infant. Don't you think you're a little impractical?

MAN. The Divine is impractical, that's why it's divine. [The Infant smiles delightedly, another unassailable point. The Woman would like to kill him]

WOMAN. [to audience] We have to take a little break here but we'll be right back with more of the Infant of Prague. [ON THE AIR sign goes off; and theme music starts. Off the air, the Woman unleashes her pent-up fury and begins to pummel the Infant] YOU JERK, YOU STUBBORN SHIT, YOU EFFEMINATE EUNUCH, YOU MAKE ME WANT TO VOMIT WITH YOUR HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE! WHY SHOULD WE LISTEN TO YOU ABOUT SEX??? YOU'RE AFRAID OF SEX, YOUR IDEAS ON SEX ARE RIGID AND INSANE, AND SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE YOU KILLED! I WANT YOU DEAD! DIE, DIE, DIE! [The Infant looks startled and alarmed during this outburst. Towards the end of her outburst, one of her hits makes him fall over backwards, and the Woman dives on top of him, continuing her pummeling. The ON THE AIR sign comes back on, as does the theme music. The Woman looks out, caught in the act of straddling and beating up her guest. She gets off of him, and talks to the camera. The Infant remains on the ground, unable to stand up due to the weight of his clothes and crown. He struggles from time to time, moving his slippered feet about pathetically] Well, we're back on the air now. Ahahahahaha. Let's talk about "air", and the ozone layer, shall we? [Notices the Infant's struggling, explains to the camera] He fell down during the commercial.

MAN. Would you help me stand up please?

WOMAN. Wait a minute. Give me your opinion on the destruction of the ozone layer.

MAN. I am opposed to the destruction of the ozone layer, Sally.

WOMAN. Who did we tell you was dead?

MAN. Sally.

WOMAN. Right answer. Alright, I'll help you up now. [The Woman helps the Infant stand up. He looks disoriented for a moment] Okay. Let's go for the "gold". What about homosexuality -- is it disgusting or is it delightful?

MAN. It is a grievous sin. But I love homosexuals, I just want them to be celibate until I die.

WOMAN. Who booked this jerk on here anyway? [calls off-stage again] Ed, I'm talking to you!

MAN. Where is Sally?

WOMAN. Who is Ed?

MAN. I don't want to be interviewed by you anymore. [starts to wander toward off-stage, and to call out] Sally? Sally!

WOMAN. [takes out a gun and aims it at him] I killed Sally Jessy Raphael, and I can kill you! [shoots him several times]

MAN. It is not possible to kill the Infant of Prague. [He exits happily. She is enraged]

WOMAN. [calling out after him] I hate you, I hate you, you Infant of Prague! [to audience] I hate religious bigots. And I hate people who think they know what's right. And I hate people who are filled with hate. And I hate people who are filled with love. I wish my mother had had me killed when I was a fetus. That's the kind of person I am. Do you get it? Ahahahahahahahaha!

WOMAN'S VOICE. [on tape] My next guest today is Rama Sham Rama.

WOMAN. I don't want no fucking next guest! [shoots her gun off-stage, apparently stopping Rama Sham Rama; then calls off in the other direction] Ed! You're fired! [shoots her gun off in Ed's direction. The theme music plays nightmarishly, and the talk show set disappears or recedes into the distance. The Woman is now back in her waking-dream state again, and addresses the audience as herself once more, out of her Sally dream] Why is there so much violence in my dreams? I'm always killing people or they're killing me. The other night I dreamt I killed Sally Jessy Raphael. And then I tried to kill the Infant of prague, whoever the hell that is. Then Rama Sha Rambus somebody. I have to let go of this rage, I can't live this way anymore.

The Books: "Here" (Michael Frayn)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Here
, by Michael Frayn

Author of Noises Off, Copenhagen and the list goes on and on - this playwright just dazzles me. With his range, his thematic complexity - his ... just the fact of him.

This play Here is little known and has not been produced in the States. A good friend of mine, who is a wonderful director, had a dream to do this play - we did a couple of readings of it - I LOVE this play - I mean, I am HUNGRY to do this play - but Frayn won't release the rights. Not sure why - if another theatre company has been promised it, or if he doesn't want this play out competing with his later works - don't know - but periodically, year after year, we try to get the rights to this damn thing.

Goldurnit, I want to do this play.

I think about it and I feel this little bruise in my heart ... like I just want to do it. I wish we could do it. I would lie and steal and cheat to get to do it.

I don't know why it turns me on so much, but it does. There's something about the play that is a little bit like a blank slate ... and when you read the dialogue, you'll see what I mean. There's a Pinter-esque feel to it. Most of the important stuff is NOT said. People leave things unspoken. There are worlds of subtext. The lines are, for the most part, simple and prosaic ... but the truth beneath is just ... fantastically rich.

Even just writing about it makes me feel all yearning and wistful. grrrrr. NOBODY can love this play like I do.

Cath and Phil are a young couple. They are going to move in together. The first scene is the two of them looking at an apartment and trying to decide whether or not they like it. But you get the sense - without either of them saying a word - what is really going on is that they're both a little freaked out by commitment.

I'll excerpt from Scene 2. Cath and Phil have now moved into that apartment. They're both quietly flipping out at the closeness and intimacy.

Watch the fireworks. I'm dying to say these lines.

From Here
, by Michael Frayn

Scene 2

A mattress now occupies the center of the room, with a small TV and an alarm clock on the floor beside it. A simple table, with two chairs. By the window stands a small pot plant. On the wall, a picture or two. There are a few objects carefully arranged on the shelves, including a dozen books and the toy dog. The curtain is drawn across the alcove. Phil and Cate are sitting on the mattress, looking at the room. She is wearing a long, shapeless jumper. He has his arms round her.

PHIL. Yes?

CATH. Yes. Yes!

PHIL. Yes ... [Pause] Or ... [He gets up and goes towards the shelves]

CATH. Come back!

PHIL. What?

CATH. Don't go away!

PHIL. Just ...

CATH. What?

PHIL. This. [He moves the toy dog to a new position] Better?

CATH. Better.

PHIL. Or worse?

CATH. Better. Isn't it?

PHIL. Yes. Much better. [He returns to the mattress and puts his arms round her] Yes?

CATH. Yes!

PHIL. [looks around the room] Cath, I think ... I think ...

CATH. ... we've got it.

PHIL. I think.

CATH. I think we have.

PHIL. I think we may just possibly have.

CATH. You have.

PHIL. We have.

CATH. You did it.

PHIL. We did it.

CATH. Anyway, we're there.

PHIL. So ...

CATH. So we can just ... I don't know!

PHIL. Sit back.

CATH. Yes! sit back and ... what?

PHIL. Live. Or whatever.

CATH. Oh, love ...

[She kisses him. He looks at the shelves]

PHIL. Hold on.

CATH. What?

[He jumps up and goes back to the shelves]

CATH. What are you doing?

PHIL. Nothing. [He moves the toy dog to the floor by the bed, and the alarm clock to the shelf where the dog was]

CATH. You're moving him?

PHIL. No. I just wanted to see if the clock ...

CATH. Leave it, leave it! [She holds out her arms to him]

PHIL. Just a moment ... [He moves it again]

CATH. You had it right before!

PHIL. Yes, but I just wanted to try something ... [He moves it again] How about that?

CATH. No.

PHIL. No?

CATH. I liked him where he was before.

PHIL. What -- here?

CATH. Not there ...

PHIL. Here?

CATH. Where he was before!

PHIL. This is where he was before.

CATH. Anyway, it doesn't matter.

PHIL. Doesn't matter?

CATH. It's not going to start a world war if you put the dog there instead of there!

PHIL. It might! We don't know!

CATH. Don't be silly, love.

PHIL. Cath, we can't foresee what the consequences will be! We're standing at a crossroads ...

CATH. What -- putting it there or putting it there?

PHIL. Putting it there or putting it there -- and there's no signpost, and we can't possibly see where the two different paths lead. All we know is that whichever one we take, that's the one we'll have taken.

CATH. We can always move it.

PHIL. That won't alter the fact that it was here to start with. It will always have been here. We'll have that with us forever. Forever and ever. It's like looking up at the sky at night. We're staring into infinity.

CATH. Yes, well, I don't want to think about it.

PHIL. All right, then we won't think about it.

CATH. Do you mind?

PHIL. Then on and on the effects of not thinking about it will go ...

CATH. Yes, but let's not even talk about it.

PHIL. And if we don't even talk about it ...

CATH. I know.

PHIL. If we don't talk about not even talking about it ...

CATH. I know. I know!

PHIL. But, Cath ...

CATH. Don't. Don't. Sorry. But just don't.

[Pause]

PHIL. Cath, all I'm saying is -- we've got to take control.

CATH. Yes.

PHIL. Because here we are.

CATH. Here we are.

PHIL. Now.

CATH. Yes.

PHIL. As it happens.

[Pause]

CATH. As it happens?

PHIL. We might not be.

CATH. What do you mean?

PHIL. We might be in some other room altogether. If we hadn't seen the board that day.

CATH. Phil, don't start all this again! We did see the board that day, and that's that.

PHIL. But we wouldn't have seen the board that day if we hadn't been walking down this particular street.

CATH. But we were walking down this particular street.

PHIL. But why were we walking down this particular street?

CATH. Why were we walking down this particular street?

PHIL. We didn't usually.

CATH. No.

PHIL. So why did we, on that particular day?

CATH. I don't know.

PHIL. No. I don't know!

CATH. We just did.

PHIL. We just did. Yes. We just did.

CATH. But since we did ...

PHIL. Oh, sure. But isn't it a tiny bit ...?

CATH. What?

PHIL. I don't know. A tiny bit ... well ...

CATH. No!

PHIL. No? I mean, look. [He gets up and walks about the room] We wouldn't have been walking down this particular street or any other particular street if ... well ... if we'd never met.

CATH. Never met? What are you talking about? What is all this? We did meet, we did meet!

PHIL. Yes, but we shouldn't have met if I hadn't gone to that place where you were that day.

CATH. No ...

PHIL. And I shouldn't have gone to that place if I hadn't known that man.

CATH. All right.

PHIL. And I shouldn't have known that man if I hadn't walked up that mountain, and I shouldn't have walked up that mountain if there hadn't been a mountain to walk up, and there wouldn't have been a mountain to walk up if the rock strata hadn't been tilted the way they are, and the rock strata wouldn't have been tilted the way they are if the earth had cooled down differently five thousand million years ago, and if it had, Cath, if it had, if the earth had cooled down slightly differently five thousand million years ago, then I wouldn't be here now -- you wouldn't be here now -- you'd be sitting in some completely different room with some completely different man.

CATH. No, I shouldn't.

PHIL. Yes, you would. If you'd met someone else instead of me.

CATH. If I'd met someone else instead of you?

PHIL. Yes.

CATH. I shouldn't have fallen in love with them!

PHIL. Yes, you would. Of course you would. If I hadn't been there. You'd have fallen in love with someone.

CATH. You mean, you would?

PHIL. All right.

CATH. You'd be sitting here with some completely different woman?

PHIL. Yes! No ... [He goes back to the mattress and puts his arms around her]

CATH. You would, wouldn't you.

PHIL. No. As it happens.

CATH. Yes, you would. I know you would.

[Pause]

PHIL. I'll put it back. [He gets up and moves everything back to its original position] This was here. Yes? This was here ... All right?

CATH. No.

PHIL. Cath! I've put it back!

CATH. I don't know what you mean, it all just happened.

PHIL. I mean things happened that we didn't decide ...

CATH. But we did decide!

PHIL. In the end.

CATH. We decided about this place!

PHIL. Exactly. We took over ...

CATH. We walked down the street, we saw the board, we looked at this place, and we decided!

PHIL. Yes, so njow we've got to go on deciding.

CATH. "It all just happened"! It didn't all just happen! We made it happen!

PHIL. That's what I'm saying! We're saying the same thing!

CATH. This is us.

PHIL. Yes! So now we have to go on deciding together till death us do part.

CATH. We have gone on deciding. I don't know what you're talking about. We put this here, we put that there. [She jumps up and moves things round] We could have put this there and that here.

PHIL. We could have done. [He moves them back] But we didn't.

CATH. We still could. [She moves them back again]

PHIL. What are you doing?

CATH. We could put anything anywhere!

PHIL. Cath! We had it almost right!

CATH. We don't have to have things right! We can have them wrong if we want to!

PHIL. Yes, but we don't want them wrong!

CATH. I want them wrong! [She moves the mattress]

PHIL. Cath -- not the bed!

CATH. I want the bed here!

PHIL. You can't want it here if it's wrong!

CATH. I can! I do!

PHIL. Cath, stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

CATH. You're always telling me what I want.

PHIL. OK, you want the bed here. May I ask one simple question?

CATH. Why do I want the bed here?

PHIL. No. How do you know you want it here?

CATH. How do I know I want it here? Don't be silly.

PHIL. I'm not being silly. How, in actual fact, do you know you want it here?

CATH. I just do.

PHIL. Oh. You just do.

CATH. All right?

PHIL. All right. Fine. Wonderful.

CATH. So then the television goes here ...

PHIL. Hold on. You just know you want it here. I just know you don't want it here.

CATH. You just know I don't want it here?

PHIL. Yes.

CATH. So how do you just know that?

PHIL. I just do. The same as you just do.

CATH. But I'm me and you're you!

PHIL. Also because I know you're simply trying to make a point. Because no one in the entire world could possibly want the bed here.

CATH. Except me.

PHIL. Anyway, I don't want it here.

CATH. That's another matter.

PHIL. Cath, come on! What I mean is, we have to agree!

CATH. No, we don't.

PHIL. So how do we decide?

CATH. We can fight.

PHIL. Fight?

CATH. Why not?

PHIL. How?

CATH. Like this. [She grabs his ankle and tips him backwards onto the mattress] I've won!

PHIL. That's not fair!

CATH. So the bed goes here.

PHIL. But I wasn't ready! [He jumps up] All right. If you want to fight, we'll fight.

[They stand on the mattress, facing each other]

PHIL. All right?

CATH. All right.

PHIL. You say, then.

CATH. What do you want me to say?

PHIL. Say ready steady.

CATH. Ready steady?

PHIL. Yes ...

CATH. Go! [She grabs his ankle, and tips him backwards]

PHIL. Don't be ridiculous!

CATH. What?

PHIL. [He gets up] You can't just say go!

CATH. I said ready steady!

PHIL. You said ready steady query.

CATH. I didn't say ready steady query.

PHIL. You did!

CATH. I said ready steady go! [She grabs his ankle and tips him over backwards]

PHIL. Cath, that's cheating!

[He attemps to get up. She squats on top of him]

PHIL. Get off! Cath, will you get off me ...? I shall get angry in a minute ... You're crushing things ... Agh! Pax! Cath, I said pax ...

CATH. [she pulls the duvet up around them] We've fallen into a snowdrift! We're at the South Pole!

PHIL. Cath, stop messing around ...

CATH. The wind's howling. It's dark. We don't know where we are. [She lies full length on top of him, in the confusion of the duvet]

PHIL. What's all this?

CATH. We'll freeze to death. We'll die. The wind's blowing us away ...

[They begin to roll away off the mattress, wrapped in the duvet. There is a knocking at the door]

CATH. We're out of control!

PHIL. What's that banging?

CATH. Stop us, someone! We're going to roll off the edge of the world ...!

PHIL. Hold on ...

CATH. Help! Help!

[More knocking at the door]

Tanya's Talk Show Story

Genius. Just a genius story.

It involves:

The show they were taping was called "Girl, You May Think You're All That, But No One Will Date You Because You're Such a Bitch!"

Too many funny moments to even excerpt. I am trying to picture Tanya being "charged" on stage at Ricki Lake by a girl who had to be restrained by security.

My friend David was "on Oprah" - he asked a question and he was booed. hahaha It's actually a really funny story. He should have a T shirt made up: "I WAS BOOED ON OPRAH." (If I recall correctly - he didn't even BELIEVE in his own question - he made it wildly controversial, basically so that he would GET ON TELEVISION.) heh heh heh

Illustration

Two gorgeous posts on one of my favorite blogs about illustrator Jessie Wilcox Smith.

Here is the first post. My favorite image is the 5th one down. Just beautiful and evocative.

And here is the second post.

His archives, too, (over to the left hand side) are just goldmines.

Like this archive on Charles Gibson. Let's hear it for my Gibson Girls, and for Curly who made it possible!

And this archive on Maxfield Parrish.

But there's so much more!!

Things that make me happy

-- My new workout clothes. I went nuts and bought a TON of new stuff yesterday at the MECCA that is Filene's Basement on 18th Street. I am so excited to go work out. I stuck with the Everlast brand - which is pretty classic - and I like their stuff a lot. And my new sports bras are so awesome that I literally want to kneel at their feet (do bras have feet) and say "THANK YOU". The contortionist poses I needed to twist my body into just to get my old damn sports bras on was a major stumbling block. I would get it over my head, and part of my shoulders - but my poor arms would be trapped out to the side, and I would need to struggle and shimmy to get it on fully ... A comfy sports bra is KEY. Support is key as well. I found two awesome ones at Sports Authority.

-- going out with my friend Allison makes me happy. We had a great time last night. We went to see Brokeback Mountain and then walked down to her local pub, talking and talking and talking. We sat at a table in the back, we talked about books we were reading, we talked about the show I'm writing, we talked about the 1918 influenza epidemic (I'm reading this right now) we talked about that book Under the Banner of Heaven (which she and I read in tandem - terrifying book - I wrote a huge post about it here) - we talked about the movie - we talked about all kinds of cool stuff. It was a great night. Also, added bonus: the bartender at the Ice Bar in Dublin (immortalized here) is now in America, bartending at Allison's local. What are the odds?? Anyway, Allison said, "You remember so-and-so, Sheila - the bartender at the Ice Bar?" So funny: I remembered his face immediately. That crazy night came back to my mind. It was so nice to hear his accent. It made me long to go back there. But we had a nice chat. "A bit different from the Ice Bar, eh?" Laughter. I loved seeing him here - made me feel like an international woman of mystery or something.

-- the weather right now. Grey, and misty, and cool. A bit wet. But not outright cold. It just lifts me up, invigorates me.

-- my blue fleece blanket

-- the fact that this book AT LONG LAST is shrieking its way towards me from some used book seller in East Chapeepee. I have waited a long long time for this. I have read Klemperer's journals, I have read his scattered notes on what he called the LTI - but now I can't wait to read the whole thing. Can barely contain my impatience. Now THIS is the kind of stuff that I eat up: analyzing the language of totalitarian societies. That's what Klemperer did. AS it was happening. Phenomenal. Can't wait to read it.

-- John Travolta in Grease makes me so happy that I don't even know how to discuss it. I watched that movie the other night, and discovered, yet again, how truly incredible he is. Iconic. Fearless. Fearless. And so sexy that a generation of girls (well, and boys, too - right Mitchell?) lost their collective minds watching him bumping and grinding on top of Greased Lightning. Wonderful. It's a performance that is full of so much joy, it's so OUT there - it reminds me of Johnny Depp at his best. He is so not afraid to jut GO there, if the role calls for it - whatever it may be. I'm not talking about emotion. I'm talking about camp, or about over-the-top commitment ... Like watch Travolta dancing during the dance contest at the high school. There isn't even one half of a one-half percent of his spirit, his energy - that is not engaged in DOING what those moments call for. He is 100% THERE. He never once tips his hat, or winks at the audience, like: "haha, look at me dancing." No. He is more courageous than that. He just GOES there. That performance just makes me sooooo happy. Of course it is also completely wrapped up in my childhood - so that has something to do with it. As a matter of fact, I think I need to write a huge post about Travolta in Grease. It could be a Part II to this.

-- my new Fiona Apple CD. Yes, it's as good as everyone says. (And by 'everyone' I mean my sister Siobhan.)

The chess club

I just love everything about this post. I love how she told the story, I love the story itself ... it's wonderful.

Somehow

this seems appropriate, what with Alex's post about Lucy.

Diary Friday

This entry is from my junior year in high school.

I'm pretty much posting it here because of the first sentence. I kind of can't even laugh hard enough for how funny it strikes me ... I was completely unaware of how FUNNY I would seem to a future me.

Anyhoo. See if you can get past the first sentence.

NOVEMBER 14

I am going to Donkey Ball tomorrow at 7:30. It's a wicked fun thing where the classes compete by playing basketball on donkeys. I've never been but everyone's making such a big deal about it. It'll be fun. The band'll be there. [I was in love with DW, band president - so naturally I suddenly became a huge band afficianado.] Now I didn't know that when I bought tickets. This just makes it all the more great. I can't wait!

If you can stand it, I've got a few more DW tidbits for you! And I'm not sorry! [Who ya talkin' to, Sheila?] School is so fun now. Everything goes by so fast. Suddenly it's 4th period French. He's always in there before me. Today, though, he was right behind me. I always recognize his voice. Anyway, I came into the room and put my stuff on my desk. DW brushed past me to get to his desk. I hopped up on my desk and sat there swinging my feet. DW came by to throw something away and as he walked by, he glanced down at me and said, "I saw you at the game on Saturday, Sheila." (in a joking accusing way). My heart started going 5 million beats a milli-second. [Wow. That's so specific.] And I said, "Well, I saw you too!" That was the best I could come up with spur of the moment. I am a dumbass. Then as he walked by again, I started singing, "Duh- duh - duh - duh - deduh! Duh duh duh duh duh duh ..." [Jesus. What are you retarded, Sheila? I have no idea what that song is supposed to be.] Hearing that, he immediately stopped and looked at me. Okay, I suppose I did sing it cause I knew he would hear. Anyway, he started to his desk, singing his jazzy part. [Again with the jazzy?] I almost died. He's so musical. Really nice deep voice. I felt like throwing myself on him and saying, "You are such a good sax player!" Of course I didn't. [Glad you didn't. Also: y'know what, Sheila Teenager? You're musical too. You have a terrific singing voice. Don't make him out to be God. You're pretty awesome yourself. Just thought you should know.]

Anyway, after class - DW walked out in front of me. God, is he tall - I love it - It's getting easier and easier to just talk to him - it comes more natural. I have inklings sometimes about him, but they're embarrassing to say. [And saying "I'm going to Donkey Ball tomorrow at 7:30" ISN'T embarrassing?] He is always looking over at me. Anyway, I said, "DW!" He stopped and sort of twisted his body to look back at me. [Notice the detail. I noticed EVERYTHING. And I remember EVERYTHING. Body language, how someone stands, turns, their glances, their slight grins - Especially with guys I am crazy about. Their body language is usually emblazoned on my brain like a newsreel. I can still see how the boy I loved when I was 11 tilted his head to the side when he was writing at his desk, etc. etc. A strange phenomenon. And it was in full-blown mania stage with this DW character.] What does he see when he looks at me? Does he see anything? [Er - I hope so. You do, after all, take up space, and are made up of matter. It's not like you're a little ghostie and you call out his name - he turns around and there's nothing there!] I trotted up to catch up to him and we walked along together.

[Please try to read my first comment to DW without guffawing.]

"Is it too late to buy a donkey ball ticket?"

[I am shaking with laughter.]

He said, "Nope!" Very confident voice - not chipper - but ... he looked very - pleased, sort of. Happy. Because I was talking to him? Oh God, Sheila. SHUT UP. Anyway, I said, "Can I buy one at lunch?" "You sure can!" I love him! I love his voice! I love the way he walks, talks, smiles at me, holds his books.

Then I turned and flew lightly down the stairs to Math. When the break bell rang, I ran to meet Mere so we could go to lunch together. I assaulted her with: "LET'S GO TO DONKEY BALL! AHHHH!" [Sheila, what the hell is up with your whole Donkey Ball obsession?] Poor Mere was depressed because of BB and I was so up up up! I saw her face, sobered up and said, "Okay. Sorry. I'm serious now." I tried to keep a straight face, but a smile exploded through, which then got Mere laughing.

We went into the lunch room. There, sitting at one table, with a big donkey ball sign [I swear, if you say "donkey ball" one more time, my head is going to explode.] was DW! I had a heart attack. I attacked Mere, crying, "Oh, let's get tickets! Let's get tickets!" Mere nodded wearily. "Okay. Okay." [hahahahaha "wearily" ] She leant me some money [Good Lord. She leant me money FOR DONKEY BALL TICKETS? That is above and beyond the call of friendship duty] and I casually strolled over. [Sheila, you couldn't be casual if you tried.] He was sitting - sort of languidly - his long legs jutted out, and I came up. He glanced up, saw me, and smiled -- real smile - I love his smile - I mean, it's like trying to describe how I feel when I'm acting. I can't say it, or describe it. I just do it. I gave him the money for our tickets and he handed me the change, saying, "Thank you, ma'am! Tell all your friends!"

I can't -- I just can't -- I can't tell you how I feel!! But I know how I feel, even though I can't say it.

Expert Essay: Lucille Ball

All I can say is:

Here is the next expert essay I received. It's on Lucille Ball. It's by one of my best friends - Alex. I swear: no one on earth knows more about Lucille Ball. She writes in her essay:

It�s been deduced, that I Love Lucy, which has never been off the air since its original incarnation, is being watched somewhere in the world every 6 seconds.

You are in good hands. I am so excited for all of you - who are about to read this piece. Who are about to encounter Alex's passion for the first time.

SAVOR EVERY WORD. DON'T SKIM IT.

The Ball of Lucy

Lucille Ball was not an amusing woman. By that I mean that she wasn�t witty, she wasn�t a conversationalist, and didn�t make quick quips or bon mons. In fact, one of the funniest and most revered comics of our time was rather serious. She was serious about her life, her comedy, her producing skills, and her children. When the Arnaz�s gave parties and had people over, it was Desi who was the clown. Desi entertained, thought up charades, cooked the meals, and baba-looed his way across many a kitchen floor. It wasn�t that Lucy was a sad or a mean person, she wasn�t. She was simply the polar opposite of Lucy Ricardo. A clown on screen, not in life.

Lucille met Desi while he was performing a new Broadway show called �Too Many Girls�. They fell in love instantly. At first sight. They were married only a year after they met. They had two children, one of them being the most famous birth in Television history, and Desi spent most of their marriage drunk and screwing other women, while Lucille spent most of it absent, working, and throwing vases at Desi. It was not a happy union.

When Lucy and Desi got the idea to do �I Love Lucy� as a TV show, the sponsors balked.

�No one�s going to believe that Lucy is married to a Cuban bandleader.� They said to her in a meeting.

To which Lucille replied angrily:

�But I AM married to a Cuban band leader!�

They had to do a test pilot in order to prove to the money men that America would be fine with this interracial union. The pilot was financed by the Arnaz�s personal money. They actually mortgaged the house in order to pay for the sets. And if you�ve ever seen this episode (which is very rare), you�ll notice a very pregnant Lucy underneath the clown costume in the Tropicana scene. She�s pregnant with Lucie at that time.

The pilot went off without a hitch and was the highest rated and most critically lauded show on the tube at the time. I Love Lucy was off to a brilliant start, and continued to be a number one show for the rest of its 6 year run. In fact, most stores closed on Monday nights, and Marshall Fields in Chicago would famously hang a sign on the front doors that read:

�Sorry. We love Lucy too.�

I Love Lucy was a national phenomenon. Something unheard of now, what with all the reality shows and bug eating and switching parental units that occur, it seems almost comical that an entire country would rush home to watch one TV show. At the time though, there was no such thing as cable, no internet, and only 5 or 6 channels available. So, choices were limited, but, even if the show were to run today, I have a feeling Desperate Housewives would be running for their money. And their wigs.

It�s been deduced, that I Love Lucy, which has never been off the air since its original incarnation, is being watched somewhere in the world every 6 seconds.

The couple started off the show with good intentions. Lucy thought it was a good way for she and Desi to actually spend time together, and Desi�s career was waning, and thought it a good way to get his creative juices flowing. The first year was blissful, aside from the fact that Vivian Vance (Ethel Mertz) and William Frawley (Fred) loathed each other, the scripts were good, the producing element was top notch, and Lucy hired one of the best director�s in Television and one of the best cinematographers in films to help behind the scenes. This is one of the reasons for it�s lasting so long. The long shots, the camera movement, the ability to catch the foursome�s reactions at will all came together to help create one of the best ensemble sitcoms of this or any time.

Interestingly, Cuban born Arnaz was the genius behind the three camera set. This revolutionized American television. When a show is produced now, there are three cameras. The audience sits behind the three which are placed strategically like a triangle in order to film all the actors� reactions from every side. The director then sits atop, like God, in a booth calling which camera is to film when. They usually film for two days and take the best shots from each day. This was developed and dreamed up by Desi Arnaz himself. Before this, every TV show was filmed with one stationary camera in a studio without the laughter of a live group of people.

This literally changed Television forever.

With all this behind her, Lucille Ball began to work the magic that is, and was, completely hers.

When a new script came to the table, Lucy would read it over alone. She then would go to rehearsal with the rest of the cast. Desi was usually wonderful. Whatever he read at the table is how he read it for the entire week. He rarely changed. Frawley was the same way. Vance would go over and over the script, and with Lucy�s help, the two of them dissected what and why and how things worked. Why were they in the scrapes they were in? How, logically, could they get out of it? Where was the means to the end? Lucy was a sleuth. A smart actor. She never did anything without it making sense to her, and thus even the shows that border on the ridiculous, made sense to us. We could SEE how they would actually work. We understood why Lucy got into the trouble she got into.

Lucy also demanded that the Lucy Ricardo character would win. She would make bets with her husband about either being in show business, getting into the act, or buying the new washing machine, and in the end, Lucy always, always won. She never lost the bet. She always made it to the finish line. And the washing machine, although ending up in a ditch below Ethel�s apartment, was Lucy�s for a brief moment.

In rehearsal she was ruthless. A taskmaster of immoveable venture. She had been making movies for almost 20 years by the time the show happened so she was no novice to camera work and what it could and couldn�t do. She wanted to know where every light was, what it was doing, where the boom mike was located, how the sets helped the comedy. She needed to know everything in order for her props to work; her physical comedy could be carefully and meticulously choreographed. She and Vance would spend hours going over and over their physicality. This is evident by how precise she was, and thus how effortless it looked.

�Whoever said Comedy was easy was never very funny.� Lucy once remarked.

Lucy was funny.

She just wasn�t amusing.

Lucy was brave. The episode with Harpo Marks is brilliant. The last 15 minutes of the show is done in complete silence. Think of the last time anyone has seen a show where no one said a word.

Lucy was a clown. Her ability to throw on a mustache and simply become a different person by mere facial expressions is classic clowning. This simply isn�t done anymore. TV shows aren�t brave enough or smart enough to allow an actor to make such a simple choice. Most of the time, the characters on TV shows nowadays aren�t believable enough anyway.

Lucy was ridiculous. Her Vitametavegamin commercial is classic insanity. The fact that she gets drunk and is selling cough medicine is so utterly over the top and so beautifully and succinctly played, its fall down funny. Interestingly, this is one of the few episodes where Lucy makes several script mistakes yet they�re all left in because the scene was going so well, the director didn�t dare interrupt her. Watch it again; see if you can catch her flubs.

I love Lucy because she stood for no crap. She was tough. Everyone said so. Many hated her. As she got older she got tougher. And meaner. Yet, she was a woman in business at a time when women wouldn�t dare go near business. She had to be tough. She knew what worked, she knew how to do what she did, and she did it better than anyone else. She demanded professionalism, and when she didn�t get it she could turn into a monster. She was a woman making up the rules as she went along, and she did the best she could. She was the first female head of a major studio ever in entertainment history. She owned Desilu productions, which used to be RKO studios. She ran the entertainment world for a few years. She didn�t have time for incompetence.

But, I liked her because she made me laugh.

She made me happy.

I�ve watched Lucy every night before I�ve gone to bed since the invention of the VCR.

She is the comedienne to which all other would be comedienne�s aspire to be. She was a walking, falling, bumbling, tripping contradiction. She embodied what was funny and embraced what was tragic. She was the epitome of the American housewife, and the poster girl for the female business women. She was Lucy. And I love her.

Dear Emily

Some things are unforgivable.

Sending me the following image would go under that category.

Individuality

Member that scene in Midnight Express when Brad Davis turns against the flow of the mindless circling crowd in the Turkish prison and starts walking in the opposite direction? Thereby showing that ... er ... his human spirit, his individuality ... still exists. Or something like that?

I think that's what might be going on here.

Expert Essay: How to grill a damn good steak

I am so excited - I have received my first "expert essay" (for my expert series), and it's from Cullen - one of my newest and coolest blog-friends. His Top Heavy Metal Albums posts have been a joy to read (here's the final installment with a re-cap)

(If you feel like you're an expert in anything - send an essay on to me at redhead2@sheilaomalley.com.)

Anyway, here is his Expert Essay - included are many helpful links to other sites - always a good sign. And the last line is hysterical.

HOW TO GRILL A DAMN GOOD STEAK!

How to grill a damn good steak
by Cullen

I can grill. I grew up grilling. My dad taught me how to grill chicken and hamburgers and just about everything else. I was filling in for him by the time I was 10.

As I've grown I've experimented with different meats, times, grills, spices, sauces, rubs, marinades, woods, smokers and anything else associated with cooking outdoors. I have suffered the indignity of using hibachis and the pleasures of high-grade Webers. I have suffered complaints of my feasts being under or overcooked and I have heard pleas for more. So, I know a thing or two about searing meat. In fact, I would go as far to say that if it can be cooked on a stovetop or in the oven, I could cook it on a grill. But I digress.

Cooking a good steak is kind of an arbitrary thing. People's opinions on what a good steak is is subjective, but there are a few rules to follow that will ensure a pleasing repast.

The Meat

I should probably first state that by steak, I am referring to beef and not pork, lamb or any other meats. You can do wonderful things with those meats, but the grilling is usually a bit different. Although, you can pretty much apply what I'm saying here to lamb or veal.

One of the best things you can do, when choosing meats, is to realize that there are different grades. The levels are USDA Prime, USDA Choice, USDA Select (sometimes just "Select"), and No Roll. No Roll is not graded by the USDA. Select is the lowest USDA rating, Choice the next higher and Prime is the highest. You will not usually see Prime in stores as it is usually reserved for restaurants, but occasionally you can find them. Choice is a good buy though and it is a drastic increase in quality over Select.

Selecting the cut and preparing it is essential to having a good grilling experience. You know that a prime rib, New York strip, porterhouse, T-bone, or filet mignon are all good cuts of meat, but making a good choice of these cuts is somewhat more difficult. You need to know what kind of cut you want and what you want from that cut.

The basic rules are that a cut with less fat will be more tender but have less flavor. A cut with more fat will have more flavor but be less tender. For example, a filet mignon is a super cut that is very tender, but has less flavor than a New York strip. Or, at the economy-steak level, an eye of round will be more tender than the more flavorful sirloin.

As a rule, I prefer a more flavorful cut, but will look for one with good marbling of fat. I want little streaks, not huge, white clumps of fat. When I can afford it, I prefer a porterhouse, New York strip or ribeye. I believe these to be the cuts that best blend flavor and tenderness.

Where you live has a lot to do with what quality meats you can get. Cattle country is great, of course, and larger cities tend to have great selections by importing large quantities of good meats. Here in Georgia, I have had some pretty good luck. When I lived in Arizona, I probably had the best experiences getting great cuts on the cheap. Every store I went to there had fantastic cuts. I have no idea why this is. We lived nowhere near cattle country.

I recently did a story about meat cutters in our local commissary and learned a thing or two about cutting meat. Fist of all, I learned that a butcher is a person who provides select cuts of meat from sides of beef or other larger cuts whereas a meat cutter provides select cuts from pre-cut stock. Butchers tend to buy cattle and handle the butchering of them. I think you can get the best cuts from a butcher, but good supermarkets provide great cuts of meat and have meat cutters on hand who will cut meat to order for a small charge.

This link will take you to a site with some good information on cuts of meat and where the cuts come from. It's good FYI.

Preparing the Meat

Some folks marinate, some folks rub and some folks do nothing. It's a matter of taste. For the past couple of years I have been going through a minimalist phase when it comes to spicing my steaks. I generally use Tony Chachere's Cajun Spice. But a couple of weeks ago I visited a local general store famous for its sausage and spices and I picked up a galic and pepper-based steak spice that I am pretty fond of.

What spice you use is less important than how you use it. If you marinate, you should only do so for a couple of hours. Some people do so overnight, but this is too long and could foul up the consistency of the meat (remember, this is beef) or over-flavor it. Marinate the meat in a cool fridge for two to five hours.

Lots of people use a rub. I am one of them. I find it influences the natural flavor of the meat slightly less than a marinade but gives you that kick or subtle flavor you may want. Simply rub the spice into the meat really well. You can refrigerate the meat as long as needed, or grill it right away. Whatever spice or marinade you use, or don't use, you should always let the steak come to room temperature before grilling. This will minimize cooking time and increase the juiciness of the final product.

The Grill

What kind of grill you use is going to have a direct effect on the quality of the grilling. Charcoal, gas and electric grills are all available and can all produce decent results if you know what you're doing. If you're not using charcoal, you need to use some wood chips or chunks to help flavor the meat - the flame from gas or electric heat is not going to produce a very good flavor without that help. I prefer hickory, apple, or pecan wood for beef (mesquite is okay if you want a Southwestern style, but I prefer it for chicken or pork).

You need to make sure the grill is ready before putting the meat on. For a charcoal grill, that means that all of the coals have a layer of white ash over them. If you're using wood chunks, the wood should be soaked in water for at least an hour before putting it on the fire. I grew up with a five-gallon bucket always full of water and wood. Nowadays I use a cast iron smoke box that I put soaked wood in. The fire is ready for the wood when you see the white ash on the coals.

For the gas and electric grills, you know their ready to cook once your wood chips/chunks start smoking. For both these types of grill I highly recommend a smoke box. Also, both types of grill should have lava rocks to help even out the heat.

The grate/grill itself should be directly over the fire the entire time (put the grate on right after you light the coals) to get it nice and hot. It will sear those nice grill lines on your meat.

Now, here's my secret that's not really that much of a secret, I am a zone cooker. On a charcoal grill, in my kettle-grill Weber, I pile all the coals up against one side. Instead of spreading the coals out, I leave them there creating a searing and cooking side of the grill. You can accomplish this with a gas grill by using the top rack and your heat up and down. You can accomplish this with an electric grill by not having any lava rocks in a certain area and covering the electric element on that side with the lid of a cast iron pot or Dutch oven (but, really, the electric grill isn't going to get hot enough to sear very well).

When your meat is ready and your coals, etc. are ready, you should perform one last step before putting the meat on the grill. Take a folded napkin, dip it in vegetable oil (melted butter, etc), take the napkin in a pair of tongs and rub the cooking surface of the grill. Make sure to get it on there good so the meat doesn't stick to the tines. You can use Pam or something, but this way you don't get any flare up and if you do it right before you put the meat on the oil doesn't burn off.

Put the steaks directly over the searing side of the grill or have the heat set high on your gas grill. Sear the steak for about 35-45 seconds a side. This helps lock the juices in. Move the steak to the cooking side and cover the grill. Cooking time depends on how thick the steak is and how you like your meat cooked. I prefer medium to well done.

If I have a porterhouse, and I want to cook it medium, I would cook the steak about 4 minutes per side, on the cooking side of a covered grill. This is going to be somewhat trial and error and you can use a meat thermometer to help you gauge. Some people use the finger-poke method - the more give the meat has, the more rare it is - but this is also going to be trial and error.

Once you take the steak off the grill, let it sit for five to ten minutes before you pierce or cut it. This helps the juices to settle. If you cut or pierce it to early, you release all the juices and will make for a much drier steak. This is true for any meat you cook anywhere. You should always allow at least five minutes of cooling down before cutting into any meat.

The Final Analysis

I've grilled steaks a lot of different ways and have found this to be the best. Not that you can't get good results using different methods, but this method, to me, has the greatest degree of control. Let me know what you think and if you have good results. Oh, and if you don't use charcoal, you're a heathen.

The Books: "Lovers" (Brian Friel)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Lovers, by Brian Friel - which, actually - has two parts - two separate plays - one being called "Winners" and one being called "Losers". The following excerpt is from the "Winners" part.

A sad sad play. Not only is the plot sad, but the structure of the play adds to the sadness. It is the story of two Irish teenagers - Joe and Mag. They are 17. She is pregnant. They are going to be married in 3 weeks. They sit on top of a hill and study for their final exams. Mag is a chatter-box, not interested in school. Joe is serious, and kind of burdened down by his life - he needs to do well on his exams so that he can get a good job.

Two other characters - Man and Woman - sit off to the sidelines of Joe and Mag's scenes and occasionally, the lights will go down on Joe and Mag and come up on Man and Woman, who both hold open books in their laps - They sometimes refer to the books as they speak - as they tell the ending of the story. Joe and Mag end up disappearing - the town searches for them - and finally, their drowned bodies are found on the shore of a nearby lake.

So as we Joe and Mag fighting and laughing and studying on the hill - we know that something dreadful happened to them. We know it from the beginning of the play - because it opens with Man and Woman describing the events, almost like a police report. The knowledge that this time up on the hill is the last day Joe and Mag will be alive colors the entire play. It's really sad.

You can see that Joe and Mag have "relationship issues" - he feels trapped into marrying her, he's scared of her pregnancy, she feels lost and alone - she wants to talk, he doesn't - she tries to force him to share his feelings - but then occasionally, the problems will melt away and they'll start laughing like little kids about something.

A sad play - it has the feeling of a Greek tragedy - the same sort of inevitability. You know that the ending will be bad - because the Man and Woman keep coming in and reciting facts, like an obituary in a newspaper - but you can't help but hope that everything will work out.

Here's a scene where Mag lies asleep on the hill and Joe starts opening up to her. Of course he can only do so because she is asleep.

From Lovers, by Brian Friel

MAN. On Tuesday, June 21, a local boy was driving his father's cows down to the edge of Lough Gorn for a drink when he saw what he described as "bundles of clothes" floating just off the north shore. He ran home and told his mother.

WOMAN. The police were informed, and Sergeant Finlay accompanied by two constables went to investigate. The "bundles" were the bodies of Margaret Mary Enright and Joseph Michael Brennan. They were floating, fully clothed, face down, in twenty-seven inches of water.

MAN. A post-morten was held in the parochial hall at 7:00 pm that evening.

[Joe has returned. He speaks with a dignified sincerity]

JOE. Mag, there is something I never told you. And since you are going to be my wife, I don't want there to be any secrets between us. I have a post office book. I have had it since I was ten. And there is £23/15/0d. in it now. I intend spending that money on a new suit, new shoes, and an electric razor. And I'm mentioning this to you now in case you suspect I have other hidden resources. I haven't.

[He cannot maintain this tone. He continues naturally]

And I was working out our finances. The rent of the flat's two-ten. That'll leave us with about four-ten. And if I could get some private pupils, that would bring in another -- say -- thirty bob. We can manage on that, can't we? I mean, I can. What about you?

[Looks down at her]

Mag? You asleep, Mag? How the hell can you sleep when you have no work done! Maggie? ... [He kneels beside her and looks into her face. He gently puts her hair away from her eyes. He straightens up as he remembers the word Caesarean] Dictionary. [He gets his own dictionary and searches for the word] Cadet ... cadge ... Caesar ... Caesarean, pertaining to Caesar or the Caesars -- section -- an operation by which the walls of the stomach are cut open and ... [shocked and frightened] ... Cripes! [Reads] -- as with Julius -- oh my God! If I see you on that bike again I'll break your bloody neck! As with Julius -- good God! Maggie, are you all right, Maggie? Oh God, that's wild, wild! Sleep, Mag, that's bound to be good for you. [He lifts her blazer and spreads it over her] There. God almighty! Cut open. [Takes the blazer off] Maybe you'll be too warm. God, I'd sit ten exams every day sooner than this! Don't say a word, Maggie; just sleep and rest! That twenty-three pound fifteen -- it's for you, Maggie. And I want you to -- to -- to squander it just as you wish: fur coats, dresses, perfumes, makeup, all that stuff -- anything in the world you want -- don't even tell me what you spend it on; I don't want to know. It's yours. And curtains for the window -- whatever you like. God, Mag, I never thought for a minute it was that sort of thing!

[He looks closely at her] Mag. [whispers] Mag, I'm not half good enough for you. I'm jealous and mean and spiteful and cruel. But I'll try to be tender to you and good to you; and that won't be hard because even when I'm not with you -- just when I think of you -- I go all sort of silly and I say to myself over and over again: I'm crazy about Maggie Enright; and so I am -- crazy about you. You're a thousand times too good for me. But I'll try to be good to you; honest to God, I'll try.

[He kisses her hand and replaces it carefully across her body. Then with sudden venom] Those Caesars were all gets!

[He takes an apple from one of the lunchbags, gets out his penknife and peels it. As he does he talks to Mag even though he knows she is asleep] I hope it's a girl, like you; with blonde hair like yours. 'Cause if it's a boy it'll be a bloody hash, like me. And every night when I come home from Skeehan's office I'll teach her maths and she'll grow up to be a prodigy. I saw a program on TV once about an American professor who spoke to his year-old daughter in her cot in four different languages for an hour every day; and when the child began to talk she could converse in German, French, Spanish and Italian. Imagine if my aul fella looked down into our wee girl's cot and she shouted up to him "Buenos dias!!" Cripes, he'd think she was giving him a tip for a horse! I hope to God it's a girl. But if it's twins I'd rather have two boys or two girls than ...

[He glances shyly at Maggie and trails off sheepishly when he realizes he has fallen into her speech pattern]

... D'You hear me? That's the way married people go. They even begin to look alike. Wonder, is old Skinny Skeehan married? I bet she looks like a gate-post ... Your father, Mag, my God, he's such a fine man. And your mother -- I mean she's such a fine woman. I remember -- oh, I was only a boy at the time -- I remember seeing them walking together out the DublinRoad; And I thought they were so -- you know -- so dignified looking. I'd like to be like him. God, such a fine man. And so friendly to everyone. You're lucky to have parents like that ... My aul fella -- lifting the dole on a Friday -- that's what he lives for. She laughs and calls him her man Friday; but I don't know how she can laugh at it. And to listen to him talking -- cripes, you'd think he was bloody Solomon. How can he sit on his backside and watch her go out every morning with her apron wrapped in a newspaper under her arm -- Honest to God, I don't know how he does it. I said to her once, you know; called him a loafer or something. And you should have seen her face. I thought she was going to hit me! "Don't you ever -- ever -- say the likes of that again. You'll never be half the man he is." Loyalty, I suppose; 'cause when you're that age, you hardly -- you know -- really love your husband or wife anymore ... Did I ever tell you what he does when there's no racing? He has this tin trunk under his bed; he keeps all my old school reports in it. And he sits up there in the cold and takes out the trunk and pores over all those old papers -- term reports and all, away back to my primary school days! Real nut! I know damn well when he's at it 'cause I can hear the noise of the trunk on the lino. And once when I went into the room he tried to stuff all the papers out of sight. Strange, too, isn't it ... You know, we never speak at all, except maybe "Is the tea ready" or "Bring in some coal." ... Sitting up there in that freezing attic, going over my old marks ... Maybe when I'm older, maybe we'll go to football matches together, like Peadar Donnelly and his aul fella ... I don't like football matches but he does; and we wouldn't have to speak to each other -- except going and coming back ... Three years is no length for a degree. And I think myself I'd be a good teacher.

[Mag speaks but does not move or open her eyes. Her voice is sleepy]

MAG. What time is it?

JOE. Quarter to two.

MAG. Call me at half-past, will you? I have a bit of revision to do.

JOE. A bit! You've done nothing! [Mag has dropped off again] Mag!

MAG. Mm?

JOE. That's all right! You go ahead and sleep! But I'm tellin gyou; if I die of a heart attach and leave you with a dozen kids, you'll be damned sorry you haven't your GCE ordinary levels! [Mag sits up and stares at him. He goes on defiantly] I'm just being practical. Nowadays you're fit for nothing unless you have an education. And you needn't stare at me like that; any qualification is better than nothing. You'll always get some sort of job. Hennigan that teaches us PT -- that's all he has -- is GCE. And I'm telling you, I wouldn't give a shilling for your chances at the moment!

MAG. And the children?

JOE. What children?

MAG. Who's going to look after the dozen children when I'm up at St. Kevin's teaching physical jerks?

JOE. Oh, you're very smart.

MAG. And where, may I ask, did the round dozen come from all of a sudden?

JOE. Cut it out, will you? YOu know what I meant.

MAG. Indeed I do. And if you think I'm going to spend my days like big Bridie Brogan --

JOE. Who's she supposed to be?

MAG. She's married to a second cousin once removed of Joan O'Hara's --

JOE. God, I might have known! If there's anyone I hate --

MAG. -- and after her third baby the doctor told her she'd die if she had any more; but her husband was an Irish brute and she had a fourth baby ---

JOE. And she died.

MAG. She didn't die, smartie. But she lost her sight. And then she had a fifth baby --

JOE. And she died.

MAG. -- and she went deaf. And she couldn't watch after the sixth. And after the seventh she had to get all her teeth out --

JOE. Sounds like the Rose of Tralee.

MAG. And by the time she had ten --

JOE. Her husband died laughing at her.

MAG. She developed pernicious micropia.

JOE. Pernicious what?

MAG. I'm not in the habit of repeating myself. Anyhow she's thirty-three now and --

JOE. You made that word up.

MAG. I did not.

JOE. You did, Maggie.

MAG. I did not.

JOE. Say it again, then.

MAG. I told you -- I'm not in ---

JOE. Pernicious what?

MAG. You're too ignorant to have heard of it. My father came across frequent cases of it. I don't suppose your parents ever heard of it. [As soon as she has said this, she regrets it. But she cannot retract now. Joe's banter is suddenly ended. He is quietly furious.]

JOE. Just what do you mean by that?

MAG. What I say.

JOE. I said, what do you mean by that remark?

MAG. You heard me.

JOE. You insulted my parents -- deliberately.

MAG. I was talking about a disease.

JOE. You think they're nobody, don't you?

MAG. You were mocking me.

JOE. And you think your parents are somebody, don't you?

[Mag picks up a book, opens it at random, turns her back to him, and begins to read]

MAG. I have revision to do.

JOE. Well, let me tell you, madam, that my father may be temporarily unemployed, but he pays his bills; and my mother may be a charwoman but she isn't running out to the mental hospital for treatment every couple of months. And if you think the Brennans aren't swanky enough for you, then, by God, you shouldn't be in such a hurry to marry one of them! [As soon as he has said this, he regrets it. But he cannot retract now.] You dragged that out of me. But it happens to be the truth. And it's better that it should come out now than after we're married. At least we know where we stand ... [His anger is dead] Margaret? ... Maggie? ... [stiff again] Well, it was you that started it. And if you're going into another of your huffs, I swear to you I'm not going to be the first to speak this time. [He picks up a book, opens it at random, turns his back to her, and begins to read]

WOMAN. At the post-mortem on the evening of June 21, evidence of identification was given by Walter Enright. He said that the body recovered form Lough Gorm was the body of his daughter, Margaret Mary Enright.

MAN. Michael Brennan identified the male body as that of his son, Joseph Michael Brennan.

WOMAN. Doctor Watson said that he examined the bodies of both the deceased. There were no marks of violence on either, he said. And in his opinion -- which, he submitted, was given after a hasty examination -- death in both cases was due to asphyxiation.

MAN. Mr. Skeehan, the coroner, asked was there any evidence as to how both deceased fell into the water. Sergeant Finlay replied that there was no evidence.

WOMAN. A verdict in accordance with the medical evidence was returned. Mr. Akeehan and Sergeant Finlay expressed their grief and the grief of the community to the parents. And it was agreed that the inquest should be held as soon as possible because the coroner took his annual vacation in the month of July.

Isaac Newton!!

There are a couple of books I've been working on for a while - they're the kinds of books it seems okay to just dip into, put down for a while, and pick back up again ... Some books aren't like that you know!

One of these books is the biography of Isaac Newton by James Gleick - sent to me by peteb. Thank you!!

What a fascinating man. I knew nothing about Newton the person - just knew his laws of motion, and the apple falling, and all that stuff that everybody knows. I know him because of the biographies I've read of Einstein and all the quantum physics shit I struggle through. Newton, of course, is a major player in all of that.

But here's some more about him from the biography:

Solitude was the essential part of his genius. As a youth he assimilated or rediscovered most of the mathematics known to humankind and then invented the calculus -- the machinery by which the modern world understands change and flow -- but kept this treasure to himself. He embraced his isolation through his productive years, devoting himself to the most secret of sciences, alchemy. He feared the light of exposure, shrank from criticism and controversy, and seldom published his work at all. Striving to decipher the riddles of the universe, he emulated the complex secrecy in which he saw them encoded. He stood aloof from other philosophers even after becoming a national icon -- Sir Isaac, Master of the Mint, President of the Royal Society, his likeness engraved on medals, his discoveries exalted in verse.

"I don't know what I may seem to the world," he said before he died, "but, as to myself, I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me."

I don't know. Just makes me wanna cry, you know?

Einsten wrote:

Fortunate Newton, happy childhood of science! Nature to him was an open book. He stands before us strong, certain, and alone.

There are many things that do not knock me flat on my ass anymore ... no matter how amazing the fact of them ... they no longer have the power to stun me into total stillness.

There are many things that I am "over".

Isaac Newton ain't one of them.

Expert Essay: Paul Westerberg/The Replacements

(If you feel like you're an expert in anything, and if any of these essays spark up some ideas - send them on to me at redhead2@sheilaomalley.com. Description of the project here)

The next (and last) essay from the last time I did this Expert Series is a kick-ass piece of writing. I just re-read it now, and still got goosebumps. It's by my brother. It's about The Replacements.

EXPERT ESSAY: The Replacements - by Brendan O'Malley

Whenever I hear people talk about how the '80's sucked, I have to argue. How, you ask, could you argue for a decade that spawned all those horrible songs that we all know by heart even though we hate them?

The answer to that question dates back to a rainy night I spent driving around my hometown. I had just gotten my driver's license and it was late at night. I remember the streets being rain soaked, sparkling. It was cold. And I was a teenager. An American teenager.

I was raised listening to the Beatles, folk music, and show tunes. A few years earlier, I'd been wrenched into puberty by Purple Rain but this night I discovered the underbelly of that blockbuster. I was listening to the local college radio station, something I had only recently been doing because I hated hair bands and synth pop. I heard a song.

For those of you who haven't heard 'Unsatisfied' by the Replacements, your shame ought to crush you. I won't dwell on that particular song only because it launched my lifetime musical obsession, but suffice it to say that the Replacements sound like what it feels like to be 16 and driving a car late at night on rain soaked streets in America.

To give you an idea of how ballsy, hilarious, tragic, sexy, wasted, and brilliant this band was, they named their third album 'Let It Be'. Paul Westerberg, the poet rock'eate of the band said that if it was good enough for the Beatles, it was good enough for them. This album is so good that it is better than the Beatles 'Let It Be'. Yes, I said BETTER THAN THE BEATLES.

In fact, if you took the Beatles, smashed their tour bus into the Rolling Stones' hotel (crazy sidenote...listening to my itunes randomly and the Beatles 'Let It Be' came on just this second so maybe their 'Let It Be' is better than the Replacements)

Where was I? Beatles bus, Stones hotel, then sent them to American high school, gave them shitty fast food jobs, stuck them in the most disaffected era of American history in the midwest where you pretty much had to kill someone to get noticed, fed them a steady diet of cigarettes, cheap booze, punk rock, and the explosion of the mass media culture...well, you get the drift. The result is

ASTONISHING MUSIC...

Some highlights...

Color Me Impressed: Begins with the lyric "Everybody at your party/They don't look depressed/Everybody dressin' funny/Color me impressed" while the music careens like a joyride.

Androgynous: A jazzy piano shuffle that imagines a time in the future when men and women are virtually indistinguishable. Remember, this was a punk band. This was akin to Bob Dylan going electric at Newport. Piano? Androgyny?

Bastards of Young: A searing scream at the adults who'd abandoned them..."God, what a mess/On the ladder of success/When you take one step/And miss the whole first rung/Dreams unfullfilled/Graduate unskilled/Beats pickin' cotton and waitin' to be forgotten" (the band, when forced by their record company to produce a video for the song, filmed a kid putting the needle on the record, listening to the entire song, then kicking the speaker in)

Gary's Got a Boner: This was on the same album as Androgynous. Contains the gem "Gary's got a soft-on!"

Treatment Bound describes an early tour through the neighboring cities of Minnesota and ends with someone banging on beer bottles.

Waitress In the Sky: An hilarious, nasty attack on the poor souls who serve us as we fly..."Sanitation expert and a maintenance engineer/Garbage man a janitor and you my dear/Re-unified attendant myohmy, you ain't nothin' but a waitress in the sky"

OK, I could literally go on forever. The lead singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg is on a par with Dylan, Lennon/McCartney, Chuck Berry, Costello, Joni Mitchell, ah, fuck that noise. He crushes them.

If you listen to every release, you hear a nation going from Christopher Cross to Kurt Cobain. The man behind the curtain was Paul.

-- by Brendan O'Malley

EXPERT ESSAY: Hey-the-Irish-Relatives-Are-In-Town tour of New York City

Here is yet another one of the old "expert essays" I received the last time I did this. (If you feel like you're an expert in anything, and if any of these essays spark up some ideas - send them on to me at redhead2@sheilaomalley.com. Description of the project here)

This one makes me laugh.

EXPERT ESSAY: Hey-the-Irish-Relatives-Are-In-Town tour of New York City,
by Anne

My Irish relatives come to visit me from time to time, and I have, through trial and error, established a plan of attack for the city. This tour is really geared toward Irish people, who have certain things they need to do and see in New York, many of them involving the Kennedys, but it may work for others as well.

These are the highlights:

1) The "You're in New York now, baby" opening move. I always get tickets for some shocking play or other, often involving nakedness. This makes the Irish relatives feel like they've really left their small town behind. I took one batch or other to the Vagina Monologues (back when they were new), and I remember going to some show or other about a very large woman who posed as an artist's model, who was naked onstage for most of the performance.

2) The Jackie O mini-tour, in which I point out her apartment building at 1040 Fifth Avenue; pass by Loyola and/or St Thomas More, the Kennedy family churches; duck into the park to give them a brief glance at the Reservoir, where she used to run every morning (adding that hey, I used to run there too, in high school); and show them the apartment building where I once ran into her in 1982.

3) The John Jr mini-tour, usually involving brunch at Bubby's and tales of my many sightings of him. I also breathlessly recount the one time I spoke to him on the phone.

4) The obligatory St Patrick's Cathedral visit.

5) The Tenement Museum and/or Ellis Island, so we get to see how much it sucked to be an immigrant.

6) The Woodside/Sunnyside pub crawl, always featuring a stop at The Kilmegan on Roosevelt Avenue, where they invariably run into people who know my uncle Owen.

7) A visit to my favorite non-Irish bar, where they will buy everyone drinks, making themselves and me very popular for years to come.

8) At least one restaurant with really spicy food, so they can say, "I didn't know food could be this hot."

And, tacked on at the end, everything else you're supposed to do as a tourist in NYC.

--- by Anne C

Expert Essay: The Martini

This is one of the most popular expert essays I ever posted. I actually have used this as a guide when I want to make a martini - which isn't often - but it is good to have these guidelines when you DO want one.

(If you feel like you're an expert in anything, and if any of these essays spark up some ideas - send them on to me at redhead2@sheilaomalley.com. Description of the project here)

And without further ado:

The Martini
by Skillzy

"When I have one martini, I feel bigger, wiser, taller. When I have the second, I feel superlative. When I have more, there's no holding me" - William Faulkner

The martini has long been recognized as the premier power cocktail, associated with big names and classy joints. Names like Hemingway, Sinatra, and Bond. James Bond. Nothing goes better with a white dinner jacket and bowtie than a "silver bullet". Unfortunately, in recent years, the rise of the "martini bar" has cheapened and desecrated the reputation of this beloved drink. It started out innocently enough, substituting vodka for the requisite gin. But that lapse in judgement opened the door to bizarre mutations using various liqeurs and a rainbow of colors, all attempting to pass themselves off as martinis. Serving raspberry-flavored vodka and amaretto in a martini glass does not make a martini. It's simply a waste of a clean martini glass.

Part of the beauty of the martini is its simplicity. But in the right hands, these few items can be transformed into a creation greater than the sum of its parts, the king of cocktails, the very essence of cool. You'll need the following:

GOOD gin (I prefer Bombay Sapphire)
Dry Vermouth (Martini & Rossi works fine)
CRUSHED ice, the finer the better
A cocktail shaker, preferably with a shot measure for a cap
Martini glasses (a MUST)
Olives for garnish

This is all you need. Optional items include curvy blonde, yacht, Walther PPK, and tuxedo. Despite the current trends in casual clothing, please dress appropriately when enjoying martinis.

Fill the martini glass with ice to chill it, and fill the shaker halfway with ice. Add 3 parts gin and one part vermouth to the shaker - I usually use the shaker cap for this. Place the cover on the shaker and shake gently 4 or 5 times, until frost begins to form on the outside. Take the glass, dump out the ice, and strain the martini into it, leaving the ice in the shaker. Add an olive or two and serve. Shards of ice should be evident in the drink. A key to a good martini, along with using top-shelf gin, is serving it as cold as possible.

About the only room for variation is in the ratio of gin to vermouth, ranging anywhere from 2:1 to just adding a splash of vermouth to the gin. I suggest that you experiment to find the ratio that's right for you. By the third one, it won't really matter anyway. If you really want to go wild, get some of those big olives stuffed with jalapenos or almonds to put in your drink.

Now for a few don'ts. Don't mix martinis in a big pitcher, despite what you've seen in the movies. They don't get cold enough, and the ice melts and waters things down. Martinis should be hand crafted in small batches, and consumed quickly. This is why Bond liked his shaken, and not stirred. And a martini should never be served on the rocks. If someone should ever try to serve you a martini in a rocks glass full of ice cubes, it is perfectly acceptable behavior to toss the drink in their face and proclaim them a "cretin". They're probably just trying to water down the taste of that rotgut gin that they bought in a plastic gallon jug at the Liquor Barn. Don't stand for it.

It is up to each and every one of us to help restore the dignity and reputation of the traditional martini. Never pass up an opportunity to set the unbelievers straight. I'll leave you now with some good advice from the immortal Steve Allen - "Do not allow children to mix drinks. It is unseemly and they use too much vermouth."

Expert Essay: HOW TO TIE A CHERRY STEM INTO A KNOT IN YOUR MOUTH

This one particular piece gets a steady stream of traffic from Google searches on an almost daily basis.

It is obviously a coveted skill.

(If you feel like you're an expert in anything, and if any of these essays spark up some ideas - send them on to me at redhead2@sheilaomalley.com. Description of the project here)

And now!!

EXPERT ESSAY: HOW TO TIE A CHERRY STEM INTO A KNOT IN YOUR MOUTH,
by Wavey P.

Preamble: Now this is not meant to be sexual or anything. I dedicated myself to perfecting the ‘art’ of tying a cherry stem into a knot in my mouth because I was always so sure it would win a bet for me in a bar someday (just like knowing all of the words to ‘Devil Went Down to Georgia.’ It was my favorite song in third grade and my family lived in Texas at the time. I would play the 45 over and over. I still remember looking around for my mom with nervous excitement, riddled with guilt by association every time the Charlie Daniels’ Band actually swore, “I done told you once, you son-of-a…” but I digress…a lot…)

Ok.

Disclaimer: Reading this essay will not guarantee that you will master the ‘art’ of tying a cherry stem into a knot in your mouth. Some physical abilities we are just blessed with (like being a redhead, or being able to roll your tongue). But I want to encourage anyone who with an interest to try and try again.

What you will need: A cherry stem. Feel free to go ahead and eat the cherry, or you can save it as a reward once the deed is done.

Now this may be considered cheating if you are participating in a cherry stem tying contest, but try to secure for yourself as long a stem as you can find.

Step 1: Chew on said stem a bit to soften it up, but do not break it.

Step 2: Using your tongue, fold the stem in half in your mouth. (In fact, use your tongue for all of the following steps unless instructed otherwise)

Step 3: Cross the ends of the stem, one over the other

Step 4: The tricky bit. Clamp the end on the bottom between your front teeth.

Step 5: Poke the other end through the rabbit hole (keep visualizing how you tie a knot with your hands).

Step 6: Keeping the one end still clamped between your teeth, press the other end to the roof of your mouth. Slide the end wedged against the roof of your mouth toward your throat in order to ‘tighten’ the knot.

Ta-da! Now go and collect your prize. Next step, time trials!

-- by Wavey P

Expert essay: How to make a damn good Bloody Mary

See my Expert Essay project description below. I am re-posting some of the beautiful essays I've received the other times I've done this Expert Essay thing.

The following essay is by Carrie, of Broom of Anger - This one is really fun because I actually got to try her delicious Bloody Marys when I visited her in Belfast. That was a total treat. So here is her essay entitled: How to Make a Damn Good Bloody Mary.

How to Make a Damn Good Bloody Mary

Kathy at Kate and Pansy wishes she drank Bloody Marys. I love Bloody Marys. The Apartment does the best Bloody Mary in Belfast, although cocktail bars in the city center are always springing up and I haven't tried them all yet. Usually, though, if you ask for a Bloody Mary, you get a glass with a bit of vodka in the bottom, a tiny bottle of tomato juice, and some white pepper and salt. Tabasco if you're lucky. Not good. The Apartment however does a real kick ass BM. Of course, the best BM is the one I make at home, which I'm real tempted to make now even though it's not just past noon. I got all the ingredients out to take the snap and they are taunting me.

So Kathy linked to a basic BM recipe which is good to start with. As you make more Bloody Marys you'll vary it and go by your own tastes. Here's what I do. I put salt and ground black pepper on a little plate for putting on the top of the glass. Rub some lime juice on the rim of the glass before dipping it in the salt and pepper mix. It's usually a good idea to do this first, before you put any liquid in your glass. Now, I like my Bloody Marys so I use a pint glass but then again I don't mess around. Plus it's the sort of drink you can take around with you for a bit. You know, wander from the living room to the kitchen and back again.

Anyway. Lime juice, I usually get a bottle of it from the baking section in the grocery store to have on hand when I don't buy fresh limes. As you can see in the photo, though, I have fresh limes. This is because the other day I made me some guacamole and I had to buy avocados for that which are in the produce section the same as limes and guacamole tastes good with a squirt of lime in it but even better than that I found some Mexican beer in the liquor section so I had to buy limes. I was so happy. But I digress. It's handy to keep a bottle of lime juice in the fridge for Mexican emergencies like when you get a hankering for salsa or you have a bunch of ready salted crisps on handy and you want to make some hot-sauce-lime-juice crisps. This is a treat that I learned from an old boyfriend who was from Mexico City where you could get a bag of Ruffles chips sprinkled with Tapatio hot sauce and lime juice from guys selling them on the street along with hot corn and the like. Not like a guy hustling spicy crisps - "Psst, hot crisps, hot crisps" a la some sort of narcotic trafficker, but like those street traders who sell all sorts of stuff from fresh fruit to roasted corn to tacos to spicy chips.

I should really write a recipe book because it would turn into a novel. Like Water for Chocolate except not.

So you've got your glass edge with lime juice on it rolled into the salt and pepper - the juice makes the S & P stick to the glass. Now you get your can of V8 tomato juice. Another reason I like to use a pint glass is that I don't have to measure anything when I use a tin of V8 cause it is the perfect size. I prefer V8 - which I hated as a child and still won't drink on its own, I mean, tomato juice? Bleech - because it's a bit tastier than straight tomato juice. At this point I sometimes like to put my salts and peppers in, because I find the tomato absorbtion of it is real nice (I do this with my salsas too. Have you ever had a salted tomato? It's real good, especially when you give the salt a few seconds to set on the tomato. So I reckon the same concept works with salsa and Bloody Marys). You want to use Celery Salt, regular salt, maybe a little bit of garlic salt and/or onion salt (if you like it, you don't have to put them in) and a bunch of ground black pepper. Stay away from that namby-pamby white pepper that you find in every salt and pepper shaker here. What's up with that? Give me some real earth-shaking pepper, man.

So then you pour your vodka in. Put as much or as little as you like. Mix it up a bit. The add your Worcestershire sauce. I like a lot of it. And then tabsaco. I like a lot of that, too, but less than the Worcestershire. Mix again. Taste. Add more salt and pepper. Taste. Add more Worcestershire or Tabsaco. Squeeze a drop or two of lime juice in. At this point, you may want to add some ice or maybe you've already put the ice in before you put everything else in, depends on how you like to do it.

For fun you can add other hot sauces, such as the Tapatio I use or perhaps the fantastic Chiplote Tabasco sauce which will give it a nice smoky flavor.

Garnish with celery. If you got green olives and like them, put some of them in, too. You can also throw in some of the fresh lime you have left over from juicing the edge of the glass. Don't forget to eat the celery as you drink! The thing with the celery is (and why it's good to have celery salt in the drink), is that it gives a real nice contrast in taste to the drink. Try it, you'll see. And it's handy as you're drinking to use the stalk to push the salt and pepper from the rim of the glass into the drink and stir it around a bit.

So there you go. How to make a fabulous Bloody Mary in the comfort of your own home. Enjoy.

The resurrection of Expert Day

So this is something I have hosted here a couple of times - what I call The Expert Series. Archive here.

Everyone out there is an expert in SOMETHING.

Be it: making the perfect cheese cake, how to fix your carburetor, tips on how to get your kids out of the house in the morning - all on schedule, how to construct your resume ... or, something along the lines of: An Obsessive's Guide to Bob Dylan/U2/Madonna ... or An Obsessive's Guide to Persian Poetry, to The Boston Red Sox ... "I am an Expert on the films of Judy Garland" - "There is nothing new you can tell me about Kurosawa". Etc.

There's a wealth of random knowledge out there and I want my hands on it.

I love people who are obsessed with things. Who are passionate about things.

It does not matter what you are passionate about, as long as you are passionate about SOMETHING. (There are limits to this, obviously. If you are passionate about setting up killing fields in the rice paddies of Cambodia, then I don't really want to hear from you the best way to go about it.)

There are certain topics where I can pretty much safely say that I am an expert. Whether or not I have my PhD in said topic is irrelevant. I am an expert in the life and works of LM Montgomery. I am an expert on the films of Cary Grant. I am an expert on the Manson murders. I am BECOMING an expert on the workings of a certain cult. I am an expert on the life of John Adams. I know more about all of these things than your average human being, and if I start talking about these things, I feel like I will never stop unless someone FORCES me to.

So anyway, I would like to host another round of Expert Essays - If people would send me essays on their obsessions/the subjects which they are "experts" on ... I will post them in an ongoing series. If you're interested in this, please send me your "expert essay" in an email to redhead2@sheilaomalley.com - and I will begin to post them immediately.

I'll post a couple of the Expert Essays I've received in the past - there are some real gems in there.

But anyway: send me your expertise!!

Nostalgia

One of my favorite quotes is from Nancy Lemann's book The Fiery Pantheon:

She had a nostalgia for a life she had never lived.

May sound strange, but if you've ever had that feeling you'll know that she expressed it perfectly.

Here's a great post on Surviving Grady - about the 1966 and 1967 Red Sox yearbooks with some classic photos, and even funnier commentary.

I've always felt this game got a little less interesting after the jetpack ban of '74.

hahahaha

I have a nostalgia for that time as well ... even though I didn't even exist yet. Or ... barely existed. I was right on the cusp of existence there.

Explain America

Please go to the comments section of this post where Sal asks the question:

You have to explain America to someone from not here, but you can only use ten movies to do it. Which ten do you choose?

(Now, these do not have to be history movies, they can illustrate something unique about American values or character or “the American experience”.)

How fun is that?? Go and see people's choices - and go add your own.

I'll put mine here:

1. Casablanca
2. Field of Dreams
3. Running on Empty
4. His Girl Friday
5. Citizen Kane
6. Bonnie and Clyde
7. Taxi Driver
8. It’s a wonderful life
9. Woman of the year
10. Election

But then I had to re-think it - and I have to say that I think Apollo 13 should be on my list - so sadly I have bumped off Running on Empty although I think that film illuminates an extremely important part of the American psyche. EXTREMELY. (Not to mention it being in my perpetual top 5 films of all time - along with Empire Strikes Back, Fearless, and Only Angels Have Wings. Other films come and go off my Favorite Films list - but those always stay at the tippity-top.)

As you can see, I chose films that show the positive side (Field of Dreams) - and also the dark side (Taxi Driver). Because you cannot understand America without understanding both elements.

Such a great question - and I LOVE people's choices so far. So go add your choices to the list.

I love that someone put Groundhog Day on their list!

Moulin Blue

(I stole that title from the former RTG (miss your blog, woman!!)- who sent me the following link) - LOOK AT THAT SCARY BEAUTIFUL THING.

Barbie Violence

I would like to add my "DUH" to Serenity's "DUH".

Serenity reminisces over the fun she had with her Barbie:

Barbie’s house burned down, she flew off a cliff, (couch), in her van after the brakes failed, she drowned in her pool, she recreated the hilarious (albeit painful) ski jump accident we all saw at the opening of every “Wide World of Sports” program and sometimes Barbie would have the shit beat out of her or get shoved down the stairs by Miss America Barbie, the dark haired competitor.

I dropped her out my bedroom window, (on the second floor), just to see what would happen. I popped her legs and arms off, dyed her hair, cut her hair, decapitated her and she was left with a lot of marks made from a black marker to resemble bruises from her various mishaps.

Exactly. That "wide world of sports" reference is such a generational milestone - You have to have been born at a certain time to have seen that ski-crash - 5 gazillion times. It was "the agony of defeat". I still remember the music as that poor skier wiped out.

The fact that a study has been done, and that people seem baffled that little girls mutilate their Barbies, and these same people feel the need to psychoanalyze the behavior obsessively, can be put under the file heading: People Being Shocked That Little Girls Are Also Human And Not Just Sugar and Spice.

Who is shocked by this revelation?

Idiots, that's who.

More Hitchcock

This Saturday I'm seeing Vertigo on the big screen and this Sunday I'm seeing To Catch a Thief on the big screen.

CAN'T WAIT!!

I'm not sure if I can say this definitively - seeing as I have this really personal love for Notorious and North by Northwest - but I think that Vertigo may be Hitchcock's best film. As in his most perfectly realized idea.

I am soooo excited. It's SUCH a great flick. And I'm taking someone who, unbelievably, has never seen it before. Which will be even MORE exciting!!

The Books: "Sylvia" (AR Gurney)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Sylvia, by AR Gurney. We are really coming close to the end now of my first bookshelf. Amazing. This project is going to take forever. I'm enjoying it - I espeically enjoy it because I get to reacquaint myself with all of the books I have. I'm realizing, too, that there are gaps in my library. Stuff I need to rectify. For example: no theatrical library is complete without some Edward Albee in it. I also have no Sam Shepard in my library - and although I think 98% of his plays are crap - the other 2% are not - I love True West and Fool for Love - they are important plays, and I need to have them. I also have no David Mamet. This is not good. I need some Mamet. I had not realized I had these gaps until I went through the whole collection. Gotta get on that.

So. Gurney's Sylvia

FUNNY play. I would loooove to play Sylvia.

The plot is this: Greg and Kate are married and have been married for 25 years or something like that. They have grown children, blah blah. They have lived in the suburbs their whole lives - but now that their kids are grown, they have moved into Manhattan. They're at a transition in their marriage. Greg's career is a bit stalled - while Kate's career (she's a teacher) is starting to heat up. In the middle of this - Greg finds a stray dog in the park - she has the name "Sylvia" on her dog tag. Sylvia is played by an actress. We get the inner monologue of the dog. SO FUNNY. It's not like it's a talking dog. Sylvia is just barking. But we, the audience, hears what she's really saying. Greg actually does have conversations with her - in-depth conversations - but Sylvia could be just barking in response - and Greg FEELS like they are having a deep deep talk. Sarah Jessica Parker originated this role. It would just be so fun to do, I think! Sylvia starts to drive a wedge between Greg and Kate. The tensions in the marriage come to the forefront. Kate starts to see the dog as a rival. Greg clearly prefers hanging out with Sylvia to hanging out with her. But in the scene I'm about to post - Greg also has some jealousy issues, in regards to Sylvia. He wants to be the only "man" in her life. The whole thing is ridiculously funny - but also very touching and real.

I just love the thought process of the dog.

This scene takes place in the park. Sylvia has a "crush" on another dog named Bowser. Greg and Bowser's owner Tom, watch Sylvia - who is "playing" offstage with Bowser.

From Sylvia
, by AR Gurney

GREG. Sylvia's having a ball out there.

TOM. Life of the party, isn't she?

GREG. She's been to the beauty parlor again. [Both watch]

TOM. Or else she's in heat.

GREG. Naw.

TOM. She may be.

GREG. What makes you think so?

TOM. The way she carries her tush. [They watch] Did you ever get her spayed?

GREG. Not yet. I took your advice about waiting. [They watch] Is Bowser fixed?

TOM. Nope. It's different.

GREG. Is it? [They watch]

TOM. Call her. See if she'll come.

GREG. Of course she'll come.

TOM. Not if she's in heat.

GREG. [calling] Sylvia! ... Sylvia, come! [to Tom] See? She's coming immediately. [Sylvia comes on]

SYLVIA. Hi, Greg! [to Tom] Hello, Tom. Did I ever tell you how fond I was of Bowser?

GREG. You're not in heat, are you, sweetheart?

SYLVIA. Me? Naw. No way.

GREG. Didn't think so.

SYLVIA. [to herself] I just feel like fucking, that's all.

TOM. She seems to be asking for it.

GREG. She's just being affectionate.

SYLVIA. [to herself] I want to fuckie-fuck-fuck.

TOM. I think she's definitely in heat.

GREG. It's just natural affection.

SYLVIA. May I go now?

GREG. Sure, Sylvia. Go play.

SYLVIA. [going off] Hey Bowser! Ready or not, here I come! And I want to fuck toot sweet! [She runs off. Pause]

GREG. You may be right. She may be in heat.

TOM. I think she is.

GREG. What do I do if she is?

TOM. Keep her inside.

GREG. With my wife?

TOM. Then send her away.

GREG. My wife?

TOM. Sylvia!

GREG. I'm not going to send her away.

TOM. Just for the duration.

GREG. Out of the question.

TOM. Then keep her on a leash at all times. And don't bring her into the park. If you let her loose, you're just asking for -- [Looks out] Uh oh.

GREG. What?

TOM. Where's Bowser?

GREG. Where's Sylvia? [They look around]

TOM. Look. Over there. Behind that bush.

GREG. Shit.

TOM. I told you!

GREG. [starting off] I'll break it up!

TOM. Too late. They're locked.

GREG. I don't care. I've got to --

TOM. You'd hurt her.

GREG. But ...

TOM. Hey, Greg! Think about her for a change! This is her big moment! What has she done for most of her life? Lie around in an apartment. Take an occasional walk at the end of a leash. Give her this, at least. Let her have something to remember. [They stand watching]

GREG. That bastard.

TOM. Who? Bowser?

GREG. He raped her.

TOM. Come off it.

GREG. Bowser raped Sylvia!

TOM. She asked for it! She shoved it right in his face!

GREG. [grabbing Tom by the shirt] Listen, fella. You're talking about my ... [Lets go] dog.

TOM. See? See what we're doing? We're thinking of them as people.

GREG. Right. [They watch] Oh Sylvia ... Sylvia ... Sylvia ...

TOM. After this, you should have her fixed.

GREG. And you should have Bowser neutered.

TOM. Nope. Sorry. It would ruin his personality. There's a major difference between castration and just having your tubes tied, Greg. Think about it.

GREG. [poking him in the chest] I see. So once again, the women of this world are being asked to suffer the consequences of male aggression. Oh boy, I'm tellin gyou. I'm learning a lot about life these days.

TOM. Cool it, Greg. [They watch]

GREG. Do these things always take?

TOM. Not always.

GREG. I almost wish it would.

TOM. Why?

GREG. Sylvia'd make a wonderful mother.

TOM. It's tough having puppies. Particularly in town.

GREG. But I'd be there for her. I'd pitch right in. I'd build a special box for her, with newspapers and a blanket and get right in there and give a hand. It would give us more in common. Hey, when Kate and I had our kids, I pulled my weight, let me tell you. I helped feed them, and change them, and give them their baths. And on Sunday mornings, we'd bring them into our bed, and we'd all hunker down under the covers. I'd do the same with Sylvia and her pups. Why we'd all ... Together we'd ... Why, we'd ... [He runs out of steam. Pause]

TOM. You're sick, man.

GREG. I know it.

TOM. Get her to the vet. First thing.

GREG. Right.

TOM. And get yourself to a shrink.

GREG. Mmmm.

TOM. [looks out] Well. [Watches vicariously] Looks like they're done. [checks watch] Hey. It's late ... [stretches, flexes, lights a cigarette] Come on, Bowser! Let's go, Big Guy! Shake a leg, O Studly One! [he goes off proudly, smoking]

GREG. [calling after him] You macho bastard! [Greg kicks the ground angrily. After a moment, Sylvia comes on. Pause. They look at each other] Well, well.

SYLVIA. You speaking to me?

GREG. Have a good time out there?

SYLVIA. I believe it's time to go home.

GREG. I said, did you have a good time?

SYLVIA. I'd prefer not to discuss it.

GREG. Do you like Bowser?

SYLVIA. Who?

GREG. You know damn well who. Bowser. That big guy with his tail up, heading home.

SYLVIA. [looking off] Oh him.

GREG. Do you like him?

SYLVIA. It's really none of your business, Greg.

GREG. Oh no? Seems to me out there you made it everybody's business.

SYLVIA. Look, Greg. I happen to be exhausted.

GREG. I'll bet you are.

SYLVIA. I am tired, I am hungry, and I am not going to stand around this park discussing ancient history. What happened between me and Bowser is over and done with. It was just a fling, Greg. Just a dumb, silly fling. We both got temporarily carried away. Now, let's leave it at that.

GREG. Will it happen again?

SYLVIA. What do you mean?

GREG. Are you still in heat, Sylvia?

SYLVIA. [rubbing her back against something] I refuse to recognize that expression. I find it somewhat demeaning.

GREG. You are, aren't you?

SYLVIA. I'm not saying I am, I'm not saying I'm not.

GREG. Seem sto me a little operation is in order.

SYLVIA. Which means?

GREG. Never mind, but I'm calling the vet first thing.

SYLVIA. That sounds like you plan to punish me.

GREG. No, no.

SYLVIA. It certainly sounds that way.

GREG. It's for your own good.

SYLVIA. Oh yeah, sure. Tell me another.

GREG. I just wish you could exercise a little more self-control.

SYLVIA. May we change the subject, please? May we get on with our lives? [taking the leash, handing him his end] May we make some attempt to move towards home. I happen to be quite hungry.

GREG. I'll bet you are. Let's go. [They start off. Suddenly she stops]

SYLVIA. Hold it.

GREG. What?

SYLVIA. [jumping onto the bench] Get a load of that dalmatian over there.

GREG. What about him?

SYLVIA. Look at the balls on that guy!

GREG. Let's go, Sylvia.

SYLVIA. On second thought, maybe I want to stay.

GREG. [pulling at her] Jesus, you're a slut, Sylvia. You're a promiscuous slut. It's under the knife for you, kid. First thing.

SYLVIA. You're jealous, aren't you?

GREG. Not at all.

SYLVIA. Yes you are. You're jealous!

GREG. I am not! I just happen to think you can do better, that's all!

SYLVIA. Yeah, yeah, yeah ... [They exit]

Creepy dad Simpson

I found myself watching an E True Hollywood Story called: Joe, Ashlee, and Jessica Simpson. It must have been done before Jessica and Nick broke up - because it ended with no reference to it - and ended with Jessica and Nick continuously talking about how strong their marriage was, and how they tried not to listen to the tabloids.

But my main concern - the thing I was mainly struck by - was the overwhelming creepiness of that father.

I don't know how to say it without sounding all Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse melodramatic - but I was listening to him talk in some interview he gave - and I felt like I was looking at the face of sheer evil.

Not because he seems evil. Or because he cackles with maniacal glee. Oh, no. He is a person of the lie. He is open, friendly, seemingly a good guy - but deep down? There is something WRONG in there. There is something MISSING.

Nothing wrong with trying to make a buck. But the way he talks about his daughters - the way he objectifies them - I'm not talking about sexually or anything - it's just that he seems to look at them and see dollar signs. He is able to say with complete certainty who Jessica is, who Ashlee is - in terms of their marketing potential - He can "promote" them because he has no love for them. They are money-making machines. And again, that's fine, good for them - but at what cost to that family? He can't stop.

There was a section where he described "pitching" the Newlywed show to MTV. It was his idea, his brainchild. Now ... I don't know ... maybe I'M nuts ... but the fact that he wanted to capitalize on his daughter's marriage is creepy. Where was Jessica's say in all of this? She seems like a pretty down-to-earth girl, kind of silly, unselfconscious - I'm not saying that show wasn't entertaining. It was. But ... it just creeped me out - hearing Joe Simpson describe how he "pitched" Jessica as the star of a TV show to the executives. You'd have to hear it to know what I'm saying.

There's a difference between a father being completely appreciative of his daughter's sense of humor, her heart, her funniness - whatever - and seeing those good qualities and thinking: "How can I make a buck off of this?"

What will happen if those girls have off years?

The Newlywed show put such heat on Jessica and Nick's marriage that it is now ended. How does Daddy Simpson live with that? I am sure he is trying to find yet another money-making angle of his now divorced daughter. Jessica in Divorce Counseling! Whatever. The fact that her life was torn apart by HIS IDEA - is immaterial to him.

Also - I have to quote my sister Jean - during Ashlee's year of hell, my sister Jean said something like: "She should be walking through the halls of high school, talking on her cell phone, and doing her homework. She has no business being in the limelight."

I will admit to liking that "La La" song - but again: as opposed to just letting his daughter develop maybe in her own way - No, that would not be fast enough for Daddy Joe, and it also might not be lucrative for HIM. He needed to control it. So whaddya know - he pitched a reality TV show again, this time surrounding Ashlee recording her first "album". Now - I got no beef with reality TV. I enjoy a lot of it. I find it relaxing and fascinating to watch. But something about his insistence on airing his daughters' dirty laundry - is gross. Dude - give them some privacy. They may want to be celebrities as well - it sounds fun to be famous!! But Ashlee was thrust onto this national stage - by that father - and whaddya know - she fell on her face so badly that her flub-ups will be referenced forever. The SNL debacle - being booed at the Orange Bowl ... I don't fault Ashlee for ANY of that. So what that she wants to be famous? Does that mean she SHOULD be? How 'bout - oh, I don't know - SENDING HER TO COLLEGE?? He doesn't care about any of that stuff. Her father wanted to make a buck off of Ashlee too - so he thrust her out onto this stage, and in no way was she ready for any of that. She paid no dues, did not know how to sing (live or otherwise) - it was unfair. It was unfair to do to her. You know, being a live singer actually takes some - you know - skill - and it also takes practice to get good at it. He just thought that he could "market" her to death and no one would notice that she had no talent. Then - when she failed miserably on SNL - he comes out and makes some creepy statement about "acid reflux". He is just FAR TOO INVOLVED in every little BURP his daughters utter. BACK OFF, evil man.

I can't help it: I am fascinated by what goes on behind closed doors in that family. WHO IS THIS MAN??

Also - he has a little earring in his left ear, and I just found that even more creepy.

Yup.

The face of evil. People of the lie. He's one of 'em.

Cookie and Alex

Hey - did you know that Stevie has a blog now? Well, he does. It's about time!!! No, just kidding. Stevie has been making insightful funny beautiful comments on my site (and on Alex's site) for over a year now - we both just love him. He "went away" for a couple weeks - meaning: disappeared - because, after all, we are only cyber-friends - and Alex shot me a worried email: "Have you heard from Stevie lately??" We love his comments. They always ADD. You know? That's how I think of it. His comments ADD. He never tries to hijack the conversation, he knows a LOT - but when he shares his knowledge - it never comes across in a snotty condescending way -- he's just a peach, basically. I also love that he gets as excited about old movies and classic old actors as I do. He's got a kick-ass memory - he has shared stories from his own life here - and the DETAILS - the things he remembers - I just think he's terrific.

And so please read this family fable, written by Stevie. Beautiful. He's just a wonderful writer - it's all in the details.

Example:

Everyone was loud, funny, talkative, and had a zest for life. It was the roaring 20's and they exemplified the times - they were enthusiastic, ambitious and always ready to have a good time. There was a great deal of food and a great deal of fun whenever they got together. They made their own entertainment. Alex would recite "Casey at the Bat" complete with hand gestures and hilarious schtick; Kathryn sang in a rich contralto and mimicked Catherine Cornell in scenes from "The Barretts of Wimpole Street." Her younger sister Edythe was a contortionist who had appeared in Vaudeville. The carpet would be pulled back and Edythe obligingly performed her amazing Dance of the Seven Veils while older sister Janis pounded out "The Shiek of Araby" on the spinet. A conga line was always a possibility, and the sisters could be persuaded to demonstrate the latest dance steps from Radio City Music Hall. It was big, rambunctious fun in those days - the Kaiser had just had his ass kicked in the war to end all wars, and the future was brighter than ever.

Go read the whole thing.

The call of the fleece

Yesterday was bitter cold, with freezing driving rain towards the end of the day. The sky before the rain came was low, and heavy-looking. I did a ton of laundry, wheeling my cart through the freezing streets, and everything suddenly seemed quite wintry and still. It was January 2. Nobody seemed to be at work (they all were doing laundry). The dry cleaners was closed. BUMMER. I finished doing all my laundry, came back to my apartment - the drapes were semi-closed (my gorgeous drapes which continue to make me happy!! Thanks, Mum!) - and it looked like it was 10 o'clock at night outside. A strange and quiet dark dark day. Manhattan looked gloomy and soot-ridden across the Hudson - but the Hudson itself gleamed iridescent silver. The whole day was like that - strange dramatic images, startling, contrasts.

The PMS, she has me in her grip - it'll all be over by tomorrow - but the first two days are always horrific no matter how many Motrins I pop. All I felt like doing was lying in bed, wrapped up in fleece, reading Now I can Die in Peace, and occasionally moaning, and stretching like a cat - which I feel helps get rid of the cramps.

But I hauled ass out into the cold, did the laundry, and as a result felt holy and pure.

I still struggled with the desire to dress head to toe in fleece and crawl into bed, moaning, but no. I proceeded to put away all the clean laundry. Amazing!

Then my phone rang. It was Jen. She said "Wanna come over and watch a movie?"

Unbelievably, I said, "Sure! I'll just take a shower and come right over."

Jen is in Manhattan. It's hard to describe how - even though NYC is right across the river - it does take some effort to get your ass into town. At least it does for me, in my old age. If you call me at a 7:30 on a Saturday night, and say, "Hey, we're meeting up at such-and-such in an hour or so - wanna come?" - I will probably say no. Once I'm home, I'm home. Hard to explain. Once I cross the river home, it would take something like a Russell Crowe sighting to get me back into Manhattan at short notice. As in: "Omygod, Russell Crowe has just joined our table - he's buying drinks for everyone - GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

So strangely enough - I said yes to Jen's invite. Despite the overwhelming desire to be encased in fleece and to lie moaning under my covers, popping Motrins into my mouth like candy.

An hour later, I was at her door. I can't describe how much this kind of behavior is not in my personality. Yes. I am rigid in my ways. I am a homebody. And I'm not all that spontaneous. But for whatever reason - yesterday - I broke the pattern. Despite the fact that I YEARNED for fleece-age. We went right back out again, into the freezing driving rain, to buy some wine. I had brought my complete Office series - thank you, Lisa - Jen had never seen it - and I was so excited to show some of it to her. I just knew she'd love it.

So we sat on the couch - actually I lay on the couch - so that I was still able to moan, if I felt like I needed it, and stretch like a cat - (Jen's a good friend - we don't stand on ceremony with each other) - and we drank wine, and we talked, and laughed, and caught up - and then had a GLORIOUS time watching a couple of episodes of The Office - which I just KNEW she would "get". On a deep deep level. She GETS stuff like Spinal Tap - not just that it's funny - but that it is feckin' GENIUS. It's almost too perceptive to even laugh at - even though so much of it is just howlingly funny. So that was fun. Within 2 seconds of David Brent talking, she just gasped. "Oh my God." Halfway through the first episode she said, "Does it ever get less embarrassing?" "Uhm ... no. It actually gets more embarrassing." (I was thinking of this episode.)

Jen also just couldn't believe how funny Gareth was. His babbling about the territorial army and how he could make poison darts out of frogs or whatever - Jen was just shaking with laughter beside me.

It's so fun to SHOW stuff you love to other people, isn't it? I had to force myself to just sit back (or in my case: lie back - like a damn beached whale) - and let her experience it on her own - without getting all in her face, "ISN'T THIS HYSTERICAL??"

Then we watched a film that hasn't even been released yet - but Jen's stepfather is in SAG so he gets advance copies of tons of films - but anyway - it's a movie starring Anthony Hopkins called The World's Fastest Indian - and I have to admit, it didn't really sound like my thing, although I love Anthony Hopkins. Turns out - it has the same ol' sports movie formula that I find so compelling, and so potentially wonderful. It's just that the story here is this guy whose one dream in life is to break the land-speed record with his 1920s era Indian motorcycle.

It's a movie based on Burt Munro - a legend in New Zealand - and, I'm sure, a legend to motorcycle-lovers everywhere. Or bigger than that: speed demons everywhere.

All I can say is: when it comes out, SEE IT!!

It's not perfect - there are some cheesy elements - and I could have done without the soundtrack altogether - there was music below almost every scene - which made me feel like those in charge thought that we wouldn't "get it" otherwise - very irritating - but the STORY!! Of this GUY! Burt Munro (at least as he is portrayed in the film) was the type of guy who could get other people enthusiastic about his pet projects. That was one of the most moving things in the film. I can't really describe it - but Jen and I were just so moved by it. He was a mad mechanical genius, tinkering away in his garage, alone - but when it came time to actually get to America, and get to Utah, etc. etc. - he needed to be resourceful, creative, improvisational - and along the way, his journey to get to the speed races - he meets all these people - who help him, or get excited about what he's trying to do. You start to get the sense that this guy is an amazing man.

Diane Ladd has a great cameo of a woman he meets along the way - a straight-talking woman who lives out in the middle of nowhere - He needs a part for his motorcycle - it busted along the way - so he approaches her, with that same openness he approaches everyone else - and she happens to have this whole welding apparatus in her garage, and she lets him use it .... Lovely connection made - lovely little scene.

There's the hitchhiker he picks up - a young kid in uniform about to go off to Vietnam - a kid who gets completely caught up in Burt's excitement.

There's the serious-eyed little kid at one of the gas stations - who stares at the Indian - which is tied to the back of Bert's truck - the kid is just mesmerized. He says up to Bert, bluntly, "Is this a rocket?" Something about his face - you just love him.

There's the Native American man - complete with long braids - who picks Bert up off the side of the road, after an accident involving a wheel falling off the motorcycle. This guy - this random character - who is only in one scene - You just love the guy. He doesn't seem to be an actor. He really seems to be just a real-life person, strolling through the action of the film. That's one of the strengths of the films - the people you meet along the way.

I love the big loud Texan guy, chomping on a cigar, who TOTALLY gets psyched about Burt and his crazy motorcycle, and he just wants to BE there when Burt sets the record. He stands in the background, wearing a cowboy hat, a loud Hawaiian shirt, chomping like a lunatic on his cigar - and you just want to hug him. For just being so cool.

I particularly LOVED the transvestite receptionist at this cheesy motel Munro stays in. God. Who IS that actor? Just the warmth, the ... sweetness ... She is a receptionist at a fleabag hotel - and she dresses like Jackie Kennedy. She sees that Burt is a fish out of water in Los Angeles - he has never been to America before - and instead of throwing him attitude, or being impatient with him - she takes him out to breakfast. It's unexpected sweetness, because Munro also encounters a lot of obstacles along the way, a lot of people who think he's nuts, who think he's a moron ... But she believes in him. She helps him out.

I highly recommend you see this movie when it comes out. Yes. There is some cheese. But a little cheese never hurt no one.

And Jen and I ended up cheering at the end of the film - in the climactic moment. Cheering and clapping.

A wonderful movie. But really what it is is it's a great STORY. That's why one can overlook the cheese. And the goofy soundtrack. Because they've got a great STORY here.

I even forgot the PMS.

I lay on my back on the couch, and yes - I still did moan, on occasion, because I just had to - but the rain battered against the windows, the living room was warm and dry - and I was so so glad that I wasn't home. Glad I just said "Yes" to her spontaneous invite.

Glad I ignored the call of the fleece.

"It is no bedtime story"

Today is the birthday of JRR Tolkien. He was born in South Africa on this day, in 1892.

I love that picture - mainly because it was the author photo on the back of my dog-eared copy of The Hobbit - read multiple times when I was a kid. I still have that same copy.

So in honor of Mr. Tolkien, I'll post some of his letters - I went through a huge Tolkien phase during the LOTR mania. I know some of you LIVE in that mania - and have no "phases" with Tolkien - it is just one long obsession. This is awesome. I happen to not share it - but I understand it. (See: Cary Grant.) I read all of Tolkien's letters - which are absolutely WONDERFUL. Addictive stuff.

So here are some excerpts. Enjoy! Some of them are QUITE long. But I think they are worth it.

And raise a glass of ale this evening, in honor to a writer who has given us all so much!! What an imagination! What a mind!

I'll start with perhaps my favorite of all of his letters.

The German publishing firm of Rutten & Loening contacted Allen & Unwin in 1938 (the publishers of The Hobbit) and wanted to negotiate with them for a German translation of the book. But first and foremost, they wanted to know if Tolkien was of "arisch" origin. (Aryan) Tolkien wrote a brief note to Stanley Unwin, saying that he wanted to refuse to give them an answer - He didn't want to add to "the wholly pernicious and unscientific race-doctrine" by comfirming or denying. However - he didn't want to ruin his chances of The Hobbit being read in Germany. He submitted to Mr. Unwin two drafts of letters to the German publishers, and left it up to Unwin to decide which one to send.

Here is one of the drafts:

25 July 1938
To Rutten & Loening Verlag
Dear Sirs,
Thank you for your letter ... I regret that I am not clear as to what you intend by arisch. I am not of Aryan extraction: that is Indo-iranian; as far as I am aware noone of my ancestors spoke Hindustani, Persian, Gypsy, or any related dialects. But if I am to understand that you are enquiring whether I am of Jewish origin, I can only reply that I regret that I appear to have no ancestors of that gifted people. My great-great-grandfather came to England in the eighteenth century from Germany: the main part of my descent is therefore purely English, and I am an English subject - which should be sufficient. I have been accustomed, nonetheless, to regard my German name with pride, and continued to do so throughout the period of the late regrettable war, in which I served in the English army. I cannot, however, forbear to comment that if impertinent and irrelevant inquiries of this sort are to become the rule in matters of literature, then the time is not far distant when a German name will no longer be a source of pride.

Your enquiry is doubtless made in order to comply with the laws of your own country, but that this should be held to apply to the subjects of another state would be improper, even if it had (as it has not) any bearing whatsoever on the merits of my work or its sustainability for publication, of which you appear to have satisfied yourselves without reference to my Abstammung.

I trust you will find this reply satisfactory, and remain yours faithfully

J.R.R. Tolkien

It just makes me want to cheer.

Letter of JRR Tolkien to Allen & Unwin, his publisher, 31 August 1938:

"I have begun again on the sequel to the 'Hobbit' - The Lord of the Ring. It is now flowing along, and getting quite out of hand. It has reached about Chapter VII and progresses towards quite unforeseen goals. I must say I think it is a good deal better in places and some ways than the predecessor; but that does not say that I think it either more suitable or more adapted for its audience. For one thing it is, like my own children (who have the immediate serial rights), rather 'older'. I can only say that Mr. [C.S.] Lewis (my stout backer of the Times and T.L.S.) professes himself more than pleased. If the weather is wet in the next fortnight we may have got still further on. But it is no bed-time story."

Hahaha I love that: "getting quite out of hand".

Letter JRR Tolkien wrote to his son, Michael, in June of 1941:

"People in this land seem not even yet to realize that in the Germans we have enemies whose virtues (and they are virtues) of obedience and patriotism are greater than ours in the mass. Whose brave men are just about as brave as ours. Whose industry is about 10 times greater. And who are - under the curse of God - now led by a man inspired by a mad, whirlwind, devil: a typhoon, a passion: that makes the poor old Kaiser look like an old woman knitting.

I have spent most of my life, since I was your age, studying Germanic matters (in the general sense that includes England and Scandinavia). There is a great deal more force (and truth) than ignorant people imagine in the 'Germanic' ideal. I was much attracted by it as an undergraduate (when Hitler was, I suppose, dabbling in paint, and had not heard of it), in reaction against the 'Classics'. You have to understand the good in things, to detect the real evil. But no one ever calls on me to 'broadcast', or do a postscript! Yet I suppose I know better than most what is the truth about this 'Nordic' nonsense. Anyway, I have in this War a burning private grudge - which would probably make me a better soldier at 49 than I was at 22: against that ruddy little ignoramus Adolf Hitler (for the odd thing about demonic inspiration and impetus is that it in no way enhances the purely intellectual stature: it chiefly affects the mere will). Ruining, perverting, misapplying, and making for ever accursed, that noble northern spirit, a supreme contribution to Europe, which I have ever loved, and tried to present in its true light."

"You have to understand the good in things, to detect the real evil."

This is a letter JRR Tolkien wrote to his son Chistopher, in November of 1943

"My political opinions lean more and more to Anarchy (philosophically understood, meaning abolition of control, not whiskered men with bombs) - or to 'unconstitutional' Monarchy. I would arrest anybody who uses the word State (in any sense other than the inanimate realm of England and its inhabitants, a thing that has neither power, rights nor mind); and after a chance of recantation, execute them if they remained obstinate! If we could get back to personal names, it would do a lot of good. Government is an abstract noun meaning the art and process of governing and it should be an offence to write it with a capital G or so as to refer to people. If people were in the habit of referring to 'King George's council, Winston and his gang,' it would go a long way to clearing thought, and reducing the frightful landslide into Theyocracy.

Anyway the proper study of Man is anything but Man; and the most improper job of any man, even saints (who at any rate were at least unwilling to take it on), is bossing other men. Not one in a million is fit for it, and least of all those who seek the opportunity. And at least it is done only to a small group of men who know who their master is. The medievals were only too right in taking nolo episcopari ['I do not wish to be made a bishop'] as the best reason a man could give to others for making him a bishop ...

Well, cheers and all that to you dearest son. We were born in a dark age out of due time (for us). But there is this comfort: otherwise we should not know, or so much love, what we do love. I imagine the fish out of water is the only fish to have an inkling of water. Also we have still small swords to use. 'I will not bow before the Iron Crown, nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.' Have at the Orcs, with winged words, hildenaeddran (war-adders), biting darts - but make sure of the mark, before shooting."

Letter written to his son:

30 January 1945
Russians 60 miles from Berlin. It does look as if something decisive might happen soon. The appalling destruction and misery of this war mount hourly: destruction of what should be (indeed is) the common wealth of Europe, and the world, if mankind were not so besotted, wealth the loss of which will affect us all, victors or not. Yet people gloat to hear of the endless lines, 40 miles long, of miserable refugees, women and children pouring West, dying on the way. There seem no bowels of mercy or compassion, no imagination, left in this dark diabolic hour. By which I do not mean that it may not all, in the present situation, mainly (not solely) created by Germany, be necessary and inevitable. But why gloat! We were supposed to have reached a stage of civilization in which it might still be necessary to execute a criminal, but not to gloat, or to hang his wife and child by him while the orc-crowd hooted. The destruction of Germany, be it 100 times merited, is one of the most appalling world-catastrophes. Well, well - you and I can do nothing about it. And that shd. be a measure of the amount of guilt that can justly be assumed to attach to any member of a country who is not a member of its actual Government. Well the first War of the Machines seems to be drawing to its final inconclusive chapter - leaving, alas, everyone the poorer, many bereached or maimed and millions dead, and only one thing triumphant: the Machines. As the servants of the Machines are becoming a privileged class, the Machines are going to be enormously more powerful. What's their next move?

"But why gloat?" An excellent question indeed. When you gloat - you lose a tiny bit of your humanity. Just a tiny bit. Gloating chips away at that most valuable of commodities - compassion. There are people whose entire lives are made up of gloating. I have gloated before - as we all have, over this or that, and it's amazing how small and nasty it makes one feel.

Here is a letter Tolkien wrote to a Michael Straight, then editor of "The New Republic." Straight wanted to review LOTR and had sent Tolkien a list of questions to answer. This is only part of Tolkien's reply.

January 1956 I will try and answer your specific questions. The final scene of the Quest was so shaped simply because having regard to the situation, and to the 'characters' of Frodo, Sam, and Gollum, those events seemed to me mechanically, morally, and psychologically credible. But, of course, if you wish for more reflection, I should say that within the mode of the story, the 'catastrophe' exemplifies (an aspect of) the familiar words: 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.'

"Lead us not into temptation &c." is the harder and the less often considered petition. The view, in the terms of my story, is that though every event or situation has (at least) two aspects: the history and development of the individual (it is something out of which he can get good, ultimate good, for himself, or fail to do so), and the history of the world (which depends on his action for its own sake) - still there are abnormal situations in which one may be placed. 'Sacrificial' situations, I should call them: sc. positions in which the "good" of the world depends on the behavior of an individual in circumstances which demand of him suffering and endurance far beyond the normal - even, it may happen (or seem, humanely speaking), demand a strength of body and mind which he does not possess: he is in a sense doomed to failure, doomed to fall to temptation or be broken by pressure against his "will"; that is against any choice he could make or would make unfettered, not under the duress.

Frodo was in such a position: an apparently complete trap: a person of greater native power could probably never have resisited the Ring's lure to power so long; a person of less power could not hope to resist it in the final decision. (Already Frodo had been unwilling to harm the Ring before he set out, and was incapable of surrendering it to Sam,.)

The Quest: was bound to fail as a piece of world-plan, and also was bound to end in disaster as the story of humble Frodo's development to the "noble", his sanctification. Fail it would and did as far as Frodo considered alone was concerned. He "apostatized" - and I have had one savage letter, crying out that he shd. have been executed as a traitor, not honored. Believe me, it was not until I read this that I had myself any idea how "topical" such a situation might appear. It arose naturally from my "plot" conceived in main outline in 1936. I did not foresee that before the tale was published we should enter a dark age in which the technique of torture and disruption of personality would rival that of Mordor and the Ring, and present us with the practical problems of honest men of good will broken down into apostates and traitors.

But at this point the "salvation" of the world and Frodo's own salvation is achieved by his previous pity and forgiveness of injurty. At any point any prudent person would have told Frodo that Gollum would certainly betray him, and could rob him in the end. (Not quite "certainly". The clumsiness in fidelity of Sam was what finally pushed Gollum over the brink, when about to repent.) To "pity" him, to forbear to kill him, was a piece of folly, or a mystical belief in the ultimate value-in-itself of pity and generosity even if disastrous in the world of time. He did rob him and injure him in the end - but by a "grace", that last betrayal was at a precise juncture when the final evil deed was the most beneficial thing any one cd. have done for Frodo! By a situation created by his "forgiveness", he was saved himself, and relieved of his burden. He was very justly accorded the highest honors - since it is clear that he and Sam never concealed the precise course of events. Into the ultimate judgement upon Gollum I would not care to enquire. This would be to investigate "Goddes privatee," as the Medievals said. Gollum was pitiable, but he ended in persistent wickedness, and the fact that this worked good was no credit to him. His marvellous courage and endurance, as great as Frodo and Sam's or greater, being devoted to evil was portentous, but not honourable. I am afraid, whatever our beliefs, we have to face the fact that there are persons who yield to temptations, reject their chances of nobility or salvation, and appear to be "damnable". Their "damnability" is not measurable in terms of the macrocosm (where it may work good). But we who are all "in the same boat" must not usurp the Judge. The domination of the Ring was much too strong for the mean soul of Smeagol. But he would have never had to endure it if he had not become a mean sort of thief before it crossed his path. Need it ever have crossed his path? Need anything dangerous ever cross any of our paths? A kind of answer cd. be found in trying to imagine Gollum overcoming temptation. The story would have been quite different! By temporizing, not fixing the still not wholly corrupt Smeagol-will towards good in the debate in the slag hole, he weakened himself for the final chance when dawning love of Frodo was too easily withered by the jealousy of Sam before Shelob's lair. After that he was lost.

There is no special reference to England in the "Shire" - except of course that an Englishman brought up in an "almost rural" village of Warwickshire on the edge of the prosperous bourgeoisie of Birmingham (about the time of the Diamond Jubilee!) I take my models like anyone else - from such "life" as I know. But there is no post-war reference. I am not a "socialist" in any sense - being averse to "planning" (as must be plain) most of all because the "planners", when they acquire power, become so bad - but I would not say that we had to suffer the malice of Sharkey and his Ruffians here. Though the spirit of "Isengard", if not of Mordor, is of course always cropping up. The present design of destroying Oxford in order to accommodate motor-cars is a case. But our chief adversary is a member of a "Tory" Government. But you could apply it anywhere else in these days.

Yes: I think that "victors" can never enjoy the "victory" - not in the terms that they envisaged; and in so far as they fought for something to be enjoyed by themselves (whether acquisition or mere preservation) the less satisfactory will "victory" seem. But the departure of the Ringbearers has quite another side, as far as the Three are concerned. There is, of course, a mythological structure behind this story. It was actually written first, and may now perhaps be in part published. It is, I should say, a "monotheistic" but "sub-creational" mythology. There is no embodiment of the One, of God, who indeed remains remote, outside the World, and only directly accessible to the Valar or Rulers. These take the place of the "gods", but are created spirits, or those of the primary creation who by their own will have entered into the world. (They shared in its "making" - but only on the same terms as we "make" a work of art or story. The realization of it, the gift to it of a created reality of the same grade as their own, was the act of the One God). But the One retains all ultimate authority, and (or so it seems as viewed in serial time) reserves the right to intrude the finger of God into the story: that is to produce realities which could not be deduced even from a complete knowledge of the previous past, but which being real become part of the effective past for all subsequent time (a possible definition of a "miracle"). According to the fable Elves and Men were the first of these intrusions, made indeed while the "story" was still only a story and not "realized"; they were not therefore in any sense conceived or made by the gods, the Valar, and were called the Eruhini or "Children of God", and were for the Valar an incalculable element: that is they were rational creatures of free will in regard to God, of the same historical rank as the Valar, though of far smaller spiritual and intellectual power and status.

Of course, in fact exterior to my story, Elves and men are just different aspects of the Humane, and represent the problem of Death as seen by a finite but willing and self-conscious person. In this mythological world the Elves and men are in their incarnate forms kindred, but in the relation of their "spirits" to the world in time represent different "experiments", each of which has its own natural trend, and weakness. The Elves represent, as it were, the artistic, aesthetic and purely scientific aspects of the Humane nature raised to a higher level than is actually seen in Men. That is: they have a devoted love of the physical world, and a desire to observe and understand it for its own sake and as "other" - sc. as a reality derived from God in the same degree as themselves - not as a material for use or as a power-platform. They also possess a "sub-creational" or artistic faculty of great excellence. They are therefore "immortal". Not "eternally", but to endure with and within the created world, while its story lasts. When "killed", by the injury or destruction of their incarnate form, they do not escape from time, but remain in the world, either discarnate, or being re-born. This becomes a great burden as the ages lengthen, especially in a world in which there is malice and destruction (I have left out the mythological form which Malice or the Fall of the Angels takes in this fable). Mere change as such is not represented as "evil": it is the unfolding of the story and to refuse this is of course against the design of God. But the Elvish weakness is in these terms naturally to regret the past, and to become unwilling to face change: as if a man were to hate a very long book still going on, and wished to settle down in a favorite chapter. Hence they fell in a measure to Sauron's deceits: they desired some "power" over things as they are (whcih is quite distinct from art), to make their particular will to preservation effective: to arrest change, and keep things always fresh and fair. The "Three Rings" were "unsullied", because this object was in a limited way good, it included the healing of the real damage of malice, as well as the mere arrest of change; and the Elves did not desire to dominate other wills, nor to usurp all the world to their particular pleasure.

But with the downfall of "Power" their little efforts at preserving the past fell to bits. There was nothing more in Middle-earth for them, but weariness. So Elrond and Galadriel depart. Gandalf is a special case. He was not the maker or original holder of the Ring - but it was surrendered to him by Cirdan, to assist him in his task. Gandalf was returning, his labor and errand finished, to his home, the land of the Valar.

The passage over the Sea is not Death. The "mythology" is Elf-centered. According to it there was at first an actual Earthly Paradise, home and realm of the Valar, as a physical part of the earth.

There is no "embodiment" of the Creator anywhere in this story or mythology. Gandalf is a 'created" person; though possibly a spirit that existed before in the physical world. His function as a 'wizard" is an angelos or messenger from the Valar or Rulers: to assist the rational creatures of Middle-earth to resist Sauron, a power too great for them unaided. But since in the view of this tale & mythology Power - when it dominates or seeks to dominate other wills and minds (except by the assent of their reason) - is evil, these "wizards" were incarnated in the life-forms of Middle-earth, and so suffered the pains of both mind and body. They were also, for the same reason, thus involved in the peril of the incarnate: the possibility of "fall", of sin, if you will. The chief form this would take with them would be impatience, leading to the desire to force others to their own good ends, and so inevitably at last to mere desire to make their own wills effective by any means. To this evil Saruman succumbed. Gandalf did not. But the situation became so much the worse by the fall of Saruman, that the "good" were obliged to greater effort and sacrifice. Thus Gandalf faced and suffered death; and came back or was sent back, as he says, with enhanced power. But though one may be in this reminded of the Gospels, it is not really the same thing at all. The Incarnation of God is an infinitely greater thing than anything I would dare to write. Here I am only concerned with Death as part of the nature, physical and spiritual, of Man, and with Hope without guarantees. That is why I regard the tale of Arwen and Aragorn as the most important of the Appendices; it is part of the essential story, and is only placed so, because it could not be worked into the main narrative without destroying its structre: which is planned to be "hobbito-centric", that is, primarily a study of the ennoblement (or sanctification) of the humble.

Here is a draft of a letter that Tolkien wrote to an unidentified reader, and in it Tolkien describes his affinity with Faramir. He thought of Faramir as his alter ego.

14 January 1856
... There is hardly any reference in The Lord of the Rings to things that do not actually exist on its own plane (of secondary or sub-creationary reality): sc. have been written. (The cats of Queen Beruthiel and the names and adventures of the other 2 wizards (5 minus Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast) are all that I recollect.) The Silmarillion was offered for publication years ago, and turned down. Good may come of such blows. The Lord of the Rings was the result. The hobbits had been welcomed. I loved them myself, since I love the vulgar and simple as dearly as the noble, and nothing moves my heart (beyond all the passions and heartbreaks of the world) so much as "ennoblement" (from the Ugly Duckling to Frodo). I would build on the hobbits. And I saw that I was meant to do it (as Gandalf would say - I am not Gandalf, being a transcendent Sub-creator in this little world. As far as any character is "like me" it is Faramir - except that I lack what all my characters possess (let the psychoanalysts note!) Courage), since without thought, in a "blurb" I wrote for The Hobbit, I spoke of the time between the Elder Days and the Dominion of Men. Out of that came the "missing link": The "Downfall of Numenor", releasing some hidden "complex". For when Faramir speaks of his private vision of the Great Wave, he speaks for me. That vision and dream has been ever with me - and has been inherited (as I only discovered recently) by one of my children.

Tolkien responded to many letters from fans and reviewers about the "failure of Frodo", in the end, to complete the Quest. Here's an excerpt from one of those letters:

26 July 1956 Draft of letter to Miss J. Burn
If you re-read all the passages dealing with Frodo and the Ring, I think you will see that not only was it quite impossible for him to surrender the Ring, in act or will, especially at its point of maximum power, but that this failure was adumbrated from far back. He was honoured because he had accepted the burden voluntarily, and then had done all that was within his utmost physical and mental strength to do. He (and the Cause) were saved - by mercy: by the supreme value and efficacy of Pity and forgiveness of injury.

Corinthians I x. 12-13 may not at first sight seem to fit ("Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.") - unless "bearing temptation" is taken to mean resisting it while still a free agent in normal command of the will. I think rather of the mysterious last petitions of the Lord's Prayer: Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. A petition against something that cannot happen is unmeaning. There exists the possibility of being placed in positions beyond one's power. In which case (as I believe) salvation from ruin will depend on something apparently unconnected: the general sanctity (and humility and mercy) of the sacrificial person. I did not "arrange" the deliverance in this case: it again follows the logic of the story. (Gollum had had his chance of repentance, and of returning generosity with love; and had fallen off the knife-edge). In the case of those who now issue from prison "brainwashed", broken, or insane, praising their torturers, no such immediate deliverance is as a rule to be seen. But we can at least judge them by the will and intentions with which they entered the Sammath Naur; and not demand impossible feats of will, which could only happen in stories unconcerned with real moral and mental probability.

No, Frodo "failed". It is possible that once the ring was destroyed he had little recollection of the last scene. But one must face the fact: the power of Evil in the world is not finally resistible by incarnate creatures, however "good"; and the Writer of the Story is not one of us.

Here's another letter he wrote to someone who asked him about Frodo's failure.

27 July 1956 Letter to Amy Ronald
By chance, I have just had another letter regarding the failure of Frodo. Very few seem even to have observed it. But following the logic of the plot, it was clearly inevitable, as an event. And surely it is a more significant and real event than a mere "fairy story" ending in which the hero is indomitable? It is possible for the good, even the saintly, to be subjected to a power of evil which is too great for them to overcome - in themselves. In this case the cause (not the "hero") was triumphant, because by the exercise of pity, mercy, and forgiveness of injury, a situation was produced in which all was redressed and disaster averted. Gandalf certainly foresaw this. ("Pity? It was pity that stayed [Bilbo's] hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity.") Of course he did not mean to say that one must be merciful, for it may prove useful later - it would not then be mercy or pity, which are only truly present when contrary to prudence. Not ours to plan! But we are assured that we must be ourselves extravagantly generous, if we are to hope for the extravagant generosity which the slightest easing of, or escape from, the consequences of our own follies and errors represents. And that mercy does sometimes occur in this life.

Frodo deserved all honour because he spent every drop of his power of will and body, and that was just sufficient to bring him to the destined point, and no further. Few others, possibly no others of his time, would have got so far. The Other Power then took over: the Writer of the Story (by which I do not mean myself), "that one ever-present Person who is never absent and never named" (as one critic has said). (Gandalf to Frodo: "Behind that there was something else at work, beyond any design of the Ring-Maker. I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, and not by its maker.")

A third (the only other) commentator on the point some months ago reviled Frodo as a scoundrel (who should have been hung and not honoured), and me too. It seems sad and strange that, in this evil time when daily people of good will are tortured, "brainwashed", and broken, anyone could be so fiercely simpleminded and righteous.

This is a short letter to a fan, who had written asking him if he was working on a sequel to LOTR. Tolkien replied

I did begin a story placed about 100 years after the Downfall of Mordor, but it proved both sinister and depressing. Since we are dealing with Men it is inevitable that we should be concerned with the most regrettable feature of their nature: their quick satiety with good. So that the people of Gondor in times of peace, justice and prosperity, would become discontented and restless - while the dynasts descended from Aragorn would become just kings and governors - like Denethor or worse. I found that even so early there was an outcrop of revolutionary plots, about a center of secret Satanistic religion; while Gondorian boys were playing at being Orcs and going round doing damage. I could have written a thriller about the plot and its discovery and overthrow - but it would be just that. Not worth doing.

Hah. Peace never lasts. No such thing as "happily ever after".

Here is another long draft of a letter to a fan. He got into long long philosophical and mythological conversations with all of his readers - and his letters (as you can see) are immense - Many of them were never sent.

Check this out. Only Tolkien freaks will probably be able to get through this - but if you're into those books, and if you're into those stories - it is a fascinating analysis:

September 1963 Draft of letter to Mrs. Eileen Elgar
Very few (indeed so far as letters go only you and one other) have observed or commented on Frodo's "failure". It is a very important point.

From the point of view of the storyteller the events on Mt Doom proceed simply from the logic of the tale up to that time. They were not deliberately worked up to nor foreseen until they occured. But, for one thing, it became at last quite clear that Frodo after all that had happened would be incapable of voluntarily destroyoing the Ring. Reflecting on the solution after it was arrived at (as a mere event) I feel that it is central to the whole "theory" of true nobility and heroism that is presented.

Frodo indeed "failed" as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not endure to the end; he gave in, ratted. I do not say "simple minded" with contempt: they often see with clarity the simple truth and the absolute ideal to which effort must be directed, even if it is unattainable. Their weakness, however, is twofold. They do not perceive the complexty of any given situation in Time, in which an absolute ideal is enmeshed. They tend to forget that strange element in the World that we call Pity or Mercy, which is also an absolute requirement in moral judgement (since it is present in the Divine nature). In its highest exercise it belongs to God. For finite judges of imperfect knowledge it must lead to the use of two different scales of "morality". To ourselves we must present the absolute ideal without compromise, for we do not know our own limits of natural strength (+ grace), and if we do not aim at the highest we shall certainly fall short of the utmost that we could achieve. To others, in any case of which we know enough to make a judgement, we must apply a scale tempered by "mercy": that is, since we can with good will do this without the bias inevitable in judgements of ourselves, we must estimate the limits of another's strength and weigh this against the force of particular circumstances. (We frequently see this double scale used by the saints in their judgements upon themselves when suffering great hardships or temptations, and upon others in like trials.)

I do not think that Frodo's was a moral failure. At the last moment the pressure of the Ring would reach its maximum - impossible, I should have said, for any one to resist, certainly after long possession, months of increasing torment, and when starved and exhausted. Frodo had done what he could and spent himself completely (as an instrument of Providence) and had produced a situation in which the object of his quest could be achieved. His humility (with which he began) and his sufferings were justly reqarded by the highest honour; and his exercise of patience and mercy towards Gollum gained him Mercy: his failure was redressed.

We are finite creatures with absolute limitations upon the powers of our soul-body structure in either action or endurance. Moral failure can only be asserted, I think, when a man's effort or endurance falls short of his limits, and the blame decreases as that limit is closer approached. (No account is here taken of "grace" or the enhancement of our powers as instruments of Providence. Frodo was given "grace": first to answer the call (at the end of the Council) after long resisiting a complete surrender; and later in his resistance to the temptation of the Ring (at times when to claim and so reveal it would have been fatal), and in his endurance of fear and suffering. But grace is not infinite, and for the most part seems in the Divine economy limited to what is sufficient for the accomplishment of the task appointed to one instrument in a pattern of circumstances and other instruments.)

...Frodo undertook his quest out of love - to save the world he knew from disaster at his own expense, if he could; and also in complete humility, acknowledging that he was wholly inadequate to the task. His real contract was only to do what he could, to try to find a way, and to go as far on the road as his strength of mind and body allowed. He did that. I do not myself see that the breaking of his mind and will under demonic pressure after torment was any more a moral failure than the breaking of the body would have been ...

That appears to have been the judgement of Gandalf and Aragorn and of all who learned the full story of his journey. Certainly nothing would be concealed by Frodo! But what Frodo himself thought about the events is quite another matter.

He appears at first to have had no sense of guilt ("And there was Frodo, pale and worn, and yet himself again; and in his eyes there was peace now, neither strain of will nor madness, nor any fear ... 'The Quest is achieved, and now all is over,'"); he was restored to sanity and peace. But then he thought that he had given his life in sacrifice: he expected to die very soon. But he did not, and one can observe the disquiet growing in him. Arwen was the first to observe the signs, and gave him her jewel for comfort, and thought of a way of healing him...Slowly he fades "out of the picture", saying and doing less and less. I think it is clear on reflection to an attentive reader that when his dark times came upon him and he was conscious of being "wounded by knife sting and tooth and a long burden", it was not only nightmare memories of past horrors that afflicted him, but also unreasoning self-reproach: he saw himself and all that he done as a broken failure ... And it was mixed with another temptation, blacker and yet (in a sense) more merited, for however that may be explained, he had not in fact cast away the Ring by a voluntary act: he was tempted to regret its destruction, and still to desire it. "It is gone for ever, and now all is dark and empty," he said as he wakened from his sickness in 1420.

"Alas! there are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured," said Gandalf - not in Middle-earth. Frodo was sent or allowed to pass over Sea to heal him - if that could be done, before he died...Bilbo went too. No doubt as a completion of the plan due to Gandalf himself. Gandalf had a very great affection for Bilbo, from the hobbit's childhood onwards. His companionship was really necessary for Frodo's sake - it is difficult to imagine a hobbit, even one who had been through Frodo's experiences, being really happy even in an earthly paradise without a companion of his own kind, and Bilbo was the person that Frodo most loved. But he also needed and deserved the favour on his own account. He bore still the mark of the Ring that needed to be finally erased: a trace of pride and personal possessiveness. Of course he was old and confused in mind, but it was still a revealation of the "black mark" when he said in Rivendell, "What's become of my ring, Frodo, that you took away?" and when he was reminded of what had happened, his immediate reply was: "What a pity! I should have liked to see it again!"...

Sam is meant to be lovable and laughable. Some readers he irritates and even infuriates. I can well understand it. All hobbits at times affect me in the same way, though I remain very fond of them. But Sam can be very "trying". He is a more representative hobbit than any others that we have to see much of; and he consequently has a stronger ingeredient of that quality which even some hobbits found at times hard to bear: a vulgarity - by which I do not mean a mere "down-to-earthiness" - a mental myopia which is proud of itself, a smugness (in varying degrees) and cocksureness, and a readiness to measure and sum up all things from a limited experience, largely enshrined in sententious traditional "wisdom". We only meet exceptional hobbits in close companionship - those who had a grace or gift: a vision of beauty, and a reverence for things nobler than thmselves, at war with their rustic self-satisfaction. Imagine Sam without his education by Bilbo and his fascination wtih things Elvish!...

Sam was cocksure, and deep down a little conceited; but his conceit had been transformed by his devotion to Frodo. He did not think of himself as heroic or even brave, or in any way admirable - except in his service and loyalty to his master. That had an ingredient (probably inevitable) of pride and possessiveness ... In any case it prevented him from fully understanding the master tha the loved, and from following him in his gradual education to the nobility of service to the unlovable and of perception of damaged goods in the corrupt. He plainly did not fully understand Frodo's motives or his distress in the incident of the Forbidden Pool. If he had understood better what was going on between Frodo and Gollum, things might have turned out differently in the end.

For me perhaps the most tragic moment in the Tale comes in II 323 ff. when Sam fails to note the complete change in Gollum's tone and aspect. "Nothing, nothing," said Gollum softly. "Nice master!" His repentance is blighted and all Frodo's pity is (in a sense) wasted. Shelob's lair becomes inevitable.

This is due of course to the "logic of the story". Sam could hardly have acted differently ... If he had, what could then have happened? The course of the entry into Mordor and the struggle to reach Mount Doom would have been different, and so would the ending. The insterest would have shifted to Gollum, I think, and the battle that would have gone on between his repentance and his new love on one side and the Ring. Though the love would have been strengthened daily it could not have wrested the mastery from the Ring. I think that in some queer twisted and pitiable way Gollum would have tried (not maybe with conscious design) to satisfy both. Certainly at some point not long before the end he would have stolen the Ring or taken it by violence (as he does in the actual Tale). But "possession" satisfied, I think he would then have sacrificed himself for Frodo's sake and have voluntarily cast himself into the fiery abyss.

I think that an effect of his partial regeneration by love would have been a clearer vision when he claimed the Ring. He would have perceived the evil of Sauron, and suddenly realized that he could not use the Ring and had not the strength or stature to keep it in Sauron's despite: the only way to keep it and hurt Sauron was to destory it and himself together - and in a flash he may have seen that this would also be the greatest service to Frodo. Frodo in the tale actually takes the Ring and claims it, and certainly he too would have had a clear vision - but he was not given any time: he was immediately attacked by Gollum. When Sauron was aware of the seizure of the Ring his one hope was in its power: that the claimant would be unable to relinquish it until Sauron had time to deal with him. Frodo too would then probably, if not attacked, have had to take the same way: cast himself with the Ring into the abyss. If not he would of course have completely failed. It is an interesting problem: how Sauron would have acted or the claimant have resisted. Sauron sent at once the Ringwraiths. They were naturally fully instructed, and in no way deceived as to the real lordship of the Ring. The wearer would not be invisible to them, but the reverse; and the more vulnerable to their weapons. But the situation was now different to that under Weathertop, where Frodo acted merely in fear and wished only to use (in vain) the Ring's subsidiary power of conferring invisibility. He had grown since then. Would they have been immune from its power if he claimed it as an instrument of command and domination?

Not wholly. I do not think they could have attacked him with violence, nor laid hold upon him or taken him captive; they would have obeyed or feigned to obey any minor commands of his that did not interfere with their errand - laid upon them by Sauron, who still through their nine rings (which he held) had primary control of their wills. That errand was to remove Frodo from the Crack. Once he lost the power or opportunity to destroy the Ring, the end could not be in doubt - saving help from outside, which was hardly even remotely possible.

Frodo had become a considerable person, but of a special kind: in spiritual enlargement rather than in increase of physical or mental power; his will was much stronger than it had been, but so far it had been exercised in resisting not using the Ring and with the object of destroying it. He needed time, much time, before he could control the Ring or (which in such a case is the same) before it could control him; before his will and arrogance could grow to a stature in which he could dominate other major hostile wills. Even so for a long time his acts and commands would still have to seem 'good" to him, to be for the benefit of others beside himself.

The situation as between Frodo with the Ring and the Eight (the Witch-king had been reduced to impotence) might be compared to that of a small brave man armed with a devastating weapon, faced by eight savage warriors of great strength and agility armed with poisoned blades. The man's weakness was that he did not know how to use his weapon yet; and he was by temperament and training averse to violence. Their weakness that the man's weapon was a thing that filled them with fear as an object of terror in their religious cult, by which they had been conditioned to treat one who wielded it with servility. I think they would have shown "servility". They would have greeted Frodo as "Lord". With fair speeches they would have induced him to leave the Sammath Naur - for instance "to look upon his new kingdom, and behold afar with his new sight the abode of power that he must now claim and turn to his own purposes." Once outside the chamber while he was gazing some of them would have destroyed the entrance. Frodo would by then probably have been already too enmeshed in great plans of reformed rule - like but far greater and wider than the vision that tempted Sam ("Wild fantasies arose in his mind; and he saw Samwise the Strong, Hero of the Age, striding with a sword across the darkened land, and armies flocking to his call as he marched to the overthrow of Barad-due.") - to heed this. But if he still preserved some sanity and partly understood the significance of it, so that he refused now to go with them to Barad-due, they would simply have waited. Until Sauron himself came.

In any case a confrontation of Frodo and Sauron would soon have taken place, if the Ring was intact. Its result was inevitable. Frodo would have been utterly overthrown: crushed to dust, or preserved in torment as a gibbering slave. Sauron would not have feared the Ring! It was his own and under his will. Even from afar he had an effect upon it, to make it work for its return to himsefl. In his actual presence none but very few of equal stature could have hoped to withhold it from him. Of "mortals" no one, not even Artagorn. In the contest with the Palantir Aragorn was the rightful owner. Also the contest took place at a distance, and in a tale which allows the incarnation of great spirits in a physical and destructivle form their power must be far greater when actually physically present. Sauron should be thought of as very terrible. The form that he took was that of a man of more than human stature, but not gigantic. In his earlier incarnation he was able to veil his power (as Gandalf did) and could appear as a commanding figure of great strength of body and supremely royal demeanour and countenance.

Of the others only Gandalf might be expected to master him - being an emissary of the Powers and a creature of the same order, an immortal spirit taking a visible physical form. In the "Mirror of Galadriel", it appears that Galadriel conceived of herself as capable of wielding the Ring and supplanting the Dark Lord. IF so, so also were the other guardians of the Three, especially Elrond. But this is another matter. It was part of the essential deceit of the Ring to fill minds with imaginations of supreme power. But this the Great had well considered and had rejected, as is seen in Elrond's words at the Council. Galadriel's rejection of the temptation was founded upon previous thought and resolve. In any case Elrond or Galadriel would have proceeded in the policy now adopted by Sauron: they would have built up an empire with great and absolutely subservient generals and armies and engines of war, until they could challenge Sauron and destroy him by force. Confrontation of Sauron alone, unaided, self to self, was not contemplated.

One can impagine the scene in which Gandalf, say, was placed in such a position. It would be a delicate balance. On one side the true allegiance of the Ring to Sauron; on the other superior strength because Sauron was not actually in possession, and perhaps also because he was weakened by long corruption and expenditure of will in dominating inferiors. If Gandalf proved the victor, the result would have been for Sauron the same as the destruction of the Ring; for him it would have been destroyed, taken from him for ever. But the Ring and all its works would have endured. It would have been the master in the end.

Gandalf as Ring-Lord would have been far worse than Sauron. He would have remained "righteous", but self-righteous. He would have continued to rule and order things for "good", and the benefit of his subjects according to his wisdom (which would have remained great.

Thus while Sauron multiplied evil, he left "good" clearly distinguishable from it. Gandalf would have made good destestable and seem evil.

And lastly - another draft of a letter to a fan. This one gets me a bit verklempt. Gotta admit it.

Autumn 1971 Draft of letter to Carole Batten-Phelps
I am very grateful for your remarks on the critics and for your account of your personal delight in Lord of the Rings. You write in terms of such high praise that [to] accept it with just a 'thank you' might seem complacently conceited, though actually it only makes me wonder how this has been achieved - by me! Of course the book was written to please myself (at different levels), and as an experiment in the arts of long narrative, and of inducing 'Secondary Belief'. It was written slowly and with great care for detail & finally emerged as a Frameless Picture: a searchlight, as it were, on a brief episode in History, and on a small part of our Middle-earth, surrounded by the glimmer of limitless extensions in time and space. Very well: that may explain to some extent why it 'feels' like history; why it was accepted for publication; and why it has proved readable for a large number of very different kinds of people.

But it does not fully explain what has actually happened. Looking back on the wholly unexpected things that have followed its publication - beginning at once with the appearance of Vol. I - I feel as if an ever darkening sky over our present world had been suddenly pierced, the clouds rolled back, and an almost forgotten sunlight had poured down again. As if indeed the horns of Hope had been heard again, as Pippin heard them suddenly at the absolute nadir of the fortunes of the West. But How? and Why?

I think I can now guess what Gandalf would reply. A few years ago I was visited in Oxford by a man whose name I have fogotten (though I believe he was well-known). He had been much struck by the curious way in which old pictures seemed to him to have been designed to illustrate The Lord of the Rings long before its time. He brought one or two reproductions. I think he wanted at first simply to discover whether my imagination had fed on pictures, as it clearly had been by certain kinds of literature and languages. When it became obvious that, unless I was a liar, I had never seen the pictures before and was not well acquainted with pictorial Art, he fell silent. I became aware that he was looking fixedly at me. Suddenly he said, "Of course you don't suppose, do you, that you wrote all that book yourself?"

Pure Gandalf! I was too well acquainted with Gandalf to expose myself rashly, or to ask what he meant. I think I said: "No, I don't suppose so any longer." I have never since been able to suppose so. An alarming conclusion for an old philologist to draw concerning his private amusement. But not one that should puff any one up who considers the imperfections of "chosen instruments", and indeed what sometimes seems their lamentable unfitness for the purpose.

You speak of "a sanity and sanctity" in the L.R. "which is a power in itself." I was deeply moved. Nothing of the kind had been said to me before. But by a strange chance, just as I was beginning this letter, I had one from a man, who classified himself as "an unbeliever, or at best a man of belatedly and dimly dawning religious feeling ... but you", he said, "create a world in which some sort of faith seems to be everywhere without a viable source, like light from an invisible lamp." I can only answer: "Of his own sanity no man can securely judge. If sanctity inhabits his work or as a pervading light illumines it then it does not come from him but through him. And neither of you would perceive it in these terms unless it was with you also. Otherwise you would see and feel nothing, or (if some other spirit was present) you would be filled with contempt, nausea, hatred. "Leaves out of the elf-country, gah!" "Lembas - dust and ashes, we don't eat that!"

Of course The L.R. does not belong to me. It has been brought forth and must now go its appointed way in the world, though naturally I take a deep interest in its fortunes, as a parent would of a child. I am comforted to know that it has good friends to defend it against the malice of its enemies. (But all the fools are not in the other camp.) With best wishes to one of its best friends. I am

Yours sincerely
JRR Tolkien

That just kills me. "Of course The L.R. does not belong to me."

Yes. It does have "good friends to defend it". The book lives.

Thanks, Tolkien!! Thank you to "the Hobbit of Oxford"! And happy birthday!

Where is Zach??

This NY Times vows column is BEGGING for a treatment by Zach at Veiled Conceit. I suppose I could do it - because the thing fisks itself - but I miss Zach. I'm just puttin' it out there. No pressure, Zach! Just miss you!

Amazing

Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon

It really is a bit incredible. Put in any name - and somehow Kevin Bacon is connected to it. There are only 3 degrees of separation between Kevin Bacon and Rudoph Valentino, for example.

Thanks to John for the link!

The Books: "Steel Magnolias" (Robert Harling)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Steel Magnolias(DPS Acting Edition), by Robert Harling

I understudied the role of Annelle (Darryl Hannah's part in the movie) at the Walnut Street Theatre in Philadelphia. I never got to go on, sadly. I had to learn the role by myself, learn the blocking from watching the show, and keep it all in my head for the entirety of the run - just in case the actress playing Annelle broke her ankle or whatever. It was quite nerve-wracking, but also kind of fun. Too bad I didn't get to go on.

I probably don't need to go over the plot. Y'all know it. The movie made of this script pretty much kept the spirit of the original intact - the only thing added in the film is all the male characters. There are no males in the play - they are just referenced, and talked about. The whole play takes place in the salon.

I'll excerpt the opening scene of the play:

From Steel Magnolias(DPS Acting Edition), by Robert Harling

[The Curtain rises on Truvy's beauty shop. There are the sounds of gunshots and a dog barking. Annelle is spraying Truvy's hair with more hairspray than necessary]

ANNELLE. Oops! I see a hole.

TRUVY. I was hoping you'd catch that.

ANNELLE. It's a little poofier than I would normally do, but I'm nervous.

TRUVY. I'm not really concerned about that. When I go to bed I wrap my entire head with toilet tissue so it usually gets a little smushed down anyway in that process.

ANNELLE. In my class at the trade school, I was number one when it came to frosting and streaking. I did my own.

TRUVY. Really? I wouldn't have known. And I can spot a bottle job at twenty paces. Well ... your technique is good, and your form and content will improve with experience. So, you're hired.

ANNELLE. [overcome] Oh!

TRUVY. And not a moment too soon! This morning we're going to be as busy as a one-armed paper hanger.

ANNELLE. Thank you, Miss Truvy! Thank you ...

TRUVY. No time. Now. You know where the coffee stuff is. Everything else is on a tray next to the stove. [Truvy removes her smock]

ANNELLE. Here. Let me help you. [dusts her off] You've got little tiny hairs and fuzzies all over you.

TRUVY. Honey, there's so much static electricity in here I pick up everything except boys and money. [points Annelle toward the kitchen] Be a treasure. [Annelle exits into the kitchen. Truvy immediately starts redoing her hairdo] Annelle? This is the most successful shop in town. Wanna know why?

ANNELLE. Why?

TRUVY. Because I have a strict philosophy that I have stuck to for fifteen years ... "There is no such thing as natural beauty". That's why I've never lost a client to the Kut and Kurl or the Beauty Box. And remember! My ladies get only the best. Do not scrimp on anything. Feel free to use as much hair spray as you want. [Annelle returns with the tray. The sound of a gunshot makes her jump, but she recovers] Just shove that stuff to one side, it goes right there. [pointing out the room] Manicure station here ..

ANNELLE. There's no such thing as natural beauty ...

TRUVY. Remember that, or we're all out of a job. Just look at me, Annelle. It takes some effort to look like this.

ANNELLE. I can see that. How many ladies do we have this morning?

TRUVY. I restrict myself to the ladies of the neighborhood on Saturday mornings. Normally that would be just three, but today we've got Shelby Eatenton. She's not a regular, she's the daughter of a regular. I have to do something special with her hair. She's getting married this afternoon. Now. How long have you been here in town?

ANNELLE. A few weeks ...

TRUVY. New in town! It must be exciting being in a new place. I wouldn't know. I've lived here all my life.

ANNELLE. It's a little scary.

TRUVY. I can imagine. Well ... tell me things about yourself.

ANNELLE. There's nothing to tell. I live here. I've got a job now. That's it. Could I borrow a few of these back issues of Southern Hair?

TRUVY. Uh ... sure. It's essential to keep abreast of the latest styles. I'm glad to see your interest. I get McCall's, Family Circle, Glamour, Mademoiselle, Ladies' Home Journal, every magazine known to man. You must live close by. Within walking distance, I mean. I didn't see a car.

ANNELLE. My car's ... I don't have a car. I've been staying across the river at Robeline's Boarding House.

TRUVY. That's quite a walk. Ruth Robeline ... now there's a story. She's a twisted, troubled soul. Her life has been an experiment in terror. Husband killed in World War II. Her son was killed in Vietnam. I have to tell you, when it comes to suffering, she's right up there with Elizabeth Taylor.

ANNELLE. I had no idea. [There is a loud gunshot and barking] Is that a gunshot?

TRUVY. Yes, dear. I believe it is. Plug in the hotplate, please.

ANNELLE. But why is someone firing a gun in a nice neighborhood like this?

TRUVY. It's a long story. It has to do with Shelby's wedding and her father. [More gunfire and barking] You'll be happier if you just ignore it like the rest of the neighborhood.

CLAIREE. [entering] Knock, knock!

TRUVY. Morning, Clairee!

CLAIREE. Morning, Truvy.

TRUVY. I tried to call you and tell you I was running late.

CLAIREE. I was at the high school. I was out at the crack of dawn.

TRUVY. Annelle, I want you to meet the former first lady of Chinquapin, Mrs. Belcher. Clairee, this is Annelle. She's taking Judy's place.

ANNELLE. Pleased to meet you.

CLAIREE. I'm a little embarrassed. If I had known I was meeting new people, I would have taken a little more pride in my appearance. I have been at the dedication of our new football field. I am not always this windblown.

TRUVY. Annelle. They named the stadium after her late husband ... Lloyd Belcher Memorial Coliseum. The team has voted her all sorts of special titles.

CLAIREE. I have the pom-poms to prove it. What is your name, dear?

ANNELLE. Oh. My married name's Dupuy.

CLAIREE. I don't think I know any Dupuys.

ANNELLE. I just moved here. I'm originally from Zwolle.

CLAIREE. That explains it. Truvy? I thought I brought you those recipes. [She fumbles with her shirt that has no pockets]

TRUVY. Clairee. The reason I called is, do you mind if I do Shelby first?

CLAIREE. That's fine. I'll amuse myself. Shelby's the most important one today. [A gunshot] That man! I'll swanee ... I think the situation is worse than ever.

TRUVY. Annelle? We're going to need more towels. They're stacked up next to the washing machine. [Annelle exits]

CLAIREE. Sweet girl. Where'd you find her?

TRUVY. She heard I had a position open and she just walked in. I think there's a story here.

CLAIREE. What makes you say that?

TRUVY. For starters. She's married ... but she lives at Ruth Robelines. [Clairee reacts] Alone.

CLAIREE. I'd get to the bottom of this, if I were you. You have some nice silverware you'd like to keep.

TRUVY. Oh, I'm not worried about that. She's very nice. I just love the idea of hiring someone with a past.

CLAIREE. She can't be more than eighteen. She hasn't had time to have a past.

TRUVY. Honey. It's the eighties. If you can achieve puberty, you can achive a past.

[Annelle enters carrying towels. Clairee sips her coffee and grimaces.]

CLAIREE. Yuck! [Truvy, concerned, takes a sip]

TRUVY. Annelle? How did you make this coffee?

ANNELLE. Like you said. I poured hot water through the thing.

TRUVY. Where'd you get the water?

ANNELLE. It was boiling on the stove.

TRUVY. Did you notice the hot dogs in the bottom of the pot?

ANNELLE. No.

TRUVY. Make some more, please.

ANNELLE. I'm so sorry.

CLAIREE. Don't worry. I love a good hot dog. Just not with cream and sugar. [Annelle exits]

TRUVY. She's probably not an international spy.

Simmons

I am now reading Now I can die in peace by the wonderful Bill Simmons Sports Guy (I bought a copy for everyone in my family this Christmas - and then couldn't stand it and had to buy one for myself) - and I swear: I laugh out loud at something on every page. How does he do it?? I guffaw randomly, in public, reading the damn thing. It would be like if Patrick Hughes wrote a book. Or if I could read Patrick Hughes' blog in public on the subway. I would make a fool out of myself. People would get annoyed sitting next to me. Simmons' chapter on El Guapo was enough to put me out of commission for about 10 minutes. But his writing - it is just so PRO-ACTIVELY funny. His brain thinks humorously - not everybody's brain does. His brain instinctively goes for the comedy. And I SO enjoy that sensibility. Sometimes a joke isn't funny - but 9 times out of 10 - the NEXT one is - and I am telling you - it is a laugh-a-minute kind of a book. I'll post some excerpts when I can stop reading long enough to get to it.

Brrrr!

I just love these people. Look at the Santa-guy in the background over to the left. hahahahaha

The Books: "Coastal Disturbances" (Tina Howe)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is Coastal Disturbances, by Tina Howe

I wrote more about Tina Howe's plays here. Coastal Disturbances got its first production on Broadway in the mid-80s - 1986, I think. It was Annette Bening's big break. I remember the buzz around her performance - and I remember her performance from the Tony Awards show. They did a scene from the show. Also - Tim Daly was in it. I LOVE Tim Daly - where is he now? What a handsome talented actor.

There are many challenges to Coastal Disturbances - the main one being that it takes place on a beach. So the stage needs to be covered in sand. There are sand castles to be made - people need to buried in the sand, all of this is written into the script. Tina Howe thought that was an interesting thing to put on the stage: She wrote in the notes to the play: "There's something wonderfully audacious about setting a play on a beach. Since the audience is sitting indoors, major trickery is called for. The key is embracing it with high spirits. It's all just a matter of illusion. Only four elements are needed, and none of them cost very much -- sand, scrim, paint and light. The amount of sand you'll need will depend on the size of your stage. Be sure to hollow out several pits, one so Holly can be buried, and otehrs to accommodate beach umbrella poles and the tent at the end. Also, the sand must be watered down before each performance so the actors won't sneeze or choke to death. The real challenge of the design is capturing the movement of the beach because the weather and time of day are always changing. One scene takes place at dawn, another on a dappled afternoon, the next during a violent thunderstorm. The restlessness of the ocean and sky have to read on dry land. Of course the actors are a great help in playing it all, but finally it's paint, light, fabric and imagination that make it real."

The other challenge of the play is that there are two kids in it - and they have pretty big parts - and they have to be kind of CRAZY kids, kids on summer vacation - and finding child actors who are not disgusting is always a challenge. You have to find kids who are real kids.

The play takes place on a private beach on the North Shore of Massachusetts. Leo, a 28 year old HOTTIE, is the lifeguard (Tim Daly played him). His physical beauty is referenced all the time. He is recovering from a bad breakup. He likes to escape on his sailboat. He's a great character. He is a lightning rod for controversy. Everyone on the beach either finds him hot, or creepy - the opinions are split. People also wonder why he is a lifeguard - aren't lifeguards supposed to be 18? Why is he such a loser that he is still a lifeguard?

Holly (played by Annette Bening) is a neurotic girl who is staying with her aunt - she's in the middle of having a nervous breakdown. She can't stop crying. She does her best to keep it together, but she bursts into sobs at the drop of a hat. She is a photographer. She also is recovering from a bad breakup - with a French gallery owner, I believe - who sounds like a pretentious jackass. He does show up on the beach towards the end of the play, wearing his gorgeous clothes, looking so out of place ... he's looking for Holly.

So Leo has the hots for Holly from the second he sees her. He hovers over her. He asks her out. She is usually crying when he does ask her out, so she misses the message. Any time Leo touches her, even casually, she jumps back as if burned. She is completely awed and overcome by his beauty - which is the main reason she pushes him away. Her lust for him makes her feel totally out of control.

There are other people who hang out on the beach - people who live along that stretch. There's an elderly retired couple - she's an amateur watercolorist, he is a retired surgeon who now collects shells. They squabble. There are also two women, once friends of Holly, who now live in the world of marriage, divorce, and kids. They look at Holly, with her artistic career, and her nervous breakdown, as though she is some exotic bird. They are judgmental. But really they're just jealous. The two kids are Miranda and Winston - they are best buddies - and they wreak havoc up and down the beach.

Here is the scene where Leo and Holly finally ... "hook up". This was the scene they did on the Tony Awards show, so many years ago. The "hook up" happens after Leo gets a piece of broken glass out of Miranda's foot. He is the hero of the moment. Holly still doesn't know how to talk to Leo, because she basically just wants to gape at his beauty - but here is the conversation that occurs.

From Coastal Disturbances, by Tina Howe

[Holly sits alone on the beach, deeply affected by Leo's gallantry. He returns and walks over to her. A silence]

LEO. Well, that was quite a ... [He moves to sit next to her] May I ...?

HOLLY. Sure. [They sit side by side. The sun begins to set giving the sky a rosy glow]

LEO. Listen, about what happened the other day, I'm ...

HOLLY. Hey, no problem.

LEO. ... really sorry. I don't know what ...

HOLLY. It's okay. [a silence]

LEO. I usually don't come on like that.

HOLLY. It's okay.

LEO. If you've been with somebody a long time, you forget how to ... You know, three years is a ...

HOLLY. [putting her hand on his arm] You were really wonderful just now.

LEO. Come on.

HOLLY. No, you were. [a silence] The way you lifted her up in your arms ... [Leo moves to kiss her. She edges away] Leo, no.

LEO. [tries again] Holly ...

HOLLY. I can't ... [she starts to cry]

LEO. [putting his arm around her] Holly ....

HOLLY. Oh boy, here we go again ...

LEO. What's wrong?

HOLLY. Once I get started I ...

LEO. Hey, hey ...

HOLLY. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ... Oh God! ... See, I'm just recovering from something myself. It's so ... DUMB! I mean, you lived with someone for three years ... Talk about setting yourself up ...! He just owns the most important photography gallery in the city, that's all. You know, power and promises ... beautiful women falling all over him ... the whole charismatic thing ... sweeping into rooms and making everyone's heart stop.

LEO. Ah yes, there's nothing like the good old charismatic thing.

HOLLY. The sexy accent and swimming eyes ... kissing you on either cheek ...

LEO. The good old charismatic-kissing-you-on-either-cheek thing.

HOLLY. Lowering his voice and swearing allegiance to only you.

LEO. The good old charismatic-kissing-you-on-either-cheek-swearing-allegiance-to-only-you thing.

HOLLY. Tying yourself in knots, trying to impress him all the time. I mean, who are we trying to kid ...? What if the man were a chef or a jockey instead ...? But of course he isn't. So round and round I go, trying not to be crazy, but then he walks into the room and ... [she starts weeping again] I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

LEO. Yeah, well, what can you do ...? It's like with me and Linda. She keeps saying I'm too much for her, but instead of backing off, I just get crazier.

HOLLY. I know, I know.

LEO. It's a vicious circle.

HOLLY. Tell me about it.

LEO. You try and control yourself ....

HOLLY. Forget it.

LEO. You try not to get upset.

HOLLY. Please!

LEO. You say, just wait 'til next time.

HOLLY. I know. [Leo sighs deeply. Holly sighs deeply. A silence. Holly stretches out on the sand] God, I love this beach.

LEO. Yeah ...

HOLLY. It's so comforting to think it's always been here.

LEO. Mmmm ...

HOLLY. Before the Pilgrims .. before Christopher Columbus ... before the Indians even.

LEO. Yeah.

HOLLY. It's funny, you never picture Indians being at the beach, but they must have been. Can't you just see it ...? Teepee cabanas dotting the sand ... braves surf boarding on totem poles ... squaws sunning themselves on Navajo blankets ... [Leo starts drizzling sand over her legs] And before them, cavemen and saber-toothed tigers ... three-toed horses tiptoing across the sand like little pigs ... [She makes little rooting noises and laughs] Oh, that feels good ... You know what I read in a book ...? That the island of Atlantis was really inhabited by dolphins.

LEO. Come on.

HOLLY. No, it's true. They used to have legs and live on land.

LEO. Sure, sure.

HOLLY. I'm serious. If you dissect a dolphin, you'll find these residual flippers tucked up beneath its stomach. They used to be legs, but when Atlantis sank, the dolphins had to go with it and adapt.

LEO. And if a cat had a square ass, it would shit bricks.

HOLLY. I'm telling you, it's a fact! Dolphins used to walk around just like people! They wore pin-striped suits and carried briefcases!

LEO. Whatever you say.

HOLLY. Come on, everyone knows dophins are more like us than any other species. So, the resemblance has slipped a little, they probably had colonies right here -- on this very spot. I can feel it! ... They were tremendously social, you know. They loved to party. [Leo begins burying her in earnest] ... During the mating season, out came the dancing shoes and there'd be this ... stampede down the Atlantic coast. The men, or bulls, I guess you'd call them, wearing seaweed tuxedoes with mother-of-pearl studs, and the cows draping themselves with garlands of periwinkle and abalone ... Don't you love it how they always call male sea animals ... bulls?! "Hey, I caught me a great bull walrus today!" ... "Woa, look at that bull manatee go!" ... [She starts laughing breathless freom the weight of the sand] Oh God, I can just see it! ... Wall-to-wall dophins boogying from Miami clear up to Canada ... This pulsing silver tide for as far as the eye can see ... The surf creeping higher and higher, packing them in ... lovesick couples sinking down to the ground ... flippers arching, backs yielding, avalances of seaweed and sand starting to roll ... Boy, do I feel weird ... [laughing and giddy] I'm so lighthanded all of a sudden. I mean, headed. Lights in the head. Get it? Head lights! Boy, I really do feel strange ... [Leo finished with his handiwork, stands over her and sings a wavering note of triumph]

HOLLY. [tries to rise] Hey, what's ...

LEO. [dancing around her] I've got you now.

HOLLY. I CAN'T MOVE!

LEO. [circling her, rubbing his hands like a villain] You're mine, all mine!

HOLLY. [struggling to get out] LEO, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?

LEO. [laughing tenderly] I wish you could see yourself.

HOLLY. It's not funny! Get me out of here!

LEO. [starts to leave] Well, so long. Don't take any wooden nickels.

HOLLY. HEY, WHERE ARE YOU GOING? I'LL BE EATEN ALIVE BY SEA GULLS AND HORSESHOE CRABS! [He exits. Holly's voice gets weaker and weaker] HELP ... Help ... Hellllp ... [A silence, then in a sexy sing-song] LEO ...? Oh Leo ...?

LEO. [popping into view and settling beside her] You called?

HOLLY. You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?

LEO. Actually, I'm a very sweet guy.

HOLLY. Sure, sure.

LEO. No, that's my problem. I just come on a little strong. But underneath ...

HOLLY. You're crazy, you know that?

LEO. I'm a nice guy. [A silence] So how're you doing?

HOLLY. I've got an itch on my nose.

LEO. [scratches it] How's that?

HOLLY. Thank you.

LEO. Any time, any time.

HOLLY. Actually, you are a sweet guy, you just have a peculiar way of ...

LEO. Holly, I'm falling in love with you. I don't know what to do. [Silence] I don't know. I can't get my signals straight. I keep thinking you feel the same way. I have these dreams and you're always beckoning to me, opening your arms and smiling, I'm so confused all the time.

HOLLY. Leo, don't ...

LEO. No, I've got to say it. Last night you began undressing me and whispering all these things ...

HOLLY. [losing more and more ground] Please ...

LEO. Like all that shit just now about dolphins making it on the beach. I had the feeling something else was going on. You know what I mean ...? That you were telling me you wanted me -- all that crap about arching backs and waving flippers. I mean, Jesus Christ ...

HOLLY. Leo, no ...

LEO. So admit it.

HOLLY. Don't ...

LEO. Just admit it, for Christsakes! [Holly sighs long and deeply] Come on, what are you afraid of ...?

HOLLY. I'm just so ...

LEO. I can't take this anymore. I mean, are yo uplaying with me or what?

HOLLY. No, no, I'm ...

LEO. So then I'm right.

HOLLY. Oh God ...

LEO. You do ... you know ...

HOLLY. [in a whisper, shutting her eyes] Oh yes, yes. If you knew how much.

LEO. [kneeling down next to her] Holly, Holly ...

HOLLY. Leo!

LEO. [eases down over her, covering her face with kisses] Oh baby! [Waves crash in the distance.]

AS THE CURTAIN QUICKLY FALLS

Today in history: Jan. 1 1892

Ellis Island opened for business. The first immigrant of millions to pass through was a 15 year old Irish girl from County Cork named Annie Moore. Three large ships waited to land on that day, and eventually 700 immigrants entered the country on that first day. Annie Moore was given a 10 dollar gold piece, and welcomed to America.

I found this animated image on The History Channel - a view of Ellis Island from the boats, as they approached. Kinda gives me chills - imagining that this is the view my ancestors got, as they came over from Ireland. This is what they saw.

To those of you who ever visit New York - I highly recommend taking a trip over to Ellis Island. It's strangely emotional - you just can feel the ghosts of the millions of people who passed through. They are all still there. Here's an image of the Inspection Room - where each immigrant would be screened by doctors for any signs of illness, physical ailments, disease. This was also where their documents would be checked and double-checked. If they were healthy, and if their papers were correct - they would then be allowed to enter the United States.

And so today, let's take a second to remember Annie Moore, the 15 year old Irish girl, the first name on the long long rolls of immigrant records at Ellis Island. There's a statue of Annie Moore at Ellis Island - a bronze statue - which was unveiled by Ireland's president Mary Robinson in 1993.

Here's some more information about Annie Moore. My favorite excerpt from that piece comes at the end:

So what’s really important about Annie Moore is not so much that she was born in Ireland, but that she came to America. Someone had to be the first immigrant to land at Ellis Island and as fate would have it she was the one. It might just as easily been someone named Rebecca Schimkowitz or Maria Parmasano. In somewhat the same spirit of commemorating an Unknown Soldier as a symbol of patriotic sacrifice, the story and statues of Annie Moore are intended to remind people of this and future generations of the courageous journey made by countless millions of nameless, faceless immigrants who set out to make a new life for themselves in a strange and distant place called America.

Joy is:

-- listening to Cashel babble at me about Buster Keaton and why Buster Keaton is so funny. (He got a couple of Buster Keaton movies for Christmas). "Auntie, Sheila, he never shows any expression on his face. He is always like this." Cashel did a poker face. "But then sometimes, he goes like this." Cashel made a huge shocked face, with a wide-open mouth.

-- watching Cashel make Christmas cards for all of us. We each got a different one - and he tailored each one to our personality. That's a lot of work for an 8 year old boy. Mine came in the form of a military broadcast - which I just think is so hysterical (and appropriate - seeing as I had Imperial Grunts in my bookbag at that very moment). He said to me, "Yours is kind of military, Auntie Sheila." "Oh, wow. That's so cool." I said. Here is what it said (I will re-create his spelling - he is a very good speller, but you know, nobody's perfect):

News Brodcast:
Shhhkk. "Is that radio on? Okay, this is Lehsac Yellamo and there's a sleigh raid approaching O'Malley Ville! And here comes Auntie Sheila's batch !!!!

Merry Xmas
From Cash, Bren and Mel.

This is the best Christmas card I have ever received.

"Lehsac Yellamo" is obviously backwards-speak, an O'Malley tradition brought to new heights by my brother Nadnerb. Nadnerb has clearly passed on this talent to his son Lehsac.

-- For Jean's card, because Jean is a teacher, Cashel purposefully misspelled every word. As he was writing the card, sitting at the table (Jean and Pat hadn't arrived yet), he literally shook with laughter, like a little bowlful of jelly. It began: "Deer Onty Jeen ..." and it kind of just went from there. The card ended with: "Pee Ess. Sennd mee aye tootr." Cashel, man - you know what? That's pretty damn funny.

-- For Pat's card, Cashel made every other word be "dude". hahahahaha

-- Siobhan's card referenced the "Christmas Hannuka Kwanzaa express"

etc. The cards were genius.

-- Jean sat with Cashel reading out loud to him from the big Calvin & Hobbes book she gave him for Christmas. She did all the voices. Cashel's laughter - his true spontaneous laugh - is the best sound in the world.

-- It was so great to be all together. Melody's apartment is adorable - but we sure were all just crammed in there. A constant reshuffling had to occur - chairs moved into rooms, chairs to be moved if someone had to step out ... etc. But her place is adorable, and it made me want to move into Manhattan proper. Maybe next year.

-- Cashel looks so different with his big-boy teeth.

-- I got to see the blow-up R2D2 chair. It is the coolest thing ever.

-- We ordered pizza. Mum heated up the lasagna she brought. Bren and Dad went out and got a couple bottles of wine. We sat around in Melody's kitchen and just feasted. It was beautiful.

The Books: "The Dark at the Top of the Stairs" (William Inge)

Next in my Daily Book Excerpt:

I am still on my script shelf

Next play in my little unalphabetized pile of Samuel French plays is The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, by William Inge

Man, I did this play once. I was so miscast. I was 22 years old and I was cast as Cora - who is the mother of two teenagers. And my husband was a CHEESY actor who was probably 45 years old. He WASN'T miscast - but I WAS - and the fact that we were married ... It just was ridiculous. It made me look like Helen Hunt in the child bride of Short Creek. But you know, I did my best. I tried to create an older woman, yadda yadda, and it didn't work, but whatever. I was only 2 years older than the girl cast as my teenage daughter.

I haven't read the play in years so I picked it up this this morning to flip through it. I remember nothing. So weird! The only scene I have a vague memory of is the one between Cora and her sister Lottie. I think the reason I remember that is because I became friends with the woman who played Lottie - she was a terrific actress, and I liked working with her.

As far as I can tell, the plot is this:

It takes place in the 1920s in a small Oklahoma town that is experiencing a boom economically - you can feel the Jazz Age hovering on the fringes of the culture. The teenage girls in the play want to bob their hair - they love Rudolph Valentino - etc. Cora and Rubin are married. They have two children - Reenie and Sonny. Sonny is about 8 years old, and Reenie is in high school and she is an introspective withdrawn type girl - she would rather sit at home and play the piano than go out on dates, etc. Cora is very frustrated with Reenie. She kind of wants a different daughter - one that's a bit more girlie-girlie. Also, Reenie is kind of a whiner. Cora has had it.

There are problems in the marriage. Something's going on. Rubin is not very involved in his duties as a parent. Cora begs with him, pleads. Eventually things come to such a head (he slaps her one night) that she throws him out of the house. She wants to take her kids and go and live with her sister Lottie and her husband. Somehow this doesn't work out - because Lottie has problems of her own. She basically says to Cora: "You need to grow up, and figure out your own solution."

Reenie is forced (by her mother) to go to a party. Cora has ordered a dress for her, had it altered - even arranged for her to have a date - with a young man who is actually from California, but he is going to the military academy nearby. His name is Sammy Goldenbaum. Reenie is shy (and annoying) but Cora forces her to go through with it. Now Sammy just shows up for one scene - he comes to pick up Reenie for the party - but this is just one instance of Inge's beauty as a playwright - He invests Sammy with a lot of meaning, almost right away. He has become a symbol - at least in Cora's eyes - but also: Nobody in an Inge play is two-dimensional. Even someone with 2 lines has depth. Sammy is a terrific character. Inge describes him on his first entrance: "He is a darkly beautiful young man of 17, with lustrous black hair, black eyes, and a captivating smile. Yet, there seems something a little foreign about him at least in comparison with the Midwestern company in which he now finds himself. He could be a Persian prince, strayed from his native kingdom. But he has become adept over the years in adapting himself, and he shows an eagerness to make friends and be liked." In casual conversation, it is revealed that his mother is "in moving pictures" - and you can get the sense that she is kind of wild, and that she couldn't deal with having a kid - so she just shuffled him off to military school. He is the only Jew in the school. But Sammy seems always determined to put a positive spin on things. (This is all the more interesting and tragic because Sammy commits suicide at the end of the play. He is NOT doing well, he is NOT okay ... he has just been really good at pretending.)

I think Sammy - even though he's only in one scene - is the best character in the play. I'd like to see a whole play about him!

I'll excerpt from the scene where Sammy (and his friend Punky) come to the house to pick up Reenie (and her friend Flirt - a wild flapper) - to go to the party. Cora has thrown Rubin out - so it's just Cora, and Sonny (her son) - and Lottie and her husband Morris. When Sammy and Punky arrive, Cora is upstairs still trying to force Reenie to get into her dress. Lottie takes over trying to entertain the guests until Cora can come downstairs. Lottie is also a great character - loud, nosy, warm-hearted, straight to the point ...

One of Inge's underlying theme (as it is in all of his plays) is the problems inherent in a sexually repressed culture. How things get twisted, morph into something ugly ... the whole split between "good girls" and "bad girls" - Sex is the great unspoken force in everyone's lives and nobody talks about it. Inge was gay. He was a tormented man. He keeps returning to this theme. He doesn't bash you over the head with it, no. It is just the air that people breathe in Inge plays. It is part of the atmosphere. This is one of the reasons why Inge's plays seem "dated" - and why you really cannot lift them out of their time period.

Oh, and in the original production on Broadway in 1957 (directed by Elia Kazan) - Cora was played by the lovely Teresa Wright - who just died. What a wonderful actress.

EXCERPT FROM The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, by William Inge

LOTTIE. My, you're a long way from home, aren't you?

SAMMY. Yes, Ma'am.

LOTTIE. Morris and I went to California once. A Shriner's convention. Oh, we thought it was perfectly wonderful, all those oranges and things. Didn't we, Morris? I should think you'd want to go home on your spring vacation.

SAMMY. Well, I ... I guess I don't really have a home ... Mrs. Lacey. [Sonny wanders back fromt he parlor. Sammy fills him with curiosity and fascination]

LOTTIE. Did you tell me your mother lived out there?

SAMMY. yes, but you see, she's pretty busy in moving pictures, and ... Oh, she feels awfully bad that she doesn't have more time for me. Really she does. But she doesn't have a place where I could stay right now ... and ... But it's not her fault.

LOTTIE. Where's your father?

SAMMY. Oh, I never knew him.

LOTTIE. You never knew your father?

SAMMY. No. You see, he died before I was born. My mother has been married ... a few times since then. But I never met any of her husbands ... although they were all very fine gentlemen.

LOTTIE. Well -- I just never knew anyone who didn't have a home. Do you spend your whole life in military academies?

SAMMY. Just about. I bet I've been in almost every military academy in the whole country. Well, I take that back. There's some I didn't go to. I mean ... there's some that wouldn't take me.

SONNY. [out of the innocent blue] My mother says you're a Jew.

LOTTIE. [aghast] Sonny!

SAMMY. Well ... yes, Sonny. I guess I am.

LOTTIE. That's perfectly all right. Why, we don't think a thing about a person's being Jewish, do we, Morris?

MORRIS. No. Of course not.

SAMMY. My father was Jewish. Mother told me. Mother isn't Jewish at all. Oh, my mother has the most beautiful blond hair. I guess I take after my father ... in looks, anyhow. He was an actor, too, but he got killed in an automobile accident.

LOTTIE. That's too bad. Sonny, I think you should apologize.

SONNY. Did I say something bad?

SAMMY. Oh, that's all right. It doesn't bother me that I'm Jewish. Not any more. I guess it used to a little ... Yes, it did used to a little.

LOTTIE. [who must find a remedy for everything] You know what you ought to do? You ought to join the Christian Science Church. Now I'm not a member myself, but I know this Jewish woman over in Oklahoma City, and she was very, very unhappy, wasn't she, Morris? But she joined the Christian Science Church and has been perfectly happy ever since.

SONNY. I didn't mean to say anything wrong.

SAMMY. You didn't say anything wrong, Sonny. [The piano begins playing with precise, automatic rhythm. Flirt dances in from the parlor]

FLIRT. Come on, Punky, let's dance. [She sings] "The Shiek of Araby -- boom -- boom -- boom -- his heart belongs to me." Come on, Punky.

SAMMY. [to Lottie, always courteous] Would you care to dance, Ma'am?

LOTTIE. Me? Good heavens, no. I haven't danced since I was a girl. But I certainly appreciate your asking. Isn't he respectful, Morris? [exits]

SAMMY. Wanna wild west ride, Sonny? [He kneels on the floor, permitting Sonny to straddle his back. Then Sammy kicks his feet in the air like a wild colt, as Sonny holds onto him tight.]

FLIRT. [Instructing Punky in the intricacies of a new step] No, Punky. That's not it. You take one step to the left and then dip. See? Oh, it's a wonderful step, and all the kids are doing it.

LOTTIE. [enters with a plate of cookies which she offers Sammy and Sonny] Would you like a cookie?

SAMMY. [getting to his feet, the ride over] Gee, that gets to be pretty strenuous.

[Flirt and Punky now retire to the parlor where they indulge in a little private petting]

SONNY. Where did you get those clothes?

SAMMY. They gave them to me at the academy, Sonny.

FLIRT. [in the parlor, protesting Punky's advances] Punky, don't. [Lottie observes this little intimacy, having just started into parlor with the plate of cookies. It rouses some of her righteousness]

SAMMY. No. I take that back. They didn't give them to me. They never give you anything at that place. I paid for them. Plenty!

SONNY. Why do you wear a sword?

SAMMY. [pulls the sword from its sheath like a buccaneer and goes charging about the room in search of imagined villains] I wear a sword to protect myself! See! To kill off all the vilvlains in the world. [He frightens Lottie] Oh, don't worry, Ma'am. It's not sharp. I couldn't hurt anyone with it, even if I wanted to. We just wear them for show.

SONNY. Can I have a sword? I want a sword.

SAMMY. Do you, Sonny? Do you want a sword. Here, Sonny, I'll give you my sword, for all the good it'll do you.

LOTTIE. [to Morris] Cora will probably buy Sonny a sword now. [Now Sammy takes the sword and imitates the actions of Sammy. Lottie is apprehensive] Now you be careful, Sonny.

SAMMY. What do you want a sword for, Sonny?

SONNY. [with a lunge] To show people.

LOTTIE. Sonny! Be careful with that thing.

SAMMY. And what do you want to show people, Sonny?

SONNY. I just want to show 'em. [He places the sword between his arm and his chest, then drops to the floor, the sword rising far above his body, giving the appearance that he is impaled. Lottie is horrified]

LOTTIE. Oh, darling -- put it down. Sonny, please don't play with that nasty thing any more. [Sonny rises now and laughs with Sammy. Lottie puts the sword away in the parlor where she again detects Flirt and Punky, now engaged in more serious necking. Morally outraged, she runs up the stairs to inform Cora]

SAMMY. [kneeling beside Sonny] What'll we do now, Sonny? Are there any games you want to play? Do you want to fight Indians? or set bear traps? or go flying over volcanoes? or climb the Alps?

SONNY. [eagerly] Yes ... yes.

SAMMY. Gee, so do I, Sonny. But we can't. Not tonight anyway. What else can we do?

SONNY. I can show you my movie stars.

SAMMY. I've had enough of movie stars. What else?

SONNY. I can speak a piece.

SAMMY. You can? [jumps to his feet] Hey, everyone! Stop the music. Sonny's going to speak a piece. [Sammy stops the piano, giving Flirt some annoyance]

LOTTIE. [hurrying downstairs] Did you hear that, Morris? Sonny's going to speak a piece.

FLIRT. [to Sammy] Hey, what are you doing?

SAMMY. [to Sonny] Where do you want to stand, sir?

LOTTIE. He's got a little platform in the parlor where he practices.

SAMMY. [having taken over like an impresario] Into the parlor, everyone. Into the parlor to hear Sonny speak his piece.

FLIRT. Come on, Punky. Come on. We have to listen, don't we?

SAMMY. Quiet everyone. Quiet! [All enter the parlor but Morris who crosses right as Sonny begins the famous soliloquy. Morris looks as though he might share some of Hamlet's woes. After Sonny begins, Cora starts down the stairs with Reenie.]

SONNY.
To be or not to be, that is the question
Whether tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them.
To die: to sleep:
No more; and, by a sleep to say we end the heartache and
the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a
consummation devoutly to be wish'd.
To die, to sleep. To sleep; perchance to dream.
Ay, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause.

[There is immediate loud acclaim for Sonny]

CORA. Oh, Sonny's reciting. Why, he's reciting Shakespeare. He must have gotten out that dusty volume of Shakespeare over in the bookcase, and memorized that speech all on his own. [Points to Sammy in the parlor] Reenie, there's your young man. Isn't he handsome? Now you're going to have a good time. I can feel it in my bones.

SAMMY. That was wonderful, Sonny. [All come from parlor now, Sammy carrying Sonny on his shoulders like a triumphant hero]

LOTTIE. He's a second Jackie Coogan.

FLIRT. That was just wonderful, Sonny.

LOTTIE. Cora, you should have been here. Sonny recited Shakespeare. It was just wonderful.

CORA. Yes. I heard him.

SAMMY. Sonny's a genius. I'm going to take you to Hollywood, and put you in the movies. You'll be the greatest actor out there, Sonny.

FLIRT. Oh, I think Shakespeare's just wonderful. I'm going to read him sometime, really I am.

CORA. [going to Sammy] Good evening, young man. I'm Mrs. Flood.

SAMMY. [putting Sonny down] Beg your pardon, Ma'am. I'm Sammy Goldenbaum.

CORA. Welcome. I see my son's been entertaining you.

SAMMY. He sure has, Ma'am.

CORA. He started speaking pieces about a year ago. Just picked it up. Some people think he's talented.

SAMMY. I think so, too, Ma'am. Very.

CORA. [brings Reenie forth] Reenie! Sammy, this is my daughter Reenie.

SAMMY. Good evening, Reenie.

REENIE. [reluctantly] Good evening.

SAMMY. You certainly look nice. That's a very beautiful dress.

FLIRT. Isn't it cute! I helped her pick it out! [Cora quietly takes hold of Flirt's arm and prevents her from taking over] Ouch!

SAMMY. Gee! I didn't expect you to be ... like you are. I mean ... well, Punky told me you were a friend of Flirt's so I just naturally thought you'd be ... well, kind of like Flirt is. Although Flirt is a very nice girl. I didn't mean to imply anything against her. But ... you're very nice, too, in a different way.

REENIE. [still a little distrustful] Thank you ...

SAMMY. Would you call me Sammy?

REENIE. Sammy?

SAMMY. And may I call you Reenie?

REENIE. I guess so.

SAMMY. It's awfully nice of you to let me take you to the party. I know just how a girl feels, going out with some crazy guy she doesn't even know.

REENIE. Oh ... that's all right. After all, you don't know anything about me, either.

SAMMY. You know, I've never been to many parties, have you?

REENIE. Not many.

SAMMY. I always worry that maybe people aren't going to like me when I go to a party. Isn't that crazy? Do you ever get kind of a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you dread things? Gee, I wouldn't want to miss a party for anything. But every time I go to one, I have to reason with myself to keep from feeling that the whole world's against me. See, I've spent almost my whole life in military academies. My mother doesn't have a place for me, where she lives. She ... she just doesn't know what else to do with me. But you mustn't misunderstand about my mother. She's really a very lovely person. I guess every boy thinks his mother is very beautiful, but my mother really is. She tells me in every letter she writes how sorry she is that we can't be together more, but she has to think of her work. One time we were together, though. She met me in San Francisco once, and we were together for two whole days. Just like we were sweethearts. It was the most wonderful time I ever had. And then I had to go back to the old military academy. Every time I walk into the barracks, I get kind of a depressed feeling. It's got hard stone walls. Pictures of generals hanging all over ... oh, they're very fine gentlemen, but they all look so kind of hard-boiled and stern ... you know what I mean. [Cora and Lottie stand together, listening to Sammy's speech with motherly expressions. Flirt is bored, Punky is half asleep, and gives now a sudden, audible yawn that startles everyone] Well, gee! I guess I've bored you enough, telling you about myself.

CORA and LOTTIE. Oh, no. You haven't either.

FLIRT. [impatient] Come on, kids. Let's hurry.

SAMMY. [tenderly, to Reenie] Are you ready?

CORA. [as though fearing Reenie might bolt and run] Reenie?

REENIE. Yes.

SAMMY. May I help you into your wrap. [The word "wrap" is a false glorification of her Sunday coat, which he offers her, helping her into it]

REENIE. Thank you.

CORA. [whispering to Lottie] I wish I could have bought her one of those little fur jackets like Flirt is wearing.

FLIRT. Stand up straight, Punky, and say good night to everyone. [Punky tries again, but remains inarticulate]

CORA. [assuming that Punky said good night] Good night, Punky. Tell your mother hello for me.

FLIRT. Very pleased to have met you, Mr. and Mrs. Lacey. Good night, Mrs. Flood.

CORA. Good night, Flirt.

LOTTIE and MORRIS. Good night.