June 30, 2006
Kung Food guy!
For the first time ever - Cashel has commented on my blog! I'm so excited! I knew he read the posts that I put up about Kung Food Guy (he doesn't read my blog, of course - this is a grown-up blog - but when a Kung Food Guy installment goes up he is allowed to take a look at it with his mom or his dad watching) - but so far he's never commented! I am so excited.
So any Kung Food Guy fans who are out there - just want you to know - that Cashel is open to taking requests to the next part of the series - as he states right here!
One reminder: Cashel is 8 - and just remember how kids like to be taken seriously.
But I know there's a lot of love for him here - so if you have any ideas for him, or messages for him - go here!
Yay for the ladies!!
Okay, this took me forever. SHEESH!
So it appears that, like clockwork, some woman is a-boo-hooing about the lack of women bloggers. Emily smacked her down, and deservedly so.
Dear Mary: If you came out of your wee little windowless political world, you'd find a lot of chicks who blog. And whatevs, there are women who blog about politics too - but that's just a TEENY TINY portion of the entire blog-world.
So, without further ado, Mary - I have put together a list for you of just a SAMPLING of the ladies on my blogroll. I've even gone to the trouble of finding a cool post or 2 for you to read - so you won't have to scan through the blog yourself.
The problem, Mary, seems to be that you want to be taken seriously. You think blogging is serious. But for most of us out here, it's a HOBBY. When you start taking a hobby too seriously, you are in danger of becoming a whining blowhard.
SO:
HERE ARE THE LADIES WHO BLOG. (and again - it's just a sample from the blogroll)
1. A Dress A Day. This is a blog I check in with on a daily basis - because her title is not a lie. She posts every day. She's a terrific writer - and although I don't sew (I mend, and that's about it) - I love her insights, her photos, and her enthusiasm.
Posts to check out:
Secret Histories of Dresses part 1
2. Alexandra Billings. Yes, she is one of my best friends. But the woman can write better than any political blogger chick I know. Please. Not even a contest. Don't even try, CHiPs.
I'll just point you to her latest: a tribute to Lana Turner.
3. Blind Cave Fish (or Jess). It's rare that you come across a writer that can make you laugh out loud. She does, on a regular basis. She has a whole series that she does that I adore called "Bad Poetry Written when I was a Teenager". HYSTERICAL. Here is the latest. To give you another taste, here is her response to the Colin Farrell sex tape.
4. I shouldn't even have to remind you of Book Slut. Yes, she has a co-blogger who is male, but Jessa started it. Fantastic blog. Indispensable. Read it every day, Mary. Get your head out of your political ass, mkay? Big world out there.
5. City Wendy. Wonderful writer. I actually was going to link to one of her posts the other day but I got sidetracked. So here it is: Meeting Summer Again. The part about the people salsa dancing on the sidewalk gave me little goosebumps. A writer who can make you revel in everyday observations.
6. Cursed to First. Beth's Red Sox blog. Although I am partial, of course, to the topic - it's more than that that keeps me going back. It's her writing. I'd watch her go head to head with any of the thinly talented political writers ANY day. (I won't name names, but I know who I'm thinking of.) Okay, I'll stop snarking at Mary and political bloggers and get on with it. Beth has a GIFT. Just yesterday she wrote a post about ghosts in Fenway that is well worth a read.
6. Emily. Of course. Emily. It's hard to even know what to pick, frankly. She's a wonderful writer - a good friend - she makes me think, makes me laugh out loud, makes me her partner in outrage, etc. etc. She's a gem of the blog-world. I just scrolled through at random looking for stuff of hers that I love. Came across this - her response to the book Geek Love. And this one made me cry when I first read it, and I got choked up again when I read it just now. I'll say no more about it. And PLEASE do not miss her laugh out loud funny live-blogging of Battlefield Earth. Seriously.
7. Anne. I've written about her before - and why I find her blog so unique, so special. I don't care WHAT she writes about. I'm there. Here's a random sampling.
The best egg creams in the city
Her description of a random charming moment
Again: every day there's something like that at her blog. She's great.
8. Go Fug Yourself. Seriously. These girls have now entered the cultural consciousness. I go there every day. It's not just the photos that are funny. It's the WRITING, the observations.
9. Curly McDimple Uhm, what to even say? FUNNY. TOUCHING. Here's a random sample from her most popular posts:
The now-classic On thanksgiving and why i think peppermint patty is a big ol' bitch
The Alan Alda Sensitivity Project
I love how Curly's post titles are kind of like the titles to Robert Ludlum books.
10. The Hot Librarian. I personally love this one - about the best shower she's ever had. And then there's this one - where she ends up going off on John Gray, which made her a hero to me forever.
11. Ilyka Damen. That's her new blog - with not as much content on it yet - but check out her old blog. The woman can WRITE, folks. She's fearless about it, too. I think she's terrific. I loved her "Blog Against the Strawfeminist Week". Here's her wrapup. But scroll back through it to see Ilyka in all her glory.
12. De. I've been reading her for ... wow ... for years now. I never know what I will find when I visit her blog. Sexy stuff, book reviews ... and I just have to link to this: Scroll through here and read her Evacuation Monologues from last September, during the Hurricane Season from Hell. I love her.
13. Mental Multivitamin. I don't know much about this blogger except that she is a she - and that she is a kick-ass writer and thinker. She homeschools her kids - and provides us with periodic glimpses of her nightstand, which I love. She also has posts like this one. I read her blog, I go visit it and read entries like that - and it's like she single-handedly banishes any brain fog I may have.
14. Mimi Smartypants. I won't forget the thrill when I first discovered her. I felt that weird little prickle up my spine ... ohmigod ... this is a truly FUNNY writer. They are so rare that I treasure them when I find them. For example: her book review of The Lorax. Tears of laughter, I am telling you, tears!
And seriously: this is one of the funniest things I have ever read: THE MAJOR SESAME STREET ARCANA AND A CONSIDERATION OF WHETHER OR NOT I WOULD HANG OUT WITH EACH (IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER)
The woman's brilliant.
15. Sarah K. I love Sarah K. I love how free she is with her blog - she chats to it, she shares her life with us, she gives us details, recipes, she is obsessive about Alias, and American Idol (this is just ONE example) ... she just seems like an awesome person, and her personality sparkles off the page. I enjoy "hanging out" with her, virtually.
16. Tassy from Spread the Pink. A pink-haired sexy girl who lives openly on the web - no holds barred. I am thankful to another awesome blogger -the Mighty Jimbo (I should do a praise-list for boy bloggers on my blog-roll next! This is fun!!) - for pointing me her way. He's got pictures of Tassy up here and here. (He's an incredible photographer, in general.)
17. My friend RTG - back to blogging after a hiatus. She blogs about politics - but it's her fiction and her essays that leave me drooling for more. She's a scrumpdiddlyumptious writer. Every word tastes good, seriously. This one almost made me weep. And then fascinating glimpses of her life in posts like this one. RTG understands structure. Her posts always have it.
18. Roo. I love Roo. I read all of her posts - but check out stuff like this. She's a costume designer. It's great to get glimpses of her work. I love artists. She is one, and I love to see whatever it is she's working on.
19. Joan. As in Joan Crawford, as you can tell. A rated-X blogger, for the most part! Flirty, fun, informative, and fearless. I love Joan - she's got a beautiful writing style, and her comments section has a vibe to be admired. Full of old friends, and admirers. Very little friction - it's really fun to hang out there. She's another one, like RTG - her personal posts have structure. I read her every day. And then there's this post in memory of her grandmother who had just passed away. Joan's special. I love her stuff. She also started a project called Seven Inches of Service - an amazing blog carnival written by a group of military wives and girlfriends.
20. The Bunny Blog! Too much to even talk about. Just go over there and start reading her archives. Amazing writer.
21. My girl Lisa!!! Who has just posted pictures of herself with these words: "I leave you to ponder just how massive my hair was in the late 80s." I love that woman. Never met her, but I consider her a friend. One of my favorite things about Lisa is that she found my blog by Googling "St. Elmo's Fire fan club". I mean ... seriously. She's a kindred spirit.
22. Sars at Tomato Nation. The woman is an industry unto herself. And she's one of those people who seems to be just wired comedically - she sees things in a funny way - and better than that: she is able to explain all of that to us in a way that makes US laugh. She's a true gem of the Internet. If you're not checking in with her on a daily basis to see what's going on over there - then I honestly don't know what to say to you about your own deficiencies.
23. Tracey at Worship Naked. Seriously, you have GOT to start reading this woman, if you are not already. We've got the American Idol hilarity (here's just one example) - we've also got her beautiful posts on neat artwork she has found on the Web - like this one on paper and her whole artists trading card obsession ... Tracey's the kind of person who gets so passionate about things that she transfers that to the reader. It is totally infectious. And then she is also capable of breaking your heart in a million pieces. I mean - wow. I always feel honored that she lets me into her world. Seriously. It's an honor.
I've skipped many worthy people - I just, frankly, went down my blogroll and yanked out people. There are more - if I left you off, IT MEANS NOTHING.
This has been brought to you by the Foundation for Celebrating the Women Bloggers in all Their Diversity!!
The Mid-air pause
Rudolf Nureyev, known (among other things) for his spectacularly high jumps, was once asked: "How do you make your leaps so incredible? What is it, exactly, that you do?" Nureyev thought a bit, and then replied, "Well - I leap into the air - and when I reach the highest point - I just pause for a moment."
We have all seen dancers who seem able to pause in mid-air. Up they go - and then something happens that doesn't seem to happen to us normal people when we jump up in the air. These magical beings seem to float - laterally - through the air. Gravity is defeated.
And last night Coco Crisp appeared to pause in mid-air during his have-to-see-it-to-believe-it catch late in the game:
Crisp said it himself - he paused:
"I got a pretty good jump. I didn't know if I could catch it, so I went straight at it. I took a leap of faith. I was going full-speed so I was able to hang in the air just long enough to make the catch."
He hung in the air just long enough to make the catch ...
Athletes, man. They amaze me.
Seriously. I just love this shit.
And now - I will link to the article about it in my home state paper of record - the good ol' Pro Jo.
Oops, let me add this:
What do you want to bet that RIGHT NOW in backyards throughout Massachusetts and Rhode Island - or wherever Red Sox fans abide, little kids are re-enacting Coco Crisp's catch? They are all now taking turns "being Coco" ... and flying through the air. Attempting to pause.
Diary Friday
As I continue to deal with "life after Picnic" - I keep going back and filling in the blanks from the whole experience. It was as though I was writing myself back into the past (of, er - 2 weeks ago).
So none of this is linear - I'm in the present, I go back into the past - events are speeding up, so sometimes I don't even know what to write about.
Lots of actor talk here. If you find an actor's process interesting - there's a ton of stuff here.
This one'll be a 2-parter. The orignal entry is probably 40 pages long.
DEC. 24
Oh Diary.
Tomorrow's Christmas.
I'm a crazy woman.
[That is quite a triumvirate]
A real-life freindship with Brett has been growing. I feel so comfortable with him. My whole outlook on myself with guys is different.
My life is FULL TO BURSTING. [I don't have a font big enough to imitate what it looks like in my journal]
On Closing Night, I got to the theatre in a frazzle with my bag of cards. I had made a sign to tack up on the bulletin board. It said: " 'Rarely do members of the same family grow up under the same roof.' That's how I feel about all of you. Love, Millie."
I was on the verge of joyous tears the whole night.
I came into the girls dressing room and went around to each mirror and put my card there. Joanna came in and did the same thing. I opened mine from her and started crying. Then I heard her on the other side going, "Oh, where is Sheila?" and I went running around to her. I had given her 2 cards - one had a poem on it about being sisters [she played Madge - my sister in the play] - the other was a letter. Hers was a hard one to write, too, because she came to mean so much to me - as a friend and as my sister. When we saw each other, we just started hugging - I wanted to hug her until there was nothing left of her.
Kate gave me this book for Christmas with all these quotes in it, and one quote screamed off the page at me [Jesus. That sounds terrifying] - and I think of it now when I have difficulty describing my tremendous love for someone:
"Love sees through a telescope - not a microscope."
Those feelings are not meant to be put into words.
Joanna ended her letter with a little poem for me:
"And when you stop and think about it
You won't believe it's true
But all the love you've been giving
has all been meant for you."
After our hug, we just beamed at each other and she said, "The best is yet to come."
Then we ran off to play dodge ball in J Studio. [Okay. That is HYSTERICAL. I had forgotten that. The entire cast would get to the theatre maybe an hour before curtain ... and before going to put on our costumes or makeup or whatever ... we would all congregate in J Studio - a massive echoing black-box space - and play dodge ball. SO FUN.]
Back in the dressing room, Jennifer (about my favorite person in the world) had just read my letter - and when I walked in, she looked up at me with tears streaming down her face and said to me, her beautiful Southern accent, "You are such a doll." I started crying and we both just hugged. She is so free with her emotions. I love it.
I miss her. She went home for Christmas - I talked to her on the phone last Tuesday to say goodbye. I am thinking of her. [Uhm, you sound a little bit like a stalker now.]
I was down in the lobby and Brett was there reading all the little cards people tacked up - and also my sign - and then he saw me just standing there and he came over to me and said, "Thank you for what you wrote." Then he kissed me and hugged me so gently I thought my heart would crack. [My heart was ALWAYS cracking, apparently.] That whole night I was so tremulously happy that I was about to cry the whole time. I hadn't gone into the guys dressing room yet to give them their cards. So later on I went and knocked on the door. Joe yelled, "Come in!" so in I went and gave each one their envelope.
I love Eric. He's left - he moved to NYC - He's such a wonderful guy. It's just inexpressible.
I don't have to describe all of it. I will remember it.
What a blessing it was that I got in Picnic. I have formed lasting meaningful frienships and I am so psyched. What is so great is that they love me - not some face I've put on.
I remember a while ago when I read my Seventeen horoscope [ohmigod, no] and it said, "You won't be certain who are. Perhaps you'll know when you see yourself reflected in his eyes." [Are you KIDDING me, Seventeen???? I feel like suing them right now.] I never really understood what that meant - but suddenly - on Closing Night - after I handed the card to Brett - and he looked at me - I felt like what he was seeing. I could see myself the way he saw me. The fondness and caring in his eyes was so much that it went right through me - and I just felt so good about myself. He makes me feel special and unique. In the same way that my friends do. Sometimes I really need that.
In high school there is such a definite line between friendship and romance. If you talk seriously to a guy, or sit with him, people ask, "You going out with him?" It's really impossible to have a friendship with a guy in high school - because at least in my school - boys and girls do not mix outside of romance. [What is this - a high school in Riyadh? Lighten up, people!] If you're going out with someone, you're inseparable - but other than that ...
But here I am finding that a friendship with a guy is so satisfying - so normal. I am on TOP of the world. Because I can't put a label on what we have. It's not just friendship. It's not romance. What is so WONDERFUL about me and Brett is: Usually when I think about guys, I think: "Okay, there's friendship - and then there's more. Something more." It's like everything needs to be defined. Friendship or romance, choose. I can't find a name for me and Brett except beautiful. Fulfilling. I love him, and it's a gift. I think I sense a kindred soul in him.
A while later, I went back into the guys dressing room with Liz to give Joe a Christmas ornament that I stole from a Woolworths tree. [What?? Also: wow. Woolworths] Joe is notorious for swiping ornaments so amidst total hysteria, I presented it to him. Liz was in convulsions. Joe was slapping on face powder and praising my actions. [hahaha I remember that. It was so old-school dressing-room behavior.] I was laughing. I looked at Brett. I knew he had read my card, and I was scared to look at him. I was embarrassed. The minute I came in I was aware of Brett standing up, and he just stood there quietly during the crazy loudness -
Junior year is lightyears behind me. It's now almost a dream. Did all of that happen? It's sad how I was. I was such a basketcase. For Pete's sake, the best day of my life was when DW bought two of my damn Rice Krispie treats at the Drama Club bake sale. [I am literally shaking with laughter rightnow] I don't think I loved DW as much as I believed I did. I mean, all the stupid times he looked at me - and I would interpret it to mean something - and you know what? It doesn't even hurt anymore. I used to fall in love all over again whenever I would see him - but now - I just remember it. I can remember loving him with every fiber that I had - but I can't conjure up the feeling anymore. I don't feel stabs of pain. I haven't for a long long time. I guess it was just an infatuation.
So anyway, I finally got the courage to glance at Brett - I had the feeling that he had read my card. I felt awfully open.
He didn't smile, when I looked at him. He just jerked his head at me, to tell me to come over to him. Joe and Liz were still loudly talking. So I walked over to Brett. He looked so serious. No, not serious. He looked moved. In one moment we were hugging - just one of those indescribably hugs - I could feel I LOVE YOU - I am me - I am still Sheila Kathleen, I am the same girl I have always been - but now you are in my life, Brett, and nothing will ever be the same again. [And this is actually true. Meeting Brett changed my life.]
During rehearsals, as I slowly got more comfortable with people - they all seemed to get more at ease with me, too. Brett is such an affectionate person. He blew me away, and I didn't know what to make of him. How he would hug me, or grab me, or ruffle my hair. It's all very real, though. He says "I love you" a lot too. In later rehearsals, he would always tack on, "But not that much" and everyone would yell at him. The fact that he didn't say it with deep serious tones didn't lessen his sincerity at all. But when we were hugging in the dressing room - he said "I love you" - and he didn't tack on "but not that much" - the hug was so long - so tight - I knew then that my letter had been the right thing to do. I really just wanted to give him a gift in return for all he has given me.
Happines scares me sometimes.
No other feeling really scares me like happiness does. It makes me feel helpless sometimes, for no reason.
I knew there was some greater meaning to my getting in Picnic. It was my chance to assert myself. It was my chance to become a real actress. It presented me with all sorts of chances - but not just theatrical. I just feel so much more alive right now. Because of all of those people.
Brett broke the hug, and gave me a little shove. "Get the hell out of here. I'm starting to cry."
Then Eric came over and swung me up off the ground to thank me for the card.
I was happy. Forget trying to be eloquent. [hahaha As though my journal is rolling its eyes, thinking, "God. She's so inarticulate."]
When I left that dressing room, I was shaking. My nerves were electrocuted anyway [good lord] because it was Closing Night - way more so than Opening. The world was coming once more. Kate, J, Mere, Carolyn, my parents, Bren, Brian, Geddy and Don came down. Oh, and TS came too - although he didn't tell me he was coming.
Before each show we would always meet in the Green Room and psyche up. We'd always do our Circle. Hold hands, and zoom in and zoom out, yelling - or - send a squeeze around the circle through each other's hands - faster and faster - like an electric current - The big thing was to squeeze hands as tightly as possible and go "SSSSSSSSSS". You can't imagine how much energy it would give me.
On Saturday, though, we all held hands and just stared at each other. My knees were knocking. Brett said, "Okay, let's just be quiet for a minute and think about what Picnic has meant to us." So for a while, we all just squeezed hands and didn't say anything. All I could think of to say to God was, "Thank you". But I meant it from the very pit of my soul. This wasn't just a play for me. I don't think it was for anyone else either.
The show was beautiful. I tried not to think, "This is the last time I'll be doing this" but I couldn't help it.
We all started screaming and hugging in the Green Room - I was in the perfect mood to do a show - I couldn't WAIT to get out onstage. I was right behind Joanne and Joanna - right before we entered the backstage area, I said to them, without even thinking, "God, I love you guys." Joanne froze and turned around to look at me. Then she put her arms around me and said, "Some people you love because they don't let you do anything else." We walked backstage together. Before every show, the two of us would grab each other's arms and go "SSSSSSS". Then she and Joanna would do it, then me and Joanna - then the three of us together - and right then, it hit me. It's gonna be over so soon. That day to dayness of seeing these wonderful close friends I've made is almost over.
Before the show, backstage - it wasn't like we were saying goodbye to each other. But almost a goodbye to the show. Because right after the show, we had to immediately strike the houses. So we were all just hugging really tight.
Liz beckoned to me and Joanna and we sort of huddled with our arms around each other. Liz said, "If I ever become a mother, I would hope that my kids would be just like you two."
Oh God. She became my mother during rehearsals. She always called me and Joanna Millie and Madge - and she would tell us what to do. [hahahahaha LIZ!!!] Or she'd tell us to be careful, and drive safe, or whatever.
Brett came over to our side to hug each of us before the show. You know what's weird - I used to think TS and I were alike. But we aren't at all. We are because we both act, and we like NYC, but - we used to be alike. But since Picnic I've opened myself up. I am not afraid to be vulnerable, and I like to be around people who also aren't afraid to be vulnerable.
I can kid around with Brett, goof on him, laugh with him - he made me laugh so hard once that I almost wet my pants - but also - I can talk to him. We also can just be silent together. So I know now that I need somone that I can talk to. Someone I don't have to watch myself with, or watch what I say. I don't want to be uptight anymore. I don't want to be anyone else but myself.
The show went great. We all just had SO MUCH FUN. I had a blast - being Millie for the last time - knowing all my buddies were out there watching. I love to run the show through in my mind even now.
One of the most vivid moments for me from the last show was during Act III during Brett's and my scene. The scene was always so real, and awkward and uncomfortable. I always felt like crying during it. Because here's what I decided: I had done a lot of thinking. I knew that Alan would be leaving. I knew that I probably would never see him again - at least not this way. And it hurts me - but I knew that I had to say what I had to say, while I had the chance.
During the intermission between Act II and Act III, and during Scene 1 of Act III that I wasn't in - I sat backstage preparing, sitting between two heavy black curtains. I plugged my ears, closed my eyes so that I was in my own world. And I went through my preparation. I went through the whole picnic in my mind, let myself feel it - coming home after the picnic and finding that Madge isn't in her bed. I knew what that meant. I went through me lying in my bed all night, thinking. Millie has a dark night of the soul. She separates herself from her family. I went through all of that in my mind.
Then I opened my eyes, unplugged my ears - it was so weird, everything was so loud suddenly, so harsh. It slapped me in the face.
I remembered Madge's face as she danced towards Hal. And right then it hit me, "Holy shit. Madge is with Hal."
So when Howard's card drives up, I run around the curtain - like I'm seeing if it's Madge. But then it hits me - Alan. Oh God - it's Alan. And what about Alan. It hit me so hard it hurt. I look back over the summer - how nice Alan has been to me, all the times he let me go places with him, and the times he took me swimming.
I don't exactly know how preparing to go onstage works [sounds like you're doing a pretty damn fine job, young Sheila] - but that's what I would do. And sometimes, backstage, I would almost start to cry - I would start off feeling totally rejected. Because Hal rejected me. Thoughts of DW would float through my mind. I would sit there thinking "Why not me?" - and I couldn't tell if it was me thinking it, or Millie.
I felt despearte. I realized that everything was crumbling.
Then I would watch the love scene between Madge and Hal. And Brett would always watch it too. What a pinch that must have been.
All of this preparation helped me so much to do Act III - and helped me during our scene. I love Alan, in a way. And it hurts to have him leave because I know that the only reason he hangs around our house is because of Madge. He won't be coming back. So. I have made up my mind to tell him how I feel about him, before it's too late. And I do. [I don't know, girl, you're kinda blowing me away here. That's a powerful choice to make. Good choice.]
Act III on Closing Night was more me than Millie - I knew it. There are so many goodbyes in that act. But that one scene with Brett, I felt so choked up inside - but also so determined. And my last line is: "I don't expect you to do anything about it. I just wanted to tell you."
I have never felt it the way I felt it then. The firmness. The determination. "I just wanted to tell you."
Alan doesn't know yet about Madge and Hal, but I guessed. So I know before he does that he will be going. "I just wanted to tell you" (subtext: before you leave, before I never see you again, Goodbye Alan, goodbye to my friend Alan, thank you, thank you, thank you for being my friend.) [Holy shit. Is this a 17 year old girl writing this? Seriously. I am very impressed with myself right now]
Act III. I came offstage for the last time. Usually I don't listen to the rest of the play because it makes me cry and I can't cry for curtain call. Also, to be real about it - I wouldn't hear any of it. I am Millie, and I am on my way to my first day of school - and I am a different grown-up person now.
But the last night I did listen.
Usually when Joanna comes off, she is really crying. Joanne and I give her a minute to herself and then go to her to calm her down. I don't know where Joanne was the last night - but I heard Joanna behind one of the curtains weeping. Total hysterics. By then all the lights had come down - I went to her - and took her in my arms. She was shaking and sobbing. It was like holding J at Kate's grandmother's funeral. I didn't know what to do. She was so out of control.
It was over. We both knew it.
We hurriedly wiped off our faces to go running out to bow. After our curtain call, we all tore (as planned) to the Green Room to pop the champagne. The screaming! The mayhem! I ran into the Green Room shrieking for no real reason - everyone was screaming - Brett caught me up and whirled me around - then Eric came in and Joe - we all were yelling - and Liz! I got soaked with champagne. It sprayed everywhere. Joe hugged me and I started crying. Liz saw me and came running over to me. I love that girl. She is a gem.
In the hysteria, Kimber came in, saw me, handed me this thing,- saying, "Letter for you."
I was like, "What?"
I had no idea what it was. It was a piece of folded black construction paper. On the cover was stapled a white piece of paper with a pencilled drawing on it that I immediately recognized. It was a drawing of Paul McCartney on the cover of the Abbey Road album walking across the street with bare feet. I was quite confused. I opened it and inside was stapled a piece of blue construction paper and on it was written in crayon -
"Happy birthday/Congrats on the debut.
I'm quite sure I'm probably very proud of you.
Love, TS
(Remember, the key to success is there is not a not.)"
[This card is taped into my journal - right at this spot, by the way. My journals are filled with stapled relics of my life - cards, notes, etc. They're all plastered through the pages.]
I totally lost it. I had had NO idea that he was in the audience. I hadn't talked to him since I don't even know when - but I couldn't believe that he had actually come, and written me a letter. Right then I forgot my anger. [Oh shit. No, hang onto it!! You're gonna need it!] I started to sob as I looked at that letter.
It was just everything. I have so much love in me. I didn't know that I could love that much.
I saw Joanne, standing there with tears in her eyes. She's transferring so she won't be here next year. [She ended up staying!] I went over to her, and we both just lost it, hugging. I somehow managed to say, "I'll miss you." I learned so much about acting from her. I watched her, and I learned. She sort of took me under her wing theatrically.
Opening Night, before the show, I was not a human being. I was a shivering bundle of nervousness. We were backstage before the show, and I said, "Why do I do this if it makes me feel this way>" And she said to me, "Then leave. Walk out. You have two choices here. Either you say: Fuck it, and leave. Or you go out there and blow them away. To go out there and fail is not a choice you have."
I will always remember that. [And I always have.]
I was SO glad that TS came! I was kind of hurt that he hadn't come already.
Back in the dressing room, I had to have Linda unhook my skirt because I was not functioning. I was so eager to go upstairs that I would have run up there naked if someone hadn't stopped me. I waited for Liz to dress, then we hollered for Brett (whose parents and brother had come) Brett has a brother my age - isn't that so weird?
I've never had that much pent-up energy before. The three of us ran up the stairs and burst into the lobby.
Mere was so great - she was hugging me and beaming at me, saying, "My friend."
And there stood TS. He looked so cute. He had a suit on. I wanted to hug him and say "I love you" - but - there we go - I had to say to myself, "Wait. This is TS." I hugged him anyway. Maybe he felt awkward but I didn't.
The weirdest thing was introducing my Picnic friends to my other friends. I live in 2 worlds now, and in both worlds the different groups of people know the same Sheila - which is so great for me. I am not different with one group than another. But they are 2 worlds. It was a blending of the 2 worlds that night and it felt SO strange. Liz came running over looking freshly washed and young, after all her wrinkles and eye-shadows were scrubbed off and put her arms around me. "Introduce me! I know your faces from the Homecoming Dance picture but I don't know names."
So I said, "Liz, this is Mere, TS, J, Kate, and Carolyn." Then Joe came over and I went through it again Then Brett bounded over - and I got very confused at that point. I mean, all before the show and during - I was amazed at my own love for him. It was so much,and so happy - then I got TS's letter and immediately my soul was screaming, "TS!" So having to say, "Brett, this is TS, TS this is Brett" - I mean, it was almost funny. My whole life is hysterical. Anne started laughing as I introduced the two guys.
But I liked finally introducing my friends to this legendary person amed Brett.
After a few minutes of awkwardness, where we all stood and stared at each other - I said, "Well, I have to go knock down my house now."
Another round of tight wonderful hugs. Mere was so cute -just glowing at me. It is weird sometimes - to have people proud of me - and to be proud of myself. It makes me feel set apart and it's strange.
Then we struck the set.
It was a total downer. First of all, it totally drained me. By the end of it, my eyes were practically closed, and they were swollen cause of all the dust and sawdust. I ached. And watching our beautiful houses just coming down - like that - it was a smack in the face. A dash of ice cold reality. It's over, you fuckers. Ha ha
It was rough for everyone in the cast, but we got through it. I said to Brett, "Okay, I'm gonna turn my mind off to what we were doing." And it wasn't as hard as it seemed. I just kept myself busy, taking out nails, rolling away furniture, carrying lights and flats. There were a few times when I just stood back - watching the roof come down, or the porch come off. I'd look across the stage and see Joanna standing there, staring too. She's a kindred soul, too. I didn't really talk to people during strike. I got so tired. And sort of quietly depressed and resigned. I really thought that because Picnic was over I would never see them again. I forgot what Brett had written to me in his card: "Always remember the bond it created."
One thing happened during strike which totally lifted me. It's the only time I can remember associating with anyone during strike. Brett and I were carrying this platform to this scaffold to put it down and as we put it down, he leaned across it to me and said, "Thank you so much for what you wrote. I mean it. I almost cried." I said, "I meant it." I was being honest. I'm just not eloquent enough [again with the eloquence anxiety??] to think of anything to say. And he looked at me again in that way that sends shivers through me. It's like I know that he sees me. That's the only thing I really remember from the strike,e xcept for getting totally exhausted. I was practically sleeping while standing.
I was looking forward to the huge party afterwards at Brett and Joe's - hoping it would pep me up. Also, I was gonna sleep over so I had all my lens stuff. I had slept over once before - the Saturday before after another big party. That was a wonderful time. It was strange how comfortable I felt doing things that I could never have imagined myself doing.
I still felt kind of numb, though. It was over.
I was thinking that because we were no longer a cast, we would all drift our separate ways. I was resigned to it. I asked Joe, "Does the party usually cheer you up?" and he said, "Oh yeah!"
I got all my stuff together after the stage was totally clear. It looked so weird and desolate. I couldn't really look at it. And the dressing room - oh, the whole thing was just a weird feeling. I feel so at home in that theatre now. It was my home for 2 months. My name taped up on my mirror.
But I couldn't wait for the party.
Then Patty (one of the girls who lives with Brett and Joe) offered me a ride. There had been this fiasco a few nights before when she drove me over to Giro's - but that's another story. Patty is a nice girl but she sort of latched onto me for some reason - Carolyn does sort of the same thing. She clings. She hovers. It bugs me.
Jennifer came to the rescue. God, I love that girl - Anyways, Patty was just waiting around for me - even though I was stalling to see if I could get a ride with Joe or Joanna or Brett. I wanted to go to the party with someone who was in the show - who would understand - I didn't want to be with her. She is not someone to be with when you are feeling quiet and depressed. I just really wanted to be with cast members. She's kind of dense that way. So Jennifer, the doll, said, "Patty, could you give me a ride home before we go to the party? I have to get something." Then she winked at me. What a sweetheart.
Just then I heard Liz calling my name out in the hall - I went out there - she was peeking out of the guys dressing room and said, "Brett's gonna give you a ride."
Relief flooded over me.
I grabbed my stuff and went into the guys dressing room. Brett was putting on his sneakers. It was so comforting to be near him. I felt so lost. Our set was gone. Our houses were gone. Our little Kansas world was no more. I would have been totally floundering in space with Patty.
We headed out to his car. The night was cool and breezy with a full bright white moon.
We got in the car. We both were really quiet. My whole being felt so calm and unemotional and dead. Like: "It's over." I think Brett was more listening to my silence than being quiet on his own. Because - we sat there in his car for a minute, not talking, before he turned the key.
I couldn't believe what 2 months of my life could do.
Sitting in that car with him was such a comfort to me. Brett sighed and turned the key and away we went from the theatre. We could have driven the whole way to his house in silence and it would have made me feel better - just being with him makes me feel better. I mean, with TS - there's one second of silence and it's agonizing. I suppose I shouldn't compare but I can't help it.
We did talk in the car though. At first not about much, but then there was another lull in the conversation and I was just looking out the window and --
Brett took a deep breath and said, "Now ------ you have our phone number." He reached over and sort of patted my knee. "Use it."
I felt so full of emotion I couldn't talk. We looked at each other. Brett said, "I'm glad you feel comfortable with me." Once again, no words. I felt so good inside suddenly. I mean, the play was over, but I was going to a party, and it didn't have to be OVER over yet.
I feel so wondrous that lal this is happening to me.
We talked on the way there - I asked him if he could tell how nervous and awkward I had felt during the first rehearsals and he said, "Oh yeah. I knew just how you were feeling too. But what made me feel really good is when you started goofing on me. That was so cool because - I don't goof on everybody - especially not girls - but it was neat when you felt comfortable enough with me to bust on me."
I have always thought of friendship as "cool" but it was romance that was the "something more". I never thought this was possible - but friendship with Brett already is "something more". There is no dividing line. It's not one or the other. It's more just in being itself.
I'm shouting Brett's name to the mountains! [Uhm, Rhode Island has no mountains]
We got to the house. It was such a beautiful night. I don't know how he can stand living where he does. The view they have. And on that clear moonlit night. I love it in that little crowded beachhouse.
Millions of people were there. I was feeling so mellow and peaceful, not at all crazy. At the strike I was thinking, "Oh, it'll be fun to dance and go wild." But once I was there, I just wasn't into it. All I could think of was that this was the last Picnic party, and there were so many loud people there who I didn't know. I didn't drink. I had a sip of champagne but that was it. I sat on the couch with Joanna and Brett and we stared into the fire. We all felt the same way. I didn't feel tired anymore. I just felt like sitting around with Picnic people and talking. But it was so loud in that tiny house.
Brett glanced at me. "I am so not into crowds tonight. Are you?" I shook my head. "Not at all."
Then he said to me, "Want to go for a walk on the beach?"
That was just what I wanted. It sounded so beautiful, so peaceful - just what I needed.
We weaved our way through the throngs and went up to his room to get our coats. I said, "Do you think that this'll look a little suspicious?" We looked at each other and stopped. "Yeah, it does." he said. But still, I was aching to go - and get out of the house. The moon was so bright and so full. And the beach. The ocean. We decided to go anyway. Fuck what people thought.
We went to find Joe and Liz - but Liz wanted to shave off Joe's mustache [I am laughing out loud!!!!] so they said that they would come down later.
So Brett and I got our coats and slipped out of the house into the quiet still night.
Other Picnic entries:
Part 1. The audition
Part 2: The callbacks, getting into the play
Part 3: First meeting with the director
Part 4. The calm before the storm ... the time before rehearsals started ... memorizing lines, etc.
Part 5. Rehearsals start
Part 6. Rehearsals. Stress building.
Part 7. Crush with Brett intensifying. Finding my own way as an actress. Stress building.
Part 8. Dropping out of religious retreat with much sturm und drang.
Part 9. Being invited to college party
Part 10. Going to college party
Part 11. Aftermath of college party!
Part 12. Rehearsals! Life! Going crazy!
Part 13. The rehearsal when the play clicks into place, emotionally.
Part 14. Opening night approaching. Homecoming Dance approaching.
Part 15 Homecoming Dance. Homecoming football game. Rage.
Part 16 Last rehearsal before 3 day Thanksgiving break. Heaven!
Part 17 Opening Night!
Part 18 More on Opening Night.
Part 19 The show closes. Drama with the boyfriend. Reconnecting with my friends.
June 29, 2006
Lana Turner Day
There are so many terrific posts to lose yourself in! (OH. Today is the Lana Turner Blog-a-thon - if you didn't know already.)
Definitely go check out all of these well-written insightful essays - I've been having a lot of fun reading them.
Here is Flickhead's post. I liked this part:
If the Postman delivered anything, it was Lana inconceivably cast as a roadhouse hash slinger (!), radiant in open-toed shoes, white blouse and shorts, her beautiful bare legs held in awe by the lens, and those vacant, faraway eyes framed by a turban. Indeed, her introductory shot in that picture stands among the supreme and least plausible of all Hollywood glamour images. The great riddle — what madman cast the warm and fuzzy Cecil Kellaway as the husband? — went unanswered, but no one really cared. Lana had, as they say, ‘arrived.’
Here is Greenbriar Picture Shows post (that site is my new addiction, by the way - thank you SO much Hank for the link!) Read the whole post, and make sure to check out the picture of the absolute MOB scene beneath the marquee with her name. It's a really interesting take on Lana, on how in her heyday - there was nobody bigger. And yet it's hard to see, now, what all the fuss was about. But it would be a huge mistake to just blow off that Lana Mania as "Well, they just didn't know what was good". No, no. Let's look at her in the context of her time.
One excerpt:
The ones who could tell us all about Lana Turner and what she meant to her once wildly enthusiastic fan base are a dwindling lot of world war veterans --- the men who served and worshipped Lana, and the women who crowded her movies stateside and lived vicariously through her romances, both onscreen and off. It’s easy for our generation to regard her as a studio manufactured joke, for we never experienced the anxieties that a star like Lana was there to alleviate. She was comfort food with a brief shelf life, but like strawberries fresh from the market, she had an intoxicating flavor that just can’t be experienced so many years after the initial purchase, and a movie like Marriage Is A Private Affair can give but the barest hint of what it must have been like to taste Lana in her prime. She would certainly make better pictures (The Postman Always Rings Twice, The Bad and The Beautiful, Imitation Of Life), but none that summon up her essential appeal like this one.
And I so agree with John (who wrote that) that her films are "fascinating time capsules" for those of us who love the movies. Go read his whole post, though - and definitely scroll around his unbelievable site. I am DROOLING over some of the images.
A beautiful articulate post by one of my favorite bloggers - the Self-Styled Siren. REALLY cool insights there about Lana's beauty - and how she used it, and knew she had to use it.
In The Postman Always Rings Twice, probably the peak of Lana's looks if not her talent, the power turns to desperation. See her clinging to John Garfield, throwing every bit of her allure at him like a spear. Can't he see, for God's sake? Lana knows, she knows she's never going to get more beautiful and she sure as hell isn't going to get any smarter. She has to get away from Cecil Kellaway (Flickhead is right, that casting was bizarre), and Garfield's feckless character is unfortunately the only way out. When what she wants is murder, even Lana has to put some muscle into it. The result is that Lana's scenes of persuasion with Garfield are not subtle, but they are entirely true to a woman actually having to work on a man for the first time, after years of having them roll over and play dead.
Wow. SO true. Go read the whole post.
Here is a post by The Evening Class. It makes me NEED to see Imitation of Life again, in order to watch that one moment.
Coffee, coffee, and more coffee does a post about The Sea Chase - a film I have not seen with John Wayne and Lana. Excerpt:
It may have been part of her contract, but Turner first appears wearing a fur coat. Later she is seen wearing some form fitting sweaters, a reminder of what made her a star in the first place. While the ship's crew gets grubbier as the film progresses, Turner remains her glamorous self no matter how primitive the conditions around her.
Heh heh. Those were the days.
Here's John Garfield and Lana in Postman. I have a postcard of this image on my fridge. There's just something about it.
Lana Turner died on this day, in 1995.
Her star has faded a bit - she is now seen as a symbol of other things - but I've got to believe that someone whose career lasted that long - (she may not have done a gazillion movies a year - but she worked steadily) had a hell of a lot of moxie, ambition, and ... maybe not smarts (uhm ... 7 husbands, Lana? Johnny Stomponato? Uhm ... Lana?) ... but survival skills. She started out as the "It Girl" because of how she looked in a sweater. "It Girls" are a dime a dozen. If you want to last beyond your big season of being the "It Girl", you need to have more going on than just looks, or luck. Will we ever have a Sienna Miller Blog-a-Thon day? Time will tell.
I am not saying I think Lana Turner is under-rated. I don't. I'm not saying she's an unsung Great Actress. But she has her damn fine moments - when she is used well - when a director "gets" her - and I celebrate that part of her. I really like watching her act. It's a bunch of hoo-hah, really - breathy sleepy-eyed hoo-hah - and a relic from another time - but that's part of why I like it.
Conflict
When taking care of someone else's beloved fish, there are two conflicting emotions going on simultaneously, at all times:
1. An almost Zen-like appreciation of the fishes and their fluttery flashing underwater movements
2. Intense anxiety about finding them all gone belly-up during my reign as caretaker
I don't think I've ever experienced Zen-like peace at the same time as intense anxiety - it's an extremely odd sensation. I've experienced each one separately - but together? Only the caretaking of fish has brought about this strange conflict.
The Books: "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone" (J.K. Rowling)
Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):
Next book on the shelf is Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling. Here we go!!!
Well, I can't resist. I need to post an excerpt from the first chapter. I'll just explain why. This is a series - this is a phenomenon ... So it is interesting to look at the BEGINNING. I remember reading that first chapter for the first time - and at the last paragraph - I literally got a little goosebumpy.
This was a true BEGINNING. It doesn't feel like a fluke that this series took off, and that Harry Potter became as huge as he did - especially not when you read that first chapter, and even more specially: when you read the last paragraph of the first chapter.
I am probably not explaining myself well. But I think JK Rowling knows exactly what she's doing - and while it may have been one of those lucky strikes of fortune that helped propel this book into mythic status - I still imagine Rowling sitting in the coffee shop, scribbling this first chapter in a cheap looseleaf notebook .... or on stray napkins ... whatever piece of paper was handy. There was no guarantee. There are no guarantees. The success of Harry Potter was not a foregone conclusion, even though the whole thing seems inevitable now. I think that if the first chapter were not so, well, perfect ... the series might not have taken off as it did. How can you not keep on reading?
But also (in my opinion - and not to overthink this) - there's a little bit more to it - than just setting up a cool story. And whatever it is in that last paragraph.
The only word I can think of to use is an appropriate one - Magic.
Suddenly, in that last paragraph ... there is magic. Basically, the microscope becomes a telescope, in one fell swoop. You can see it in the writing. Minute detail ... and then pulling back, way way back ... Even now, re-reading it this morning, I got a little, ehm, lump in my throat, and felt the goosebumps. It WORKS.
Here's the end of that first chapter:
Excerpt from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone by J.K. Rowling.
If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hhid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where --" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have the scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give him here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
"Could I -- could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
"S - s - sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily and James dead - an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles --"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley ... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!"
June 28, 2006
The long-awaited sequel to Kung Food Guy
I am so excited about this that my heart just LEAPT when I saw the email from my brother.
So we have experienced Kung Food Guy. There were immediate cries for a sequel.
And Cashel has come through!!!
Wait until you see. I have many comments but I will wait for now.
Here is ....
This one has a particularly terrifying (meaning: satisfying) ending.
Awesome, Cash-man! Great job, hon!
A couple of "wow" links
All from the same blog.
Wow. (Love her. I first encountered her as the playwright in Cassavetes' Opening Night - years and years after her heyday - so it's been so fun to reacquaint myself with her work in the 30s. She was terrific.)
Wow. It's just a movie still - but it's art. I love that: when a movie can be Paused - and wherever you are in it - the paused image comes out as art. Now THAT'S a good movie.
Wow. Makes me nostalgic for a life I never lived.
Picture the scene.
You are a Japanese orphan.
You live in an orphanage in Tokyo.
You are a baby.
You live with many other Japanese orphans. You wait to be adopted. You wait to grow up. You wait to be rescued. You live your life.
One day (May 28, 2006 to be exact) a visitor comes to the orphanage. How thrilling! You think, as you peer out between the slats of your crib: "Perhaps this will be the day I get a new mom and dad? Perhaps this will be the day I get noticed and rescued! Maybe today I will be adopted!"
And then this walks through the door.
Dear cousin Kerry:
I didn't blog what I said I was gonna blog about! Sorry! Life intervened!
But in lieu of my own words on the event: you couldn't do any worse than to read this gorgeous post. Beth's was the first site I visited today. :) I NEEDED to hear what she had to say. Truly heartwarming and awesome moment.
David: are you going tonight?
hahaha I am communicating with my friends and family directly through my blog.
Today in history: June 28, 1914
Archduke Franz Ferdinand and Duchess Sophie took a tour through Sarajevo.
Here they are, on that morning.
Just gives you a chill, doesn't it. To look at them, and to know what is coming.
Rowling speaks
I love this article. Someone may die in the final installment ... a major character ... and who knows, it could be Harry. Rowling isn't saying. But I do just love how whenever this woman opens her mouth, it's an EVENT. For some reason I don't find it obnoxious.
Details in the article that I found really interesting:
She says: "The last book is not finished. But I'm well into it now. I wrote the final chapter in something like 1990, so I've known exactly how the series is going to end," she said.
Fascinating. You can tell when you read those books (well, for the most part - there are the meandering sections where I get bored as hell and it seems like Rowling is just marking time) - but in general, you can tell that Rowling knows what she's doing. She's setting stuff up because she knows where she's going. I've always felt that. I know the chapters and the incidents that I would cut - but hey, I'm not Rowling. I just love the idea that she wrote the last chapter to this whole series 15 years ago.
I also love this: "The final chapter is hidden away, although it's now changed very slightly. One character got a reprieve. But I have to say two die that I didn't intend to die," she said. "A price has to be paid. We are dealing with pure evil here. They don't target extras do they? They go for the main characters. Well, I do."
She's kind of awesome. No. They do not "target extras".
And the piece closes with: "I don't think I'm ever going to have anything like Harry again. You just get one like Harry."
I don't think these books are classics, like the Narnia books. I think they are a phenomenon. I don't think they're particularly well-written - although she does have her moments - but I do know this: I can't put the books down once I start them. They are addictive. And that takes some serious story-telling skills, which Rowling has in spades.
And judging from this article - (and I guess THIS is why I love the piece so much): I really get the sense (unlike other literary phenomenons) that this is ALL ROWLING. Things get so over-marketed so immediately these days that it's really quite disheartening - nothing even gets a chance to survive or not. Now these books are obviously marketed really well, it's an entire business - but the books themselves, the writing of the books - is all Rowling. I still get the feeling that she sits alone in her room, and loses herself in her work - in the same way that she did when she was on the dole, scribbling the first book on napkins at the coffee shop. Listen to her wording: "two die that I didn't intend to die" ... I love that. She's not completely in control of this book - it's almost like IT is telling HER where she needs to go. Madeleine L'Engle talks a lot about characters in her own books who have surprised her, who have suddenly done things she found incomprehensible ... and yet it took the book to the next level. But the magical thing is that; she is writing it!! Isn't she just sitting there making stuff up? Yes, but then there is this little thing called inspiration. That's why some writers talk about feeling like "vessels" or "channels". It's not a completely conscious artform - and I just really like that Rowling seems to be in that place. The book is leading HER. I feel like she hasn't changed, even though now, apparently, she is richer than the Queen of England. In my opinion, the books have gotten better, not worse, as the series went along ... She doesn't seem to compromise. There's a lot of pressure on her - publishers, the movie franchise, marketers ... It's gotta be intense. She has to come up with the goods. Many writers would cave under such a circumstance. Rowling seems to still know how to create that private space around herself - where she can write, and create. Because I thought the last 2 books were the best in the series. So obviously, she is not just trying to repeat herself. She's not lazy.
I personally can't freakin' wait for the next book.
The Books: "The Westing Game" (Ellen Raskin)
Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):
Next book on the shelf is The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin.
This is such a great book that I'm not going to say anything about it. I'm just going to post an excerpt and DARE you to not want to read further.
This is the first chapter of the book, called 'Sunset Towers'.
Excerpt from The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin.
The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that), but Sunset Towers faced east. Strange!
Sunset Towers faced east and had no towers. This glittery, glassy apartment house stood alone on the Lake Michigan shore five stories high. Five empty stories high.
Then one day (it happened to be the Fourth of July), a most uncommon-looking delivery boy rode around town slipping letters under the doors of the chosen tenants-to-be. The letters were signed Barney Northrup.
The delivery boy was sixty-two years old, and there was no such person as Barney Northrup.
_______________________________________
Dear Lucky One:
Here it is - the apartment you've always dreamed of, at a rent you can afford, in the newest, most luxurious building on Lake Michigan:
SUNSET TOWERS
You h ave to see it to believe it. But these unbelievably elegant apartments will be shown by appointment only. So hurry, there are only a few left!!! Call me now at 276-7474 for this once-in-a-lifetime offer.
Your servant,
Barney Northrup
P.S. I am also renting ideal space for:
______________________________________________
Six letters were delivered, just six. Six appointments were made, and one by one, family by family, talk, talk, talk, Barney Northrup led the tours around and about Sunset Towers.
"Take a look at all that glass. One-way glass," Barney Northrup said. "You can see out, nobody can see in."
Looking up, the Wexlers (the first appointment of the day) were blinded by the blast of morning sun that flashed off the face of the building.
"See those chandeliers? Crystal!" Barney Northrup said, slicking his black moustache and straightening his hand-painted tie in the lobby's mirrored wall. "How about this carpeting? Three inches thick!"
"Gorgeous," Mrs. Wexler replied, clutching her husband's arm as her high heels wobbled in the deep plush pile. She, too, managed an approving glance in the mirror before the elevator door opened.
"You're really in luck," Barney Northrup said. "There's only one apartment left, but you'll love it. It was meant for you." He flung open the door to 3D. "Now, is that breathtaking, or is that breaktaking?"
Mrs. Wexler gasped; it was breathtaking, all right. Two walls of the livig room were floor-to-ceiling glass. Following Barney Northrup's lead, she ooh-ed and aah-ed her joyous way through the entire apartment.
Her trailing husband was less enthusiastic. "What's this, a bedroom or a closet?" Jake Wexler asked, peering into the last room.
"It's a bedroom, of course," his wife replied.
"It looks like a closet."
"Oh Jake, this apartment is perfect for us, just perfect," Grace Wexler argued in a whining coo. The third bedroom was a trifle small, but it would do just fine for Turtle. "And think what it means having your office in the lobby, Jake; no more driving to and from work, no more mowing the lawn or shoveling snow."
"Let me remind you," Barney Northrup said, "the rent here is cheaper than what your old house costs to upkeep."
How would he know that, Jake wondered.
Grace stood before the front window where, beyond the road, beyond the trees, Lake Michigan lay calm and glittering. A lake view! Just wait until those so-called friends of hers with their classy houses see this place. The furniture would have to be reupholstered; no, she'd buy new furniture - beige velvet. And she'd have stationary made - blue with a deckle edge, her name and fancy address in swirling type across the top: Grace Windsor Wexler, Sunset Towers on the Lake Shore.
__________________________________
Not every tenant-to-be was quite as overjoyed as Grace Windsor Wexler. Arriving in the late afternoon, Sydelle Pulaski looked up and saw only the dim, warped reflections of treetops and drifting clouds in the glass face of Sunset Towers.
"You're really in luck," Barney Northrup said for the sixth and last time. "There's only one apartment left, but you'll love it. It was meant for you." He flung open the door to a one-bedroom apartment in the rear. "Now, is that breathtaking or is that breathtaking?"
"Not especially," Sydelle Pulaski replied as she blinked into the rays of the summer sun setting behind the parking lot. She had waited all these years for a place of her own, and here it was, in an elegant building where rich people lived. But she wanted a lake view.
"The front apartments are taken," Barney Northrup said. "Besides, the rent's too steep for a secretary's salary. Believe me, you get the same luxuries here at a third of the price."
At least the view from the side window was pelasant. "Are you sure nobody can see in?" Sydelle Pulaski asked.
"Absolutely," Barney Northrup said, following he suspicious stare to the mansion on the north cliff. "That's just the old Westing house up there; it hasn't been lived in for fifteen years."
"Well, I'll have to think it over."
"I have twenty people begging for this apartment," Barney Northrup said, lying through his buckteeth. "Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it."
Whoever, whatever else he was, Barney Northrup was a good salesman. In one day he had rented all of Sunset Towers to the people whose names were already printed on the mailboxes in an alcove off the lobby
OFFICE Dr. Wexler
LOBBY Theodorakis Coffee Shop
2C F. Baumbach
2D Theodorakis
3C S. Pulaski
3D Wexler
4C Hoo
4D J.J. Ford
5 Shin Hoo's Restaurant
Who were these people, these specially selected tenants? They were mothers and fathers and children. A dressmaker, a secretary, an inventor, a doctor, a judge. And, oh yes, one was a bookie, one was a burglar, one was a bomber, and one was a mistake. Barney Northrup had rented one of the apartments to the wrong person.
June 27, 2006
The best bar in the world
I had a crush on Crazy Erik for approximately 2.3 seconds. I do not know if he was christened as Crazy Erik, but that was the name he answered to. I would call him, he would answer his phone - "Hello?" I would say, "Crazy Erik?" He would say, "Yup!" Just so you get the idea of what we're dealing with here. He did not call me by my name either. He called me Sunshine. I don't know if he ever said my actual name, which is rather funny when you think about it. I don't have harmless crushes anymore - I'm way too old for that crap - but this one was totally benign and fun. Crazy Erik and Sunshine sittin' in a tree! Yay!!
Crazy Erik managed a bar in Jersey City. He talked about it as though it was literally the greatest bar that had ever existed. Think of any of the great bars you have been into. Green Parrot in Key West? Jazz Bulls in Chicago? Chumley's in New York? Bah. They are NOTHING compared to Crazy Erik's bar. When I first walked into the joint, I saw that it was ... well, it was a dive. The smell of stale smoke in the air. Rickety little bowls of pretzel on the short little bar. There were a couple tables - a jukebox - and a cigarette machine. He had made me think that it would literally BLOW MY MIND when I walked in how cool it was! It was basically re-defining what a bar WAS!
WAIT TIL YOU SEE MY COOL BAR, SUNSHINE!!
His behavior was cute because he didn't know it was cute. He was being sincere. I don't think he had an insincere bone in his body. But ... er ... it was a dive. Let's be honest. However, I said, accordingly, "Wow! This place is so great, Crazy Erik! It's awesome!" Because it was expected of me, and because he smiled at me with such anticipatory excitement. No harm done. Truth is way over-rated, you have to pick your moments. And in a moment like that, you should always choose to be kind. I had two choices: Truth or Kindness. I chose Kindness.
So during the 2.3 seconds that I had a crush on Crazy Erik he bombarded me with tales about his bar, and different promotions and drink specials he was running, and how it was going to be THE place to hang out, and how it was ladies night this night, and two-for-one that night, and Guinness night the next night ... Like, every night of the week had some hugely specific SPECIAL THING that was going on. It was way too high-maintenance for me. When I go to a bar, I like to just sit and chill with my drink ... not have to do a hula dance in order to earn the right to have a second drink, or whatever. But still, Crazy Erik was really excited about all of it.
Phone rings. I pick up. "Sunshine!" shouts Crazy Erik. "Hey, Crazy Erik - what's up?" (Please remember that I have a crush on him - not realizing that it is nearly halfway done at this point - so my heart leaps with excitement that he has called me! Crazy Erik called me!!) He plunges right in, "Just wanted you to know that Thursday night we're having a pajama party at the Coolest Bar in the World - just show up in your pajamas and your first drink will be free!" Again, with the unbelievable high-maintenance of this damn bar. Paint your face green, get a free glass of wine! Jump rope for 20 minutes on the sidewalk - get 2 margaritas for the price of one! Bang your head against the wall until it bleeds - happy hour prices! I mean, please, just chill out. Let me drink in peace.
But he was so excited about the pajama party, and I had a huge crush on him, so I figured - okay, whatever, I'll go.
And obviously I HAD to go in pajamas. It would have been completely unacceptable for me to show up in regular clothes. He would have been very disappointed in me, and I couldn't deal with that.
Now, let's factor this in: This is February. So it's the middle of winter, frigid, bleak, ice-coated winter.
I babble to my roommate and dear friend Jen about all of this. "He invited me ... should I wear pajamas? ... what the hell should I do? ... I have such a crush on him! Help me!" You know. Nuts. Jen said, "I'll come with you!" Which immediately relaxed me. Now I can have a partner in crime for this insane adventure, and I won't have to go to some random bar (even if it is the Coolest Bar in the World) and sit there while my current crush is busy working, and socializing and running the joint ... and feel really awkward and silly and yukky. Now we could make a night of it!
It was a night of freezing rain, the night of the pajama party.
This is the test of true friendship. Jen and I put on our pajamas. We then primped, did our hair and makeup. As freezing rain battered against our windows. We then put on big heavy boots, our winter coats, and called for a cab to come get us. We are in our pajamas. We hurry down the ice-drenched steps to clamor into the car, feeling incredibly subversive and SILLY because our flannel-clad legs are sticking out beneath our coats. What are we doing?
Oh yeah, and the "party" didn't start until after 10 p.m. Which is way late for me to be going out. I know I'm a fuddy-duddy, but it's true. I can stay out until 4 in the morning, don't get me wrong - but I have to START my evening earlier than 10. If I go home before going out - forget about it. I will not leave my apartment again. So to put on pajamas, walk outside into freezing February night, at 10 pm ... just shows you how intense the crush was. Granted, the crush only had about 1 second left to live - but I didn't know that at the time. I was livin' it up! Havin' my crush! Wearing pajamas at night! In public!
Jen and I started getting extremely giggly halfway to the bar. It was so rainy that night that I remember flood waters were gushing out of the sewage drains on corners. Our cab would have to slow down to go through the raging rivers. For whatever reason, the floods were funny to us ... because we had pajamas on? I don't know. We started laughing, and our mascara ran a little bit.
The cab dropped us off at the bar. A dive on a random corner in Jersey City. The neon beer signs gleamed out through the wet, smudging like watercolors ... It actually did look kind of cozy, from outside. Jen and I huddled under the umbrella and ran from the cab to the bar. In that time, we became absolutely drenched. Freezing gushing water. Over our primped hair and makeup.
We walked in.
Only to discover that we were the only ones in our pajamas.
Crazy Erik was nowhere to be seen.
Everyone looked at us. Since it was, after all, a dive ... it had a bunch of hard-drinking regulars - women with hard faces, feathered hair, and a penchant for playing The Allman Brothers or Lynrd Skynrd over and over on the jukebox. And we clamored in, giggly, soaked, with plaid flannel sticking out every which way.
"Remain calm," Jen said to me, and we floated nonchalantly to one of the tables. We took off our coats, brazenly revealing our pajama-ed glory for the entire place - and sat there, casually, as though nothing was weird at all. Did we get the wrong night? How could that have happened? We were in Jersey City in a bar in our pajamas. We had no explanation for our behavior.
As you can probably imagine, hysteria began to gurgle up in our throats. We were nearing the abyss of a laughing fit. It was coming. We perched on the stools, waiting to be served, looking around us - rain battering against the windows ... and suddenly - there was Crazy Erik. He came bursting out of the kitchen. And he was wearing pajamas! As well as a long flannel robe.
He saw me immediately and freaked out with excitement. "SUNSHINE! Holy shit, you came!!" He embraced me gustily, and I was beyond thrilled. Jen had never met Crazy Erik, so she sat there shyly, in her pajamas (I have to keep reiterating that), waiting to be introduced. I introduced them. Crazy Erik was a great person, let me just say that. He was naturally friendly. Naturally gregarious and outgoing. You felt relaxed when you were with him, even if you were shy. He was really nice. Crazy, don't get me wrong - but so friendly. Natural friendliness is a rare quality. He had it in spades. He was laughing so hard at our tale of making our way through the floodwaters of Jersey to get to his bar in our pajamas. He inspected our pajamas, loving every minute of it. He thought it was so great that we were there - and that we were playing along with his game. We were not "above" the game. We leapt into the game with him. This seemed to be all he wanted. He was also really handsome. If Bob from Sesame Street were hot (can you imagine that?) - Crazy Erik would look like that.
"So! Sunshine - Jen - what do you want to drink? No, wait - let me make you something. Can I? It'll be a surprise - can I???"
How could one say "no" to that. I did manage to say, "Please. Nothing with coconut." because I just can't have that ... but off he went, bathrobe fluttering behind him, so excited to make us special drinks.
We had 5 minutes until he came back, so of course Jen and I sat there discussing him vigorously. "So what do you think?" "He's so cute - I think he really likes you, Sheila." "He's adorable, isn't he? He calls me Sunshine." "He's cute ..." Etc. We analyzed everything that happened thus far in excruciating forensic detail. In our pajamas. When Crazy Erik returned with our drinks, he said, "Okay! You can stop discussing me now!" Much laughter.
The drinks were lemony martinis - something I never would have ordered - but yummy, tart and chilled. Again, NOT liking the drink seemed not to be an option - he was so excited about his concoction - so we both took sips and said, "Omigod, delicious!"
Crazy Erik was busy running the bar, so it was great that Jen was there. I knew I needed a partner in crime. We teetered on our stools, sipping our martinis, talking, and laughing hysterically. Everything shimmered. We were kind of disheveled, just because the freezing storm outside had ruined our primping efforts - but there, in that warm cozy space - it didn't seem to matter. We went to the jukebox and stood there, having a great time looking through all the selections, and picking out songs. We ordered beers. We sat there, not talking, totally enjoying the music. People played darts. Jen noticed a random helium balloon floating around aimlessly on the ceiling. It looked like it was alive, and kind of a wallflower balloon, looking for company. This also struck us as hugely amusing and we could not stop looking at it, and commenting on its behavior. "Oh, maybe it wants to join that group over there." "Yeah, maybe." "Oh - nope. It wants to talk to us now apparently ..." "Wow, it turned away. I feel really rejected." Occasionally Crazy Erik would come over and stand with us, grinning, having a great time, loving that people were hanging out in his bar, having fun on a cold cold night. Loving that we had actually taken his pajama directive seriously. He couldn't get over it.
Jen and I didn't know where we were, and we had come on a whim.
The bar had a big front window, and when we looked outside, we could see the sheets of rain coming down, we knew how cold it was out there, we could see the rain battering the concrete. If the temperature dropped tonight - the sidewalks would be sheets of ice by tomorrow. But we were inside - with Crazy Erik taking care of us - and songs like "Tainted Love" and "Enter Sandman" playing on the jukebox - and the sounds of laughter bursting from this corner, or from the bar, or from that table - and the lonely balloon wandering by above, looking for company - and our dangling pajama-clad legs ... and I guess, in that moment, I suddenly couldn't believe that I had ever thought of this place as a "dive". It had transformed before my eyes and I realized that Crazy Erik was right. It was the best bar in the world.
The Air Guitar championship
Bowery Ballroom, June 22, 2006.
And one more competitor. hahahaha
I love this. I love geeks who are brave enough to do air guitar in front of throngs of people. God love 'em.
For those rainy indoor days ...
... why not play the Save Suri Game!
(I found this via Gallery of the Absurd)
Springsteen on Conan
This video is one of the happiest things I've ever seen. It feels spontaneous ... I am seeing life itself - not an imitation of it, not a fabrication - but the real thing. I could not keep the smile off my face as I watched it.
(Thanks Round Headed Boy for linking to it)
There are moments when TV transcends itself ... when a moment of sheer greatness, perfection, and spontanaiety is allowed to exist. It doesn't happen often. TV is the most skittish of mediums. But sometimes ... sometimes ... a true moment just happens and they become engrained on our concsiousness with indelible ink. Bette Midler singing "One for the Road" to Johnny Carson on his last show - I've seen it a million times, and I still don't get over how moving it is, how ... how perfect. Springsteen on Letterman, actually - jumping up on top of Paul Schaefer;s piano. How often does something exhilarated and unexpected happen on television? The entire first season of Saturday Night Live. Now that was new. That was thrilling.
But WATCH that video of Springsteen and his band - playing with the Conan O'Brien band - and obviously letting everyone who was also on the show that night participate. I keep thinking it's gonna end - but then it goes to yet another level of joy. There are SO MANY people on that stage. Look at them all moving together. Look at Conan playing the guitar with Bruce! And keep an eye out for Jimmy Fallon in the background, playing spoons as though his life depended on it.
I LOVE PEOPLE.
I can't believe it. I just watched it twice all the way through.
UPDATE: Check out the response to this video on Bloggledygook. I love his insights about Springsteen, and music, in general. (And thanks for the kind kind words.)
The Books: "The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon (I Mean Noel)" (Ellen Raskin)
Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):
Next book on the shelf is The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon (I Mean Noel) by Ellen Raskin.
Holy moly, how all the O'Malley kids loved this book. Actually, we were huge Ellen Raskin buffs - but this was the book that started it all. Ellen Raskin is amazing - her books are intricate whodunits - the reader becomes a participant in solving the mystery (actively - in Leon (I Mean Noel) - where she has encouraging footnotes shouting at us: "REMEMBER THIS PART. WRITE IT DOWN. OR PUT A BOOKMARK HERE. THIS IS A CLUE!" Etc. Her books are soooo fun. She's kind of a genius. Not only does she create these masterful mysteries - almost interactive - but her characters are great as well. My favorite of hers is The Westing Game - I can't recommend that one highly enough - but The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon (I mean Noel) was my introduction to Ellen Raskin.
I haven't read this book in years but here is what I remember:
It opens with 2 families - the Fishs and the Carillons - they're neighbors - they both have farms, and one family grows only tomatoes and the other family grows only potatoes. They are having a rough year, financially - so they get together on Thanksgiving, pool their resources for a dinner. The Carillons have a little boy named Leon and the Fishs have a little girl named Caroline only everyone calls her Little Dumpling. (Everyone in this book has multiple names. Which you can guess from the title) Anyway - one family brings a bunch of tomatoes, the other brings potatoes - and they wonder: Hmm, what can we create out of this for a Thanksigivng dinner? They end up making soup - which turns out to be so spectacularly good - that they end up selling the recipe I believe and making gazillions of dollars. (Sorry - the details are not clear). Oh - but before that happens - the two sets of parents decide to cement their legacy, keep it all in the family, so to speak, by marrying their two children. Who are only, what, 7 years old? The two little kids - Little Dumpling and Leon, stand in the living room, with runny noses, their mittens dangling from their wrists, and they are promised to one another.
So. Long story longer. Leon and Little Dumpling of course have to go ahead and grow up before they can actually live as a married couple - but now - instead of everyone calling Little Dumpling Caroline - or Caroline Little Dumpling - everyone (including her parents) call her Mrs. Carillon. Even when she's only 9 years old. This is such a wacky book.
Leon and Little Dumpling are separated for most of their childhood. Throughout that time, Leon sends Little Dumpling cryptic messages (one a year) - which sound very benign - "I'm growing a red mustache" - but end up being clues later on.
At the age of 19 they are reunited ... and they are sailing in a boat - and a huge wave comes and knocks the boat over - and as Leon disappears under the water he glub-blubs one last message - which is totally mysterious - and ends up sending Little Dumpling on a worldwide search for him - because - he didn't drown ... the hospital confirms that for her, they released him ....? What was he trying to tell her? What did those last glub-glubs mean?
This is a book that is like a word game. You have to cut and paste different pieces of words to see if when put together again they make sense. It's like a game of hangman or Jeopardy - where you have to visualize what the complete word or phrase is when you only have a few letters.
This is all I remember of the book. My siblings will probably remember more. I can't even remember if it's a happy ending. But it's totally engrossing, and loads of fun. I read it when I was about 10.
Here's an excerpt, from early on in the book - Notice her little warning guideposts in the footnotes. So much fun to read when you're 10 - and as an adult!
Excerpt from The Mysterious Disappearance of Leon (I Mean Noel) by Ellen Raskin.
At times she thought those seven long years of pokes and jabs and smells of simmering soups would never end, then suddenly, one day, her dream came true.
Leon's fourteenth card with the fourteenth message had arrived.
____________________________
Nineteen-year-old Mrs. Carillon locked the last suitcase and studied herself once more in the full-length mirror. She was singing one of Leon's messages at the top of her lungs, because she was happy, and because it hurt Miss Anna Oglethorpe's sensitive ears.
"Grown a mustache - it's red, red, red ..." *
Every December 9th Leon had written her a message inside identical wedding anniversary cards decorated with violets. Mrs. Carillon knew every word of the fourteen messages by heart; still, she wondered what her husband looked like as a grown man. Would she recognize him?
"No problem," she thought as she pinned a stray black curl in place. "Leon, I mean Noel, is sure to recognize me." She appeared taller than her five feet in her purple high-heeled shoes; but she had to admit that she still looked something like a dumpling. Besides, she was wearing a purple-flowered dress.
A car horn honked. Mr. Banks had arrived to drive her to the station.
Mrs. Carillon grabbed her bags stuffed with purple-flowered resort clothes and ran down the stairs.
"Good-by soup! Good-by house!" she shouted.
"And good-by, forever, Miss Anna Oglethorpe!"
LEON'S FOURTEEN MESSAGES**
1. Hi! Leon
2. I am fine. How are you? Leon
3. I hate school. I'm the smallest one here. Leon
4. Got to wear glasses because I can't see the blackboard. Leon
5. My best friend is called Pinky. Leon
6. I'm writing the story of my life. You are in it. Leon
7. I'm going to wear a black tie to mourn my folks from now on and always. Leon
8. Who wrote that awful soup song? I can't stand it! I hate the song as much as I hate the soup. In fact, I hate all soup - except won ton. Leon (I hate my name, too!)
9. Pinky taught me how to ride a horse - it's great fun, except the stable only has slow nags. I think I'll get a horse of my own. Noel (That's my new name. It's much more genteel, don't you think?)
10. Help! Mr. Banks won't let me buy a horse. Try and make him change his mind. Noel
11. Found a great job. Tell tight-wad Banks to keep his old riding boots - I don't need handouts. Noel
12. Grown a moustache. It's red! Noel
13. Shaved off my moustache. Noel
14. Meet me at the Seaside Hotel, Palm Beach, this Friday. Noel
Leon? Noel!
No one in the lobby of the Seaside Hotel recognized her, or her purple-flowered dress. She announced herself to the desk clerk and was handed a key to room 1164. No one was in the room.
Mrs. Carillon wondered whether today was Friday; then she saw the note in the familiar handwriting propped up on the desk.
Put on a bathing suit and meet me at the dock. Noel
No one seemed to recogniz her, or her purple-flowered swimsuit. She jostled through the throng of vacationers looking for - no, not a black tie, no one wore neckties with bathing trunks - glasses, perhaps, and a red ... Suddenly, she saw him.
"Leon, I mean Noel!" Mrs. Carillon shrieked and threw her arms around a skinny man with brown hair, red moustache, and sunglasses. The little man struggled desperately to free himself from her tight embrace.
She didn't realize her mistake until a pretty blonde woman hissed, "Seymour, what are you doing?" and yanked him out of her arms. Mrs. Carillon watched the couple hasten away. She was too confused and embarrassed to feel someone tapping her on the shoulder.
"Mrs. Carillon?" And another tap.
Mrs. Carillon spun around. A tall, clean-shaven man with brown hair and sunglasses smiled down at her.
"Leon?" she asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Noel," he replied.
THE LAST MESSAGE***
It was an awkward moment, not at all the way she had dreamed it would be. Fourteen years had passed; they had grown up into strangers.
"We still have time for a sail," Noel said at last. "Let's go!"
Mrs. Carillon studied her handsom husband as he guided the sailboat out of the bay. "I never would have recognized you," she said.
Noel turned to her and smiled.
She smiled.
They sat there and smiled.
They didn't move; the boat didn't move. It hung suspended on the crest of a monstrous wave. It teetered. It crashed into the thrashing sea, smashed.
Mrs. Carillon somersaulted into the wild water, rose to the surface, climbed onto the broken hull, and looked about her.
"Leon, Leon!" she shouted at the bobbing head a few yards away. The head went under; the head came up; the head went under; the head came up.
"Leon!" she cried.
And he answered:
"Noel glub C blub all .... I glub new ..." ****
__________________________
Mrs. Carillon didn't know what hit her, or what happened next. Two days later she woke up in a hospital with an aching head.
"How's Leon -- Noel?" were her first words.
"Leon Noel?" repeated the nurse. "You must mean the man who was rescued with you. Just a cut on the elbow. We patched him up right away and let him go."
Mrs. Carillon returned to the hotel, but Noel was no longer registered there. The only message was a checkroom stub for her luggage. She finally found a bellhop who remembered delivering a plane ticket to a man of her description.
"A ticket to New York, I think."
* Message 12. Strange, for Leon had brown hair, but not impossible.
** Some very important clues here. You don't have to memorize all the messages as Mrs. Carillon did; a bookmark will do.
*** Hereupon referred to as the glub-blubs.
**** That's it! Copy it down, or memorize it; most of all, try to solve it.
June 26, 2006
Lana Turner ...
So this Thursday there's going to be a Lana Turner blog-a-thon (I love my new film-site friends) ... and That Little Round-Headed Boy has posted his piece early.
I love it - a great review of Somewhere I'll Find You a movie I have not seen, starring Clark Gable and Lana Turner.
I remember reading Detour when I was 14 years old. I had an after-school job in the local library and I read all KINDS of inappropriate stuff while working there. I didn't JUST read the Betsy-Tacy-Tib stories. I was also delving deep into salacious Hollywood biographies. I read Carroll Baker's detailed descriptions of quivering extra-marital sex with Ben Gazzara. I read stories of James Dean's bisexuality, and (on the flipside) his openness about his virginity. I read Shelley Winters' 2-volume autobiography which pretty much chats openly about every guy she screwed. (I love those books to this day.) I read the book about Edie Sedgwick - which - please. I had no business reading that. Drugs, sex, burning hotels, madness ... But I loved it all. Anyway, I had heard of Lana Turner by that point - just by osmosis - I had heard about how she was "discovered" and all that ... I had also read Lana Turner's autobiography - which you truly cannot do any better, if you are looking for salacious fascinating reading. She had a LOT to apologize for - I mean, good Lord, her daughter killed her gangster boyfriend! With a KNIFE!!!! Horrors. But anyway, her autobiography led me to Cheryl Crane's side of the story - which is actually a terrific book. I've read it since. It is a tell-all, it's horrible, it's a true crime book, whatever - but if you're interested in this stuff, and in what was going on psychologically in that house that led up to the 14 year old taking a knife and stabbing the slick gangster who was beating up her mother ... that's the book to read. It's horrible. But great!
I need to think up a post about Lana. Postman Always Rings Twice is, of course, a classic - that everyone's seen - but still. I think it's worth revisiting. And she's really good in it - the chemistry with Garfield is nearly unbearable - How they got all that past the censors is a mystery. It's almost uncomfortable to watch - and he is great.
There's also a campy side to the film which makes it even more enjoyable and also completely RIDICULOUS. Like: her first entrance is ludicrous - and yet when you see it, even though you want to laugh - you are also stunned dumb - just like John Garfield is. She's the wife of a country-diner owner? A small-town girl? A simple housewife?
And she's wearing a white turban and white short shorts?
Uhm ... Lana? What's goin' on?
It is so ridiculous and so AWESOME.
I look forward to reading everybody's posts.
But go read TLRHB's post. I need to check that film out.
I think I'll end with the poem by Frank O'Hara:
Poem
by Frank O'Hara
Lana Turner has collapsed!
I was trotting along and suddenly
it started raining and snowing
and you said it was hailing
but hailing hits you on the head
hard so it was really snowing and
raining and I was in such a hurry
to meet you but the traffic
was acting exactly like the sky
and suddenly I see a headline
LANA TURNER HAS COLLAPSED!
there is no snow in Hollywood
there is no rain in California
I have been to lots of parties
and acted perfectly disgraceful
but I never actually collapsed
oh Lana Turner we love you get up
"je ne sais mime"
To those who cringe when you remember the 80s ... to those who experienced it ... to those who LIVED IT ...
You must go to Stitchy McYarnpants (which you should be reading ANYway) and look at the latest.
I have no words. Make sure you read the commentary - don't just look at the pictures. The observations made are why Stitchy McYarnpants is sooooooo fuuuuuuuuunny.
When she calls one of the sweaters "the jazz-handiest of the collection" I laughed out loud.
I will be forever grateful to Lisa for introducing me to Stitchy McYarnpants.
Happy birthday ...
... to the Atlantic City boardwalk.
The first section of it was opened to the public on this day in 1870.
Here are two bathing beauties - this photo was taken at Atlantic City - in the late 1800s. I just love the insouciance of these girls. Even though they are wearing BLACK FROM HEAD TO TOE ... look at their jaunty little legs kicking up in the air.
You go, girls. Don't let anyone keep you from the ocean on a hot day.
They're Gibson girls in the flesh!
Happy birthday, boardwalk!
Awesome
Check this out - I saw this in my referral log and went to check it out. I have no idea but that looks like Russian to me? Again, no idea. When I saw it, I thought - hmmm, wonder if they are discussing this post of mine? Or this maybe? You know, because Russians only talk about Stalin. ?? But no, the link of mine that comes up is this - an excerpt from the Tennessee Williams play "Talk to me like the rain ... and let me listen." The first post on that forum says:
Ищу пьесу Теннеси Уильямса "Говори со мной, словно дождь, и не мешай слушать...". Буду рада любой информации!!!
I am guessing here, but the "Говори со мной, словно дождь, и не мешай слушать..." seems to me to be the title of the play - and I would bet that this: Теннеси Уильямса is Tennessee Williams. I have no idea what they are saying. They could be saying, "I found a post by this really pompous bitch American woman about Tennessee Williams!" Who knows.
This is one of the things I love about the Internet - and about having certain posts really high up in the Google ratings. It gives a sense of the world being a small place. Also, I've said it before: I feel at home with actors anywhere. You sit down with actors from, oh, Belarus, or Mongolia ... whatever other cultural differences you may have ... there's a larger similarity that binds us all together. My 2 Laurette Taylor posts are #1 and #2 now. This post and this post. They rank higher than her IMDB page, her Broadway database entry, and her wikipedia entry. Those posts now get the most traffic on my site, at least continuously ... and when I think to check where the traffic is coming from, I see IP addresses from Vietnam, Brazil, England, Russia - seriously. And just knowing that ... people out there know about Laurette Taylor - or are curious about her - and looking for more information - and that it's a world-wide thing, not just localized to Americans, or even to New York - just seems so so awesome to me.
The Books: "Betsy and Joe" (Maud Hart Lovelace)
Next book on the shelf ... (we're in my children's and young adult bookshelves, by the way):
Next book on the shelf is Betsy and Joe by Maud Hart Lovelace.
Senior year at Deep Valley High! Hmm, let's see. Betsy has had a kind of school rivalry as well as an unrequited crush type thing on Joe Willard - She and Joe are always neck and neck for the top grades, etc. And he's different than the rowdy group of guys she hangs out with. He's more serious. I think he's poor, if I recall correctly, so he has after-school jobs - and he really puts his nose to the grindstone with his studies. 2 books after this one, Betsy and Joe get married. So even though Joe has been peripheral in the other 3 books, now he starts to take center stage.
There's lots of drama going on. Tacy actually falls in love with someone - a guy she ends up marrying. Tib falls for the vain kind of dandyish quarterback - his name is Ralph Maddox. Tony, Betsy's long-time friend, falls in love with her, starts to pursue her. Betsy feels about Tony in a sisterly way. So there's a lot of drama there.
Here's an excerpt about some dance. Tony asks Betsy to go and she feels like she has to say Yes, because Joe hasn't asked her yet. This gives her much torment. Also, I think she and Joe had a fight of some kind ... she was hoping he would get over it and ask her to the dance, but he appears to be holding some kind of grudge. Then it turns out that Joe is there with someone else ... I think. Can't remember. Anyway - it's just one of those awkward situations which feels SO TRAGIC AND IMPORTANT when you are 17 years old.
Excerpt from Betsy and Joe by Maud Hart Lovelace.
At last the chime clock brought the New Year's Eve dance.
Tacy wasn't going. She had been given a second chance; Cab had asked her. But she had decided that she would prefer going to her uncle's with the family.
"Her uncle's!" said Tib, throwing complete incomprehension into her voice.
"I can't make her out," said Betsy.
"She's sure to be an old maid unless we take steps."
Tib had come as usual to dress for the party with Betsy - and to do Betsy's multiplicity of puffs. The pompadour was rolled over a big sausagelike mat and each puff was rolled over a small one.
"The rat and all the little