December 31, 2006
Sketchbook flotsam and jetsam
Weird, the story that fragments can tell.
1995
"The only thing you can do now, the only religious thing you can do, is act. Act for God if you want to - be God's actress, if you want to ... You can at least try to, if you want to - there's nothing wrong in trying. You'd better get busy though, buddy. The goddamn sands run out on you every time you turn around."
-- Franny and Zooey
I lie here in the Sri Lanka darkness, + I find myself yearning ...
-- No matter what I say to you, I'm telling you I love you --
"There isn't a word evolved enough for what we are." -- M. 1/11/95 Dawn
Fear and regret are twin thieves who rob us of today.
"Both of us loved her, and neither of us liked me very much." -- Cliff Eberhardt, 2/9/95
Life is beautiful.
- Lily Taylor, "Arizona Dream"
Dream: 2/11/95 I was working in a diner. It was P's diner. He was the cook. He wore an apron. It was my first day. I was so nervous. I was shaking. There were 10 booths. I was leaning over to check for the table's #s. P. was in the kitchen, getting the stove ready. He wasn't really paying any attention to me. He wasn't being mean, but he wasn't pampering me. I was on my own. I went to the first table. It was Siobhan and a friend. But she wasn't acting like Siobhan at all. And she ordered a candy bar (a very specific candy bar that I can't remember right now.) And one other thing. I looked at my check pad and could barely write the order. I went into the basement to look for the candy bar. There was a long line of boxes labelled w/ dif. candy bars. I searched and searched, getting more and more panicked. I really was panicking. Talking to myself, near tears. "Where are they? Where are they?" Having a breakdown. I kept waiting for "someone" to come rescue me. I knew I had stayed down in the basement too long (hm. Wonder what that's about) and I was afraid to go back - afraid of what I'd find.
I came back up and the whole place was full, already eating. P. had clearly taken all the orders and brought their food while I was weeping in the basement. (Hm.)
I was afraid P. was angry with me. I looked into the kitchen (the kitchen wasn't a separate room, it was at the end of the diner) - P. was 3/4s turned away from me, I saw him wiping the stove clean of grease. He didn't seem angry. He was just doing his job.
River river carry me home
River river carry me home to the place where I come from
So deep
So wide
You take me on your back for a ride
If I should fall would you swallow me deep inside?
River - show me how to float
I feel like I'm sinking down
Thought that I could get along
But here in this water my feet won't touch the ground
I need something to turn myself around
Flowing away
Away toward the sea
River deep
Can you lift up and carry me
Roll on thru the heartland
Til the sun has left the sky
River river, carry me high
Til the washing of the water makes it all right
Let your waters reach me
Like she reached me tonight
Letting go is so hard
The way it's hurting now
To get this love untied
So tough to stay with this thing
Cause if I follow through, I face what I denied
I get those hooks out of me
And I take out the hooks that I sunk deep in your side
Kill that fear of emptiness, loneliness I hide
River, oh river, river running deep
Bring me something that will let me get to sleep
In the washing of the water will you take it all away
Bring me something to take this pain away
-- Peter Gabriel
There's a letter on the desktop that I dug out of a drawer
The last truce we ever came to from our adolescent war
And I start to feel a fever from the warm air thru the screen
You come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams
The Mississippi's might and it starts in Minnesota
At a place that you could walk across with 5 steps down
And I guess that's how you started -
Like a pinprick to my heart
But at this point you rush right through me and I start to drown
And there's not enough room in this world for my pain
Signals cross and love gets lost
And time passed makes it plain
Of all my demon spirits I need you the most
I'm in love with your ghost
-- Indigo Girls
Dream: 3/4/95
Only image I clearly remember: an older black couple lying in bed. The dream camera was diagonally up on the ceiling - not directly over them. The room was dim, had an underground Hobbit-like feeling. Patchwork quilt on bed. The situation as I understand it: Everyone (I was included in this, all my friends) was meeting for breakfast. A kind of potluck breakfast. And this black coule was coming too and it was expected that they would come because they made great waffles. This couple knew we would all be disappointed if they didn't come. However (this is a huge setup for this tiny remembered image) - their baby had just died. So all I remember is the dim image of the 2 of them in bed, lying on their beds, holding each other, tears rolling down their cheeks, yet saying to each other, "We have to go to breakfast. They expect us. We can't not go."
3/3/95 3 am "Are you crying? That ain't right. You should never cry when you're with me. You crying has nothing to do with You and Me." -- M.
Before everything fell apart, he became one of the few who mattered to me in the world. -- Goldbug Variations
The Care and Feeding of Foreigners spectral trees glazed with lapidary trills and mordants of winter growing more variegated four-ale tetragrammaton semaphores phloem-pipes, palisades Franciscan of 4th Street capacitance emaciated as a Cranach Christ Disraeli - never complain, never explain worse than aphasic w/ quotes metastasized cells steady call to tonic Limerick Ladies from Lunt St. Francis prayer Dr. Arendt attacca multifoliate counterpoint reagent
"He feels a strange euphoria, an overwhelming sense of inevitability. The thing about to make its grand entrance surprises him by its uncanny familiarity." -- Goldbug Variations
"Are you waiting for someone?" -- P. to me, '92
The Cluny tapestries - ? research
Good Thing by Patty Larkin Looking at the face of forever Well I've heard enough And I've seen enough And I know enough to know I know a Good Thing when I see it And it's a bad thing to let go Well I've been around I've been up and down Until I bent out of control With your world all in motion Got to put a ball and a chain on your soul All those angels running Picking up the pieces Putting back together hearts broke long ago I know a good thing when I see it And it's a bad thing to let go There will always be lovers with borders of their own And you may charge across in a golden chariot But you will never be home I had dreams like distant thunder I had hope like a prayer unheard Now this is nothing less than perfect In a less than perfect world All those angels running Picking up the pieces Putting back together hearts broke long ago I know a Good Thing when I see it And it's a bad thing to let go
3/13/95 Dream: My wallet - cheap white leather - was stolen. I was SO UPSET because my license was gone. I was having a FIT. Screaming. My voice all hoarse. "Don't you GET it? My ID! My ID!" I was in a long weird dim room, long ceiling, fucked-up perspective, like Willy Wonka. P. was back in a corner and I believe he was on roller skates. And I just wanted him to deal with my crisis of lost identification. We sat on steps, he one step below me - and I was SO UPSET - and he was glancing behind his shoulder, at me but not at me. Very blase, indifferent.
"I lay as I had fallen, merely turning apprehensive eyes slowly left, toward the wall, to look fully into the wicked gaze of my creature. It no longer frightened me. Indeed, I felt as if I were seeing the cause of my anxiety itself for the first time, exactly as it was." -- Alice Walker, "Possessing the Secret of Joy"
"There was a boulder lodged in my throat. My heart surged pitifully. I knew what the boulder was; that it was a word; and that behind that word I would find my earliest emotions. Emotions that had frightened me insane." -- Alice Walker, "Possessing Secret of Joy"
The Troubled Face of Quiet
If I can run fast enough, I could fly --
"I am really asking whether woman cannot begin, at last, to think thru the body, to connect what has been so cruelly disorganized - its fertility, its desire, its so-called frigidity, its bloody speech, its silences, its changes and mutilations, its rapes and ripenings." -- Adrienne Rich, Of Woman Born
Dream: 4/12/95 Dreamt of P. We were in this country academic town - like Ithaca - green lawns I remember - a big grey church - that academic feel of autumn and bells ringing. I was on a quest to get P. some water. He needed water and I was searching everywhere. I think I only found him a glass. There was a lot more to the dream. He was leaving. My parents were somehow there. I said, "I'll walk you to the van." He said, "Okay." He seemed very sad - weak - I wanted to take care of him. He was trying to explain to me why he couldn't be with me. That there was something more to the story. Then he whispered to me - so so quiet - he basically just moved his lips, exaggeratedly forming the words, "I have a virus." And - it wasn't a flu - he definitely had a disease - he was dying.
Dream: 4/13
Lying in a messy bed with M. I said something that made him laugh so hard - he was burying his face in the blankets, screaming with laughter.
-- When I woke, I remembered the dream + it made me feel very weird. And wistful. Because in the 3 years I've known M. I've never made him laugh like that. I've actually never seen him laugh like that with anyone.
June 16
Horrible and scary dream this a.m. I had to wake myself up from it. I was looking on as this Arabian man tortured a cat. It escalated and escalated until he stuck a pen in the cat's eyeball. I felt like it was happening to me. I was screaming as loud as I could. "No! No!" I heard the cat start to scream too. And the Arabian fuck was getting satisfaction out of it. He took a grim pleasure in the torture. "Roger told me to keep the cats off the lawn." It was in the middle of the eyeball gouging that I pulled myself up out of sleep, screaming. I scared M. He's used to my nightmares now.
June 18 Last night: FAULKNER
WAITING
Recognition
Connection
Expanding
Surrender
Crossroads
Dissolve
Core
Plea
Roots
Yearning
Defeat
Shadowland
Letting Go
Letting Go
Letting Go
LEGACY
Make Voyages. Attempt them. That's all there is.
-- Tennessee Williams, "Camino Real"Dream July 4th 1995 Pieces I remember: Browsing in a bookstore. Saw a rack of blank books and started browsing. Black cover with white pages, oversized. Then I saw a thick book covered with an odd kind of crushed velvet that looked like leopard skin. But there was a greenish tint to it. I picked it up, drawn to it. It was falling apart in an endearing way, and on the binding was a sticker saying "Free". I opened it and I realized that it was already full of writing. It was someone's journal. There was a lot of different colored pens used, some crayon too - red, blue, pink. It took me a second to realize that it was my own handwriting. Someone had covered up my recognizable journal with the leopard skin. In the dream, I hadn't even realized that I had lost a journal. I saw the date: 'July 7'. And I thought - 'Oh, this is last summer's journal.' (The P. summer.) And immediately, I was back there, in that summer. Image - with a moving camera - a crowd outside - summertime - clearly waiting for P. Then I read the words in the journal: "He said Hello with such gentleness and love and excitement." (That really is how I feel about P. and how he would talk to me. Even Hellos were deeply layered experiences.)
Then there was a whole section about M. I can't tell this part literally - I don't remember images or anything - but I learned something about M. I learned that he had been married long before - or maybe just seriously involved with someone - and they had had a baby girl - and for some mysterious reason the baby girl died. And M. felt responsible, guilty, ashamed, and everyone kind of did blame him for the death. But he never ever ever spoke of it.
July 13 a.m.
Dream: I was at Mum and Dad's and I was going downstairs to meet T and his new wife. The dream was like reality. I hadn't seen him in years. I had never met her. I could hear the voices downstairs. Mum and Dad talking with them in the hallway. I descended. T had the weirdest most unattractive haircut I had ever seen. It was kind of like a shag, but the top of it was curly, guido-ish - it looked perfectly horrible. His back was to me. He turned. We hugged. I said, "Your hair!" and touched the back of his head. Our hug ended abruptly and awkwardly. Very unsatisfying. Turned to the wife. She seemed to be standing on a step above me.
July Dream:
After my show. But it wasn't at Shattered Globe. It was like a high school, or Shiel Park. People, audience members, were milling about. Laverne was there, sitting, waiting for me. I thought P. had been there so I was searching for him. Looking everywhere. I saw many people that I knew from all parts of my life, but no P. I was very hurt and disappointed. Then - and this section was separated from the rest of my dream -
I was listening to P. on the phone. He was in an office, the door was open, I could see him. I eavesdropped. He was calling his girlfriend for some reason, and he called her "Bijou". It was his pet name. "Well, my little Bijou ..."
July 25
God what was my dream
what was it --
P. ---
August 18 1995
Dreamt: I was in the moivie Waterworld. Very elaborate dream. In helicopters flying over endless ocean with this big island with a weird scooped-out end. "You know what that is, don't you?" "A volcano?" Little dirty people - a lot of high-up shots - Then I was down on a boat or a raft with a girl who was my Waterworld guide, as though this world were real and I was new to this world. She was telling me everything, showing me how everything worked. The sea was full of activity - boats and sea monsters. There was an enormous fish going by, half in the water, half out - like a submarine - and it was as long as an ocean liner. Far away, there were frolicking little Lochness monsters. I looked down into the water. Not too far down, I saw what looked like the bottom - only it had big black and white designs - too close to the surface to be the bottom. It was a huge animal of some kind. Then someone pointed way out to sea - and I saw the tidal wave. Somehow, there were 2 mountain/volcanoes sticking up out of the ocean, and the wave was being funneled through that channel. I was terrified. It was like I was there - but also like I was a scared spectator ("There's a tidal wave in this movie?"). It was HUGE. White - roaring. The 2 of us crouched down and hid our heads to wait it out. Then - and this will be very hard to explain - it was just after the tidal wave went over us. And - then it was gone - but it had this suction effect, like a whirlpool - only on a massive scale - and suddenly my entire field of vision was taken up by brown and then - it pulled back - and back - and it was a HUGE ocean liner - right over us - and the ocean liner was being sucked backward by the tidal wave at a very fast rate. It was terrifying. Abd then it was gone too. I was glad I wasn't on that boat.
Then I was zooming around in a motorized hangglider - I remember one other girl - in a pink bikini and sunglasses - and then the Waterworld section ended and I was moving into a new house. It was a huge house and people were moving into rooms all over it. I was on this glassed-in porch. I remembered walking by the house years earlier and taking a picture of it it was so pretty. Fountain in front yard, flowers, grass - and now I lived there. Then I heard Mitchell's voice - his actual voice - I mean, it woke me up - and I heard him say, "Hey, Sheila, your old friend M. came by and sang us a song." I woke up like a shot, saying, "What? What? M? M's here?" I put on my T-shirt and went out of my room, totally expecting Mitchell to be standing right there. After all, I heard him. But he wasn't there. That was all a part of the dream.
1996
"She's a trophy wife, she used to be a wild child, and she loves museums." - Wade on some girl
"Did I come at a bad time or are you rehearsing Strindberg?" - Melissa, 30something
9/21/97
Michael proposed last night.
Everything in the universe is subject to change, and everything is right on schedule.
The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days in trying to prolong them. I shall use my time.
-- Jack London
12/5/97 P.'s wife B. came to me in a dream. It felt like a visitation. P. was in the dream, but only subliminally. I was in their apartment. I had let myself in (I was told to) and I felt sort of awkward and anxietal. Just standing around, waiting. Would he introduce me to her? Would she even be there?
Then she walked into the kitchen. She had long dark hair, she was very angular. She looked vaguely anorexic - prominent teeth - not very good skin - yet not unattractive. She was holding a bag of groceries. She put them down on the counter. She sort of smiled at me, not really.
I awkwardly made the first move, held out my hand. 'I'm Sheila."
Everything changed then. She looked at me again - and then came over to me and put her arms around me. She said to me as she hugged me, "I know you think the world of my husband."
_______
Kate made this observation: "An anorexic holding a bag of groceries? What's that about?"
David: "She's got the abundance that you want, but she's not being nourished."
12/15/97
Emerging from - where? Subway station - I came out into a place like Washington Square Park - bright sunny day - lots of people (dream extras) - and then there were these turnstiles placed randomly - not connected to anything apparently. And we had to go thru them. Michael was waiting by one of them for me. He had sunglasses on - a huge smile. Something was weird about it, though. Something wasn't quite right. The ground was covered in something. Confetti? Leaves? Scuffing thru them.
Is this a marriage metaphor?
1/17/98
Very cool dream with Michael - we were hanging out - I needed him to do something for me. He was sitting on a chair - I was on a chair beside him - only sitting up on the back of the chair, so I was higher. He wasn't looking at me.
I said, "Could you--"
He said immediately, "Come on." Or soemthing like that. "Let's go." "Of course." "Absolutely." Immediate unconditional agreement and I burst into laughter.
Then there was a whole underwater drama which I cannot remember.
1/19/98
Okay. Lots. Dream:
I was in a bar with Rich, it was sort of well lit - and it was like we were in a movie. Somehow it was artificial. And I said, "And there's M.!" Introducing him as a character. He was sitting down at the end of the bar (of course) and he had this white thing wrapped around his head - a cross between a bandage and Arab headgear. He looked insane. W/ this placid look on his face. Rich did a sort of violent karate move to get M.'s attention. M., alert, looked @ Rich - ready for anything - + the look on his face in that moment - I was so struck by it. The un-real blueness of his eyes, the very alive expression. Then M. said, referring to what was clearly an imaginary entity beside him: "I'd like you to meet my sidekick ... Dobat." Yes. Do-baht. Dobat? Robot? What?
Nov. 14 Dream:
Going down to the beach? - to watch the end of the world. I was w/ Brendan, Maria, and we had Cashel's stoller but Cashel wasn't in it. And at first we were driving - we didn't know what we were driving to see - we didn't know what was going to happen - was it going to be a natural disaster? A meteor? An asteroid? And as we drove (and the road was filled with cars) - in the distance we kept seeing this sort of highly mechanized huge slingshot-type apparatus - it was as big as a crane. We could see it from far away, and randomly - it would sort of unbuckle - and release something up into the air - a missile? It seemed like a futile attempt to stave off the disaster. Primitive. But - it was giving it its best shot. I remember Maria's calm energy. I was so happy I was with her. Eventually, the road got so clogged with cars that we got out and walked. Everybody else was doing that, too. I said something like, "Do we really want to be getting close to this disaster? Front row seats?"
And Maria said something - in a phrasing I can't remember - something like, "This will be a morning in history."
And we still didn't know if the end of the world was a sure thing, so maria was saying: if it's a mistake, then we'll go home - but let's not hide from it. Let's greet it with open eyes.
Nov. 22 98
My dream world is really coming back. In this past week alone:
1. M. got an office job - he wore a blue suit. It upset me SO MUCH. I went to visit him and we were looking for a private place to make out. No luck. M.'s feet were suddenly the size of a child's. I wanted to cry, seeing those small feet - it was like M. had been totally diminished. Tragedy.
2. Slow deliberate movement of a monstrous "s" - I was so scared in the dream that my brain would not accept what I was seeing
3. Claude Monet was being fucked up the ass by this claymation pygmy fertility-doll type man with a penis the size of a tree trunk.
December 30, 2006
2006 Books
Books read this year. I actually may end up adding a couple more to the list - since I am bed-ridden at the moment and could finish 2 more books by the time the damn ball drops across the river. This list is in chronological order. Some I have discussed on the blog and when that is the case I'll provide a link. But many have gone un-commented-upon by moi. Oh, and many of these are re-reads. I will make note of that when applicable. It's funny - I look at some of these books (like the 2 Annie Proulx short story collections) and remember exactly where I was when I was reading them (on Alex's couch, during my vacation in LA).
Next year I'd like to read more fiction. That's one goal, anyway.
2006 Books
1. Now I Can Die in Peace: How ESPN's Sports Guy Found Salvation, with a Little Help from Nomar, Pedro, Shawshank, and the 2004 Red Sox by Bill Simmons
Sheer liquid joy. Every word. I think I read this book in 2 days. I had given a copy to every member of my immediate family for Christmas - and then had to buy one myself. At one point, day after Christmas, I looked around the living room - and nobody was speaking - everyone was reading the book - occasionally guffawing with laughter.
2. Marlon Brando by Patricia Bosworth
A short book, a quick read. Bosworth wrote what I consider to be one of the best entertainment biographies of its kind - her biography of Montgomery Clift - and she's a member of the Actors Studio - so her writing on actors is, in general, knowledgeable and precise. She understands the importance of certain elements of the craft, and knows how to write about them. Some entertainment biographies treat the art of acting as a mystery (the most recent Cary Grant bio is a good example) - but Bosworth knows what she's talking about. I've read other Brando biographies, so much of the anecdotal stuff here is not new to me - but still - it was a good read. She's a good writer.
3. Close Range: Wyoming Stories , by Annie Proulx
Annie Proulx is one of my favorite writers. I had never read this whole collection before - the only story I had read was "Brokeback Mountain" but I read that when it first came out in The New Yorker. This collection of short stories cannot be overpraised, in my opinion. They are magnificent.
4. Bad Dirt : Wyoming Stories 2 by Annie Proulx
I had brought both short story collections to LA with me. I was on an Annie Proulx kick. Close Range, the first of the collection, is much more bleak. There is almost a pre-apocalyptic feel to some of them. Bad Dirt is a much more lighthearted collection. It's humorous - absurd (the one story of people falling into the hole, etc.) - and I guess I wasn't in the mood for lighthearted absurdity. Especially not after just reading the transcendent bleak brilliance of Close Range. But Annie Proulx's a favorite. I'd read a grocery list if it were written by her.
5. The Innocents Abroad by Mark Twain
I can't believe I had never read this book before. It's terrific. Laugh out loud funny.
6. Play It As It Lays by Joan Didion
I'm a huge fan of Didion's non-fiction and had never read her novel. Finally picked it up, and boy am I glad I did. I read it in 2 days, I think, it's not very long. But it has that cold clear relentless quality that is so recognizably Didion. She scares me. I love her.
7. At Swim-two-birds, by Flann O'Brien
I had read this before (it is practically a requirement if you belong to the O'Malley clan) but I felt like reading it again. It is a nonsensical ridiculous at times hilarious book ... that somehow has something to do with Mad King Sweeney, and Finn MacCool, and also with a loser college student who lies around in his room all day planning his perfect novel. This book is a lot of fun. It's totally imitated now - Dave Eggers, David Foster Wallace, all of those experimental meta-esque writers now owe a huge debt to Flann O'Brien.For example - he writes characters who are aware that they are characters in a novel - etc. It's a literary experiment. Much fun.
8. His Excellency: George Washington by Joseph Ellis
I love Joseph Ellis. Wonderful writer. He doesn't really write typical biographies. They're more like musings on the character of the man in question. Contemplative, open-minded, thought-provoking. I was excited to read this one, after having read Ellis' books on Jefferson and Adams - and I was not disappointed.
9. Stalin: The First In-depth Biography Based on Explosive New Documents from Russia's Secret Archives by Edvard Radzinsky
An emotional book written by one of Russia's premiere playwrights. I posted about it here and here
10. The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown
I had never read the book when it first came out - I'm just not a best seller kinda gal ... but I was in Philadelphia for a week for an acting job - and I had time to kill at night in my hotel room - and I bought the book in the train station. I needed something completely distracting and not taxing - because I would be working my ass off all day long. Da Vinci Code totally fit the bill. I finished it in 3 days. It is HORRIBLY written. I mean, you can feel that from the first page. What - was he paid extra for the number of exclamation points? Did he get extra money for italicized words? Yes, it is a piece of crap, but I could not put it down!!!!!!! (to imitate Dan Brown's writing style).
11. The Smartest Guys in the Room: The Amazing Rise and Scandalous Fall of Enron by Bethany McLean and Peter Elkind
VERY interesting. Made me feel like I wanted to take a shower after reading it. Highly recommended.
12. Why Orwell Matters by Christopher Hitchens
I consider this a must-read. I'm an Orwell fan anyway, so Hitchens is preaching to the choir as far as I'm concerned (not to mention the fact that I will read anything that Hitchens writes). But still. Must-read.
13. The Language of the Third Reich: LTI -- Lingua Tertii Imperii: A Philologist's Notebook by Victor Klemperer
Linguistic observations jotted down by a German Jew living in Dresden in the 30s and 40s. Anyone at all interested in totalitarian thinking, and thought control - will not want to miss this book. Klemperer wrote it in the midst of his own oppression - at times it was the only thing keeping him going, the thought of his LTI ... he jots down notes about newspaper articles, ads, the way words are twisted and stand in for something else - words like "father" and "land" and "work" - all end up having sinister meanings under the Third Reich. Klemperer looks at this language control systematically. Terrifying and fascinating book.
14. The Dragons of Expectation: Reality and Delusion in the Course of History by Robert Conquest
I love Conquest but to be honest I can't remember anything about this book.
15. Shopgirl by Steve Martin
I don't know why I picked this book up, but I am so glad I did. I hadn't even seen the movie - so I'm not sure what the draw was. It's a wonderful little book, and it actually struck a very deep chord within me. I felt named by this book. And the movie ended up slaughtering me in a completely unexpected way when I did get around to seeing it - but the book is just a lovely little piece of writing. It really is. I'll read it again.
16. The New Biographical Dictionary of Film: Expanded and Updated by David Thomson
This book is, what, 1500 pages long? I think I started reading it way last year - it's alphabetical - the entries are long and detailed (or, some of them are) and I decided to read through it alphabetically. This meant it took forever. It also meant that I became acquainted with some names I have never heard of before. I kept a running list of movies I haven't seen that I need to see because of this book. It's massive. A GREAT reference tool. Indispensable. (It has already shown itself to be indispensable to me.)
17. Rubicon: The Last Years of the Roman Republic by Tom Holland.
I made fun of this book here.
18. Lighthousekeeping by Jeanette Winterson
Winterson deserves her own post. I have a complicated ongoing relationship with her as an author - it's a funny thing. Her novel The Passion is one of my favorite novels ever written ... but I've felt that she has lost her way in the last decade. Or - no, not lost her way. But the way she has chosen to go does not interest me. Kinda like me and Tori Amos. I'll always love Tori ... I'll keep buying those albums, my dear, but ... I like the OLD Tori! It's a rare artist whom I will follow thru their experimental stages - but Winterson is one of them. FASCINATING. I find her writing captivating. Lighthousekeeping is, in a way, Winterson coming back to form ... but not really. It does have some of the old whimsy though - her arresting images (the vertical house where you have to anchor down the cups so they won't fall, etc.) - and her mixture of fairy tale logic witih reality. She's fantastic. LOVE her. Reading Lighthousekeeping made me go on a rampage of re-reading - as you will see.
19. The PowerBook by Jeanette Winterson
I had read this book when it first came out but quickly tired of it. I found it much better the second time around. The narrator (we do not know the gender, typical Winterson) touts him/herself as a deliverer of fantasies. The narrator, through the Internet, can make people's fantasies come true - identity becomes fluid, permeable - the narrator learns what your fantasy is and then, like a true storyteller, writes it out - and the reader can be transported into another time. So we go back in time to Turkey, to the Dutch tulip bulb frenzy, we travel to Capri ... I'm not sure what it all MEANS but I know it has something to do with the yearning of many of us to resist classification. To resist labeling, or pinning down. Even down to something as seemingly elemental as gender. The thing I like best about Winterson is probably the thing that annoys her critics: her joy in her own creative capabilities. I love that about her. And sometimes it does get the better of her (uhm Art & Lies, Jeanette? What the hell was that?) - but still: if you take risks, you're bound to fail sometimes. I appreciate the fact that she is willing to fail.
20. The Journalist and the Murderer by Janet Malcolm
I consider this a must-read. I remember the controversy that erupted when this piece first came out (in a shorter form, of course) in The New Yorker. In a way, that controversy still rages. This book is the reference point for many conversations about journalistic integrity. Malcolm is relentless in her critique.
21. In the Wake of the Plague: The Black Death and the World It Made by Norman Cantor
I believe I referred to this book as I was reading it as The Black Death for Dummies. I think I need to read something a little more advanced next time.
22. Like Life by Lorrie Moore
One of the best fiction writers out there. Period. This is her most recent collection of short stories. She is so so so good.
23. Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Heracles by Jeanette Winterson
This is part of a really cool series where modern-day authors take on re-telling certain myths. Winterson was asked to do Atlas - this is her most recent book - and I LOVED it. She is totally in her prime here.
24. The Rasputin File by Edvard Radzinsky
This book was criticized when it first came out for being out of control, incoherent ... and I guess I can see where the critics are coming from, but whatever, I had a great time reading it. Couldn't put it down, in fact.
25. Goldie: A Lotus Grows in the Mud by Goldie Hawn
I know, who else goes from Rasputin to Goldie Hawn. I had had this book for a while - and hadn't picked it up (I buy pretty much any new entertainment biography or autobiography that comes out - I will get to all of them eventually) - and then it was Annika's ongoing Goldie Hawn series (first part here) that made me finally pick it up. It's one of my favorite books I've read this year. Annika and I exchanged a couple emails about it, it was good to talk with someone who loves Goldie and loved the book. It's not greatly written or anything - but there was just something about it. First of all: you could tell it was all her. There was no ghost writing going on here. Second of all: it wasn't a strict linear biography. She was more interested in sharing what she felt she learned in her life, rather than just listing her resume. And there were times the book made me cry. I love her anyway, always have ... but I ADORED her book and I highly recommend it. It's not just a "ooh, here was my triumph HERE, and here was my triumph THERE" ... she talks about her struggles, her views on men and marriage, on being a working mother, on losing her privacy when she became famous, on how to keep herself from having a big head (she credits a lot of that to her father, but also to her rigorous dancing training) ... I loved every word of this book.
26. Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell
I'm a huge Gladwell fan. HUGE. I didn't like this book as much as The Tipping Point but still: worth a read.
27. Kiss Me Like a Stranger: My Search for Love and Art by Gene Wilder
A fun read by an all-time favorite of mine. Posted an excerpt here.
28. Kate Remembered by Scott Berg
This came out right after Hepburn died. Scott Berg had been sitting on the manuscript for a couple of years - Hepburn had asked that he not publish it until she died, and also that his be the first. Hepburn fans: you don't want to miss this. It's not a typical biography. Berg and Hepburn were friends, of a sort ... and this is a book of his remembrance of her, his impression of her. If you're fascinated by this hard-to-pin-down woman, Berg's biography will captivate you. Tons of fantastic anecdotes.
29. Slouching Towards Bethlehem: Essays by Joan Didion
This is a re-read. "Goodbye to All That", one of my favorite essays ever written, is in this collection.
30. The White Album by Joan Didion
More essays from Joan Didion. This one was a re-read too - but Slouching Towards Bethlehem made me want more. Didion can be like a drug for me. She spoils other writers.
31. Vintage Didion by Joan Didion
A compilation of Didion's stuff. Awesome essay about California and Patty Hearst. Truly, I think Joan Didion is one of my favorite writers. She takes my breath away.
32. A Collection of Essays by George Orwell
I had been working on this collection, off and on, for some time. Many of them I had already read (his political essays, certainly) but a lot of this was new to me. His massive essay on Charles Dickens was thrilling to read. Excerpt here and here. I love Orwell.
33. Cooper's Women, by Jane Ellen Wayne
Horrible. Wonderful. More here.
34. The Cleopatra Papers: A private correspondence by Jack Brodsky and Nathan Weiss
Probably only a real movie buff would like this book. I actually had been keeping my eye open for this book for years - it's referenced often in other books - and finally I found a used copy on Amazon, ordered it, and read it in an afternoon. It's a private correspondence between two publicists working on Cleopatra - being filmed in Rome and in England. Amazing to imagine working on a film without emails, or cell phones, or blackberries. It really is. These guys had to cram in all the information into a letter - and then sometimes they would telegram later with urgent stuff. Cleopatra is one of the most notorious movie shoots in cinematic history and I just ate this book UP. Because it's an unedited version of the correspondence between 2 guys who were trying to put out the fire, trying to calm down the PR nightmare that the film was becoming ... It was the death blow to the studio system, and these guys were ground-level witnesses to it. FASCINATING. Corporate politics, star power, paparazzi (already going strong), board meetings, creative control, art and commerce - this book has it all.
35. Dino: Living High in the Dirty Business of Dreams by Nick Tosches
Wow, is all I can say. There's a reason why this book is a reference point for other books in the same genre. It doesn't even really classify as a biography. It's a poetic contemplation, it's an act of ventriloquism, it's arrogant, it's deep, it's emotional ... I could not put this book down. I had heard people praise it. David Thomson, critic extraordinaire, used the word "magesterial" when describing it - and I remember thinking to myself, before I read it, "How good could it be? It's a biography of Dean Martin, how good could it be?" It's that good. Within the first paragraph I knew I was reading a different kind of biography altogether. It's controversial, yes, and some people hate it. I loved it.
36. The Men Who Made the Movies by Richard Schickel
Schickel was one of the guys on my list so when I saw this book I had to get it. Interviews from the 1970s with Howard Hawks, John Ford, Raoul Walsh, Vincente Minelli ... and I forget who else. 2 or 3 more. Great stuff. I love books like this. Great backstage anecdotes, funny stories, how they managed to film this or that ... Love it.
37. Because They Wanted to by Mary Gaitskill
Another one of my favorite writers. Short story collection. She's piercing. She's a hard writer for me to read. It's almost too raw at times. Here's an excerpt.
38. Life of Pi by Yann Martel
Posted about it here.
39. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova
I went on a new fiction kick which I'm not normally into. Figured I'd see what the fuss was about with some of these. I think the fuss was a wee bit over-the-top in this case (especially the monumental advance she got) - but still I will say this: I could not put it down. It is a helluva book. I posted about it here and here.
40. Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld
Great read. Just a great great read. It's quite a debut. Posted about it here.
41. The Master and Margarita, by Mikhail Bulgakov
Holy shit, is basically all I have to say. I posted about it here.
42. The Sisters: The Saga of the Mitford Family by Mary S. Lovell
This was a re-read. Why on earth would I re-read this biography of the 6 Mitford sisters? You got me. No - it all came about because Decca Mitford's letters were just published - and I heard about that - and wrote this post about the Mitford family and that got me all worked up all over again. I re-read the book in a weekend. I recommend it.
43. Isaac Newton by James Gleick
I VERY much enjoyed this book. Learned a lot. Posted about it here.
44. Snapping: America's Epidemic of Sudden Personality Change by Flo Conway, Jim Siegelman
Before I even finished this book I had to send a copy of it to Emily. I knew that she, above all people, would get this book. Brainwashing. Cults. It's amazing. Terrifying. It's really about what goes on in the BRAIN during the cult's recruitment efforts ... and what happens when someone snaps. Very important book.
45. The Making of the Misfits by James Goode
Like The Cleopatra Papers - another first-hand in-the-present recounting of one of the most harrowing film shoots in film-making history. I had been wanting to read this book for a long time as well - tracked down a copy on Amazon for, like, 2 cents and read it. Posted about it here.
46. Stalin and the Kirov Murder by Robert Conquest.
Incredible book - even more incredible when you realize that Conquest wrote it when very little of any of this was in the public record. He had to rely on second-hand sources, samizdat literature, dissident memoirs, etc. Conquest amazes me. I posted about it here.
47. Young Patriots: The Remarkable Story of Two Men. Their Impossible Plan and The Revolution That Created The Constitution by Charles Cerami
I changed my tune by the end of the book. I liked it in the beginning (I'll read anything about that period, I don't care) ... but by the end, I thought; Hmm. What does this book offer that other books don't? Uhm ... not much. It's a bit shallow. I think I might have liked the IDEA of the book better than the actual book - it doesn't really do what it says it's gonna do - hone in on Madison and Hamilton. You can get that story just fine in the Chernow biography of Hamilton which covers that period in depth - I don't know, I was a bit disappointed. Posted on it here, here, and here.
48. James Madison: (The American Presidents Series) by Garry Wills.
I do love the American Presidents Series and hope to collect them all eventually. Madison's Presidency is not often focused on - mainly because it wasn't all that spectacular - but also because his work with the constitution tends to overshadow everything else. And probably rightly so. Madison- the serious little thinker, covertly moving behind the scenes ... qualities that made him a superb legislator and organizer but maybe not so good a president. Good book. Highly recommend it.
49. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
What a read.
50. Marie Antoinette: The Journey by Antonia Fraser
Chuck sent this to me as a Christmas present which I received just as I was leaving town last week. I, of course, had other books on me - other books to read - but I had a disastrous commute back up to my parents (uhm - it took me 9 hours to get to Rhode Island. Normally it takes 3 and a half. It still wasn't as bad as this infamous trip, however.) So I was stuck on busses, sitting around in terminals waiting, blah blah ... so I took out my brand new book and started flipping through it. 4 days later, I had finished it. Once I started it I could not put it down. Wow. I learned a LOT.
51. Peter Bogdanovich's Movie of the Week by Peter Bogdanovich
Miker sent this to me for my birthday, I think - and I've been reading it here and there ever since and I just finished it. Bogdanovich started it as a column for the New York Observer, I think. The editor asked him if he would do a weekly column on classic movies that would be shown that week on television - and Bogdanovich said yes. The columns were a huge success - and eventually Bogdanovich came out with a book, only these were HIS favorite movies, not just ones that happened to be showing that week. Bogdanovich chooses a movie a week - so we get 52 reviews - and he writes with such an immediacy and an accessibility that it makes me excited to rush right out and see the ones I haven't seen. He knows a helluva lot about film - I mean, he's encyclopedic - and sometimes it's daunting when I realize how much I still have to learn - but he's a great guide. An excited happy guide, psyched to show you the treasures he has.
52. They Call Me Naughty Lola: Personal Ads from the London Review of Books by David Rose (Editor)
I love a book that I cannot read on the bus or the train because my wild guffaws would disturb other commuters. OH, how I love a book like that. I tried to read it on the bus once - and that was it. Never again. Snorting, guffawing, wild barks of laughter ... it was too much holding all that noise back. I'll post some of my favorites at some point, but seriously, this book is a HOWLER. I LOVE THOSE PEOPLE.
December 29, 2006
Movie quote
I'm no fool. I've killed the boss, you think they're not gonna fire me for a thing like that?
Movie quote
-- I'd like to make her look a little more attractive, how far can you pull back?
-- How do you feel about Cleveland?
Movie quote
-- I joined the army 'cause my father and my brother were in the army. I figured I better join before I got drafted.
-- Son, there ain't no draft no more.
Movie quote
Suddenly it came over me that everything would go wrong. It sounds crazy, but it's true, so help me. I couldn't hear my own footsteps. It was the walk of a dead man.
Movie quote
There are things you do hate, Lord. Perfume-smellin' things, lacy things, things with curly hair.
Movie quote
I know you and Frank were planning to disconnect me, and I'm afraid that's something I cannot allow to happen.
Movie quote
Would ya just watch the hair. Ya know, I spend a long time on my hair and he hit it. He hit my hair.
Movie quote
My father was fond of saying you need three things in life - a good doctor, a forgiving priest, and a clever accountant. The first two, I've never had much use for.
Movie quote
-- Everybody thinks I'm anorexic, but I'm not.
-- Really? Cause ... yeah ... cause I thought you were anorexic.
-- I know, I know ... Thank you.
Movie quote
I do not, for one, think that the problem was that the band was down. I think that the problem may have been, that there was a Stonehenge monument on the stage that was in danger of being crushed by a dwarf.
Movie quote
They are retreating into a cloud of smoke where they will congratulate each other for being masters of the universe.
Movie quote
You're the first woman I've seen in one of these things that dresses like a woman, not like a woman thinks a man would dress if he was a woman.
Movie quote
-- What's this doohickey?
-- It's a brassiere! You know about those things, you're a big boy now.
Movie quote
Wouldn't it be wonderful if we were old? Then we could say we survived all this. Everything thing would be uncomplicated, the way it was when we were young?
Movie quote
-- I do not attempt to deny that I think very highly of him - that I greatly esteem him... I like him.
-- Esteem him? Like him? Use those insipid words again and I will leave this room this instant.
Movie quote
You can act like a man! What's the matter with you. Is this how you turned out? A Hollywood finocchio that cries like a woman.
Movie quote
Loneliness has followed me my whole life, everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There's no escape. I'm God's lonely man.
Movie quote
This chick, man, without the sole benefit of dying herself, has broken down the process of dying into five stages: anger, denial, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Sounds like a Jewish law firm. 'Good morning, Angerdenialbargainingdepressionacceptance!'.
Movie quote
-- Teaching is just a way to pay the bills until I finish my novel.
-- How long you been workin' on it?
-- Four and a half years.
-- It must be very good.
-- It's a piece of shit. Would anyone like to smoke some pot?
Movie quote
I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll never understand or forgive myself. And if a bullet gets me, so help me, I'll laugh at myself for being an idiot. There's one thing I do know - and that is that I love you. In spite of you and me and the whole silly world going to pieces around us, I love you. Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names.
Movie quote
The prettiest sight in this fine pretty world is the privileged class enjoying its privileges.
Movie quote
-- My astrologist has read my horoscope, he's read DeMille's horoscope.
-- Has he read the script?
Movie quote
I'll tell you what. Until I get back my five thousand dollars, you're gonna get more than you bargained for. I'm your goddamn partner!
Movie quote
People say, You must have been the class clown. And I say, No, I wasn't. But I sat next to the class clown, and I studied him.
Movie quote
-- You said you loved me.
-- I meant it at the time.
-- Well what was it, a viral love? Kind of a 24 hour thing?
Movie quote
So you're finally showin' the right side of your face. Well, I seen it all along. This is some kinda drug you been givin' her. It's what's been making her act like she's been. Well, Ah'm goin' into town and Ah'm gunna tell them what you been up to.
Movie quote
-- I don't even know you.
-- You know me. I'm the same as you. It's two in the morning and I don't know nobody.
Movie quote
Bill's thirty-two. He looks thirty-two. He looked it five years ago, he'll look it twenty years from now. I hate men.
Movie quote
Now you listen to me. I don't want any plastics and I don't want any ground floors. And I don't want to get married ever to anyone! You understand that? I want to do what I want to do.
Movie quote
-- Will, am I a bad mother?
-- No. No, you're not a bad mother. You're just a barking lunatic.
Movie quote
-- Speak for yourself.
-- Do you think I'd speak for you? I don't even know your language.
Movie quote
Do not touch the glass. Do not approach the glass. You pass him nothing but soft paper - no pencils, no pens. No paper clips or staples in his paper. Use the sliding food carrier only, no exceptions. If he attempts to pass you anything, do not accept it. Do you understand?
Movie quote
Idiot broads! Here we are, all packed, ready to leave for Miami, and what happens? The saxophone runs off with a Bible salesman, and the bass fiddle gets herself pregnant!
Movie quote
-- What's the attraction?
-- I dunno... she fills gaps.
-- What's 'gaps'?
-- I dunno, she's got gaps, I got gaps, together we fill gaps.
-- Are you ballin' her?
Movie quote
-- I want to go to Bombay, India to become a movie star.
-- You don't go to Bombay to become a movie star. You go where we're going, Hollywood.
-- Well, sure, if you want to do it the easy way...
Movie quote
-- Papa, if losing a case depresses you so, why don't you quit practicing law and go into another line of business?
-- That's a good idea. Starting tomorrow, I intend to play first base for the Baltimore Orioles.
Movie quote
-- Do you want to stay?
-- Why not? All that awaits me at home is a masturbating Welshman.
Movie quote
Sofia home, now. Sofia home. Things is gonna be changin' around here. Pass me them peas, boy.
Movie quote
You look fit. War agrees with you. I keep informed; I follow all your slaughters from a distance. Do sit down.
Movie quote
-- I don't suppose that's a drop of anything wet in the house?
-- Help yourself to the buttermilk.
Movie quote
If you gave me a million years to ponder, I would've never guessed that true romance and Detroit would ever go together
Movie quote
Money really means nothing to me. Do you think I'd treat my parents' house this way if it did?
Movie quote
I don't know who you are or where you've come from, but from now on you'll do as I say, okay?
Movie quote
-- Oh David, what have you done?
-- Just name anything, and I've done it.
Movie quote
If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it makes us feel as though our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'. Bless you all.
Movie quote
You used to be fun. You used to be warped and twisted and hilarious... and I mean that in the best way - I mean it as a compliment!
Movie quote
You dream that if you discuss the revolution with a man before you go to bed with him, it'll be missionary work rather than sex.
Movie quote
No. No, Mother, I have not been drinking. No. No. These two men, they poured a whole bottle of bourbon into me. No, they didn't give me a chaser.
Movie quote
-- What makes you think you can just walk in there and take whatever you want?
-- They're called boobs, Ed.
December 28, 2006
A gentleman's library
I have always loved this letter of Thomas Jefferson to Robert Skipwith - from 1777 - where Jefferson gives a list of his book recommendations for a personal library. Of course you couldn't buy all these books at once, Jefferson realizes that .. but this is the list of books that you eventually SHOULD have.
Monticello, Aug. 3, 1771
I sit down with a design of executing your request to form a catalogue of books to the amount of about 50 lib. sterl. But could by no means satisfy myself with any partial choice I could make. Thinking therefore it might be as agreeable to you I have framed such a general collection as i think you would wish and might in time find convenient to procure. Out of this you will chuse for yourself to the amount you mentioned for the present year and may hereafter as shall be convenient proceed in completing the whole. A view of the second column in this catalogue would I suppose extort a smile from the face of gravity. Peace to its wisdom Let me not awaken it. A little attention however to the nature of the human mind evinces that the entertainments of fiction are useful as well as pleasant. That they are pleasant when well written every person feels who reads. But wherein is its utility asks the reverend sage, big with the notion that nothing can be useful but the learned lumber of Greek and Roman reading with which his head is stored?
I answer, everything is useful which contributes to fix in the principles and practices of virtue. When any original act of charity or of gratitude, for instance, is presented either to our sight or imagination, we are deeply impressed with its beauty and feel a strong desire in ourselves of doing charitable and grateful acts also. On the contrary when we see or read of any atrocious deed, we are disgusted with it's deformity, and conceive an abhorrence of vice. Now every emotion of this kind is an exercise of our virtuous dispositions, and dispositions of the mind, like limbs of the body acquire strength by exercise. But exercise produces habit, and in the instance of which we speak the exercise being of the moral feelings produces a habit of thinking and acting virtuously. We never reflect whether the story we read be truth or fiction. If the painting be lilvely, and a tolerable picture of nature, we are thrown into a reverie, from which if we awaken it is the fault of the writer. I appeal to every reader of feeling and sentiment whether the fictitious murther of Duncan by Macbeth in Shakespeare does not excite in him as great a horror of villainy, as the real one of Henry IV, by Ravaillac as related by Davila? And whether the fidelity of Nelson and generosity of Blandford in Marmontel do not dilate his breast and elevate his sentiments as much as any similar incident which real history can furnish? Does he not in fact feel himself a better man while reading them, and privately covenant to copy the fair example? We neither know nor care whether Lawrence Sterne really went to France, whether he was there accosted by the Franciscan, at first rebuked him unkindly, and then gave him a peace offering: or whether the whole be not fiction. In either case we equally are sorrowful in the rebuke, and secretly resolve we will never do so: we are pleased with the subsequent atonement, and view with emulation a soul candidly acknowledging it's fault and making a just reparation. Considering history as a moral exercise, her lessons would be too infrequent if confined to real life. Of those recorded by historians few incidents have been attended with such circumstances as to excite in any high degree this sympathetic emotion of virtue. We are therefore wisely framed to be as warmly interested for a fictitious as for a real personage. The field of imagination is thus laid open to our use and lessons may be formed to illustrate and carry home to the heart every moral rule of life. Thus a lively and lasting sense of filial duty is more effectually impressed on the mind of a son or daughter by reading King Lear, than by all the dry volumes of ethics, and divinity that were ever written. This is my idea of well written Romance, of Tragedy, or Comedy and Epic poetry.
-- If you are fond of speculation the books under the head of Criticism will afford you much pleasure. Of Politics and Trade I ahve given you a few only of the best books, as you would probably chuse to be not unacquainted with those commercial principles which bring wealth into our country, and the constitutional security we have for the enjoiment of that wealth. In Law I mention a few systematical books, as a knowledge of the minutiae of that science is not necessary for a private gentleman. In Religion, History, Natural philosophy, I have followed the same plan in general, -- But whence the necessity of this collection? Come to the new Rowanty, from which you may reach your hand to a library formed on a more extensive plan. Separated from each other but a few paces the possessions of each would be open to the other. A spring centrically situated might be the scene of every evening's joy. There we should talk over the lessons of the day, or lose them in music, chess or the merriments of our family companions. The heart thus lightened our pillows would be soft, and health and long life would attend the happy scene. Come then and bring our dear Tibby with you, the first in your affections, and second in mine. Offer prayers for me too at that shrine to which tho' absent I pray continual devotions. In every scheme of happiness she is placed in the foreground of the picture, as the principal figure. Take that away, and it is no picture for me. Bear my affections to Wintipock clothed in the warmest expressions of sincerity; and to yourself be every human felicity. Adieu.
FINE ARTS
Observations on gardening. Payne
Webb's essay on painting.
Pope's Iliad.
------ Odyssey.
Dryden's Virgil.
Milton's works. 2 v. Donaldson. Edinburgh 1762.
Hoole's Tasso.
Ossian with Blair's critcisms.
Telemachus by Dodsley
Capell's Shakespeare.
Dryden's pl;ays. 6 v.
Addison's plays.
Orway's plays. 3 v.
Rowe's works. 2 v.
Thompson's works. 4 v.
Young's works. 4 v.
Home's plays.
Mallet's works. 3 v.
Mason's poetical works.
Terence. Eng.
Moliere. Eng.
Farquhar's plays. 2 v.
Varbrugh's plays. 2 v.
Steele's plays.
Congreve's works. 3 v.
Garric's dramatic works. 2 v.
Foote's dramatic works. 2 v.
Rousseau's Eloisa. Eng. 4 v.
------- Emilius and Sophia. Eng. 4 v.
Marmontel's moral tales. Eng. 2 v.
Gil Blas. by Smollett.
Don Quixot. by Smollett 4 v.
David Simple. 2 v.
Roderic Random. by Smollett. 2 v.
Peregrine Pickle. by Smollett. 4 v.
Launcelot Graves. by Smollett
Adventures of a guinea. by Smollett. 2 v.
Pamela. by Richardson. 4 v.
Clarissa. by Richardson. 8 v.
Grandison. by Richardson. 7 v.
Fool of quality. by Richardson. 3 v.
Feilding's works. 12 v.
Constantia. by Langhorne. 2 v.
Solyman and Almena. by Langhorne.
Belle assemblee. 4 v.
Vicar of Wakefield. 2 v. by Dr. Goldsmith.
Sidney Bidulph. 5 v.
Lady Julia Mandeville. 2 v.
Almoran and Hamet. 2 v.
Tristam Shandy. 9 v.
Sentimental journey. 2 v.
Fragments of antient poetry. Edinburgh.
Percy's Runic poems.
Percy's reliques of antient English poetry. 3 v.
Percy's Han Kiou Chouan. 4 v.
Percy's Miscellaneopus Chinese peices. 2 v.
Chaucer.
Spencer. 6 v.
Waller's poems.
Dodsley's collection of poems. 6 v.
Pearch's collection of poems. 4 v.
Gray's works.
Ogilvie's poems.
Prior's poems. 2 v. Foulis.
Gay's works. Foulis.
Shenstones works. 2 v.
Dryden's works. 4 v. Foulis.
Pope's works. by Warburton.
Churchill's poems. 4 v.
Hudibrass.
Swift's works. 21 v.
Swift's literary correspondence. 3 v.
Spectator. 9 v.
Tatler. 5 v.
Guardian. 2 v.
Freeholder.
Ld. Lyttleton's Persian letters.
CRITICISM OF THE FINE ARTS
Ld. Kaim's elements of criticism. 2 v.
Burke on the sublime and beautiful.
Hogarth's analysis of beatuy.
Reid on the human mind.
Smith's theory of moral sentiments.
Johnson's dictionary. 2 v.
Capell's proclusions.
POLITICKS, TRADE.
Montesquieu's spirit of the laws. 2 v.
Locke on government.
Sidney on gonvernment.
Marmontel's Belisarius. Eng.
Ld. Bolingbroke's political works. 5 v.
Montesquieu's rise & fall of the Roman government.
Steuart's Political oeconomy. 2 v.
Petty's Political arithmetic.
RELIGION.
Locke's conduct of the mind in search of truth.
Xenophon's memoirs of Socrates, by Feilding.
Epictetus. by Mrs. Carter. 2 v.
Antoninus by Collins.
Seneca. by L'Estrange.
Cicero's Offices. by Guthrie.
Cicero's Tusculan questions. Eng.
Ld. Bolingbroke's Philosophical works. 5 v.
Hume's essays. 4 v.
Ld. Kaim's Natural religion.
Philosophical survey of Nature.
Oeconomy of human life.
Sterne's sermons. 7 v.
Sherlock on death.
Sherlock on a future state.
LAW.
Ld. Kaim's Principles of equity. fol.
Blackstones Commentaries. 4 v.
Cuningham's Law Dictionary. 2 v.
HISTORY. ANTIENT.
Bible.
Rollin's Antient history. Eng. 13 v.
Stanyan's Graecian history. 2 v.
Livy (the late translation)
Sallust by Gordon.
Tacitus by Gordon.
Caesar by Bladen.
Josephus. Eng.
Vertot's Revolution of Rome. Eng.
Plutarch's Lives by Langhorne. 6 v.
Bayle's Dictionary. 5 v.
Jeffrey's Historical & Chronological Chart.
HISTORY. MODERN.
Robertson's History of Charles the Vth. 3 v.
Bossuet's history of France. 4 v.
Davila. by Fameworth. 2 v.
Hume's history of England. 8 v.
Clarendon's history of the rebellion. 6 v.
Robertson's history of Scotland. 2 v.
Keith's history of Virginia.
Stith's history of Virginia.
NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. NATURAL HISTORY ETC.
Nature displayed. Eng. 7 v.
Franklin on Electricity.
Macqueer's elements of Chemistry. 2 v.
Home's principles of agriculture.
Tull's horse-hoeing husbandry.
Duhamel's husbandry.
Millar's Gardener's diet.
Buffon's natural history. Eng.
A compendium of Physic & Surgery. Nourse.
Addison's travels. 2 v.
Anson's voiage.
Thompson's travels. 2 v.
Lady M. W. Montague's letters. 3 v.
MISCELLANEOUS
Ld. Lyttleton's dialogues of the dead.
Fenelon's dialogues of the dead. Eng.
Voltaire's works. Eng.
Locke on Education.
Owen's Dict. of arts & sciences. 4 v.
Bloomsday centennial
One excerpt I like:
While waiting in the queue, I eavesdropped on a Dubliner explaining to his son what all the fuss is about. He offered a fairly concise summary of the book, but it was too much for the kid. He was messing with a balloon the whole time and didn’t show any interest in the story until the end.“So she’s in bed the whole time?”
This kid was ten, tops.
year-end review
1. Was 2006 a good year for you?
Better than most, actually
2. What was your favorite moment(s) of the year?
I think it might have been going on the roller coaster in Vegas with Alex and Shannon.
3. What was your least favorite moment(s) of the year?
When the brakes died while driving Alex's car. I still cringe with terror when I let myself imagine what would have happened if I had been going faster.
4. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?
G-rated answer: visited the Elron Hubman Museum Exhibition. Step 1 in our ultimate plan of infiltration.
5. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I don't really do that. Although I do do this whole Angel Cards ritual with my group of friends. This year I chose the word "Openness". I have to say that I didn't work on openness, I didn't even remember what my word was, I had to check ... but openness has been a huge thing for me this year. In more ways than one.
6. Where were you when 2006 began?
I was home, in bed.
7. Who were you with?
What an impertinent question.
8. Where will you be when 2006 ends?
At home, in bed.
9. Who will you be with when 2006 ends?
Again with the impertinence.
10. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes. Kate - one of my best friends on the planet. And also my friend Kerry. Both gave birth to little boys - within days of each other. Oh, and many of my cousins also gave birth this year - I just saw all the new babies over Christmas. Hard to keep them all straight. "Whose baby am I holding right now?" "Which one is crying?" "That's Declan." "Uh-huh. And whose baby is that? Sorry ... and Nolan belongs to who???" Etc.
11. Did you lose anybody close to you in 2006?
knock wood no
12. Who did you miss?
When Michael left after his visit with me I missed him terribly. My apartment felt totally empty without him. I even cried a little bit.
I also miss Kate and being near her. Especially this year when she had her baby.
I miss Cashel. I miss my brother and Melody.
I miss Mitchell. And Alex.
13. Who was the best new person you met in 2006?
Shannon, definitely. We all had SUCH a blast in Vegas, and I loved meeting her. Great great lady.
14. What was your favorite month of 2006?
I'll go with January. That was when I went to LA - it was one of the best vacations I've ever had (even with the whole brakes fiasco)
15. Did you travel outside of the US in 2006?
No
16. How many different states did you travel to in 2006?
8 or 9? Not sure.
17. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?
a book deal
18. What date from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
Oct. 23, 2006
19. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Sewanee Review
20. What was your biggest failure?
I failed to return Blockbuster videos on time. Pretty much 100% of the time.
21. Did you suffer illness or injury?
I'm sick as hell right now.
22. What was the best thing you bought?
This accordion-folding white net hamper thing. Changed my life. Got it from The Container Store.
23. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Tommy Crooze. Keep it up with the crazy!! Love it!
24. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Brit-Brit.
25. Where did most of your money go?
Books
26. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
27. Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2006?
I rarely drink to excess, or get drunk - but if you put together all the alcohol I have consumed in an entire year, it would probably seem like a lot.
28. Did you do a lot of drugs in 2006?
No.
29. Did you treat somebody badly in 2006?
Yes. And I feel badly about it.
30. Did somebody treat you badly in 2006?
My mind's a blank. I guess not. Or if they did it made no lasting impact.
31. Compared to this time last year, are you:
I hate comparisons. I won't do this one except to say that I am definitely thinner now.
i. happier or sadder?
ii. thinner or fatter?
iii. richer or poorer?
32. What do you wish you'd done more of in 2006?
traveling
sex
33. What do you wish you'd done less of?
worrying
34. Did you fall in love in 2006?
no
35. What was your favorite TV program(s)?
I fell madly in love with Without a Trace this year. It appears to be on 24/7 ... which is bad because I could lose hours of my life this way.
36. What song will always remind you of 2006?
Probably "All I Want For Christmas Is You", by Mariah Carey. Long story.
37. How many concerts did you see in 2006?
I saw Liza in Vegas.
38. Did you have a favorite concert in 2006?
Liza. It's one of the best live shows I've ever seen.
39. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Mike Viola
40. What was the best book you read?
Oh God. Maybe Stalin by Edvard Radzinsky. I'll have to think more about that. I read Goldie Hawn's autobiography and adored it (I highly recommend it). I also was very impressed with The Historian and Life of Pi.
41. What was your favorite film of this year?
Either The Departed or Stranger Than Fiction
42. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I didn't do anything on my birthday. I think I watched a movie. But it was a nice birthday. I'm not into parties.
43. What did you want and get?
What am I, 9 years old?
44. What did you want and not get?
What am I, 6 years old?
45. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
I really try not to think that way. Uhm - how about a husband?
46. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?
huh?
47. What kept you sane?
Flynn
48. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
49. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006.
Nope, I won't tell. I don't like giving that stuff away.
50. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
I guess I wasn't the best one to ask
Me myself with my face pressed up against love's glass
To see the shiny toy I'd been hoping for
The one I never can afford
The wide world spins and spits turmoil and the nations toil
Peace
The paws of fear upon her chest
Only love can sooth that beast
And my words are paper tigers
No match for the predator of pain inside her
I say love will come to you
Hoping just because I spoke the words that they're true
If I offered up a crystal ball to look through
Where there's now one there will be two
I was born under the sign of Cancer
Like brushing cloth I smooth the wrinkles for an answer
I'm always closing my eyes and wishing I'm fine
Even though I'm not this time
I say love will come to you
Hoping just because I spoke the words that they're true
If I offered up a crystal ball to look through
Where there's now one there will be two
Dodging your memories
A field of knives
I'm always on the outside looking in on others' lives
I say love will come to you
Hoping just because I spoke the words that they're true
And if I've offered up a crystal ball to look through
Where there's now one there will be two
And I wish her insight to battle love's blindness
Strength from the milk of human kindness
A safe place for all the pieces that scatter
Learn to pretend there's more than love that matters
Movie quote ... to whet your appetite
"Maybe we should change our name to Porter. That way everyone will call us Potter."
Guesses?
(Oh, and please: No Googling! hee hee)
I will be doing another Movie Quote Guessing Game ... which will start tomorrow at 3:30 p.m (EST) Show up at 3:30 - when I will launch a bazillion quotes all at once.
Love him or hate him
Excerpt from Ron Chernow's magesterial biography of Alexander Hamilton:
Few figures in American history aroused such visceral love or loathing as Alexander Hamilton/ To this day, he seems trapped in a crude historical cartoon that pits "Jeffersonian democracy" against "Hamiltonian aristocracy." For Jefferson and his followers, wedded to their vision of an agrarian Eden, Hamilton was the American Mephistopheles, the proponent of such devilish contrivances as banks, factories, and stock exchanges. They demonized him as a slavish pawn of the British Crown, a closet monarchist, a Machiavellian intriguer, a would-be Caesar. Noah Webster contended that Hamilton's "ambition, pride, and overbearing temper" had destined him "to be the evil genius of this country." Hamilton's powerful vision of American nationalism, with states subordinate to a strong central government and led by a vigorous executive branch, aroused fears of a reversion to royal British ways. His seeming solicitude for the rich caused critics to portray him as a snobbish tool of plutocrats who was contemptuous of the masses. For another group of naysayers, Hamilton's unswerving faith in a professional military converted him into a potential despot. "From the first to the last words he wrote," concluded historian Henry Adams, "I read always the same Napoleonic kind of adventuredom." Even some Hamilton admirers have been unsettled by a faint tincture of something foreign in this West Indian transplant; Woodrow Wilson grudgingly praised Hamilton as "a very great man, ut not a great American."Yet many distinguished commentators have echoed Eliza Hamilton's lament that justice has not been done to her Hamilton/ He has tended to lack the glittering multivolumed biographies that have burnished the fame of other founders. The British statesman Lord Bryce singled out Hamilton as the one founding father who had not received his due from posterity. In The American Commonwealth, he observed, "One cannot note the disappearance of this brilliant figure, to Europeans the most interesting in the early history of the Republic, without the remark that his countrymen seem to have never, either in his lifetime or afterwards, duly recognized is splendid gifts." During the robust era of Progressive Republicanism, marked by brawny nationalism and energetic government, Theodore Roosevelt took up the cudgels and declared Hamilton "the most brilliant American statesman who ever lived, possessing the loftiest and keenest intellect of his time." His White House successor, William Howard Taft, likewise embracedf Hamilton as "our greatest constructive statesman." In all probability, Alexander Hamilton is the foremost political figure in American history who never attained the presidency, yet he probably had a much deeper and more lasting impact than many who did.
Hamilton was the supreme double threat among the founding fathers, at once thinker and doer, sparkling theoretician and masterful executive. He and James Madison were the prime movers behind the summoning of the Constitutional Convention and the chief authors of that classic gloss on the national charter, The Federalist, which Hamilton supervised. As the first treasury secretary and principal architect of the new government, Hamilton took constitutional principles and infused them with expansive life, turning abstractions into institutional realities. He had a pragmatic mind that minted comprehensive programs. In contriving the smoothly running machinery of a modern nation-state - including a budget system, a funded debt, a tax system, a central bank, a customs service, and a coast guard - and justifying them in some of America's most influential state papers, he set a high-water mark for administrative competence that has never been equaled. If Jefferson provided the essential poetry of American political discourse, Hamilton established the prose of American statecraft. No other founder articulated such a clear and prescient vision of America's future political, military, and economic strength or crafted such ingenious mechanisms to bind the nationa together.
Hamilton's crowded years as treasury secretary scarcely exhaust the epic story of his short life, which was stuffed with high drama. From his illegitimate birth on Nevis to his bloody downfall in Weehawken, Hamilton's life was so tumultuous that only an audacious novelist could have dreamed it up. He embodied an enduring archetype: the obscure immigrant who comes to America, re-creates himself, and succeeds despite a lack of proper birth and breeding. The saga of his metamorphosis from an anguished clerk on St. Croix to the reigning presence in George Washington's cabinet offers both a gripping personal story and a panoramic view of the formative years of the republic. Except for Washington, nobody stood closer to the center of American politics from 1776 to 1800 or cropped up at more turning points. More than anyone else, the omnipresent Hamilton galvanized, inspired, and scandalized the newborn nation, serving as the flash point for pent-up conflicts of class, geography, race, religion, and ideology. His contemporaries often seemed defined by how they reacted to the political gauntlets that he threw down repeatedly with such defiant panache.
Hamilton was an exuberant genius who performed at a fiendish pace and must have produced the maximum number of words that a human being can scratch out in forty-nine years. If promiscuous with his political opinions, however, he was famously reticent about his private life, especially his squalid Caribbean boyhood. No other founder had to grapple with such shame and misery, and his early years have remained wrapped in more mystery than those of any other major American statesman. While not scanting his vibrant intellectual life, I have tried to gather anecdotal material that will bring this cerebral man to life as both a public and a private figure. Charming and impetuous, romantic and witty, dashing and headstrong, Hamilton offers the biographer an irresistible psychological study. For all his superlative mental gifts, he was afflicted with a touchy ego that made him querulous and fatally combative. He never outgrew the stigma of his illegitimacy, and his exquisite tact often gave way to egregious failures of judgment that left even his keenest admirers aghast. If capable of numerous close friendships, he also entered into titanic feuds with Jefferson, Madison, Adams, Monroe, and Burr.
The magnitude of Hamilton's feats as treasury secretary has overshadowed many other facets of his life: clerk, college student, youthful poet, essayist, artillery captain, wartime adjutant to Washington, battlefield hero, congressman, abolitionist, Bank of New York founder, state assemblyman, member of the Constitutional Convention and New York Ratifying Convention, orator, lawyer, polemicist, educator, patron saint of the New York Evening Post, foreign-policy theorist, and major general in the army. Boldly uncompromising, he served as catalyst for the emergence of the first political parties and as the intellectual fountainhead for one of them, the Federalists. He was a pivotal force in four consecutive presidential elections and defined much of America's political agenda during the Washington and Adams administrations, leaving copious commentary on virtually every salient issue of the day.
December 27, 2006
"the Napoleon of the stage"
Great 2002 profile of the late James Brown, written by my hypothetical husband Philip Gourevitch.
I love the anecdote about Mick Jagger. In 1964 - James Brown opened for the Rolling Stones on some television show - and so hijacked the entire night that Jagger said later that it was the worst mistake of his life to follow James Brown. Ha!
Wonderful stuff there.
The Books: Against the Odds: 'Dorinda's Desperate Deed' (L.M. Montgomery)
Against the Odds - 'Dorinda's Desperate Deed' - by L.M. Montgomery
Against the Odds is yet another one of Rea Wilmhurst's edited collections. The focus of this book is "tales of achievement" - each story has something to do with bucking the odds, going for what you want despite difficulties, etc. Lucy Maud made a nice little living from selling short stories - to magazines in Canada, but also in the States. She would sometimes write stories to order. If she knew a certain magazine liked Sunday School morals, then she'd write in a Sunday school moral. If a magazine was read only by women, she'd go for the romance. If a magazine focused on ghost stories and paranormal stories, she'd write that. It's amazing the variety within these stories. Yes, she keeps coming back to some of the same characters, the archetypes, but still - reading them all, as a whole, I am just left with admiration at how much she actually DID. And this is along with being married to a bozo, having 2 kids, and having a role as a busy (busy busy) minister's wife. She didn't just sit in a garret and write all day long. She had other obligations. So it's amazing.
The first story I want to excerpt in this collection is called 'Dorinda's Desperate Deed' - it was written in 1906, and I think it's charming.
Dorinda Page is 15 years old. She has spent a couple of years away with her Aunt Mary - but she is now back with her mother and her 5 siblings. Her father is dead, and her mother has had a helluva time going it alone. Money troubles torment her. There are mouths to feed, schooling to consider ... clothes, etc. It's overwhelming. Dorinda has been out of the fray for a couple of years so she comes home and is kind of shocked at the change in her mother, how worn out she is, how worried. Dorinda is a young woman with a very good attitude, you can tell - she talks to her mother one day and says, "Okay - so let's talk about our priorities. What is the main list of things we have to pay for? And we'll figure something out ... but let's list them first." So Mrs. Page lists what she thinks is most important: Leicester Page's college tuition, Jean Page's music lessons, roof needs to be shingled ... and Dorinda also says that her mother needs a new coat. During this conversation, it comes up that they have a rich uncle Eugene - and Dorinda asks her mother why don't they borrow the money from him? Turns out that Eugene apparently hates this branch of the family - some old feud (you know, Lucy Maud is big on those) and has not spoken to Mrs. Page in a bazillion years. He's stubborn, he's scary, and apparently he hates the Pages. So that settles that. But Dorinda, determined to help her mother, decides to do the unthinkable - she decides to go to her Uncle Eugene's, and ask him to lend them the money. This is a terrifying prospect, but Dorinda is (as the title says) "desperate".
This is one of Lucy Maud's show-pieces: a young girl going to confront a supposedly terrifying crotchety old man. She uses it often to great effect.
Here's what happens.
Excerpt from Against the Odds - 'Dorinda's Desperate Deed' - by L.M. Montgomery
Oaklawn, where Uncle Eugene lived, was two miles away. It was a fine old place in beautiful grounds. But Dorinda did not quail before its splendours, nor did her heart fail her, even after she had rung the bell and had been shown by a maid inot a very handsome parlour, but it still continued to beat in that queer fashion halfway up her throat.
Presently Uncle Eugene came in, a tall, black-eyed old man, with a fine head of silver hair that should have framed a ruddy, benevolent face, instead of Uncle Eugene's hard-lipped, bushy-browed countenance.
Dorinda stood up, dusky and crimson, with brave, glowing eyes. Uncle Eugene looked at her sharply.
"Who are you?" he said bluntly.
"I am your niece, Dorinda Page," said Dorinda steadily.
"And what does my niece, Dorinda Page, want with me?" demanded Uncle Eugene, motioning to her to sit down and sitting down himself. But Dorinda remained standing. It is easier to fight on your feet.
"I want you to do four things, Uncle Eugene," she said, as calmly as if she were making the most natural and ordinary request in the world. "I want you to lend us the money to send Leicester to Blue Hill Academy, he will pay it back to you when he gets through college. I want you to lend Jean the money for music lessons, she will pay you back when she gets far enough along to give lessons herself. And I want you to lend me the money to shingle our house and get Mother a new dress and fur coat for the winter. I'll pay you back sometime for that, because I am going to set up as a dressmaker pretty soon."
"Anything more?" said Uncle Eugene, when Dorinda stopped.
"Nothing more just now, I think," said Dorinda reflectively.
"Why don't you ask for something for yourself?" said Uncle Eugene.
"I don't want anything for myself," said Dorinda promptly. "Or - yes, I do, too. I want your friendship, Uncle Eugene."
"Be kind enough to sit down," said Uncle Eugene.
Dorinda sat.
"You are a Page," said Uncle Eugene. "I saw that as soon as I came in. I will send Leicester to college and I shall not ask or expect to be paid back. Jean shall have her music lessons, and a piano to practise them on as well. The house shall be shingled, and the money for the new dress and coat shall be forthcoming. You and I will be friends."
"Thank you," gasped Dorinda, wondering if, after all, it wasn't a dream.
"I would have gladly assisted your mother before," said Uncle Eugene, "if she had asked me. I had determined that she must ask me first. I knew that half the money should have been your father's by rights. I was prepared to hand it over to him or his family, if I were asked for it. But I wished to humble his pride, and the Carter pride, to the point of asking for it. Not a very amiable temper, you will say? I admit it. I am not amiable and I never have been amiable. You must be prepared to find me very unamiable. I see that you are waiting for a chance to say something polite and pleasant on that score, but you may save yourself the trouble. I shall hope and expect to have you visit me often. If your mother and your brothers and sisters see fit to come with you, I shall welcome them also. I think that this is all it is necessary to say just now. Will you stay to tea with me this eveing?"
Dorinda stayed to tea, since she knew that Jean was at home to attend to matters there. She and Uncle Eugene got on famously. When she left, Uncle Eugene, grim and hard-lipped as ever, saw her to the door.
"Good evening, Niece Dorinda. You are a Page and I am proud of you. Tell your mother that many things in this life are lost through not asking for them. I don't think you are in need of the information for yourself."
December 26, 2006
Tilting tree ...
... down the street ...
... anchored above by a star.
December 24, 2006
Christmas Day in the Morning - by Pearl S. Buck
(Amazon link to beautiful illustrated copy of this story)
Christmas Day in the Morning - by Pearl S. Buck
He waked suddenly and completely. It was four o'clock, the hour at which his father had always called him to get up and help with the milking. Strange how the habits of his youth clung to him still. Fifty years ago, and his father had been dead for thirty years, and yet he waked at four o'clock in the morning. He had trained himself to turn over and go to sleep, but this morning, because it was Christmas, he did not try to sleep.
He slipped back in time, as he did so easily nowadays. He was 15 years old and still on his father's farm. He loved his father. He had not known it until one day a few days before Christmas, when he overheard what his father was saying to his mother.
"Mary, I hate to call Rob in the mornings. He's growing so fast and he needs his sleep. If you could see how he sleeps when I go in to wake him up! I wish I could manage alone."
"Well, you can't, Adam." His mother's voice was brisk. "Besides, he isn't a child anymore. It's time he took his turn."
"Yes," his father said slowly. "But I sure do hate to wake him."
When he heard these words, something in him woke: his father loved him! He had never thought of it before, taking for granted the tie of their blood. Neither his father nor his mother talked about loving their children - they had no time for such things. There was always so much to do on a farm.
Now that he knew his father loved him, there would be no more loitering in the mornings and having to be called again. He got up after that, stumbling with sleep, and pulled on his clothes, his eyes tight shut, but he got up.
And then on the night before Christmas, that year when he was 15, he lay for a few minutes thinking about the next day. They were poor, and most of the excitement was in the turkey they had raised themselves and in the mince pies his mother made. His sisters sewed presents and his mother and father always bought something he needed, not only a warm jacket, maybe, but something more, such as a book. And he saved and bought them each something too.
He wished, that Christmas when he was 15, he had a better present for his father. As usual, he had gone to the ten-cent store and bought a tie. It had seemed nice enough until he lay thinking the night before Christmas, and then he wished that he had heard his father and mother talking in time for him to save for something better.
He lay on his side, his head supported by his elbow, and looked out of his attic window. The stars were bright, much brighter than he ever remembered seeing them, and one was so bright he wondered if it were really the star of Bethlehem.
"Dad," he had once asked when he was a little boy, "what is a stable?"
"It's just a barn," his father had replied, "like ours."
Then Jesus had been born in a barn, and to a barn the shepherds and the Wise Men had come, bringing their Christmas gifts!
The thought stuck him like a silver dagger. Why should he not give his father a special gift, too, out there in the barn?
He could get up early, earlier than four o'clock, and he could creep into the barn and get all the milking done. He'd do it alone, milk and clean up, and then when his father went in to start the milking, he'd see it all done. And he would know who had done it.
At a quarter to three, he got up and put on his clothes. He crept downstairs, careful of the creaky boards, and let himself out. The big star hung lower over the barn roof, a reddish gold. The cows looked at him, sleepy and surprised.
"So, boss," he whispered. They accepted him placidly, and he fetched some hay for each cow and then got the milking pail and big milk cans.
He had never milked alone before, but it seemed almost easy. He kept thinking about his father's surprise. His father would come in and call him, saying that he would get things started while Rob was getting dressed. He'd go to the barn, open the door, and then he'd go to get the two big empty milk cans. But they wouldn't be waiting or empty; they'd be standing in the milk house, filled.
The task went more easily than he had ever known it to before. Milking for once was not a chore. It was something else, a gift to his father who loved him. He finished, the two milk cans were full, and he covered them and closed the milk-house door carefully, making sure of the latch. He put the stool in its place by the door and hung up the clean milk pail. Then he went out of the barn and barred the door behind him.
Back in his room, he had only a minute to pull off his clothes in the darkness and jump into bed, for he heard his father up. He put the covers over his head to silence his quick breathing. The door opened.
"Rob!" his father called. "We have to get up, son, even if it is Christmas."
"Aw-right," he said sleepily.
"I'll go on out," his father said. "I'll get things started."
The door closed and he lay still, laughing to himself. In just a few minutes his father would know. His dancing heart was ready to jump from his body.
The minutes were endless - ten, fifteen, he did not know how many - and he heard his father's footsteps again. The door opened and he lay still.
"Rob!"
"Yes, Dad--"
His father was laughing, a queer sobbing sort of a laugh. "Thought you'd fool me, did you?" His father was standing beside his bed, feeling for him, pulling away the covers.
"It's Christmas, Dad!"
He found his father and clutched him in a great hug. He felt his father's arms go around him. It was dark, and they could not see each other's faces.
"Son, I thank you. Nobody ever did a nicer thing--"
"Oh, Dad, I want you to know -- I do want to be good!" The words broke from him of their own will. He did not know what to say. His heart was bursting with love.
"Well, I reckon I can go back to bed and sleep," his father said after a moment. "No, hark-- The little ones are waked up. Come to think of it, son, I've never seen you children when you first saw the Christmas tree. I was always in the barn."
He got up and pulled on his clothes again, and they went down to the Christmas tree, and soon the sun was creeping up to where the star had been.
Oh, what a Christmas, and how his heart had nearly burst again with shyness and pride as his father told his mother and made the younger children listen about how he, Rob, had got up all by himself.
"The best Christmas gift I ever had, and I'll remember it, son, every year on Christmas morning, so long as I live."
They had both remembered it, and now that his father was dead he remembered it alone, that blessed Christmas dawn when, alone with the cows in the barn, he had made his first gift of true love.
December 22, 2006
Paper
Tracey - as a paper lover - you have to see this!! It's amazing!
(Thanks to Hank for the link to that blog which, so far, looks absolutely incredible and I fear I could lose hours of my life in that place.)
Jennifer Holliday
I've seen this clip a hundred times, and I never ever EVER get over it.
Jennifer Holliday singing "And I am Telling you ... I'm not goin'" on the 1982 Tony Awards.
Doing this 8 shows a week?
Are you kidding me? Listen to that SOUND.
It's so raw and so pained that it's almost hard to watch at times. When she's clutching his face. And please. Get a load of the freakin' look on her face as she hits that last note.
And today I also just read this. Nice analysis of the song itself - and makes me even more excited to see the film.
A couple cool excerpts:
In fact, 'And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going' is a kind of summary of the great American diva tradition, our native answer to the grand opera aria-belters of the old world."
And this:
The term diva has gotten rather watered down in current pop culture usage, to the point where the title is given to any moderately famous actress or singer with an air of hauteur about her and a personal trainer in her employ. But, in the classical musical formulation, Paris Hilton is certainly no diva—and for that matter, neither is Mariah Carey or Whitney Houston. Old-fashioned divadom entails not just an imperious attitude and a big voice, but a theme—pain, particularly as supplied by callous men and cruel fate—and a task: to transcend that anguish through cathartic declamation. You know the divas of whom I speak: Maria Callas, Edith Piaf, Billie Holliday, Garland, Aretha Franklin, and today's Queen of Pain, Mary J. Blige. And now, perhaps, Jennifer Hudson.
I love that: "a task: to transcend that anguish through cathartic declamation."
The Books: At the Altar: 'What Aunt Marcella Would Have Called It' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'What Aunt Marcella Would Have Called It' - by L.M. Montgomery
This one was written in 1935 - I'm always interested to read Lucy Maud's short stories that she wrote AFTER she became an internationally known novelist. It's fascinating to read her stuff from before "Anne" as well - just to see her developing her craft - I love all of that - but she kept writing short stories throughout her life. It's amazing the output of this woman, it just boggles the mind. Once you get into the late 1930s, Lucy Maud is starting to break down. Her troubles begin to escalate (although I have to say - reading her journals - often I read her despair at this or that circumstance and I think: "WHY is this upsetting her so much??" That's totally not fair of me - I'm not justifying myself - I'm just saying that that's my response. So you had a fender-bender. Is that any reason to walk the floor at night, wringing your hands? So your son married someone you don't really like. Fine. That sucks. But is it an unspeakable tragedy?)
I'm not sure what was going on with Lucy Maud, I mean in an uber sense - I have a couple of theories, because - for the most part in her journals - she doesn't say: HERE is why I am so depressed all the time. Because who would say that? She was married to an imbecile (literally - he went mad a couple of years into their marriage and was never well again - she had to take care of him, almost like a baby). She had loved someone passionately in her youth - a hearty young handsome farmer - and it seems like she never really recovered from it (he died). Her kindred spirit cousin had died in 1918 in the influenza epidemic - and she basically decided to never have another friend. She was a once-in-a-lifetime type person. Also, World War I had completely changed her (as it completely changed the majority of that generation). She never "bounced back" from it, from the horror of it, the horrifying birth of the 20th century. And as the 30s moved on and it became apparent that another world war was approaching, her health eventually broke down completely. She could not face it.
Her work was her anchor, and also her escape. Not to mention her income! But deeper than that: her life as a minister's wife went so against her own inclinations. Her life had to be social, filled with small talk, and filled with little tiny lies. ha. Ironic, right? But to be a successful minister, you had to get on the good side of everyone in the town - even if they were bitchy assholes ... and the minister's wife is like a celebrity - watched at every turn, criticized - criticized if she dresses too dowdy, criticized if she dresses too flowery ... No matter what you do, you are on display. You kind of can't win. Lucy Maud's temperament was not a small-talk temperament and yet she married a man where small talk would be a requirement of her married life. Having teas, and socials, and quiltings, and Ladies Aid meetings, and having to head up little committees - and all that shit. Lucy Maud was an artist, for God's sake, and she had to go off and do all this petty crap to keep up appearances. Her married life and its obligations (because she certainly didn't love Ewan - this wasn't a partnership - especially not after he went mad) left her almost no room to breathe. And yet still, with all of that - she managed to write practically a novel a year. It's extraordinary.
So I look at this prose in this story - written in 1935 - when Lucy Maud's journals start to get very fragmented - all she does is give updates on how anxious she is, and how horrible things are, and how she can't talk about it ... and I read this story and what I see is the triumph of her artistic spirit. It is truly beautiful to me. Sad, too - because i wish she had been happier - but who knows. A happy peaceful Lucy Maud might not have written so much and so well. She really NEEDED her writing. Not just for the money. But for spiritual and emotional reasons. If writing had been illegal in Canada, she would have gone underground. It was that essential to her mental health. And, I don't know - I could be reading into this (ha - Yes, I think you are, Sheila) - but there's something about her writing that shows all of this to me. It's good writing on its own, don't get me wrong ... but I think one of the reasons it resonates is because Lucy Maud HAD to do this. There is an urgency and a drive in all of her prose. It shimmers with life. Also - that more often than not - her stories are FUNNY. This is not a woman who poured her tragic outlook on life into her work. This is a woman who believed, in all her soul, that a happy ending had as much worth as a sad. That a sad ending does not make you a better artist. She was a fierce believer in things working out. It's amazing. What a life force. What hope.
Bless you, Lucy Maud.
Here's the opening of this story 'What Aunt Marcella Would Have Called It'.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'What Aunt Marcella Would Have Called It' - by L.M. Montgomery
If Aunt Marcella had allowed Glen to bob her hair this story would never have been told because there would have been no story to tell. But Aunt Marcella did not approve of bobbed hair at all. It was flying in the face of Providence for a girl to bob her hair, and ... so Aunt Marcella said ... she would be bald in her old age for her sins.
"You will thank me when you are sixty," she told Glen.
"That is a long time to wait for gratitude," said Glen darkly.
But Aunt Marcella was adamant, and Glen continued to wear her lovely golden-brown braid hanging down her back like a twelve-year-old schoolgirl of the century's teens, when she would be eighteen in another month and every bit as modern as Aunt Marcella would let her be.
Aunt Marcella would not even allow her to put it up. It was intolerable. If she could even put her hair up in a lovely soft knot at the back of her neck ... well, it might dawn on Dudley Wyatt's perception that she was really grown-up and not the schoolgirl, devoted to dolls, that he considered her and, as seemed likely, would go on considering her until she was that mythical sixty of Aunt Marcella's warnings.
It seemed to Glen that she had always been in love with Dudley Wyatt, although she had known him only from the age of twelve, when he had come to live next door to them at Nokomis Lodge. Glen always avowed that her legs trembled the first time she saw him, by which token she knew that she had fallen in love. But Dudley took no notice of her. He was all for Isabel. Not that he was in love with Isabel at all. To him, sixteen-year-old Isabel was just one of the two children at the Lindens. But she was a very clever child and he liked to talk to her. Nobody thought Glen had any brains because she hardly ever talked. And at twelve she had been anything but pretty ... a gaunt, scrawny creature with two sunburned pigtails. Glen would go hatless, to Aunt Marcella's mid-Victorian horror.
"What kind of complexion will you have when you are sixty?" she asked. "Besides, I call it 'Brazen' to go about without a hat."
Aunt Marcella never pronounced an adjective without making you see it spelled with a capital.
But even at sixteen Isabel was a beauty ... a tall, willowy thing with golden-brown hair and big owlish eyes that were the tint of a copper-grey sea. And, although Dudley Wyatt did not seem to have any kind of eyes for women at all, Glen believed in her secret soul that, if Isabel hadn't been so pretty, Dudley would not have detected her cleverness so quickly. As it was, he thought her a wonder. Aunt Marcella didn't. Aunt Marcella did not believe in a woman having brains.
"I call it 'Unwomanly' to be so clever," she told Isabel severely. "Aping the men!"
"But most men are really very stupid," said Isabel.
"I call that 'Flippant'," said Aunt Marcella, "and I dislike flippancy above all things."
"Besides, if you are not clever you bore the men after your novelty wears off," persisted Isabel.
"I have never been a man," said Aunt Marcella superfluously, "but I think it takes some time for them to tire of beauty. And 'bore' was not considered a nice word when I was a girl."
And then Uncle Maurice's daughter had died and Uncle Mauriece had come home and taken Isabel out west with him. That was five years ago and she had never been back since. But she was still tremendously clever and had graduated with highest honours. Aunt Marcella called that very 'Unfeminine' but Dudley exulted.
He wrote to Isabel occasionally and took the keenest interest in her career. He also made quite a bit of Glen, but still only as a child who was a dear little thing, rather dumb. Glen knew she was dumb when Dudley was about. She wasn't going to talk to him as a child and when she tried to talk to him as a grown-up her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth. She had a horrible feeling that if she did talk to him like a grown-up Dudley would smile kindly, as at a precocious child, and tell her to run away and tuck up her doll-babies.
Oh ... Glen clenched her hands ... life wasn't fair to women! Why ... why ... were men so blind? Couldn't he see she wasn't a child any longer? Couldn't he see the love she had to give him? It was bitter to have such a gift to give and nobody wanting to take it. Glen wouldn't have minded so much if Dudley had hated her ... if only he hated her as a woman. She couldn't go on being regarded as a child.
"I love him, and he doens't even know that I exist," she sighed. "He thinks me somebody who doesn't exist ... the twelve-year-old arms-and-legs I was when he came here first. Why can't I make him see? He won't see! He looks at me with the condescending kindness one shows a child ... and then I feel exactly like a caterpillar someone has stepped on."
That night he strolled past as she sat on the porch and called out teasingly, "Tell me what you are thinking of, Glennie?"
Good heavens, suppose she did tell him? Suppose she called back, "I'm thinking of you and how heavenly it would be if you came in here and sat down beside me and said, 'I love you, Glen,' and ... and ... kissed me."
Just what would happen? Well, she knew one thing that would. Aunt Marcella, by the living-room window, would die of frustration because she woudl not be able to find an adjective strong enough to describe such behaviour. But even thn Dudley would probably only say something like, "You've mistaken me for Clark Adams."
Clark Adams! That immature creature of twenty!
"I don't care for boys ... I get on better with men," Glen heard herself calling back.
But of course she had really said nothing when he asked her that question. He hadn't expected her to say anything. If only she could have thought of something quite daring to say! Something that a child couldn't think of saying. Isabel, now, could have said a dozen provocative things. Even she herself could have said them to Clark Adams. But she had said nothing ... had only given a foolish little giggle ... and Dudley had gone on, his dog slouching at his heels, on one of those long hikes of his that she longed to share. But Dudley had asked her only once and Aunt Marcella disapproved, tilting her hawk nose.
"I call it 'Unladylike' to go striding over the country like a man, or like one of those dreadful girls in knickerbockers," said Aunt Marcella. "I suppose you hardly class yourself among them, Glen."
The joke was that Glen was dying to wear knickers, or do anything else that might make Dudley realize that she was grown-up and beautiful ... hair just as glossy and golden-brown as Isabel's, eyes just the same coppery grey, shoulders just as smooth and delicious. But of what use was it? Dudley never saw her shoulders.
December 21, 2006
Faces I love - part 3
And here is the inspiration:
More faces I love below. I love compiling these. I list them without commentary.
Because I never get tired of it ...
... because it's almost Christmas ...
... because it's brilliant.
Winter solstice
Today is the winter solstice which makes me think of a lot of things - winter solstice parties in college and stuff like that, but mainly it makes me think of Newgrange, a place I have been to numerous times. I wrote a little piece on what it's like to go on a tour there.
The whole "winter solstice event" at Newgrange is something I have always wanted to do - even though it's nigh on impossible to get a ticket, and you have to do a "solstice draw", like a lottery - to see if you'll be able to be one of the lucky few. And of course since it's Ireland in December, there is no guarantee that there will even be sun on that day. But when there is? On the tour of Newgrange, when you are in the inner chamber, they turn off all the lights - and do a recreation of what it would look like if you were there on the sunrise at winter solstice.
It's truly a mindblowing thing - it's like being in the presence of the Pyramids or Stone henge or any of those other monolithic structures filled with sophistication and symbols and ancient wisdom ... and to see the rays of sun slowly illuminate the entire chamber, hidden deep within the earth ... Just makes you feel all humble and awestruck and quiet.
Here are some pictures from past winter solstices at Newgrange:
That's from within the inner corridor that slopes upward into the chamber. When the sun first peeks over the horizon - the sun rays pierce through the main door like a laser. Unbelievable.
Slowly, as the sun rises - the rays continue to flood forward - going around slight curves, slowly rising up the corridor ... Eventually the inner chamber floods with light as bright as day. It's incredible.
And here's a view of Newgrange from the outside, winter solstice 2002.
Happy solstice everyone!
And here are 101 facts about Newgrange.
Chekhov ...
Kate, Tim and I had a conversation about Chekhov this past weekend (with little baby sleeping on Tim's chest) - Tim's doing Astrov in Uncle Vanya - they've just begun rehearsals, so it was cool to hear about it, and cool (as always)to talk about Chekhov. Kate's the one who made me read the Paul Schmidt translation that I adore - and Tim's production of Uncle Vanya is also using that translation, I believe. It's a very ACT-able translation, unlike some of the other ones.
Anne has posted a fragment about Chekhov that I like.
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Touch of Fate' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Touch of Fate' - by L.M. Montgomery
This is one of Lucy Maud's stories that takes place out in the wild west of the Canadian prairies. Even though her main childhood was in PEI - she did spend a number of years out in the prairies with her father (before he decided: "You know what? I'm not really into being a father. At least not to THIS child.") ... and I think she writes about it quite eloquently. Civilization is thin out there. The Indians are a problem. It's hard to get to. The whites cluster together in small communities. 'The Touch of Fate' takes place in the Canadian northwest. Violet Thayer, a beautiful coquettish young woman (kind of vain, if the truth must be told) comes out to this particular town to visit an old friend who is a schoolteacher there. There is a huge battalion of MPs there, and Mrs. Hill (wife of the head of the MPs) is thrilled at the advent of Violet - she wants to set her up with at least ONE of the eligible men in town. She gets to work. Violet, being a coquette, slays pretty much everybody. It's a tiny town, with no new faces. Mrs. Hill throws a party to welcome her to town - and Violet finds herself surrounded by men at all times. She loves it. She loves the attention. However ... there's one man who somehow does not fall under her spell. And naturally, he's the one who eventually gets her attention.
I really like the dialogue in their first conversation.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Touch of Fate' - by L.M. Montgomery
Violet was talking to Madison and watching John Spencer out of the tail of her eye. Spencer was not an M.P. He had some government post at Dufferin Bluff and this was his first call at Lone Poplar Villa since Miss Thayer's arrival. He did not seem to be dazzled by her at all, and after his introduction had promptly retired to a corner with Major Hill, where they talked the whole evening about the trouble on the Indian reservation at Loon Lake.
Possibly this indifference piqued Miss Thayer. Possibly she considered it refreshing after the servile adulation of the M.P.s. At any rate, when all the latter were gathered about the piano singing a chorus with gusto, she shook Madison off and went over to the corner where Spencer, deserted by the Major, whose bass was wanted, was sitting in solitary state.
He looked up indifferently as Violet shimmered down on the divan beside him. Sergeant Robinson, who was watching them jealously from the corner beyond the palms, and would have given his eyes, or at least one of them, for such a favour, mentally vowed that Spencer was the dullest fellow he had ever put those useful members on.
"Don't you sing, Mr. Spencer?" asked Violet by way of beginning a conversation, as she turned her splendid eyes full upon him. Robinson would have lost his head under them, but Spencer kept his heroically.
"No," was his calmly brief reply, given without any bluntness, but with no evident intention of saying anything more.
In spite of her social experience Violet felt disconcerted.
"If he doesn't want to talk to me I won't try to make him," she thought crossly. No man had ever snubbed her so before.
Spencer listened immovably to the music for a time. Then he turned to his companion witih a palpable effort to be civilly sociable.
"How do you like the west, Miss Thayer?" he said.
Violet smiled - the smile most men found dangerous.
"Very much, so far as I have seen it. There is a flavour about the life here that I like, but I dare say it would soon pall. It must be horribly lonesome here most of the time, especially in winter."
"The M.P.s are always growling that it is," returned Spencer with a slight smile. "For my own part I never feel it so."
Violet decided that his smile was ver becoming to him, and that she liked the way his dark hair grew over his forehead.
"I don't think I've seen you at Lone Poplar Villa before?" she said.
"No. I haven't been here for some time. I came up tonight to see the Major about the Loon Lake trouble."
"Otherwise you wouldn't have come," thought Violet. "Flattering - very!" Aloud she said, "Is it serious?"
"Oh, no. A mere squabble among the Indians. Have you ever visited the Reservation, Miss Thayer? No? Well, you should get some of your M.P. friends to take you out. It would be worth while."
"Why don't you ask me to go yourself?" said Violet audaciously.
Spencer smiled again. "Have I failed in politeness by not doing so? I fear you would find me an insufferably dull companion."
So he was not going to ask her after all. Violet felt piqued. She was also conscious of a sensation very near akin to disappointment. She looked across at Madison. How trim and dapper he was!
"I hate a bandbox man," she said to herself.
Spencer meanwhile had picked up one of Mrs. Hill's novels from the stand beside him.
"Fools of Habit," he said, glancing at the cover. "I see it is making quite a sensation down east. I suppose you've read it?"
"Yes. It is very frivolous and clever - all froth but delightful froth. Did you like it?"
Spencer balanced the novel reflectively on his slender brown hand.
"Well, yes, rather. But I don't care for novels as a rule. I don't understand them. The hero of this book, now - do you believe that a man in love would act as he did?"
"I don't know," said Violet amusedly. "You ought to be a better judge than I. You are a man."
"I have never loved anybody, so I am no position to decide," said Spencer.
There was as little self-consciousness in his voice as if he were telling her a fact concerning the Loon Lake trouble. Violet rose to the occasion.
"You have an interesting experience to look forward to," she said.
Spencer turned his deep-set grey eyes squarely upon her.
"I don't know that. When I said I had never loved, I meant more than the love of a man for some particular woman. I meant love in every sense. I do not know what it is to have an affection for any human being. My parents died before I can remember. My only living relative was a penurious old uncle who brought me up for shame's sake and kicked me out on the world as soon as he could. I don't make friends easily. I have a few acquaintances whom I like, but there is not a soul on earth for whom I care, or who cares for me."
"What a revelation love will be to you when it comes," said Violet softly. Again he looked into her eyes.
"Do you think it will come?" he asked.
Before she could reply Mrs. Hill pounced upon them. Violet was wanted to sing. Mr. Spencer would excuse her, wouldn't he? Moreover, he got up and bade his hostess good night. Violet gave him her hand.
"You will call again?" she asked.
Spencer looked across at Madison - perhaps it was accidental.
"I think not," he said. "If, as you say, love will come sometime, it would be a very unpleasant revelation if it came in hopeless guise, and one never knows what may happen."
December 20, 2006
Heart-achey beauty of libraries
This is for my father, and for all library-lovers everywhere.
Theology Room at St. Deiniol's library, North Wales
Herzog August Bibliothek, Germany
Austrian National Library (the Prunksaal)
Strahov Monastery - the 1st library, Prague, Czechoslovakia
Another one of Strahov Monastery Library -Prague, Czechoslovakia
Strahov Monastery - Theological Library, Prague, Czechoslovakia
Bodleian Library, Oxford University, England
National Library of Russia, St. Petersburg, Russia
National Library of Russia - the manuscript department, St. Petersburg, Russia
The Cathedral Library, Freising, Germany
The New Library of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh
The Abbey Library, St. Gallen, Switzerland - I had to post 2 images of this spectacular interior
El Escorial Library, San Lorenzo de El Escorial, Spain
Melk Monastery Library, Melk, Austria
Trinity College Library, Cambridge, UK
Trinity College - the Long Room, Dublin, Ireland
Gerrymander
If you don't know the origin of the word "gerrymander" - then go read this post. Also, there's a great cartoon map there which illustrates the original gerrymander.
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Way of the Winning of Anne' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Way of the Winning of Anne' - by L.M. Montgomery
Another story with one of Lucy Maud's thematic standbys: a long-ass courtship of 15 years ... not really going anywhere ... until one member of the couple takes drastic measures (pretends to start seeing someone else) ... and the other member of the couple is jealous, and suddenly realizes: I can't live without this person! Like 'The Hurrying of Ludovic'. Or 'The Pursuit of the Ideal'. These are romances between practical middle-aged people. Lucy Maud so knows how to write about that.
In 'The Way of the Winning of Anne' - Jerome has been "seeing" Anne for 15 years. I would say, in a less charitable way, that Anne has been stringing Jerome along - but I suppose she has her reasons. He asks her to marry him once a year, and she continuously turns him down. And yet every week they walk home from prayer meeting together. That is their main date. It is a declaration of commitment to a relationship (as anyone who reads Lucy Maud's books knows. Walking home from prayer meeting with a member of the opposite sex is as good as being engaged.) Jerome figures that if he just keeps asking she'll eventually cave. But 15 years is a long time. So one night - Jerome has had enough. He starts to see a woman named Harriet Warren - even going so far as taking her to a social in the next town. A gossipy neighbor informs Anne of this. The very next night, Jerome is not at prayer meeting. He has gone to prayer meeting at another church with Harriet Warren.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Way of the Winning of Anne' - by L.M. Montgomery
When she got home she looked at her face in the glass more critically than she had done for years. Anne Stockard at her best had never been pretty. When young she had been called "gawky". She was very tall and her figure was lank and angular. She had a long, pale face and dusky hair. Her eyes had been good - a glimmering hazel, large and long-lashed. They were pretty yet, but the crow's feet about them were plainly visible. There were brackets around her mouth too, and her cheeks were hollow. Anne suddenly realized, as she had never realized before, that she had grown old - that her youth was left far behind. She was an old maid, and Harriet Warren was young and pretty. Anne's long, thin lips suddenly quivered.
"I declare, I'm a worse fool than Jerome," she said angrily.
When Saturday night came Jerome did not. The corner of the big, old-fashioned porch where he usually sat looked bare and lonely. Anne was short with octavia and boxed the cat's ears and raged at herself. What did she care if Jerome Irving never came again? She could have married him years ago if she had wanted to - everybody knew that!
At sunset she saw a buggy drive past her gate. Even at that distance she recognized Harriet Warren's handsome, high-coloured profile. It was Jerome's new buggy and Jerome was driving. The wheel spokes flashed in the sunlight as they crept up the hill. Perhaps they dazzled Anne's eyes a little; at least, for that or some other reason she dabbed her hand viciously over them as she turned sharply about and went upstairs. Octavia was practising her music lesson in the parlour below and singing in a sweet shrill voice. The hired men were laughing and talking in the yard. Anne slammed down her window and banged her door and then lay down on her bed; she said her head ached.
The Deep Meadow people were amused and made joking remarks to Anne, which she had to take amiably because she had no excuse for resenting them. In reality they stung her pride unendurably. When Jerome had gone she realized that she had no other intimate friend and that she was a very lonely woman whom nobody cared about. One night - it was three weeks afterward - she met Jerome and Harriet squarely. She was walking to church with Octavia, and they were driving in the opposite direction. Jerome had his new buggy and a crimson lap robe. His horse's coat shone like satin and had rosettes of crimson on his bridle. Jerome was dressed extremely well and looked quite young, with his round, ruddy, clean-shaven face and clear blue eyes.
Harriet was sitting primly and consciously by his side; she was a very handsome girl with bold eyes and was somewhat overdressed. She wore a big flowery hat and a white lace veil and looked at Anne with a supercilious smile.
Anne felt dowdy and old; she was very pale. Jerome lifted his hat and bowed pleasantly as they drove past. Suddenly Harriet laughed out. Anne did not look back, but her face crimsoned darkly. Was that girl laughing at her? She trembled with anger and a sharp, hurt feeling. When she got home that night she sat a long while by her window.
Jerome was gone - and he let Harriet Warren laugh at her - and he would never come back to her. Well, it did not matter, but she had been a fool. Only it had never occurred to her that Jerome could act so.
"If I'd thought he would I mightn't have been so sharp with him," was as far as she would let herself go even in thought.
December 19, 2006
It's a privilege to pee
There is a new monstrosity in the middle of Times Square right next to the Virgin Megastore. I had strolled by there on my way to the Actors Equity office a couple of times and wondered what the hell it was ... but frankly, it terrified me too much to investigate. The entrance is enormous. Blinding white tiles confront you from within, and 2 escalators going up. Into nothingness. That is all one sees. However, happy-crappy sing-song Barney-shit music emanates onto the sidewalk, and compels one to see what the hell is going on in there. Standing on the sidewalk, are 3 or 4 guys - all dressed alike - in blazing blue tops, baggy white pants, and a hip-hop je ne sais quoi about their demeanor. The pants are slung low, and they are dancing to the happy-crappy Barney shit music, and somehow they manage to do it with a bit of street-cred. Even though (forgot to mention this) they are also all wearing big huge furry brown bear claws on their hands. Hiphop boys dancing around, cooler than thou, somehow acting like Lorelei to the scary white tile innards of this new structure. What is it?
Maybe on my 2nd trip past ... I realized that it was a BATHROOM version of the Virgin Megastore. Now tourists do not have to struggle to find a place to pee and poop in their meanderings through Times Square. They do not have to queue up in line in the two Starbucks in that area. Now there is an entire STOREFRONT devoted to bathrooms. This is a good idea. I get that. But what's with the happy-crappy music (literally) and the baggy pants brigade with the bear claws? And ... where do the escalators go? What is up there??
I decided to investigate. This was on impulse. I was on my way to Equity a couple days ago, and I felt the tell-tale urge. (The title of this post, by the way, is a direct quote from Urinetown) My urge was semi-urgent and although I could have waited until I got to Equity - the bathroom in the Membership Department is, uhm, just not condusive to serious business. It's one room - right off the main office floor - which is always packed with people ... and it's just an uncomfortable situation all around. Not when you have to pee, clearly, but if something ELSE needs to happen, it can be a nightmare. I have experienced performance anxiety in that bathroom before, so I decided - okay. Whatever. I will enter the tiled monstrosity and see where my urge takes me.
Guys, seriously. This is an experience like no other.
I have many thoughts about this new bathroom structure - some of it barely rational - but much of it has to do with my dismay at the G-rated suffocation of ... well, New York certainly - but the entire adult world as well. I, as a strictly R-rated type girl, will fight this suffocation at every turn! Leave SOME spots strictly rated R, thank you very much.
But when you gotta go, you gotta go.
Up the escalator I went. This is a massive gleaming escalator - it takes you up two stories, just to give you an idea. You are encased in a long gleaming white-tile tube - and plastered on the walls are pictures of furry brown bears - and also repetitive (like cult-brainwashing repetitive) advertisements for Charmin, the company that obviously foot the bill for this G-rated poop magnet in Times Square. (Maybe parents with little kids think pooping is cute, and maybe they feel the need to make going to the bathroom akin to a trip to Disneyworld ... but I'm an adult and I was strictly creeped out by the potty-training YAY FOR YOUR BODILY FUNCTIONS ambience of this entire place.) However, there was something highly amusing about it as well The escalator was packed with people. We all were being carried, passively, to the 2nd floor - where the toilets were, I guess. And I regressed. I became an 8 year old emotionally, giggling at everybody around me, because I was thinking, "hee hee, you have to poop! hee hee you have to pee!" It was my own version of Everybody Poops. I found it hilarious. I resented the brainwashing influence but I still found it hilarious.
I got to the top of the escalator. The second floor is all blue carpeting. Blinding blue. Right there at the top, is a small desk - manned by a couple people, all smiles, wearing blue and white, and little baseball caps. They looked like they were working a movie concession stand. And, indeed, there is a bowl of complementary candy canes and mints on the desk. You know, because it's important to have a breath mint after you take a massive dump. People had stopped at the desk to chat, to ask questions? What? It was truly bizarre. I don't want to DWELL on the fact that I've got bodily urges, I just want to get them taken care of, and move on with my day. But oh, this is not possible in Charmin Central. You must submit to the infantilizing displays. You MUST.
There's a small blue-carpeted corridor (and everything is very controlled - there are barriers to keep the crowds in line) and then you emerge into a space that defies description. It is part playroom, part disco club, part bed and breakfast, part TV studio at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory and part FREAKFEST. There is an enormous open space over to the left that you cannot get to unless you want to leave the line. (And why would you want to leave the line? Don't you just want to poop, pee, and get the hell out?) But no, many people had left the line. Perhaps they were waiting for their slower-defecating friends. Who knows. Everywhere you look is blue carpet. And also Charmin signs. Big plushy white couches line the walls. There is a fake fireplace (I am not kidding). There are also TV screens everywhere, and huge video monitors and ... I honestly wondered if I dreamed this part of it ... but I did not. Playing over and over and over again is a video - with happy smiling dancers, a multicultural mecca of talent, against a blinding white screen - and music blares from speakers - as the "dancers" do their thing, lip synching to a song about toilet paper. I'm not kidding. At one point, all of the dancers line up like the family Von Trapp in "So Long Farewell" ... and they sing, full on, face front, "We're singing in two-ply harmony!"
Watching that (or, rather, being unwillingly subjected to that) I suddenly despised the entire human race.
I also suddenly felt like: Uhm ... maybe I can do my business in the Equity bathroom. Didn't seem so bad after all. And the URGE I had felt 5 minutes ago suddenly had subsided. Because of the terror and rage.
The video is playing over and over and over, it never stops. And people WORK in that environment all day long. I think we can expect some of them to go postal one of these days. It was like a terrible karaoke video ... with this piped-in jolly song about wiping your ass.
There is a small stage over to one side (it keeps getting worse) - and standing on the stage is a guy in blue and white (what a surprise), wearing huge furry brown bear claws ... and he is dancing. Not even with all that much heart or conviction. He's just up there. Dancing. Trying to maintain SOME of his dignity. He has props up there, in case anyone wants to join him. And yes, people wanted to join him.
I hated the human race even more.
He had blue and white pom poms, and there were people dancing around as they waited in line to drop trou.
Over to my right was the REAL terror. A huge tiled open space - with 3 walls - lined with bright white doors. These were the bathrooms. No lines of stalls like in Port Authority - no. We each will get our own room. Now - this is actually smart - because a public bathroom in that locale would get trashed within 5 minutes of regular use. Just because 500 people peeing and pooping in the same area is gonna get nuts without some serious monitoring. So here is how the Charmin Wackos handle it. They have a staff - who all stand in the middle of this tiled space. They are all wearing latex gloves, and they are all incredibly cheery. Like Mickey Mouse Club cheery. And the line slowly moves forward - and people come out of the bathrooms - and people go in ... but here's the worst part. Whenever anyone emerges from the bathroom - all of the staff goes nuts. Cheering, shouting, a cacophony of voices, "WHOOOOO!" So you, who have just pooped, have to stroll through that congratulatory mayhem, just trying to move on to make your matinee. I gotta give it to that staff. They were completely enthusiastic. But there was something so unbelievably fucked up about the entire thing. Oh - and each bathroom is "cleaned" after each patron. One person comes out of the bathroom and is greeted with cheers of congratulations from the Charmins staff. (And some of the people in line got into it and cheered as well. There was a group dynamic going on that was SO not what my bathroom-self needed. I go to the bathroom and it's a private affair. I don't need you to CHEER when I am successful in this particular venture. I'm fine, I know what I'm doing, I've got it down, thanks. Thanks. No, really, thanks. But there was no way out of the line. You could not escape.) So - then after one of the rooms is vacated, one of the staff goes in, shuts the door - does their little clean-up job (cleaning up the sprinkling, I would imagine - and flushing if the first flush was not complete) and then comes out, cheering and whooping that yet another bathroom is ready. I gotta hand it to those people. I would so have a hard time staring at shit streaks all day, and then be CHEERFUL about it.) So people would walk towards the vacant bathroom, surrounded by the staff whooping like wild Indians, embarrassed smiles on their faces. And when you emerge from the bathroom - it's like you have walked out onto a stage. There is no privacy. You walk out of one of those doors - and the entire line is right there facing you - and 5 people are all jumping up and down, cheering your amazing accomplishment.
It is the most fucked up place on the planet.
But I will say this, having suffered through the nightmare that is the public bathroom in Port Authority: the joint is immaculate. It smells overwhelmingly like Lemon Pledge - it must be piped through the speakers with the happy-crappy Barney two-ply harmony. The tile gleams. You feel almost EMBARRASSED at what you are about to do in that clean little bathroom.
Once I was in the bathroom, my amazement continued. The cult-brainwashing was on overload there. Charmin Charmin Charmin everywhere. The walls are bright blue, with painted rolls of toilet paper, and huge bears (some of them are holding their paws between their legs - to show how badly they have to go. Ew.) Another good thing, though: there are EIGHT ROLLS OF TOILET PAPER (uhm, Charmin) in every bathroom. And it's Charmin. So it's soft and fluffy and nice. Not the freakin' sandpaper that Port Authority uses. Also, you ladies will know what I'm talking about when I say that the toilet seat was dry and immaculate. I still hovered above it - because I was freakin' freaked out by the whole thing ... but it wasn't a disaster area. It was SCARILY clean.
Then I emerged and stalked grumpily through the gauntlet of war-whooping Charmin employees, jumping up and down in utter glee because I had just pulled down my big-girl pants and done a big-girl bowel movement. I'm glad they didn't make me acknowledge what it was I had just done. I half expected one of them to rush up to me with a mike and say, "So ... tell us ... number one or number two?"
I took pictures the entire time I was there.
It is an experience not to be missed. If just for the sheer freak value of the entire enterprise.
Coming in ... to my left is the fake fireplace. You can see all of the video monitors and televisions blazing with the Charmin two-ply video.
Standing in line. I took a picture of my foot. See the blue? Doesn't it just make you want to poop your pants immediately?
And this one I took accidentally when I was trying to get a shot of the revolving disco ball (which wouldn't come out.) As I fiddled with my camera, I took the following photo and decided to keep it because I thought it looked cool.
And over to your right is the bathroom area itself. Which looks like a television set from a PBS kids show. Big tile middle - lined with white doors. You can see the staff there ... all in the middle of whooping and hollering for an ADULT who just performed a TOTALLY NATURAL bodily function. Isn't it freaky?
And here are the photos I took from within my own personal bathroom. Yes, while sitting on the can. Here is what is on the wall BEHIND the toilet.
I find that so scary.
And here is what you see on the back of the door, when you are sitting on the can.
Just in case you were in ANY danger of forgetting. CHARMIN SPONSORED THIS.
Welcome, readers from Feministe! Hope you vicariously enjoy my experience.
It's definitely a sign ...
As I mentioned earlier: Atwood's here.
Atwood's everywhere. (Nice huge article there, by Joyce Carol Oates.)
I'm excited to read Moral Disorder, even more so now.
6 days ...
... and counting..... (that Denby review has made me even more excited, if possible)
I freakin' CANNOT. WAIT.
Quote from the review:
The sigh you will hear across the country in the next few weeks is the sound of a gratified audience: a great movie musical has been made at last.
Holy crap.
Seriously. I'm having a problem concentrating on anything else, so great is my anticipation.
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Dissipation of Miss Posonby' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Dissipation of Miss Posonby' - by L.M. Montgomery
I love when she has these old-fashioned Victorian titles. 'The Dissipation of Miss Posonby'. Wonderful.
Miss Posonby is one of Lucy Maud delightful old-maid characters. She's prim, tidy, proper - and completely trapped by her circumstances (her father is a tyrant) ... Eventually, this story is about how Miss Posonby hears that an old beau of hers has returned to town - after 20 years being away - and someone is throwing a party for him ... and she wants to go, but her father refuses and, I believe, locks Miss Posonby in her room. What eventually happens is the two young girls next door (19, 18 years old) get all invested in Miss Posonby's old romance - she says she doesn't have a dress to go to the party anyway ... she says all of this out of her bedroom window, where she is locked in ... and the girls live across the way. Eventually, they lend her one of their dresses - and climb it up to her in the old oak tree outside her window. Miss Posonby, once she puts on the pretty dress, is revealed to be a beautiful ripe woman in her 40s, not the silly old maid who lives like Emily Dickinson in her tower-room. She goes to the party, is reunited with her old beau, and is happy! In her utter dissipation.
Here is the opening of the story. I love the tone Lucy Maud takes. It's comedic.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Dissipation of Miss Posonby' - by L.M. Montgomery
Miss Posonby sat and sewed at her window for hours at a time, but she never looked our way, partly, I suppose, from habit induced by modesty, since the former occupants of our room had been two gay young bachelors, whose names Jerry and I found cut all over our window-panes with a diamond.
Jerry and I sat a great deal at ours, laughing and talking, but Miss Posonby never lifted her head or eyes. Jerry couldn't stand it long; she declared it got on her nerves; besides, she felt sorry to see a fellow creature wasting so many precious moments of a fleeting lifetime at patchwork. So one afternoon she hailed Miss Posonby with a cheerful "hello", and Miss Posonby actually looked over and said "good afternoon," as prim as an eighteen-hundred-and-forty fashion plate.
Then Jerry, whose name is Geraldine only in the family Bible, talked to her about the weather. Jerry can talk interestingly about anything. In five minutes she had performed a miracle - she had made Miss Posonby laugh. In five minutes more she was leaning half out of the window showing Miss Posonby a new, white, fluffy, frivolous, chiffony waist of hers, and Miss Posonby was leaning halfway out of hers looking at it eagerly. At the end of a quarter of an hour they were exchanging confidences about their favourite books. Jerry was a confirmed Kiplingomaniac, but Miss Posonby adored Laura Jean Libbey. She said sorrowfully she supposed she ought not to read novels at all since her father disapproved. We found out later on that Mr. Posonby's way of expressing disapproval was to burn any he got hold of, and storm at his daughter about them like the confirmed old crank he was. Poor Miss Posonby had to keep her Laura Jeans locked up in her trunk, and it wasn't often she got a new one.
Friom that day dated our friendship with Miss Posonby, a curious friendship, only carried on from window to window. We never saw Miss Posonby anywhere else; we asked her to come over but she said her father didn't allow her to visit anybody. Miss Posonby was one of those meek women who are ruled by whomsoever happens to be nearest them, and woe be unto them if that nearest happen to be a tyrant. Her meekness fairly infuriated Jerry.
But we liked Miss Posonby and we pitied her. She confided to us that she was very lonely, and that she wrote poetry. We never asked to see the poetry, although I think she would have liked to show it. But, as Jerry says, there are limits.
We told Miss Posonby all about our dances and picnics and beaus and pretty dresses; she was never tired of hearing of them; we smuggled her library novels - Jerry got our cook to buy them - and boxes of chocolates, from our window to hers; we sat there on moonlit nights and communed with her while other girls down the street were enteretaining callers on their verandahs; we did everything we could for her except to call her Alicia, although she beggued us to do so. But it never came easily to our tongues; we thought she must have been born and christened Miss Posonby; "Alicia" was something her mother could only have dreamed about her.
We thought we knew all about Miss Posonby's past; but even pale, drab, china-blue women can have their secrets and keep them. It was a full half year before we discovered Miss Posonby's.
December 18, 2006
"What terrified me will terrify others."
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, her husband Percy Shelley, Lord Byron, and Lord Byron's physician Dr. John Polidori sat around one rainy summer night in 1816- they were neighbors in Switzerland - I mean, damn, I want to be at one of THOSE barbecues, sheesh! - but anyway, one summer in 1816 - on a rainy night - after a series of rainy days when they were housebound - Byron (who was working on Childe Harold at the time) came up with a suggestion for a way to amuse themselves as a group. Each person was to write a ghost story (there was an old volume of ghost stories in one of their vacation homes - and that was the inspiration for this little party game. Yeah, you know, a party game with two of the most influential poets of their day and a woman who was about to write a classic novel. At the age of freakin' nineteen years old. Mm-hm. That was some party game.)
Here is Mary Shelley describing this. It is a perfect and personal description of the artistic process. Anyone who has ever tried to create something ... or wanted to create something and just felt they needed to have an idea ... will recognize themselves in Mary Shelley's words.
Watch how she works it out. Lets her subconscious lead her. She doesn't ask too many questions. She gets her idea, and she GOES. (Rather akin to Dr. Frankenstein's own journey with his monster. There are so many levels here.)
But I just love that she has given us such a detailed essay about how she wrote this book. Goosebumps.
"We will each write a ghost story," said Lord Byron, and his proposition was acceded to. There were four of us. The noble author began a tale, a fragment of which he printed at the end of his poem of Mazeppa. Shelley, more apt to embody ideas and sentiments in the radiance of brilliant imagery and in the music of the most melodious verse that adorns our language than to invent the machinery of a story, commenced one founded on the experiences of his early life. Poor Polidori had some terrible idea about a skull-headed lady who was so punished for peeping through a key-hole - what to see I forget: something very shocking and wrong of course; but when she was reduced to a worse condition than the renowned Tom of Coventry, he did not know what to do with her and was obliged to dispatch her to the tomb of the Capulets, the only place for which she was fitted. The illustrious poets also, annoyed by the platitude of prose, speedily relinquished their uncongenial task.I busied myself to think of a story - a story to rival those which had excited us to this task. One which would speak to the mysterious fears of our nature and awaken thrilling horror - one to make the reader dread to look round, to curdle the blood, and quicken the beatings of the heart. If I did not accomplish these things, my ghost story would be unworthy of its name. I thought and pondered - vainly. I felt that blank incapability of invention which is the greatest misery of authorship, when dull. Nothing replies to our anxious invocations. "Have you thought of a story?" I was asked each morning, and each morning I was forced to reply with a mortifying negative.
Everything must have a beginning, to speak in Sanchean phrase; and that beginning must be linked to something that went before. The Hindus give the world an elephant to support it, but they make the elephant stand upon a tortoise. Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos; the materials must, in the first place, be afforded: it can give form to dark, shapeless substances but cannot bring into being the substance itself. In all matters of discovery and invention, even of those that appertain to the imagination, we are continually reminded of the story of Columbus and his egg. Invention consists in the capacity of seizing on the capabilities of a subject and in the power of moulding and fashioning ideas suggested to it.
Many and long were the conversations between Lord Byron and Shelley to which I was a devout but nearly silent listener. During one of these, various philosophical doctrines were discussed, and among others the nature of the principle of life, and whether there was any probability of its ever being discovered and communicated. They talked of the experiments of Dr. Darwin (I speak not of what the doctor really did or said that he did, but, as more to my purpose, of what was then spoken of as having been done by him), who preserved a piece of vermicelli in a glass case till by some extraordinary means it began to move with voluntary motion. Not thus, after all, would life be given. Perhaps a corpse would be reanimated; galvanism had given token of such things: perhaps the component parts of a creature might be manufactured, brought together, and endued with vital warmth.
Night waned upon this talk, and even the witching hour had gone by before we retired to rest. When I placed my head on my pillow I did not sleep, nor could I be said to think. My imagination, unbidden, possessed and guided me, gifting the successive images that arose in my mind with a vividness far beyond the usual bounds of reverie. I saw - with shut eyes, but acute mental vision - I saw the pale student of unhallowed arts kneeling beside the thing he had put together. I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half-vital motion. Frightful must it be, for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Craetor of the world. His success would terrify the artist; he would rush away from his odious handiwork, horror-stricken. He would hope that, left to itself, the slight spark of life which he had communicated would fade, that this thing which had received such imperfect animation would subside into dead matter, and he might sleep in the belief that the silence of the grave would quench forever the transient existence of the hideous corpse which he had looked upon as the cradle of life. He sleeps; but he is awakened; he opens his eyes; behold, the horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains and looking on him with yellow, watery, but speculative eyes.
I opened mine in terror. The idea so possessed my mind that a thrill of fear ran through me, and I wished to exchange the ghastly image of my fancy for the realities around. I see them still: the very room, the dark parquet, the closed shutters with the moonlight struggling through, and the sense I had that the glassy lake and white high Alps were beyond. I could not so easily get rid of my hideous phantom; still it haunted me. I must try to think of something else. I recurred to my ghost story - my tiresome, unlucky ghost story! Oh! If I could only contrive one which would frighten my reader as I myself had been frighttened that night!
Swiftly as light and as cheering was the idea that broke in upon me. "I have found it! What terrified me will terrify others; and I need only describe the spectre which had haunted my midnight pillow." On the morrow I announced that I had thought of a story.
Posted by sheila Permalink | Comments (13)
"this glorious presence-chamber of imperial nature"
From Frankenstein (which I read over this past week - being pretty much unable to put it down):
I spent the following day roaming through the valley. I stood beside the sources of the Arveiron, which take their rise in a glacier, that with slow pace is advancing down from the summit of the hills to barricade the valley. The abrupt sides of vast mountains were before me; the icy wall of the glaceir overhung me; a few shattered pines were scattered around; and the solemn silence of this glorious presence-chamber of imperial nature was broken only by the brawling waves or the fall of some vast fragment, the thunder sound of the avalanche or the cracking, reverberated along the mountains, of the accumulated ice, which, through the silence working of immutable laws, was ever and anon rent and torn, as if it had been but a plaything in their hands. these sublime and magnificent scenes afforded me the greatest consolation that I was capable of receiving. They elevated me from all littleness of feeling, and although they did not remove my grief, they subdued and tranquillized it. In some degree, also, they diverted my mind from the thoughts over which it had brooded for the last month. I retired to rest at night; my slumbers, as it were, waited on and ministered to by the assemblance of grand shapes which I had contemplated during the day. They congregated round me; the unstained snowy mountaintop, the glittering pinnacle, the pine woods, and ragged bare ravine, the eagle, soaring amidst the clouds - they all gathered round me and bade me be at peace.Where had they fled when the next morning I awoke? All of soul-inspiriting fled with sleep, and dark melancholy clouded every thought. the rain was pouring in torrents, and thick mists hid the summits of the mountains, so that I even saw not the faces of those mighty friends. Still I would penetrate their misty veil and seek in them their cloudy retreats. What were rain and storm to me? My mule was brought to the door, and I resolved to ascend to the summit of Montanvert. I remembered the effect that the view of the tremendous and ever-moving glacier had produced upon my mind when I first saw it. It had then filled me with a sublime ecstasy that gave wings to the soul and allowed it to soar from the obscure world to light and joy. The sight of the awful and the majestic in nature had indeed always the effect of solemnizing my mind and causing me to forget the passing cares of life. I determined to go without a guide, for I was well acquainted with the path, and the presence of another would destroy the solitary grandeur of the scene.
thinly sliced garlic ...
A really fascinating post (by the wonderful Andrew Horbal) about the two main cooking scenes in Goodfellas. Marvelous observations.
Technological bitchiness
Standing on Clark Street. Kate, Mitchell, myself, the baby carriage. Cell phone camera conversation.
Kate: "I don't have a camera on my cell phone."
Me: "You probably do. You just don't know that you do."
It came out SO much bitchier than I meant it. It came out in the snottiest tone imaginable, like I was snickering with condescending patience at Kate's retardation. Patient condescending smile. Gentle indulgent expression. "You probably do, Kate, you just don't know that you do."
Kate looked at me, and exclaimed, in protest, "SHEILA!" and then we all just started howling with laughter. And then I took a picture of Kate's laughing face with my camera-phone.
Happiness is:
sitting in Mitchell's green and white striped chair, listening to him talk about:
- Lena Horne
- Ella Fitzgerald
- Pearl Bailey (uhm - have you heard her version of "Jingle Bells"? At one point, she is shouting, in this gutteral voice: "I SAID AH-JINGLE.")
These ladies were all singing Christmas carols in the background and Mitchell kept getting pulled into what they were doing (even though he has heard these songs probably thousands of times) and talking about why they were so great, and specific ... not just "Oh, I love Ella" ... but talking about what it was that makes her such a genius.
I think Mitchell was even a little bit late to work, because he had to keep talking about Lena Horne, and doing a little compare and contrast analysis with the others.
I've known Mitchell for about 20 years now. He has been talking about Ella Fitzgerald for this entire time. Now that is a die-hard fan.
"way down SOUTH"
Brunch in Andersonville with friends. Just like old times. I am always happy to see the things that do NOT change (the fabulous "Jesus Saves" church with its old-fashioned neon sign, Ann Sather, Presence - my favorite store ever, Reza's - I went on a date there once - yummy food) and then the new things. Like Hamburger Mary's on Balmoral and Clark. What a FUN joint. Open for brunch. Fabulous music. We heard: "There's Always Tomorrow" from Rudolph, "All I want for Christmas" - by Mariah ("It's a modern Christmas classic," announced Mitchell), "Papa Can You Hear Me" from Yentl ... etc.
Eric met us (oh, and Eric gave me a makeover on Saturday - he works at the Smashbox counter at Macy's - that USED to be Marshall Field ... and Mitchell and I stopped by - and Eric just did me UP ... I'll have to write more about that later, it was awesome - Eric is totally an artist. I could not believe the transformation in my face. But it was subtle - I still looked like me - just completely glamourous, and much younger. Well done, you! And what the hell, I splurged - and bought some fancy-ass makeup - I'm really happy) - and Kate and the baby came too. Mitchell dashed up and down Clark like a maniac, arranging to have some cheapo furniture shipped back to his apartment from a second-hand store - I could see him running by the window on occasion - however, he eventually joined us - and we all sat around, and drank coffee, had a big brunch, and baby-worshipped. He was just sleeping for the most part, but still. It's hard to not just look at him all the time. Oh, and Kate regaled us with her brrrrrrrillllliant (and terrifying) Ann Miller imitation. We HOWLED. "way down SOUTH ..." etc. I've seen Kate's boozy Liza, I've seen Kate's passive-aggressive emotionally tormented smile-that-looks-like-a-wince "Robin" ("I've never felt so free") - I've seen many of her characters - but never her Ann Miller. Something really frightening happened to her eyes when she hit the word "SOUTH". They went a little bit dead.
Much hilarity when discussing Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte. Mitchell said, "Someone informed Agnes Moorehead that she should play the role as a fat black woman." Mitchell did her classic line: "I don' know nothin' 'bout that ripped up old dreeeesss." If you know how she says that line, then you will know that Agnes Moorehead is the weirdest most specific and yet most bizarre actress on the planet. I love her. That is one of the weirdest performances in film history. "I don' know nothin' ;bout that rippped up old dreeeesss." Uhm - what? And then of course Alex and Mitchell have this whole joke about Olivia de Havilland's response to that screechy insanity. "She's in a different movie," said Mitchell. Cut back to Olivia. She's all soft focus and blurry. She says in a soft mellifluous and yet somehow ominous voice, "But you do know ... that it was rrrrripped ..." with lots of gentle contortions with her mouth - which Alex and Mitchell have completely exaggerated beyond any recognition to the original.
Oh - and we kind of cannot stop talking about Dreamgirls. We are all about Dreamgirls. We cannot wait for Dreamgirls. I don't know anyone who is not counting the days for that movie to open. Mitchell said, "I'm so excited for that movie to open that sometimes I forget to even wash myself." We talked about it off and on for days. Dreamgirls, Dreamgirls, Dreamgirls. Next week cannot come soon enough. I wish we could all go together.
I went back to Kate's place and we spent hours hanging out, talking, and basically baby-worshipping. Everything he did we oohed and ahhed over. We just sat and stared at him sleeping, watching little flickers of ... emotions? Gas? ... pass over his face. He's perfect. It was just great to see her with him, to see Tim with him - to talk to them about their new roles, how they're doing, all that stuff. I loved it.
Made me wish I lived closer.
December 17, 2006
Memory
Mitchell, to Alex and Sheila (who had both been talking AT him for a good 20 minutes): "If either of you say the words 'Magoo' or 'OT Seven' to me one more time, I am leaving the room."
Alex and Sheila, together: "But Mitchell - listen ... once Magoo reached OT Seven ..."
Mitchell: "WHAT DID I JUST SAY."
Snapshot, circa 2 a.m.
Mitchell: "Remember the day we found out that Elaine Joyce was married to Neil Simon?"
Alex: "That was a weird day, wasn't it?"
Classic
Just classic.
Didn't come out great, due to the camera-phone's drawbacks ... but still. Magnificent. One of my favorite landmarks in this fair city.
December 16, 2006
The old stompin' grounds
Chicago. The familiar stretch of Southport. A white winter sky. The red neon of the Music Box sign towering above the rest of the signage on the street. My old house. The Jewel.
Old friends. New friends (like Pastor Sean, who regaled us with hilarious tales of the insane sound mess-up that had occurred the night before in Mamma Mia - NUTS - hysterical, one of those great theatre anecdotes). My dear friend Kate, her awesome husband, their new little baby. Perfect. His perfect hands, his perfect little face. Seeing an old dear friend become a mother. Watching her adjust, and take to it. Kinda brings tears to my eyes. I got to hold him and that was pretty cool. His large blue eyeballs staring at my face. I loved hanging out at their place ... the baby sleeping, or crying, or eating ... doing what babies do ... the poor dog lying on the rug, rather disconsolate, and desperate for attention. "She's been demoted," said Kate. Catching up with the two of them - how they're doing, their lives, their upcoming acting jobs and current acting jobs, their new roles as parents ... Got to spend the whole day yesterday with them and it just was so so so great.
Snapshot
This morning, Mitchell and I were talking about our friendship. Mitchell was in the bathroom, getting ready for work - I was curled up in his big chair, cup of coffee next to me, Frankenstein nearby for my morning reading ... and somehow we started discussing our bond as friends. Our relationship. Its long-lastingness, its hugeness, its unbelievable reliability ... how it never FEELS like we are long-distance, even though we are.
I said, "It's kind of mysterious and huge, isn't it?"
Mitchell replied, casually, from the other room, "Yes. We have the Easter Island of relationships."
December 14, 2006
Christine Ebersole
Alex's friend Steve never goes anywhere without his video camera. Recently he went to an awards ceremony ... and after various guests received their awards ... out came Christine Ebersole, and she sang "Around the World" from Grey Gardens.
No stage makeup, no costume, no props. She doesn't need them.
Atwood Hints
Margaret Atwood has been coming up quite a bit for me, lately. There was this peripheral mention of Bodily Harm - which brought up a flood of memories from when I first read that unbelievable book - a book that freakin' scared me, man - unlike any other Atwood book I've read. I read it in my early 20s, and to be honest, I think I blocked most of it out. Except for the opening scene. It was that upsetting to me.
And then this beautiful post from the totally cool "Super Fast Reader" - I so related to this post (first of all, about the whole "reading on the subway" thing, and how you work it out - and those horrible days when you have to try to turn the pages of your book with the same hand that is holding the book - ah, I know that pain) - but then she goes on to talk, briefly, about all of Atwood's books, her favorites, etc. (Go, Cat's Eye!)
And finally this lovely weird little anecdote - written by a HUGE Atwood fan - and it describes a brief encounter with Atwood at a book signing - and the discombobulation one can experience when one meets a true idol - and also the funny little answer Atwood gives to the question asked. I love it. She's so mischievous (Atwood).
I read all of Atwood's books - even over the last 10 years - when I have been less than thrilled with what she's been doing - but in my opinion very few writers write books as good as Cat's Eye. That's a great book. Period. And I also would put Bodily Harm on the list - that was a truly disorienting experience - scary, confusing, and - DEEP. But it haunted me. From the opening scene (she comes home to find a coil of rope on her bed. Who left it there? Why?) to the devastating close ...
There's something about Atwood that - rocks my boat a bit. It jolts me out of complacency. At times she seems to speak directly to me - especially with cat's Eye - and so I have never re-read any of her books. Once has been enough. I still have them all ... and sometimes I pick them up, flip through them, and think: "Hm. I should re-read this - it's been 20 years since I've read this book ..." but then I resist for some reason.
Because I can't read her books and not GO there.
But I don't know. Atwood seems to be popping up left and right for me these days ...
I've been thinking about re-reading Bodily Harm ... so maybe now is the time ... What is it that scares me? It does. It's not the plot. It's something else. It's unbalancing to read her. And maybe I'm not into that now. But I think I should give it a shot. Maybe it's a hint, a sign from the universe - these Atwood posts all over the place.
But I'm still not sure if I'm ready to read Cat's Eye again. That book just cut to the heart of my entire LIFE.
Chicago
This post totally brought a lump to my throat.
I so get it. It's so specific - yet I experienced almost exactly the same thing, when I started to contemplate leaving ... and also when I knew my days there were numbered ... (Fever and all that ...)
"For Your Consideration"
Jen and I saw it last night - it was a really fun evening, all in all, involving shopping at the outdoor Christmas market, then dinner - Mexican food and margaritas - and then suddenly deciding to go see "For Your Consideration" which was playing at 42nd Street - we were down on 14th - so we made a mad dash on the R train to get there in time. We had 20 minutes for the commute and we got there with time to spare.
I've been meaning to see For Your Consideration ever since it came out - and it's certainly not up to, say, Waiting for Guffman - and I, personally, missed the mockumentary format in this film - that seems to me to be where Guest really shines, and has something to offer that nobody else does... But I've never really been the type to moan: Waaah, why didn't they make the movie that I wanted to see?? I take it for what it IS. At least I try to. So many reviews seem to just bitch that he didn't remake Best in Show. That is the reviewers deficiency, not Guest's.
The first 10 minutes of the movie were pretty clunky - not one laugh in them - and that is rare with this group of talent. It just felt "off", you know? Without those faux documentary interviews - it was hard to get IN with these people. The interviews in Guffman, Spinal Tap and all the others are these psychologically devastating and astute character portraits ... people whose behavior tells the whole story, while their words may try to cover up their anxiety, insecurity, whatever. "I know how the Kennedys must feel." Etc. I mean, there are so many examples. For Your Consideration didn't have that. It did have the hand-held camera a lot of the time, and much of it felt improvisational ... those actors are just the best at that kind of stuff - unexpected behavioral moments, little glances, stupid comments that hang in the air until Guest cuts away ... All that is still there. But I did yearn for some interviews - where you can watch these people try to explain themselves to the camera.
Rachael Harris and Parker Posey
Regardless - the observations about actors and scripts and directors were so spot on, and so TRUE, that Jen and I were just CACKLING at some of the stuff. We know this behavior intimately. We make fun of it. But we also are part of it. It's insider humor. We get to laugh - and we laugh in a different way than outsiders do, who think we're a bunch of morons, and laugh at it out of a feeling of superiority. "Hee hee, look at those morons." But we laugh from recognition, a cringing recognition ... like: Oh God. That has been me. Ahhhhh! That's one of the reasons why Waiting for Guffman is my favorite of all of his so far. Because even though it's community theatre, and even though some of these people (Fred Willard) are RIDICULOUS - I felt, watching it, Oh yeah. I remember that. I remember that this is why I do this, and why I love this. It's not an unworthy pursuit, theatre. There's a reason why people want to do it. Because it's just fun to put on a show, frankly. And so the laughter from their silly rehearsals and theatre games and their over-dramatic moments of conflict ... I was laughing out of: Holy crap, he has so NAILED it, he has so NAILED that world that I know.
In the first scene in For Your Consideration - an actor in a sailor suit - discusses his upcoming scene with the director, played by Christopher Guest. The subtlety of the behavior that Christopher Guest captures. It's just - THAT is the kind of stuff that makes me pee my pants. It's so real. You know how you watch reality TV or you watch an interview with someone - and they are TELLING you everything, just by their behavior, even if their words say something different? So this actor is going on and on about his preparation (Jen and I were losing it - it's an "in" joke - any actor, any director would freakin' recognize this behavior) - Actor drones on (and yet he's earnest - he's not a blowhard - there's just something so RIGHT about how he plays it): "So I know that my father is dead ... and yet I have all of this guilt about leaving my sister behind ... but I don't want to SHOW the guilt ... and yet at the same time, I need to comfort my mother and let her know I understand ...." heh heh heh Like: how on earth are you going to play all of that at once?? And Christopher Guest, as the supportive director (who drives the writers crazy - the writers played by Michael McKean and Bob Balaban and I just want to kiss them both - I love this whole ensemble - but anyway, the director drives the writers nuts because if a scene isn't working, he'll "throw the script away" and have the actors do actor improvs to find the reality of the situation. Like he'll have them switch parts - so you see them all, overly serious, doing these games and improvs - stuff that definitely has its place but IN REHEARSAL, not when you're on the set ... Jen and I were crying with laughter.) Ack tangent - okay, so the sailor-actor is going on and on in that actor way, and Guest interrupts (and he's so gentle, this director), he says, "I think all of that is GREAT. I love that you have done all of this preparation. And you'll definitely be able to use it. But I'm thinking maybe in another movie." He says it with a total absence of mean-ness. What he essentially is saying is: "Wow. Please don't overcomplicate things. Just play the scene." But he can't SAY that - so he says, "Use the preparation you've done in THIS movie for your NEXT movie."
There were all of those little exquisite moments that Guest gets - stuff impossible to describe, moments of thought, opening mouth to speak and nothing coming out, nodding in agreement when you really don't understand ... He just has such a great eye, and those actors trust him so much ... they just GO. I can relax. I can just sit back and watch these people just do their thing. I adore it.
But I have to say: THE reason to see this film is the absolute genius of Catherine O'Hara. This woman is SCARY. This woman is on Meryl Streep's level - nobody else in the business today even comes close. Catherine O'Hara is outrageously funny, of course - yet at the same time she can be so raw, and so ... there were moments when Jen and I had to look away. It's so sad, so pathetic (akin to Lisa Kudrow's brilliant turn in The Comeback - it has that raw-nerve openly-needy pathos ... so so difficult to watch, and yet exquisite work - it NEVER is general. It always is specific).
Catherine O'Hara and John Michael Higgins
I was blown away by O'Hara's performance (and I'm basically always blown away by her). She is a chameleon. She is never just the surface of her character - she never just changes her hair and her accent and expects us to buy it. She BECOMES these people. Think of the difference between Cookie in Best in Show, Mickey in Mighty Wind and Sheila Albertson in Waiting for Guffman. The only similarity between these characters is that they all were played by the same actress. Other than that ... her range is breathtaking. Literally. Jen and I had moments last night, in the audience, where we gasped at what we were seeing. From the very beginning. We know just who this woman is. We see her. It's so sad ... we don't want to see what we're seeing ... but we see it, because it's just naked need. And yet - any actor would understand it. It's why people who aren't actors think we're disgusting. Because we need things so nakedly. And people don't like that. People like humility, people like you to "play well with others". Etc. Fine, fine, but that's NEVER who becomes successful. Catherine O'Hara shows that raw HUNGER ... and it's awful. I can see why people may not like this movie because who the heck wants to spend time with someone like that? I happen to be one of those people who thought The Comeback was one of the best TV shows I'd seen in ... 10 years? And I read vicious attacks on it - it really seemed to strike a nerve or something ... I thought it was genius. I love that kind of stuff - and we're in a similar vein here. It's like the best of The Office - Ricky Gervais shows us a character like that. It's very similar to the Catherine O'Hara character ... someone who has such unbelievable need to belong, to be liked ... that you WINCE watching him try to get what he needs. It is ruthless humor. Brutal. One of the reasons I love Christopher Guest and one of the reasons why I loved Ricky Gervais' The Office is that ... even with that kind of brutality, even with the sort of humor that makes the audience wince with discomfort ... there is an affection for the characters. You find yourself rooting for them. You want them to just calm down and do well!!
The journey Catherine O'Hara takes in For Your Consideration is - uhm - well, frankly, there's nothing funny about it - although many of her moments are so funny that you can't even laugh.
But then - like the true magician that she is - she just GOES to the heart of that need - that tragedy of failure, of loss, of not getting what you want ... and it's heart-breaking. Her transformation ends up being one of those moments you never forget. For Your Consideration, unlike many of his other movies, does not have a lot of affection for the world it portrays. It's a bitter film. A cynical bitter film. With a ton of laughs, sure ... but the last scene is brutal. You see what has become of the Catherine O'Hara character ... and Jen and I both were like, "Hooooleee crap."
Everyone's great in it - the whole cast of geniuses - Parker Posey is HILARIOUS (especially in her one-woman show at the end - called "No Penis Intended" - and it's this horrible man-hating rant in a tiny theatre - it's so funny, Jen and I were DYING) ... Jane Lynch is VILE (as she always is - I love that woman) ... Fred Willard is a soulless ignorant smiley jagoff ... (he's a genius) ... Bob Balaban is overly serious, trying to discuss the tradition of Purim on an Entertainment Tonight type show ... like: No. No one cares about your precious thematic elements when you only have 20 seconds to make your pitch. I just love how SERIOUS Balaban is. He's unbelievable. One of my favorites. And Michael McKean is his co-writer - and the two of them are just hysterical together. Trying to maintain SOME control over their words, their property ... but it's so hard not to sell out completely.
Bob Balaban and Michael McKean
And then, of course, the exquisite Jennifer Coolidge - who plays the dimbulb and yet enthusiastic producer (she says in the middle of one meeting, completely clueless, "What is the theme??" Like - she's producing this movie and she doesn't even know what it's about.) She's brilliant.
Jennifer Coolidge
Rachael Harris (new to this ensemble) plays another overly serious actress in the movie within the movie - and she is HILARIOUS. On the set, she's all dour and stern and in character, and actress-y, saying in a quiet passive-aggressive voice to a gaffer or whoever, "Excuse me, could you call me by my character name?" All that kind of crap, and being so serious ... her listening face, nodding, thinking, accepting, pondering - it's a brilliant little cameo - but then you see her at the premiere party, and she is totally babed out like Paris Hilton. It's hysterical.
Deborah Theaker, Jim Piddock and Rachael Harris
Deborah Theaker - a Guest mainstay. She's the one in Waiting for Guffman who says, "I know how the Kennedys must feel." Nobody does gentle self-absorption like this woman. And Jim Piddock is the HILARIOUS dude who also was a dog-show announcer beside Fred Willard in Best in Show - the really proper man, English, horrified at Willard's inanity. But look at him here. He's the cinematographer. He's all spiked out, and cool, and snaps gum - almost totally unrecognizable.
These people are geniuses.
All the mainstays are here ... and to me, now, they feel like old friends. I am happy to see all of them.
Jane Lynch and Fred Willard
But Catherine O'Hara.
Shit. That woman's talent is scary. This actually might be my favorite performance of hers - even though it's certainly not a feel-good part. She is unbelievable. A real idol of mine.
Connection
This poem somehow reminds me of what I wrote yesterday about Grey Gardens.
Crusoe by George Bilgere
When you've been away from it long enough,
You begin to forget the country
Of couples, with all its strange customs
And mysterious ways. Those two
Over there, for instance: late thirties,
Attractive and well-dressed, reading
At the table, drinking some complicated
Coffee drink. They haven't spoken
Or even looked at each other in thirty minutes,
But the big toe of her right foot, naked
In its sandal, sometimes grazes
The naked ankle bone of his left foot,
The faintest signal, a line thrown
Between two vessels as they cruise
Through this hour, this vacation, this life,
Through the thick novels they're reading,
Her toe saying to his ankle,
Here's to the whole improbable story
Of our meeting, of our life together
And the oceanic richness
Of our mingled narrative
With its complex past, with its hurts
And secret jokes, its dark closets
And delightful sexual quirks,
Its occasional doldrums, its vast
Future we have already peopled
With children. How safe we are
Compared to that man sitting across the room,
Marooned with his drink
And yellow notebook, trying to write
A way off his little island.
December 13, 2006
Grey Gardens ... thoughts
An in-depth review by Brooke Allen.
You know, I had the same response:
Grey Gardens originally struck me as a thoroughly grotesque idea for a new musical, almost as low on the taste level as the ill-fated attempt, a few years back, to base a musical on the life and death of the suicidal actress Jean Seberg.
I had seen the documentary - and also experienced it as, uhm, fascinating, yes - unforgettable certainly - but also rather lurid and awful - and kind of not at all funny. I mean, there were moments - and Edie actually is quite funny - some of her lines!! - but it was not comfortable laughter, it was laughter out of shock, disbelief, amazement ...
I saw it with two dear friends, gay men, who had seen it a bazillion times - and they cackled throughout. They HOWLED with laughter. They rewound certain sections to watch it again. I only mention they are gay because it's been basically gay men who have kept this movie alive and in circulation. So. They were howling, and I was not. I know it's weird to watch a movie with people who basically know it by heart - but that wasn't what was going on. It was just such a different response I was having ... I felt that movie in my freakin' molecules. I didn't feel like laughing at ALL. I actually had a very bad night that night, as I recall - the movie completely disoriented me, knocked me out of balance for a couple of days, leaving me rather shaky - and I felt like their constant laughter throughout was ... I guess I took it personally. (I wasn't doing very well at that point in my life. I took a lot of stuff personally.) I identified with Little Edie, mentally ill as she was. It was not that I saw myself in her - it was that I saw that I COULD be that. I could be that woman. It terrified me. I remember feeling almost cold watching some of that movie. Almost like she was a huge Medusa or something, and just by looking at her I was solidifying, petrifying. I was unable to think with any confidence, "Nope. That will NEVER be me." I couldn't get the distance from her that I needed in order to just sit back and laugh.
It's like Blanche Dubois - or any of those other Tennessee Williams characters. While there may be humor there, and while Blanche's fluttery nonsense may seem funny - and if you actually met her, you might want to stay as far away from her as possible, because she is obviously nutso - to me it seems not right to laugh. OR - if you laugh, then you are implicated. And that's probably part of Williams' point. Blanche has found only ridicule and abandonment in the world. Judgment and scorn. Her last line is "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers" which - tears my heart out because she found so little kindness in this world. It's easy to ridicule Blanche. It's easy to ridicule the overly made up lady at the end of the bar who still thinks she can pick up 22 year old men. It makes me uncomfortable to be in the presence of somebody so addicted to fantasy, so stuck at one point in her life - long past. It makes me uncomfortable, though, because it strikes a nerve. And that's what happened when I saw Grey Gardens.
I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach, grief and sadness and something else, maybe fear, being stirred up deep down below ... a fear of BEING like that ... a fear of having things get THAT bad ... and yet at the same time, to be honest, Little Edie is a fabulous character - she is not "tragic" in her own eyes. Tennessee Williams said that he had never written a 'tragic heroine' and he had no idea why critics and audiences insisted on referring to Blanche or Miss Alma or whomever as "tragic". He saw them as vibrant tough survivors. Sensitive people who were trying desperately to hang on to their sensitivity in a world that was determined to crush them. Perhaps they did not get what they wanted out of life. But they survived. Blanche did what she had to do to survive. It may have looked ridiculous to Stanley, and to us watching. Like: stop acting like a virginal Southern belle, Blanche - it is grotesque at your age! However: this was how she survived. Her protection. And who can call that tragic?
Little Edie dresses up in the weirdest outfits, all worn backwards and sideways and upside down and held together with safety pins and clips, puts on turbans, plays the records from her girlhood, does shockingly embarrassing dances right at the camera, comes up to the camera and whispers confidentially to it ... She is riveting. I wasn't feeling sadness because SHE felt sadness. My response was not one of sympathy. She seemed to be more irritable and pissed off and resentful than SAD. I felt sad because I could see her struggle to survive (not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually) - in a callous world. A world that probably laughed at her from the beginning. And if they didn't at the beginning, then things went downhill pretty quick for her ... and the lovely debuttante soon became the butt of a million jokes. A recluse. A crazy cat lady (to call her a cat-lady is such an understatement that I am almost embarrassed to use the term. When you watch the documentary and you see the filth these two women live in - you literally can SMELL that house as you watch the movie.)
Anyway ... I'm not obviously saying that everybody needs to have the same response to the movie that I did. But it's one of those things where I sat and I felt like I was seeing a different movie than the ones my friends described. They called it "campy", "hysterical", "amazing". Maybe I'd call it "amazing" - but hysterical? Are you kidding? I saw, in Little Edie, the sadness of the woman who never marries. Who has let one disappointment sink her entire life. She did not "bounce back". Perhaps she was constitutionally unable to bounce back. Perhaps her mother, who completely dominated her, made it impossible for her to break away. It was like the two of them were one person. Who knows.
And Brooke Allen in her review goes on to analyze what it is about the musical that works. The depth that is there. What they have been able to express, show ...
Ebersole's performance is a dead-on impersonation (although it's so good and so real that I would call it "channeling" - she IS Little Edie down to the bone marrow) ... and because it's a musical, and not completely real - the show can ask questions like - what was going on in Edie's mind when she fled the house? Did she regret it? Who IS this woman?? In the documentary, we see her surface - carefully put together to show the film-makers ... she flirts for them, primps, preens ... she's a camera whore. And to be honest - like I said earlier: she is funny, very quotable, very smart, and in LOVE with being the center of attention. She's highly watchable. But you only get glimpses ... glimpses of what is really going on ... how she came to this point: living with her mother in what is still legendary squalor, playing her old records, sleeping surrounded by utter filth - no plumbing - just ... unbelievable unsafe for human habitation circumstances ... It's like they don't even REALLY realize the filth. Edith and Edie just keep on their way, bickering, bantering, gossiping, whining ... and yet the real question is: DUDES. Your HOUSE is a MESS. Like ... who CARES that 40 years ago your mother was a little bit bossy ... DON'T YOU NOTICE THE SMELL AND THE 80 FERAL CATS WHO LIVE WITH YOU???
Anyway - the musical (and Allen is right - it's the second act - the second act that is the real show) is able to slice right into the heart. We still get the surface - we still get the relationship between mother and daughter, and their obsession with the past and their own egos - and the grotesque flirting with the delivery boy - all that stuff we saw in the movie ....
but then ... in songs like "Another Winter in a Summer Town" ... Ebersole, with her beautiful voice, and that face ... opens up the doors to her soul, her heart - and out it all comes. She's not weeping, or wailing or emoting. Oh, and this is key: She doesn't have one drop of self-pity. There are other moments in the show where she has little self-pitying tantrums - but that last song is not one of those moments. All of that drops away, and she stands there, stock-still, the rest of the stage in darkness ... and sings. Simply. And you could have heard a pin drop in that theatre. I was holding back what felt like volcanic sobs. And yet - Ebersole just stood there. She so connected with that moment she didn't even need to do anything but open her throat and sing the words.
My desire to sob was related to the heart-break I felt when I first watched the film ... yet it was more sympathetic, it was softer - it didn't have that same underlying FEAR that I had with the movie, the feeling of: Oh God, if I identify too much with this woman, then I really will become her ... and oh ... oh ... how will I bear it ....
I walked around in that state for a good 3 or 4 days after seeing the film.
(And there is nothing wrong with that response either. I want to say that for anyone who has missed the whole damn point of this post - even after reading this far. I am not saying there is anything WRONG with the movie as it is. I don't mind having a "grotesque" experience at the movies - if it's done well. Grizzly Man was like that, but I can list a million others. It is obvious why Grey Gardens is a cult classic - and maybe because I'm a woman, approaching a certain age, I just couldn't laugh at her. Couldn't do it.)
But the play? Somehow - everything else dissolved, all of that vaguely paranoid fearful stuff in my first response. And all I felt was love for this woman - (I know she is widely loved by that particular group of audience members - namely, gay men - they ADORE her) - all I felt was awe at her survival skills, and searing grief at what she had given up on.
This is all due to Christine Ebersole, naturally - who is so extraordinary that it's still hard to even talk about her performance.
Brooke Allen doesn't find it hard - she comes right out and says it:
Grey Gardens—the musical—is a real work of art, and Christine Ebersole, who portrays Big Edie in the first act and Little Edie in the second, delivers a full-scale star performance which will undoubtedly go down as one of the tours de force of Broadway musical history.
Seriously.
Here is Christine Ebersole as Little Edie:
And here is the real Little Edie Beale:
The inner monologues of dresses
I know I have mentioned how much I love the blog A Dress A Day.
She does this series she calls "Drabble" where she posts a picture of a dress and imagines what the dress must be thinking. I just love it.
Lew Ayres
I love this image. (I love that whole series he does over there ... the "collect 'em all" series.)
Lew Ayres. Except for film buffs and Dr. Kildare buffs and people who love old movies - Lew Ayres is pretty much forgotten by the culture at large (but look at the career. Look how long it is. Extraordinary). But he gave some marvelous performances - had a terrific career - I LOVE his performance as the dissipated brother in Holiday. He is always a tiny bit wasted in that movie, but ... there's a kindness there, a nonjudgmental quality - that makes him so lovable. He is a disappointment to his family, he is on the sauce at all times ... but still, he has an elegance that the others do not have. Also, it's just a very funny performance. I've seen that movie a bazillioin times, and there have been times when I will rewind one of the big group scenes so just so I can watch what Ayres is doing in the background, or when the focus is NOT on him. He's always alive, always funny ... It's great stuff.
A bit of Marilyn Monroe to start the day
RTG has photos of a beautiful little relic. I LOVE RTG's childlike writing on the back pages.
Second of all - last week, RTG sent me an URGENT email with URGENT new Marilyn Monroe information:
Heretofore unseen photographs of Monroe by Eve Arnold - who was totally brilliant, in terms of capturing Monroe. I love Arnold's stuff. If you click through the gallery of new photos - my favorite, I think, is Marilyn at the mirror. Her back is to the camera, and she's pulled her white dress up - it's bunched around her waist - and she's messing with her hair.
The Books: At the Altar: 'Them Notorious Pigs' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'Them Notorious Pigs' - by L.M. Montgomery
Okay - so let's get back into the daily excerpt thingie. Lucy Maud still chugging away!!
This story is really cute (and you can tell it will be funny by that ridiculous title). John Harrington is a well-to-do bachelor farmer - who pretty much despises women. He has no use for them at all. This story was originally published in 1904 with the name "The Nuisance of Women". Poor Harrington. Trapped in a world of women. Silly little things. So anyway - Mary Hayden, a young widow with 2 small children, has moved in next door. Harrington doesn't pay much attention to them - until ... Mary's pigs keep escaping from their pen, and running over into Harrington's yard, wreaking their pig havoc. Harrington is in a blind rage about this. Why can't that dern woman figure out how to keep her pigs locked up? He sends messages to her through his hired man - "could you please keep your pigs out of my garden?" Meanwhile, what he's thinking is: This is what happens when women try to run farms. She sends apologies back to him through her hired man, and says that it won't happen again. Then, whaddya know, the next day, the pigs get out, run into Harrington's yard, and totally kick up the dirt in his brand-new vegetable garden. So now Harrington has had it.
He stomps over there to give her a piece of his mind. And you can pretty much tell what is going to happen from their first encounter, although they take a while to get to it.
Here's what happens:
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'Them Notorious Pigs' - by L.M. Montgomery
Harrington had never seen his neighbour at close quarters beforte. Now he could not help seeing that she was a very pretty little woman, with wistful, dark blue eyes and an appealing expression. Mary Hayden had been next to a beauty in her girlhood, and she had a good deal of her bloom left yet, although hard work and worry were doing their best to rob her of it. But John Harrington was an angry man and he did not care whether the woman in question was pretty or not. Her pigs had rooted up his garden - that fact filled his mind.
"Mrs. Hayden, those pigs of yours have been in my garden again. I simply can't put up with this any longer. Why in the name of reason don't you look after your animals better? If I find them in again, I'll set my dog on them, I give you fair warning."
A faint colour had crept into Mary Hayden's soft milky-white cheeks during this tirade, and her voice trembled as she said, "I'm very sorry, Mr. Harrington. I suppose Bobbles forgot to shut the gate of their pen again this morning. He is so forgetful."
"I'd lengthen his memory then, if I were you," returned Harrington grimly, supposing that Bobbles was the hired man. "I'm not going to have my garden ruined just because he happens to be forfetful. I am speaking my mind plainly, madam. If you can't keep your stock from being a nuisance to other people you ought not to try to run a farm at all."
Then did Mary Hayden sit down upon the doorstep and burst into tears. Harrington felt, as Sarah King would have expressed it, "every which way at once." Here was a nice mess! What a nuisance women were - worse than the pigs!
"Oh, don't cry, Mrs. Hayden," he said awkwardly. "I didn't mean - well, I suppose I spoke too strongly. Of course I know you didn't mean to let the pigs in. There, do stop crying! I beg your pardon if I've hurt your feelings."
"Oh, it's isn't that," sobbed Mrs. Hayden, wiping away her tears. "It's only - I've tried so hard - and everything seems to go wrong. I make such mistakes. As for your garden, sir, I'll pay for the damage my pigs have done if you'll let me know what it comes to."
She sobbed again and caught her breath like a grieved child. Harrington felt like a brute. He had a queer notion that if he put his arm around her and told her not to worry over things women were not created to attend to he would be expressing his feelings better than in any other way. But of course he couldn't do that. Instead, he muttered that the damage didn't amount to much after all, and he hoped she wouldn't mind what he said, and then he got himself away and strode through the orchard like a man in a desperate hurry.
Mordecai had gone home and the pigs were not to be seen, but a chubby little face peeped at him from between two scrub, bloom-white cherry trees.
"G'way, you bad man!" said Bobbles vindictively. "G'way! You made my mommer cry - I saw you. I'm only Bobbles now, but when I grow up I'll be Charles Henry Hayden and you won't dare to make my mommer cry then."
Harrington smiled grimly. "So you're the lad who forgets to shut the pigpen gate, are you? Come out here and let me see you. Who is in there with you?"
"Ted is. He's littler than me. But I won't come out. I don't like you. G'way home."
Harrington obeyed. He went home and to work in his garden. But work as hard as he could, he could not forget Mary Hayden's grieved face.
"I was a brute!" he thought. "Why couldn't I have mentioned th ematter gently? I daresay she has enough to trouble her. Confound those pigs!"
December 12, 2006
Happy place
Just looking at the following image makes me want to burst into laughter.
Look at the expression in his eyes!!! And his tufts of hair on the sides of his head! But mainly the flat humorless eyes. It just ... I ADORE him. He is so so funny to me.
I am laughing as I type this. Major happy place. I don't even have to hear any of his hysterical one-liners ("You're all weirdos") ... it's the FACE.
Hey look what I found: Sam morphs through the years.
There is a bit of shame involved ...
... when you and your group of friends close Planet Hollywood. Planet freakin' Hollywood.
... when the waitress has to come up to your table, (a table which is, by the way, surrounded by M*A*S*H memorabilia, with Herbie the Love Bug screaming down at you from the ceiling on his suspension wire) ... and say gently, "Uhm ... last call, guys ..." Last call at Planet Hollywood.
... when you look around and realize that you are the last people in Planet Hollywood ...
We didn't move to a better venue, a quieter venue (sheesh - the noise in that joint) a cheaper venue (two cocktails cost $17.34. Strangest price ever for two drinks. $17.34???) ... we stayed in Planet Hollywood because that's where the screening was (of this movie - directed by someone I knew peripherally - a really good friend of Bill, David, etc.). We saw the movie, then we just ... flat out did not leave. For hours. We hung out in the bar area, crowded in on all sides by headless mannequins wearing nurse outfits from some famous movie, a dress worn by Vivien Leigh in blah blah blah ... Weird. The whole place is just TOO MUCH. Televisions going everywhere, strange music playing, football games on in the bar, swirling lights, cars driving down the walls, etc. etc. And two gin and tonics cost $17.34.
So much fun though. It was SUCH a fun night. Met some nice new people, reconnected with some people I knew once upon a time - all of them just sweet, nice, funny, friendly, good conversationalists ...
My friend Bill was wearing a soft brown vest. Comment made by someone at the table: "Love the whole Ewok look you got goin' on."
Had a good conversation with Bill about Paul Ekman. Faces, facial expressions, the clues of lying, the facial give-aways of dishonesty ... cultural? Learned? Great stuff.
Also a good conversation about Ted Williams, and other atheletic geniuses and how they do what they do ... and what their perception is of their own gifts ... (you know, like Ted Williams saying that it seemed like the ball slowed down as it came towards the plate, etc.)
Talked about the Queensboro Bridge.
We talked about Grey Gardens.
We talked about the movie we had seen (in the private screening room at Planet Hollywood - which is actually a really nice venue - purple velvet walls, nice and big, it was cool) - how it was shot - how they did a lot of it - I had a couple friends in it (David, Bob) - and of course they both were there - so it was really fun to hear from Scott and all of them some of the independent-guerrilla-filmmaker stories. How'd they get the cop cars? How did they do the shot out the back of the moving UHaul? How'd he cast the thing (shot entirely in Omaha)? Etc.
Larry wouldn't let me pay for my share of the HUGE amount of alcohol I had partaken in. I was horrified. I kept shoving money at him, and he was getting pissed off (I mean, not really - just very firm, like: "Put that away") - but trying to be polite - and then I said, "Is this making you feel bad right now?" (Meaning: me trying to pay.) Larry said, honestly, 'Yeah, I feel a little bit dirty at the moment." I'm still cackling about that. It was a perfect moment. It's like we created it together. I mean, he meant it - but he just went there in the humor of the moment. I love that quickness, that ... I guess I would call it sensitivity to what is going on in the moment. It was a ba-dum-CHING moment. I supplied the "ba-dum" and he was right there with the "CHING" and I love it when that happens. We both just started guffawing - and no, I didn't pay. Not after he made himself so clear!!
It was an awesome night. So much fun!!
"Oh my God, you guys, do you realize that we are closing Planet Hollywood right now?"
"I have lived in New York for 10 years, I've never been here."
"I will never come here again."
"Me neither."
We walked down the three flights of stairs to get to the street - with Jimmy Stewart's hand-prints hanging on the wall - and displays of rifles with the movie-name on a gold plaque below each one "From Russia with Love" "Octopussy", etc. - and collages of various awards shows, with glittery stars from past and present ... but we were now the only people in the entire joint. It was surreal.
It was ALMOST like the night the two kids spend in the Metropolitan Museum in Mixed-Up Files ... it had a bit of that feel to it ... When we all had converged on the place (smack in the middle of Times Square) - it was 7 pm - so ... the streets outside were literally a melee of chaos, a mania of crowds, a throng of humanity, a potpourri of overcrowding ... Times Square is a nightmare for a person like myself who gets a bit anxious in crowds. I avoid that place as much as I can, except when I'm going to a show. And when we emerged - it was 12:45 am and a whole different place. The streets were nearly empty now. The grills were already pulled down over the Planet Hollywood windows, and we all had to duck under the grill to exit onto the street. Taxis careen by up and down - but the melee is done. Now we're moving into nighttime. The city doesn't sleep, it is true, but it does indeed settle down. One of my favorite things about being in Times Square when it is empty of people - is that all of the billboards and lights are still going. It's just fantastical - almost futuristic - you look around and think: Good lord, this place is just ... overwhelming. And beautiful in a kind of aloof and magnificent way. When the streets are crowded - I get overwhelmed by all the stimuli - because even just getting from 44th to 45th is sometimes a 20 minute extravaganza due to the crowds ... and so the flashing glittering moving undulating WALLS of light over my head become too much for me to handle. I block them out. But last night, it was just beautiful.
The great thing was that we all felt that way. We all just had a moment of reveling in the weirdness of Times Square at that hour ... and as we crossed the main street - Scott held up his camera phone and got a very funny and blurry picture of all of us in an Abbey Road type formation on the crosswalk. The empty avenues whizzing off into the distance behind us.
December 11, 2006
Young Patriots
I finished my 4th book in the From the Stacks challenge: Young Patriots: The Remarkable Story of Two Men. Their Impossible Plan and The Revolution That Created The Constitution .
I guess I would say that if you want to know about that convention, then you really can't do any better than Miracle at Philadelphia. I enjoyed Young Patriots - but the overall impression was that this was a rather shallow book. If you want to know about Hamilton's role in this convention, and also his role in ratification - then go for the Chernow biography, go for any biography of the dude. And James Madison as well.
Nothing new here. I did appreciate the entire chapter on Rhode Island's role (or lack thereof) in the 1787 convention - and what was going on there - this is all well-trodden ground for me, naturally, it's my home state - so it was kind of nice to read an in-depth explanation of the situation in RI at that time.
But still. I'd say: Best book about that convention is Miracle at Philadelphia. That's the one. Detailed descriptions of Hamilton's personal journey with all of it ... you can get in biographies, and it will be a much more satisfying read than Young Patriots.
I think, as a whole, what I got from this book is that the whole Revolutionary War topic is so hot right now - books are sellin' like hot cakes, I tell ya - the American President series, new books come out almost every week now! - and you need to have a "gimmick" if you want your book to stand out.
The History of Dental Surgery at the time of the American Revolution.
Dolley Madison: Muse or Metaphor? Gender Roles in Colonial America
John Adams: A Farmer's Perspective.
Luther Martin: Unsung Hero of 1787
May 14 - May 17, 1782: 4 Days That Changed Human History
Books focus on one battle. Or one year. They hone in on a specific aspect rather than do an overview.
A flat out history of the convention won't do now, because it's already been done. And better. So you have to say that by focusing on Madison and Hamilton you will be giving the reader something they can't get elsewhere.
Not so.
Still. I enjoyed it because I would enjoy reading anything about that convention - there's always a nugget or two that I have not yet encountered, and that's always fun.
Next up? Last book to be read in the "From the Stacks" challenge:
More on Santa
Beth drove down this weekend. She arrived at, oh, 9 pm?? Basically, it was night. Therefore dark. She tried to find parking on my street, right outside of my place, but could not. As she backed out of the street (it's a narrow one-way) - she called me. To let me know she had arrived, and would shortly be at my door, yes.
But also to say to me, "I can't find a parking spot! And that Santa is taunting me!!"
being pissed at santa
So Tracey's post (very funny) about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer got me to thinking ... and I remembered I had posted something on this as well about a year ago. A memory from college.
I did find that post of mine about Rudolph and how awful Santa is in that special - I'll re-post it here - but I also dug up a very funny post from Curly about the lessons she has learned from various Christmas specials. I beg of you. Please go read it.
Okay - so on to my Rudolph story.
In college, I was hanging out with Mitchell and a couple of other friends. We were in Mitchell's beach house "down the line" - a rickety shack where we had some of our most insane cast parties. ("Down the line" basically meant you lived in a shack on the beach with your nusto friends, as opposed to in the dorms where there were things like RAs, and stuff like that. Living "down the line" was everyone's goal in college! I lived "down the line" as well.)
So - it was Christmastime. A couple of us had hung out, ordered pizza, whatever - and then we all watched Rudolph on television. We were all 19, 20, but we watched it as raptly as if we were 6.
A couple of words on Emily before the story itself. Emily was a very good friend of ours. And here are the bullet points in regards to Emily:
-- She was from the Dominican Republic
-- She grew up on the streets of Providence, Rhode Island (NOT the nice part of the city)
-- She was in a gang
-- She was a math whiz.
-- She ended up getting into college - through her math scores
-- She was the only minority female in the engineering department. Almost the only female as well. (There was a moment at the bursar's office when the lady behind the desk, finding out that Emily was Dominican, said, "Em'ly. I did not know you wasn't a Negro student." Negro? Negro?? The woman did not mean ANY harm and Emily didn't take offense - but Emily also had a high-tuned instinct for comedy ... and that bursar lady's innocent comment was funny. Emily did imitations of the poor woman for 4 years straight.)
-- She had a huge mohawk
-- She had a passion for African dance
-- She wore tiny tartan kilts, ripped black tights, and huge stomping motorcycle boots
So ... put all that together ... what do you have? Emily. Oh, and add onto that:
-- a huge laugh
-- a warm heart
-- a no-bullshit attitude towards friendship - she was as loyal as the day was long - but DO NOT MESS with her
Here's one Emily anecdote. Brooke - another girl in our crowd of friends - mentioned something about the Catholic girl's school she had gone to in Providence - let's call it St. Marks. Emily's face lit up. Sincerely. She had heard of it, she looked happy about it. And she said, "I used to throw bricks at the girls from St. Marks!" She said it in a kindly nostalgic way. Like: ohhh, those were the days, member when I threw bricks at you??
Emily got her life together in a major way and is now getting her doctorate, I believe. But back in the day, she was throwing bricks at the girls from the Catholic school.
So that's Emily. I just need to set it up because what ended up happening was even funnier because it was EMILY who said it. The tough tattooed Mohawked ex-gang member. With a calculator in her pocket.
We lay around in the living room watching Rudolph. Nobody really spoke. We were LIVING the Christmas special.
Then comes the devastating realization of Santa Claus's coldness - and how he basically shuns Rudolph from polite society. He won't let Rudolph join in the reindeer games - he won't even let him hang OUT with the other reindeer!! The red nose is something to be ashamed of. It implicates the entire North Pole venture. Santa must get rid of Rudolph as quickly as possible. Somehow, I took all of this in stride as a child - I just accepted that Santa was kind of an asshole - but suddenly, in this particular viewing, with Emily and Mitchell, it seemed unbeLIEVably unfair.
But I didn't say anything. I just thought it to myself.
And Emily, sprawled out on the couch, a cigarette dangling from her lips, an ashtray piled high with butts propped on her stomach, her legs with their ripped black fishnets hooked up over the back of the couch, said in a flat dry tone, with dead matter-of-fact eyes, "Santa is a racist motherfuckah."
There was a brief pause, as we all nodded seriously, agreeing with her - we were pissed at Santa too ... but then we all looked at Emily - the mohawk, the scary gang tattooes, the cigarette - she was our friend - but we suddenly saw her EXTERIOR ... we all looked at each other ... and just LOST IT.
We lost it so bad that we missed the rest of Rudolph pretty much. We could not get it back, we could not come down. It just kept being hilarious to us. It HURT. Because she truly MEANT it ... she wasn't saying it to be funny, she wasn't saying it in a tone of "ooh, aren't I funny" mock outrage ... she wasn't even outraged at all. She was just flatly stating the facts. We could not stop laughing. Emily was laughing so riotously that she thought she would asphyxiate - she had to go outside and get some air, walk around the frosty yard, howling to the moon with laughter.
CPR: Matters in the Po-Biz
Here's a link Ernie's fall 2006 editorial for Contemporary Poetry Review (he's the editor of that excellent mag). A re-cap of new stuff and notable stuff going on in the world of poetry in the last couple of months. I like the bit about Emily Dickinson, and her sister saving all the scraps of paper left behind (thank God) - but I always look forward to Ernie's stuff. We ran in the same circle for a brief and manic season and he was a great person - just as erudite, and just as funny as his writing suggests. I mean - dressing up as Virgil on Halloween and spouting the opening lines of The Aeniad in Latin at the party he went to? Hoping it would drive home his point? heh heh And then Ernie goes on in the next paragraph to discuss Pete Doherty's not-so-articulate (ahem) and yet 100% passionate comments on poetry? (Here's Pete Doherty on Emily Dickinson: “Aargh, she’s outrageous man! She’s fuckin’ hardcore! Can’t ignore her.”) hahahahahaha Great stuff. Ernie's one of those rare people out there who helps me to see ... or, at least, he teaches me where to look. I'm not a poetry afficianado by any means - I know what I like, and I read the poets I like ... but I've discovered so many new (not just contemporary - but new to me) and awesome voices because of Ernie.
Oh - and here's a link to CPR itself. There's always something interesting going on there.
More strange maps ...
And, flipside: the threat of Nazi war aims. (Check out the cunning use of escalating exclamation points.)
December 10, 2006
Yes, it's true.
My tell-all autobiography will be coming out shortly.
DGLF??
Yeah. Pretty much.
Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating. |
December 8, 2006
Diverting Devotion: Extended
Peeps in Los Angeles:
My cousin Mike O'Malley's play Diverting Devotion has been extended for one more weekend - this weekend. It's gotten a great response during its run - and I've seen the play myself: it's a gem. Directed by Larry Clarke (a wonderful director and actor) - this is something well worth seeing! (It's bizarre to IMDB my own friends and family, but there you have it!)
"There won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime ..."
Curly posts an open letter to the members of Band Aid.
I am guffawing.
The classics challenge
Okay, I'm in. I shall participate in the 2007 Classics Challenge.
Here's the challenge: Read 5 classics in the month of January and February. I've been meaning to get on this anyway, so this'll be fun. It's great to look at the books everybody is choosing, too. I found about this challenge here, by the way.
I still have a couple other books going right now (still working on the From the Stacks challenge - almost done!!) - but the classics I will read will be (and some of these are re-reads - I haven't read Frankenstein since ... I have no idea when. I think I was 16 when I last read it - and I interpret classics my own way - if you look at everybody's list - there are some constants, but also some surprises - so "classics" is what it means to you, I guess):
1. Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley
2. Gulliver's Travels, by Jonathan Swift
3. Villette, by Charlotte Bronte (which I've never read - check out Roo's post about what this book means to her - I can't wait to read it!)
4. Tale of 2 Cities, by Charles Dickens (I started to re-read this book recently and then got sidetracked. Let's do it right this time, Sheila!! I love this book - but I haven't read it since high school)
5. Scoop, by Evelyn Waugh (I read Christopher Hitchens' essay on this book and it made me totally impatient to read it)
VERY excited.
December 7, 2006
1787 - George Washington
Excerpt from Young Patriots - I'm halfway through it and having a great time with it. Much more to be said. But for now, I like this bit:
Paradoxically, George Washington's desire not to participate actively in the discussions and maneuvering at the Constitutional Convention seemed to enhance his role as a leader. He could occasionally be an impressive speaker, but this depended on considerable preparation and something approaching stage management. At other times, a stolid silence was his most impressive tool, as when he had chosen to head America's first wartime army. He had more of a military background than anyone else who was available, and his silence had enhanced the impression of strength.What made him an ideal choice for the top leadership role was a trait that would develop in the course of the war: A capacity to adapt. Almost as amazingly as his friend Henry Knox intuitively learned how to use artillery by readin books, Washington quickly developed the multiple capacities of a true supreme commander - strategic planning, intelligence and espionage, guerrilla tactics and other clandestine operations, the difficult art of conducting an orderly retreat, and perhaps most of all, he exuded the "attitude of command" that made other men follow his lead. He was not a "great general", like the few whose tactics are studied by military schools around the world. But he was the perfect commander for Americans fighting in a revolution, because he pinpointed what was essential and made it part of him. Among other specially acquired traits, he was unsurpassed in the delicate skill of integrating many foreign officers into his forces, and this played a large part in American success.
Washinton also had the rare gift for remembering the lessons of past defeats and continuing to profit from them. As long ago as 1754, when he was the twenty-two-year-old commander of the Virginia Regiment in what came to be known as the French and Indian War, he had been forced to surrender after heavy losses in the Battle of Fort Necessity, a small stockade in Pennsylvania near the forks of the Ohio River. Forever after that, the date July 3, 1754, seemed to persist in his mind even more strongly than July 4. He spoke of his grateful remembrance for having escaped, and he remembered not only the errors that had caused defeat, but also the helplessness of a loser, which would later make him exceptionally attentive to his own prisoners of war.
Even with all the prestige and aura brought by his great victory, however, he did not develop an easy manner of standing out in a large meeting. On several occasions, with careful preparion for a specific appearance that was deemed to be critical, he prepared and even stage-managed a magic moment. But it was not an ability that he could use at will, and certainly not in an all-day session. This deficiency misled the hotheaded John Adams, who sometimes jumped to premature conclusions, to write in a diary a cutting opinion of Washington's preparation for his task: "He is too illiterate, unread, unlearned for his status and reputation."
Adams was, in a sense, correct in calling Washington 'unread", for he had little or no interest in reading for pleasure. Looking through Washington's diary pages over the years, it is clear that his hours were seldom devoted to anything beyond practical reading matter that touched on surveying, farming, or governing. But while he would not have studied ancient history as Madison did, he was not at all unaware of its merits. His way of tapping these benefits was to listen carefully and respectfully to the men who knew them best, and here Madison was at the head of the line.
One facet of the General's great wisdom was that he clearly understood his own shortcomings. He avoided prattling on with extemporaneous talk that would have declined in quality. He was careful not to speak often, and this purposeful silence gave the appearance of depth and penetrating thought.
What an interesting personality. Love it.
Yes i said yes I will Yes
Hours of fun can be had with the Ulysses concordance (thank you, Mimi Smartypants for linking to it).
I kinda can't stop playing around with it. I mean, obviously it is an awesome tool for scholars ... but I just like surfing thru it, randomly.
Obsession? (I thought I would start off with an appropriate word, seeing as the concordance itself is the most obsessive - and beautiful - thing I have ever seen) 2 occurrences:
foot (on our shore he never set it) only his cloacal obsession. He gazed (from Aeolus)
disintegration of obsession, acquisition of correct Italian (from Ithaca)
Crimson 9 occurrences.
Bastard 8 occurrences
Pillow 10 occurrences
Nonsense 4 occurrences
Bathroom (of course - had to go there) 1 occurrence
Shakespeare 38 occurrences
I find this strangely relaxing.
rhododendrons 7 occurrences
Whoever created this deserves a big fat kiss. And also a quizzical look, like: "Uhm ... why?" Both would be acceptable. But I would give the kiss first.
Kiss 46 occurrences
Today in history:
Dec. 7, 1941:
Kinda gives you a chill to see. I found this image last year and posted it. Here it is again.
This is the first thing I saw ...
... when I walked outside this morning, circa 7 a.m.:
Uhm ... Santa? Are you feelin' a little ... defeated by life?
Are you comin' off a bender?
Are you praying to Mecca?
Would you please reinflate so that I can stop feeling so tremendously sorry for you?
Thanks.
Dear Jon B.:
I do not have your email address - otherwise I would thank you via email. I am SO touched that you sent me They Call Me Naughty Lola - the book I mentioned on the blog a couple weeks ago. Wacky personal ads for self-deprecating intellectual Brits! I am so excited to receive it - and seriously - I am so touched that you would just send it to me, out of the blue - and I was touched, too, by your note. I can't wait to dig in to this book - I have a feeling it's going to be hysterical!! Thanks again!
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Wooing of Bessy' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Wooing of Bessy' - by L.M. Montgomery
Lucy Maud wrote a really good dominating female character. Sometimes she was benign, even though she bosses everybody around - like Judith in 'The Miracle at Carmody' - she's a dominant boss-type lady but you love her anyway. And sometimes she is malignant - like Emmeline in 'The Courting of Prissy Strong'. I wrote about this a bit here. She's a type that comes up again and again in Lucy Maud's work - taking on different forms, attitudes - but she obviously was very interested in (and understood) rigid stubbornness and pride. (Think of the gravestone in Emily: "Here I stay".) Pride is a sin. Lucy Maud understood it well. I think she writes about pride-ful characters almost better than anyone.
So this particular story 'The Wooing of Bessy' features one of those not-so-benign dominant boss-ladies. It's a creepy story - at least psychologically. It has elements of 'The Son of His Mother' in it - the mother who cannot let go of her son - who is even willing to destroy her son's chance at happiness - to keep him with her. Ew. It's creepy. But you can tell - at least in 'Son of His Mother' - that Lucy Maud has some sympathy for these female characters who hold on so tight to things, and can't let go. You love Thyra. You're glad she's not YOUR mother, but you love her.
In 'The Wooing of Bessy' - Mrs. Eastman, mother of Lawrence Eastman - a young man - not even a teenager - he's 20 - but Mrs. Eastman hovers. Hovers. There is no father in the picture - I believe he is dead. Lawrence has started to see a girl named Bessy Houghton. She's 25 years old, and unmarried - which makes her an old maid in the town's eyes. Also, she always had a kind of mature older personality. Her parents are both dead - she inherited their huge farm - and she runs it, a capable businesswoman. And Lawrence takes a fancy to her, is falling in love with her, you can tell. But something in him knows he shouldn't tell his mother. He isn't openly devious - he just keeps his heart private (which is not an easy thing with such an intrusive mother). Mrs. Eastman gets wind of the romance at a quilting circle - she has never liked Bessy Houghton, thought she "put on airs" - and she is convinced that she is just toying with her son. Also she's 25!! First of all, that's ancient. Second of all, she's 5 years older than Lawrence and everyone knows that the MAN should be older! Oh no no, this must stop.
So Mrs. Eastman goes home and proceeds to stir up trouble.
You know, it occurs to me: reading Lucy Maud's journals - the ones where she has her 2 sons, and they're growing up - sometimes I want to reach in and say to her: Maud, you have to back off. You have to let go. If Chester fails an exam, he fails an exam - there's no need for you to literally take to your bed with a sick stomach over how much you're worrying. It's nuts!
She OBSESSES over them. Every quiz they take - her own ego and pride of them is on the line. Poor lady.
But she really understands that type of thing - this story was written in 1906 - long before she had children - but she understood that type of woman intimately.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Wooing of Bessy' - by L.M. Montgomery
Lawrence was brushing his pet mare's coat until it shone like satin, and whistling "Annie Laurie" until the rafters rang. Bessy had sung it for him the night before. He could see her plainly still as she had looked then, in her gown of vivid red - a colour peculiarly becoming to her - with her favourite laces at wrist and throat and a white rose in her hair, which was dressed in the high, becoming knot she had alwars worn since the night he had shyly told her he liked it so.
She had played and sung many of the sweet old Scotch ballads for him, and when she had gone to the door with him he had taken both her hands in his and, emboldened by the look in her brown eyes, he had stooped and kissed her. Then he had stepped back, filled with dismay at his own audacity. But Bessy had said no word of rebuke, and only blushed hotly crmson. Sge must care for him, h e thought happily, or else she would have been angry.
When his mother came in at the stable door her face was hard and uncompromising.
"Lawrie," she said sharply, "where are you going again tonight? You were out last night."
"Well, Mother, I promise you I wasn't in any bad company. Come now, don't quiz a fellow too close."
"You are going to dangle after Bessy Houghton again. It's time you were told what a fool you were making of yourself. She's old enough to be your mother. The whole settlement is laughing at you."
Lawrence looked as if his mother had struck him a blow in the face. A dull, purplish flush crept over his brow.
"This is some of George's work," he broke out fiercely. "He's been setting you on me, has he? Yes, he's jealous - he wanted Bessy himself, but she would not look at him. He thinks nobody knows it, but I do. Bessy marry him? It's very likely!"
"Lawrie Eastman, you are daft. George hasn't said anything to me. You surely don't imagine Bessy Houghton would marry you. And if she would, she is too old for you. Now, don't you hang around her any longer."
"I will," said Lawrence flatly. "I don't care what anybody says. You needn't worry over me. I can take care of myself."
Mrs. Eastman looked blankly at her son. He had never defied or disobeyed her in his life before. She had supposed her word would be law. Rebellion was something she had not dreamed of. Her lips tightened ominously and her eyes narrowed.
"You're a bigger fool than I took you for," she said in a voice that trembled with anger. "Bessy Houghton laughs at you everywhere. She knows you're just after her money, and she makes fun--"
"Prove it," interrupted Lawrence undauntedly. "I'm not going to put any faith in Lynnfield gossip. Provie it if you can."
"I can prove it. Maggie Hatfield told me what Bessy Houghton said to her about you. She said you were a lovesick fool, and she only went with you for a little amusement, and that if you thought you had nothing to do but marry her and hang up your hat there you'd find yourself vastly mistaken."
Possibly in her calmer moments Mrs. Eastman might have shrunk from such a deliberate falsehood, although it was said of her in Lynnfield that she was not one to stick at a lie when the truth would not serve her purpose. Moreover, she felt quite sure that Lawrence would never ask Maggie Hatfield anything about it.
Lawrence turned white to the lips. "Is that true, Mother?" he asked huskily.
"I've warned you," replied his mother, not choosing to repeat her statement. "If you go after Bessy any more you can take the consequences."
She drew her shawl about her pale, malicious face and left him with a parting glance of contempt.
"I guess that'll settle him," she thought grimly. "Bessy Houghton turned up her nose at George, but she shan't make a fool of Lawrence too."
Alone in the stable Lawrence stood staring out at the dull red ball of the winter sun with unseeing eyes. He had implicit faith in his mother, and the stab had gone straight to his heart. Bessy Houghton listened in vain that night for his well-known footfall on the verandah.
The next night Lawrence went home with Milly Fiske from prayer meeting, taking her out from a crowd of other girls under Bessy Houghton's very eyes as she came down the steps of the little church.
Bessy walked home alone. The light burned low in her sitting-room and in the mirror over the mantel she saw her own pale face, with its tragic, pain-stricken eyes. Annie Hillis, her "help", was out. She was alone in the big house with her misery and despair.
December 6, 2006
Book recommendation ...
Constitutional Convention freaks, of which I am a proud member - you'll definitely want to check out Young Patriots: The Remarkable Story of Two Men. Their Impossible Plan and The Revolution That Created The Constitution - by Charles Carami. It focuses on the convergence of James Madison and Alexander Hamilton in 1787 - I'm not done with it yet - but I just wanted to say: It's a very good book. I'm quite partial to Miracle at Philadelphia: The Story of the Constitutional Convention May - September 1787 - which is the go-to place for so many books that came after about that particular convention. You feel like you are THERE with that book. This Young Patriots book also makes you feel like you are there - but more importantly - it hones in on two specific people - their separate journeys, concerns, issues, arguments - through this one particular year. Can't think of two people more different in character and temperament than James Madison and Alexander Hamilton. But we would not be as strong a nation in form and structure if only one of them had taken the lead. We needed both. They tempered one another, or pushed one another further, balanced each other out. Madison, though, is the mastermind. (In my opinion). Hamilton was the one who obviously helped it get ratified in New York, which was a crucial battle ... but it seems to me that Madison was truly the leader. However ... when the two of them joined forces it was pretty much unbeatable (although nobody knew this at the time, all the battles over the constitution and ratification were quite real, and prolonged - none of this was a 'done deal'). All of this is very familiar ground for me - but I really like the writing in this book, and some of the anecdotes. I'll post more when I'm done with the whole thing.
Movies quiz for movie fanatics!
I love these questionnaires, Dennis. They're hard, though!! Here are my answers with pictures!!:
1) What was the last movie you saw, either in a theater or on DVD, and why?
Last night:
It's probably my 5th time seeing it. I love it.
2) Name the cinematographer whose work you most look forward to seeing, and an example of one of his/her finest achievements.
Boris Kaufman immediately comes to mind - because of the entire mood of On the Waterfront - and mainly that last unbelievable shot with Brando staggering across the dock with the bloody face. It's not about being flashy, or showing your stuff - it's about being a top-notch storyteller.
But also I think my favorite shot in any movie is the long slow panning up in High Noon- when he walks out into the deserted town, by himself. It just gives me goosebumps and - you watch it and go: "That is a famous shot. It was born to be a famous shot. It has lived its life as a famous shot. And it's obvious why."
Again - not just because it pulls back so far and so high ... but because it tells the story of that moment SO PERFECTLY. Gary Cooper suddenly looks teeny. Fabulous. So that's Floyd Crosby so I'll give him the props too.
3) Joe Don Baker or Bo Svenson?
Ha!! I love this one. I had to IMDB them both and the second I saw both of their faces, I started laughing. I'll go with Bo Svenson.
4) Name a moment from a movie that made you gasp (in horror, surprise, revelation?)
Please don't make fun, but Legend of Bagger Vance. I mean - yes - The Ring made me gasp with horror, as did Rosemary's Baby but I figured I'd go with a revelation-type gasp. By the way, Bagger Vance has NOT held up with successive viewings - but I will always love it for the impact it had on me the night I first saw it, by myself, in a big semiempty movie theatre in Times Square. It was the scene with the golf ball in the woods. And Matt Damon has to get the ball out of that tiny hole in the trees - and there's a moment where you see his perspective - the camera zooms in, as it also pulls back - so it looks like the hole is getting smaller and yet closer ... I don't know. It hit me like a ton of freakin' bricks. It felt like, in that moment, that I really needed to look hard at my life, analyze what I was doing, stop being on auto-pilot, and start making some real choices. Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'. It's hard to write about such moments without sounding melodramatic, but I rarely care if I sound melodramatic. My heart actually hurt watching that scene - and the revelation-gasp came early on. Everything started rushing forward, I felt like my own perspective was like the camera - zooming in and yet also pulling back - on the way out. There WAS a way out. That was the message. I had not realized how damn sad and defeated I really was, just how much I had given up, until I saw that stupid movie - and in particular - that one scene. So I'm going with that one.
5) Your favorite movie about the movies.
Sunset Boulevard.
6) Your Favorite Fritz Lang movie.
I've only seen M, Metropolis and Clash by Night - and I'll go with M. Creepy!!!
7) Describe the first time you ever recognized yourself in a movie.
Probably something like Tia in Witch Mountain.
8) Carole Bouquet or Angela Molina?
I ... I ... I looked them both up and I have actually seen a couple of them in various films ... but it was eons ago, and I don't know enough to choose. I could bullshit an answer, but I will not.
9) Name a movie that redeems the notion of nostalgia as something more than a bankable commodity.
Field of Dreams (hahaha - although in that movie - it also IS a bankable commodity!! Yay!)
10) Favorite appearance by an athlete in an acting role.
Kareem Abdul-Jabar in Airplane - I just ... come on. I love that movie.
11) Favorite Hal Ashby movie.
Shampoo is one of my favorite movies ever. I'll go with that.
12) Name the first double feature you?d program for opening night of your own revival theater.
Only Angels Have Wings and Bringing Up Baby.
So we can revel in the versatility and genius of this actor many people think just "played himself". Bah humbug - I'll show them with these two movies!
13) What?s the name of your revival theater?
Obsession Central
14) Humphrey Bogart or Elliot Gould?
Bogart.
15) Favorite Robert Stevenson movie.
Bedknobs and Broomsticks. I still remember the first time I saw that movie and how unbelievably cool I thought it was. Even more so than Mary Poppins
16) Describe your favorite moment in a movie that is memorable because of its use of sound.
Maybe the sound of the lightsaber in Star Wars - the first time the beam shoots out. I'm just going back in my mind to the summer of 1977, sitting in that movie theatre as a little kid, seeing that movie when it came out, and what it was like to first hear that sound. Shivers!
17) Pink Flamingoes-- yes or no?
Hell yes
18) Your favorite movie soundtrack score.
Moulin Rouge probably ... but Pulp Fiction is a favorite as well.
19) Fay Wray or Naomi Watts?
Naomi Watts. Sorry, Fay.
20) Is there a movie that would make you question the judgment and/or taste of a film critic, blogger or friend if you found out they were an advocate of it?
Battlefield Earth
21) Pick a new category for the Oscars and its first deserving winner.
I SO wish they would give an award for "best ensemble". I've thought that for a long time - I think it's a real category - TV shows ackowledge that - and i'd love to see it be added.
I would certainly give one for Gosford Park but there are SO many more.
22) Favorite Paul Verhoeven movie.
In general, I can't stand the guy, although:
I LOVED Total Recall - what a fun movie that was - and I LOVED Sharon Stone's performance in the first Basic Instinct, although I think that that was mostly HER doing and Verhoeven had nothing to do with it. Yes, I know the lesbians were mad about that movie - and I can see why - it was a ridiculous movie, with a ridiculous plot -and if you took that film seriously, you would be in HUGE trouble, because it was ludicrous, and I'm sick of Michael Douglas playing roles where he is victimized by female sexuality ("ooooh, she's so .... SEXY ... I might have to ... throw my whole life away ... because she's so ... SEXY ... i'm so SCARED of how sexy she is ..." etc. ad nauseum) - but I thought Stone gave one of the campiest (in the best way) most specific and fantastic performances of that entire decade. I look at it not as reality - or like she was trying to play a real person - I saw it as high camp - a nod to Jane Greer and Barbara Stanwyck and all the devious film-noir femme fatales.
No wonder she became a star. I know she's nuts - but that was a star performance and she was NOT a star when she gave it. That takes balls. Well-deserved success, in my opinion.
23) What is it that you think movies do better than any other art form?
Cut to the heart of a moment. Telling a story thru the unspoken. Behavior. Behavior tells the whole story and the camera can capture that.
24) Peter Ustinov or Albert Finney?
I like Finney.
25) Favorite movie studio logo, as it appears before a theatrical feature.
So many of my favorite movies of all time came from that studio.
26) Name the single most important book about the movies for you personally.
When I was a teenager - Siskel and Ebert were just the be-all and end-all - and this was right around the time when you could start to rent movies (of course you had to rent the VCR as well) - but I bought, for myself, Roger Ebert's book for that year - a mixture of reviews of current releases as well as his favorite classic movies. I read it cover to cover. I made a running list of stuff I felt I needed to see ... because he said I "should" ... and so the journey began. I saw Baby Doll that way. Out of the Past. Etc. His writing was so accessible and also so passionate - not too much academic lit-crit language which would have been off-putting to me as a 15 year old ... I have since read better books - but since that one was the first, it is definitely the most important.
27) Name the movie that features the best twist ending. (Please note the use of any ?spoilers? in your answer.)
Psycho
28) Favorite Francois Truffaut movie.
Close Encounters. Uhm ... wait ... I guess 400 Blow - it's been a while.
29) Olivia Hussey or Claire Danes?
Sadly, because she's a homewrecking nincompoop - Claire Danes. I love her acting, though, and have since My so-called life, so I'm sticking with her.
30) Your most memorable celebrity encounter.
Running into Drew Barrymore on an empty street in Soho at 8 a.m. one morning. I was on my way home ... it was a beautiful morning, and NOBODY was out - I was on a cobblestone street, and there was a girl standing in front of a cafe - talking to a guy through the window - I think she was asking when they would be open - and it's hard to explian, something funny happened - there was an optical illusion that she and I both saw at the same time - of the "Specials" chalkboard literally flying through the air ... We looked thru the window, both happening to glance at the same time, and we saw a flying chalkboard - and I started to laugh at the same moment that this girl did - we both guffawed at the same time. She hadn't realized I was there, and turned to look at me, and it was Drew Barrymore. She had long red hair, no makeup on, and looked fresh-faced ... we both shared a laugh, like: "did you see that floating chalkboard ... that looked so hysterical ..." and then I was on my way. For some reason, I love that moment.
31) When did you first realize that films were directed?
I love this question.
Probably when I saw Dog Day Afternoon. I was young - way too young to see it - 12 or 13 but that movie was such an assault on my senses - my emotions - I immediately started doing research on who was responsible for it, how it came about ... The name "Sidney Lumet" has always had that weird resonance for me- because he was really the first guy where I realized: Okay ... how did he get all those people on the sidewalk? And was it REALLY that hot in the bank? And how did he get the helicopters to come down so close? How ... how did he do it??
(Everyone's putting their answers in the comments section at Dennis' site - which, in my opinion, has one of the coolest comments sections out there. Fun, welcoming, intelligent, diverse ... but everybody is a movie nut. My type of joint, I tell ya.)
A must-read
This is a couple of years old - but I had never read it before. I am amazed by it. Very powerful.
Thanks, Anne, for linking to it again.
The Great Pit of Carkoon, et al
That's one of my new favorite sites by the way - it's called Strange Maps. I LOVE maps, especially strange ones. I love old maps - with mermaids and sea monsters on the edges. I also love maps like the ones at the start of the Ring Trilogy - maps of fantasy places, but so well thought out they seem to be real. So a whole blog devoted to maps??? LOVE IT.
Like this.
Or this.
I could stare at that for half an hour straight and not get sick of it. Reminds me of being a little kid and just sitting and looking through the World Atlas. I still love to do that, actually. I am sitting on my bed right now - and from where I sit - I can see three maps on my wall. A world map (already out of date - it lists "Yugoslavia", for example). A geological map of the county I grew up in in Rhode Island. An old map of Ireland. Love maps.
Here's another cool one. The blogger's commentary is good, too - I like the observations.
And I always loved maps like this when I was little. I loved anything that gave me an idea of the SCOPE of things. Like when you learn how many earths would fit in Jupiter, for example. That little factoid blew my 8 year old mind, and I still have not really recovered.
Anyway - it's a great site - I love it - and I have Tommy to thank for pointing it out to me!
December 5, 2006
"Great Cathedrals"
I'm not sure if I would call this a poem - it feels a bit more like a piece of prose, with lines broken up ... but I'm kind of loving it, and I found myself getting a wee bit choked up at the end. Thanks, Garrison Keillor (so often you pick crap poems, dude ... but every now and then ... there is a gem)
"Great Cathedrals" by George Bilgere, from The Good Kiss.
Before a date, my college roommate
Used to drive his candy-apple red Camaro
Down to the car wash and spend the afternoon
Washing, waxing, vacuuming it,
Detailing the chrome strips, buffing the fenders,
Spraying the big expensive tires
With their raised white lettering
That said something like Intruder
Or Marauder, with a silicone spray
Until they were slick and dark as sex.
He polished that car as if each caress,
Each pass of the chamois, each loving
Stroke of the terry cloth would increase,
By measurable degrees,
The likelihood that in the immaculate
Front seat, with its film of freshly applied
Vinyl cleaner, at the end of a cul-de-sac
Somewhere above the campus,
She would consent to be rubbed
And buffed just as lovingly.
We do what we can,
And if God is no more impressed
By the cathedral at Chartres
Than by a righteously clean and cherry
Camaro, at least He can't say
We haven't tried
With all our might to conceal our fear
That we have little else to offer
Than stained glass or polished chrome,
The elbow grease of our good intentions.
So I'm happy to see
That in the Christmas card photo he sent
Mark stands, balding now,
With a dignified gut, a pretty wife,
And a couple of nice-looking kids, in front
Of the great cathedral
Like the sweet vision of a future
He'd been vouchsafed one day
Long ago, through Turtle Wax
On a gleaming hubcap.
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Pursuit of the Ideal' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Pursuit of the Ideal' - by L.M. Montgomery
The plot-line of this sweet little story has a lot of similarties to "The Hurrying of Ludovic". Published in 1904 - pre-dating the publication of Anne - this story already shows Lucy Maud's strengths. She doesn't try to re-invent the wheel. Her stories (her good ones) have simple plots - and they are character-based. She's already in her stride here as a writer. Freda and Roger are good friends. The opening scene gives you their relationship in a matter of 2 or 3 exchanges. Roger is kind of a dreamer, likes to come hang out at Freda's house, which is cozy, and talk about his dreams. Freda is NOT really a dreamer - she's got a bit more fun in her. But she also is fond of Roger, likes making him hot chocolate, and likes teasing him about his dreams. Until one day .... Roger comes to her and declares that he has seen "his ideal". Meaning: woman. Freda doesn't respond - but also - for the first time - she doesn't tease. She just goes kind of quiet. Roger begins to rave about this woman he saw, a new woman in town ... with the face of a Madonna, with golden hair, eyes blue as the sky, whatever .... he goes on and on and on. Freda just listens. Freda is rosy and plump and twinkley. She is NOT his ideal. But Freda holds her counsel. Roger starts to pursue "his ideal" - and he comes over to Freda's to give her updates. The man is quite clueless. You never know what's going on in Freda's head, though - because the story is told from Roger's point of view. We, the reader, can definitely see what's going on with her - because of how Lucy Maud writes about her behavior ... but still, it's Roger's journey, not Freda's.
So one day, Roger moseys on over to Freda's, to jabber on, yet again, about "his ideal".
Only to find ....
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Pursuit of the Ideal' - by L.M. Montgomery
One day when Roger came he found six feet of young man reposing at ease in his particular chair. Freda was sipping chocolate in her corner and looking over the rim of her cup at the intruder just as she had been wont to look at Roger. She had on a new dark red gown and looked vivid and rose-hued.
She introduced the stranger as Mr. Grayson and called him Tim. They seemed to be excellent friends. Roger sat bolt upright on the edge of a fragile, gilded chair which Freda kept to hide a shabby spot in the carpet, and glared at Tim until the latter said goodbye and lounged out.
"You'll be over tomorrow?" said Freda.
"Can't I come this evening?" he pleaded.
Freda nodded. "Yes - and we'll make taffy. You used to make such delicious stuff, Tim."
"Who is that fellow, Freda?" Roger inquired crossly, as soon as the door closed.
Freda began to make a fresh pot of chocolate. She smiled dreamiliy as if thinking of something pleasant.
"Why, that was Tim Grayson - dear old Tim. He used to live next door to us when we were children. And we were such chums - always together, making mud pies, and getting into scrapes. He is just the same old Tim, and he is home from the west for a long visit. I was so glad to see him again."
"So it would appear," said Roger grumpily. "Well, now that 'dear old Tim' is gone, I suppose I can have my own chair, can I? And do give me some chocolate. I didn't know you made taffy."
"Oh, I don't. It's Tim. He can do everything. He used to make it long ago, and I washed up after him and helped him eat it. How is the pursuit of the Ideal coming on, Roger-boy?"
Roger did not feel as if he wanted to talk about the Ideal. He noticed how vivid Freda's smile was and how lovable were the curves of her neck where the dusky curls were caught up from it. He had also an inner vision of Freda making taffy with Tim and he did not approve of it.
He refused to talk about the Ideal. On his way back to town he found himself thinking that Freda had the most charming, glad little laugh of any girl he knew. He suddenly remembered that he had never heard the Ideal laugh. She smiled placidly - he had raved to Freda about that smile - but she did not laugh. Roger began to wonder what an ideal without any sense of humour would be like when translated into the real.
He went to Lowlands the next afternoon and found Tim there - in his chair again. He detested the fellow but he could not deny that he was good-looking and had charming manners. Freda was very nice to Tim. On his way back to town Roger decided that Tim was in love with Freda. He was furious at the idea. The presumption of the man!
December 4, 2006
Film Criticism Blog-a-thon
It has been going on all weekend - by now I've read every piece included - it's a great accomplishment, thanks, Andy for putting it together! Matt Zoller Seitz has put together a table of contents of the bloggers he asked to contribute - you can read mine there, as well as many others. I'm slowly making my way through everyone's pieces. So many good writers and good thinkers out there. It's always great to "hang out" (albeit virtually) with people who feel about movies the way I do. Thanks, Matt, for asking me to participate! And thanks, Andy, for the great idea - and all your hard work putting it together.
To any new folks who come over here via the Blog a thon ... welcome! I've put together a compilation of links you all might be interested in below the fold:
Top 50 movies - which already is way out of date ... but there are some eternal ones on there
Thoughts on Marilyn Monroe on what would would have been her 80th birthday
My review of The Russian Ark
More Cary Grant stuff here (more than anyone could ever want in a lifetime)
How Eight Is Enough Changed My Life
My Under-rated Movies series
1. Ball of Fire
2. Only Angels Have Wings
3. Dogfight
4. Zero Effect
5. Manhattan Murder Mystery
6. Four Daughters
7. In a Lonely Place
8. Searching for Bobby Fischer
9. Joe vs. the Volcano
10. Something's Gotta Give
11. Truly, Madly, Deeply
12. Mr. Lucky
13. Eye of God
The release of Kwik Stop on DVD
The Two Sides of Nostalgia
Part 1: Pleasantville
Part 2: Blast From the Past
John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever
While You Were Sleeping ... or why, in 10,000 words or more, I love Bill Pullman
December 3, 2006
For Mitchell:
Quotes from a movie we love (just watched it again tonight):
"I ... I ... I truly dislike that chair."
"There've been a series of burglaries."
"Don Juan ... fucking Don Juan."
"Metabolically it's not my rhythm." (and the funniest part about that moment - is his response to it: "I understand.")
"What's the rush."
I have more favorite moments ... but these just came up again as evidene of Judy Davis' utter brilliance. She's one of my favorite actresses.
"Metabolically it's not my rhythm." (it needs to be said again)
"DON'T DEFEND YOUR SEX."
Guess the movie anyone? (Anyone who's not Mitchell, I mean)
And Mitchell - please remind me of some of your favorite moments. I saw SO MUCH in this last viewing of it.
"Your ASSHOLE ASSHOLE ASSHOLE FRIENDS!"
"Let's go get some Mexican."
"Oh yeah! I'm crazy for cous cous!"
"Hey man. Be careful. I'm serious about her." (Ya are?)
"So she's not Simone de Beauvoir!"
Vancouver
This is seriously one of the most beautiful captivating photographs I've ever seen.
Have you scrolled around on Bella's site yet? Gorgeous stuff.
She's just got such a good eye. Like here.
Or this wonderfulness: Self portrait in 25 frames
And then there's this. I could just get lost in those images.
And look at these. The 3rd one down takes my breath away. I have SEEN beauty like that in real life - but it's rare that I am able to capture it.
The Making of the Misfits
Eve Arnold, photographer
So I have finished my third book in the From the Stacks challenge.
First of all - the challenge has exploded. Check out the updated list of participants - as well as all of the books that will be read by all of us in this challenge. Amazing!! Also amazing how little overlap there is - in terms of books.
Here is my own personal list.
I read Master and Margarita and I read Isaac Newton.
And I finished The Making of the Misfits this past week.
This is a book I have been wanting to read for a long time - but it's a bit hard to find. (At least, you can't find it in your regular old Barnes and Noble). I have known about the notoriously difficult shoot for The Misfits since I was in high school - just because - if you study film, if you're interested in Marilyn Monroe, whatever - you would have heard about this shoot. It's like the shoot for Cleopatra. Or Waterworld, for that matter. Certain movies become famous for the difficulty of the actual shooting itself. The Misfits is one of those. And I had heard about this book The Making of the Misfits - it's quoted left and right in Marilyn Monroe biographies, Monty Clift biographies, John Huston biographies ... and I finally tracked down a copy at a used bookseller - and I've had it for quite some time.
Now - another thing that makes the shooting of The Misfits stand out:
Magnum sent a barrage of photographers to hang out on the location - and document the entire process. We're talking about photographers like Henri Cartier-Bresson, Eve Arnold, Inge Morath ... and more. People who are famous. So this is also one of the most documented shoots EVER. Every single second of it is captured by at least one of these photographers. The photos are amazing. I've spoken about Eve Arnold before ... and her gift with photographing Marilyn (although Marilyn was one of the most photogenic women ever to grace the planet).
So there is that as well (having all the photographers there). The photographers were not clustered on the edges, trying to get a good shot (the way they were on the Cleopatra shoot - which was barred to outsiders and press - because of the sensitivity of the fact that Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton were openly cheating on their spouses - who were RIGHT THERE) ... The Misfits, a grueling difficult shoot, was documented by people who were asked to be there. These are not blurry paparazzi shots. ... these are works of art.
Bruce Davidson, photographer
Eve Arnold, photographer - that's Frank Taylor, the producer, Arthur Miller, and Gable
Ernst Haas, photographer
Magnum also wanted to do a picture book on the shooting of the movie (this is all from before they even started shooting - there was a buzz around this movie, for many reasons) - and so there were also reporters and writers who came along on the shoot, to do interviews, articles, etc. James Goode was one of those people.
One of the things that really interested me about this book was that there is no retrospective point of view. It is a running diary of James Goode's experience on the film - so it's all: Today we moved to the second location ... Last night we gambled all night ... whatever. He is writing down his impressions as they occur.
I have heard so much about the problems on this shoot from other books - the breakup of Arthur Miller and Marilyn Monroe - John Huston's compulsive gambling - Monroe being hospitalized for exhaustion (this was not a Lindsey Lohan type thing - where "exhaustion" stands in for "partying non-stop without wearing panties". Monroe was not a partier - although she was addicted to sleeping pills, due to her lifelong struggle with insomnia.) Not to mention Monroe's mental state at the time - which was not good - due to the growing distance with Arthur Miller, her embarrassing failed love affair with Yves Montand - the arduous nature of the shoot in Reno - the fact that Monroe was in every shot of the film practically - she got no rest - and, in general, her acting demons coming up and grabbing her by the throat. Monroe always wanted to be taken seriously as an actress. It seemed to her, at times, that the studio wanted to thwart her in this goal - putting her in crappy vehicles like Let's make Love to punish her. This is why she formed her own production company. This is why she read books like The Brothers Karamazov because she knew she could play parts like the seductress in that book. The Misfits was, by far, the most serious and grueling part she had ever been asked to do. Arthur Miller had written it for her. He had used aspects of her personality in the role of Roslyn. He probably had a Svengali thing going on ... if I just write this piece for her, and she gets the acclaim she deserves, maybe our marriage will survive?? Sadly, it was too late - and everything started to fall apart DURING the shooting.
James Goode - observing all of this - doesn't have much to say about it - since he's on the ground with them, everything is going down right in front of him - all he knows is Marilyn moved out of the hotel room she had been sharing with Miller. That's it.
It surprised me, reading this book, how professional Marilyn Monroe was - what a trooper she was. Not that I didn't think she was professional - but just from all the stories I've heard of what a nightmare she could be (she had a real problem with memorizing lines - it is thought that she probably was undiagnosed dyslexic - she would invert words, repeatedly - causing much problems with simple lines like, "We're over here!" A small line like that could take 70 takes for Marilyn to get right.) I had assumed that the entire story here in this book would be one of growing annoyance, or impatience ... with her illnesses, her tantrums, all that ... but that's not the case at ALL. I'm obviously a huge fan of Marilyn Monroe, and I feel protective of her (I realize this is ridiculous, but whatever) ... so I was so pleased to read that while yes, she had some mental and physical problems during the shoot - shooting had to stop while she was airlifted to a hospital in Los Angeles so she could recover - Everyone still had to be paid during the time she was gone - and, uhm, Clark Gable was the freakin' star - so the costs started skyrocketing. But besides all of that - I was happy to read about how much the crew loved her, how much the people of Dayton (the little town in Nevada where they shot a lot of the film) loved her - "When she wasn't filming, she would talk to anybody. She was real down to earth" - said one Dayton resident. Stuff like that ... I am not surprised at all. A sweet woman - whose life fell apart during the filming of this movie.
Bruce Davidson, photographer
One of the things that I loved about this book was how funny it was. It's just a running diary - but I think Goode captures so well that sense of absurdity and collaboration in trying to make a picture like this one. Instead of being on the backlot at Paramount - they are out in the desert - working with wild horses, real cowboys, raging bulls, dust storms, airplanes, rodeos ... Location shoots are intensely difficult - it's hard to control the sound, the extras, mother nature ... And Goode just captures so much of what I love about film-making: the hunker-down mentality, the "let's just get it done" mentality ... everyone working their asses off towards one goal. Everyone a part of this larger project. Yes, we've got Clark Gable. He is very important. But so is the sound guy. So is the stunt double for Montgomery Clift, the rodeo cowboy Clift had been following around for months before shooting began. So is the proprietor of the hotel in Dayton - who opened up their entire hotel for the cast and crew of this film - and treated them with kindness, welcoming them to their town. The guy who figures out how to get the lights into Roslyn's tiny room - and the makeup person who makes sure that Marilyn's pancake makeup didn't melt off of her - Just the whole TEAM. The book is so evocative of that crazy atmosphere. Like - there's a combination of plain old hard work - and then also an awareness of the absurdity of the entire thing. I loved how funny the book was - it made me feel like I was there.
Bruce Davidson, photographer
I'll post some excerpts, some of my favorites:
Gambling is a vice and may be a sin, but at least there was no hypocrisy about it in Reno. Everything was in the open, including the expressions of greed, momentary triumph, and, finally, despair, in the eyes of the tourists and permanent residents. Every human quality was enlarged a hundredfold in the unseeing faces of the players. Here, for the first time, an observer could see absolute greed, absolute degeneration, and often an absolute vacuum of emotion. Listening to stories on The Misfits set about the avariciousness of the Reno inhabitants, [John] Huston defended the town, himself belieing Reno, and the West in general, to be the last stop for the vanishing American innocent. [Arthur] Miller, of course, was saying much the same thing in his screenplay about some of the last free men on the continent.Miller and Tom Shaw, Huston's first assistant director, were given an example of Miller's point when they tried to hire some casual faces for the picture. They wanted an Indian, for one, as a kind of grace note or signature to reappear throughout the picture in the crowd scenes, and finally found the man they wanted drinking in a skid-row saloon with a white friend. The friend translated Shaw's offer, but the Indian, a Paiute from the local Pyramid Lake reservation, was umoved. Shaw: "Would you do a job for ten dollars?" The Indian: "I have ten dollars. I'm an Indian, and you won't take my picture. I may be the face on the nickel, but I won't kiss the buffalo's ass." Shaw later found a corrupt Indian.
Okay - so can you get the tone here? These are the kinds of anedotes that are MANNA to my soul. Maybe because of the inherent humor in this. The humor in this ridiculous (and yet - also - important) business of entertainment.
I LOVED this anecdote - because, to me, it is so indicative of Clark Gable's character. Well, not just of his character - but of his talent. More inexperienced actors talk about working with, say, Robert DeNiro - and how he makes you be better. He forces you to be in the moment, to listen. And it doesn't seem like he is doing anything at all. It is just that he knows how to be PRESENT. Listen to this anecdote from a woman who is not even an actress - but who had a small part in the film:
Playing opposite Gable in this brief scene was blonde Marietta Tree, socialite and friend of John Huston, and most famous for the Democratic political salon that she runs in her upper-Eastside mansion in New York. Mrs. Tree had not intended to appear in the picture, but had simply stopped off to see Huston on her way to San Francisco. The day before, Huston had interviewed a local actress who was to play the part of the departing St. Louis divorcee, and had decided against using her. Gable, Huston, and Mrs. Tree were talking later at lunch when Gable suddenly said, "Why don't we have that one over there?" meaning that Mrs. Tree could very well play the part. Mrs. Tree protested, saying that she wasn't an actress, and not the type. Gable replied that she was just the type he wanted. Huston said, "Why don't you do it, honey? We can fix you up so you'll look real flashy."Mrs. Tree described her first role, "Gable and I read the scene three times and acted it once. Then I went out to dinner with John and rehearsed the scene twenty times during dinner. Huston even played the part of Susan for me. The next morning I was called for makeup at 6:15 and I was shown how to make up my own mouth, which came to me as a revelation. There were three rehearsals but I did the scene in one take.
There was really no reason to be ervous, because Gable and Huston gave me such a feeling, as professionals. I felt like a very young ballet dancer being wafted across the stage by Nijinsky. Gable played the part so completely that he became the man and I became the girl. When the time came for me to turn, I couldn't leave and he put me on the train. I had no responsibility."
Why does that move me so much? It just does. The book is FULL of glimpses of these people - Gable, Clift, Monroe, Huston - people who are, frankly, idols to me. I look up to them. They are, partly, why I am who I am today. Because of their inspiration, because of seeing their movies at a young age and thinking: Hoooooleeeee crap. I have to do that!!
So I just love to learn more about them. I never get over them. And I love the image of Gable being so good - and so in character - and just so solid - that this woman who wasn't even an actress found herself playing this scene. (And if you see the movie - she's only in it for 10 seconds, maybe? It's a short scene - but she's great. Her presence tells the whole story - totally sets up the Gable character. You don't have to do it with dialogue - we don't have to have Gable give a huge monologue about who he is - all you see is him putting this crying divorcee on the train out of town ... and you know who he is.)
Then there's this:
July 23 - Rehearsals began this morning for the scene between Rosly and Mr. Taber on the courthouse steps. Policement were necessary to keep off the crowds but a number of children made their way to Huston and the principals. One little boy looked at [Kevin] McCarthy in his shiny Chicago suit, announcing, "This is a gangster movie and that's him!" Another, perceiving Huston's good nature, reached out and tweaked John's nose, saying, "Gee, mister, you got a lot of guts to direct this picture." And he had.Kevin McCarthy talked about his role that evening at the hotel. "I grew up with Nan Taylor, Frank's wife, in Deerwood, Minnesota. My sister is Mary McCarthy, who wrote Memories of a Catholic Girlhood. I've been a member of the Actor's Studio since 1947, with Montgomery Clift and Eli Wallach. I work there about ten hours a week. My agent was against me doing this small part in The Misfits but for me it was a sentimental appearance. They're compensating for my minute part by a special arrangement card in the title for me, Estelle Winwood and James Barton. Really, I only do twenty-seven words. I didn't feel I was Mr. Taber until I put on that shiny suit. It bothered me that Frank Taylor thought I could be Mr. Taber. I worked for Miller once before in the Robin Hood Theatre at Arden, Delaware. He directed All My Sons, which we played for comedy. I told Huston that I didn't feel I was accomplishing this character. He said, 'It's there by implication in what she's saying to you. Just imagine that you run the most successful Cadillac agency in Chicago.' Frank Taylor thought I ran a used-car lot.
Marilyn had the difficult scene, the blast-off for the picture. She had considerable anxiety but like a wise child she uses it. Huston is the best director I ever worked for."
"She had considerable anxiety but like a wise child she uses it."
Peeps, I have not been able to stop thinking about that sentence from the first moment I read it. God.
Henri Cartier-Bresson, photographer
Here's more - from one of Goode's many interviews with John Huston:
"We had no difference in casting, or in the story. In collaborating with Miller, I'd go a little further, a little deeper. He'd go a little further. Knowing when you arrive at the point where you should stop is maturity as an artist. I had to use drawings, now I try and get as much out of the people as I possibly can. I know automatically each scene. I court accident. I try to keep them that way, spontaneous. I very much like going into a little room. It has its own requirements. Confronted with limitations, thinking is less prosaic. Don't forget the eye of the public. They'd laugh like hell at Booth's Hamlet. The public now knows what ham acting is. We try to get all the reality we can in this picture, but still you must remember the picture is a convention. It is on a screen with music, and it must be a convention. I tell an actor as little as I possibly can. When I have to step in I feel defeated. I haven't had to tell anyone anything on this picture.Guido [played by Eli Wallach] is probably the most complex character in this film, a bit of the hypocrite. He changes tune. None of the others would. He'd become an animal lover if he could have the girl. He has made his compromise. Perce [played by Montgomery Clift] on the other hand is very simple. What he does makes no damn sense but thank God for them. They're awful good men. Pity is that they're inverted. You've got to be singularly blessed to be part of anything and keep your self-respect."
Speaking about working for the major studios in Hollywood before the war, Huston said, "I'm not sure I wasn't better then. Some of the worst pictures I ever made, I've made since I've had complete freedom. As for Langland [the part played by Clark Gable], as long as those horses are in the hills, he's a free man. As for myself, I'm not in the system as long as I can tell anyone to kiss my ass."
Heh. A lot of those old studio directors had that "I'm not sure I wasn't better then" sensibility.
This next excerpt made me laugh. A bit of background. Montgomery Clift, by this point, had had the accident which had ruined his face - and had begun his downward spiral that would kill him not too many years later. This poor man. This poor tormented unbelievably talented man. Nobody wanted to work with him anymore - because of the drug addiction, and all of his problems. Despite the fact that once upon a time he had been the premiere actor of his generation. Marlon Brando was freakin' intimidated by this guy's talent, mkay?? But Huston decided to take a chance - because Clift was so perfect for this part - especially with his now battered face, and that kind of - constantly tormented blank look in his eyes. God, what a tragedy. But anyway - I can't remember the details - either the insurance company would NOT back Clift - or Huston said he would pay the insurance himself - I'm not sure ... but it turned out that Clift was, perhaps, the most reliable one on that entire shoot. He didn't drink (he guzzled grapefruit juice 24/7 - and that was it) - didn't do drugs - showed up on time - knew his lines - and would be so brilliant on the first take that people, hardened crew members who don't impress easily, would burst into applause. He was that good (and if you see the movie - he IS that good.)
Inge Morath, photographer
Anyway, the following anecdote made me laugh - just because of the whole mumbly Actor's Studio thing - which was still a new thing at this point. And having Gable - king of the studio system - acting with all these younger Actors' Studio types - that's another reason why the film (although not perfect) is SO interesting to watch. It doesn't matter your "method". Talent is talent.
But anyway, I love this because it shows Clift's sense of humor about the whole Actor's Studio thing - and also Gable's graciousness:
[Gable] told Nan Taylor that she must understand that when he spoke of himself as an actor he spoke without vanity, that vanity was a sin. Monty Clift said that actors could speak with pride, however, and Gable agreed. Gable spoke about his own early career on Broadway and on the road, including Shakespearean roles. The others compared the Actor's Studio as training for acting, and Kevin McCarthy said, "Of course, the Studio can't teach you how to do Shakespeare, but it can give you things you can use." Monty replied, "Yes, Kevin, you and I have hung on to our purity of diction."
Ha! Which is so true. Clift was never one of the Brando-Dean mumblers. There is an elegance about his work - and I would venture to say as well, that when he is good? He's not just good - he's perfect.
Tragedy. Thinking about Montgomery Clift makes me sad.
Everyone is interviewed for Making of the Misfits - any film buff, of anyone interested in the process of film-making, should definitely check it out. It's not just the actors. The costume crew is interviewed, the sound people, the cowboys, the townspeople, the assistant directors - and here is Russell Metty, cameraman, talking about his part of this process:
"The quality of this picture is adjusted for realism. We get blacker blacks, whiter whites, and fewer grays, high contrast, more like a news photograph, by using less light. It's harder to shoot here on location because this house is confined."I became a lab technician when I was eighteen, and spent two years developing, printing, cutting. I was an assistant cameraman for two years, an operator for six years, and became a first cameraman on West of the Pecos. I am here on loan-out from Universal-International, and my last picture was Spartacus."
Signs of trouble - Goode doesn't dwell on it - just makes note of it:
July 30 - No shooting; Monroe is indisposed. Clift, Eli Wallach, and Frank Taylor have flown off to Los Angeles for an Ella Fitzgerald concert.
Here's a snippet of an interview with the wonderful Eli Wallach (I love the bit about "who pays the check?" That's thinking like an actor. Knowing who's gonna pay the check in the scene makes all the difference in how it is played. THAT is detail:
"John Huston elicits a performance, gives you clues, suggests, doesn't stomp on it, draws it out of you. He's very amenable to suggestions. I feel it; it's up to him to orchestrate it. Huston said, 'Make an impression on her. Make a dent.'"In that scene in Harrah's Club in the bar, I asked, 'Who pays the check in this scene, John?' and he said, 'I don't know.' It was kind of a struggle of virility and manhood and honor about who paid the check. Nor did we rehearse the dance scene ...
"There were times today when marilyn was absolutely wonderful when she began to relax a little. She had a kind of innocence, a freshness. Gable was sincere, cooperative, warm - an actor. Thelma [Ritter] I have great respect and warmth for. For each of us this is the first time we have worked together. I identify with each role. It was good to take Marilyn and dance with her, to take her away from Gable. I understand Guido. I find that Arthur has written in depth in this screenplay, that you can walk around each character. They are self-contradictory, unpredictable. Do you realize the split in a guy like Guido? At the very moment he speaks of his wife he is wooing this girl.
"What I know about acting is - trying to capture a universal that people can identify with, a behavior they have seen, known, or experienced themselves. Why the popularity of Mickey Spillane if not for images? To capture that genie and bottle him and to seemingly let him out accidentally, that's what is marvelous about acting to me....
"I have a great trust in John because I think he understands almost in Hemingway's terms that man can take his licks without whimpering. He keeps me from being self-pitying, self-indulgent, or weak. And Marilyn said a very touching thing to me in the lobby the other day. I was wearing a Sigmund Freud costume [Huston was going to be directing Freud the next year - and Eli Wallach dressed up as Freud on one of their days off, as a gag]. She said, 'Eli, you're going to be working all your life.' I said, 'Yes, until I die.' She said it so sweetly. I would like to be like A.E. Mathews, an actor who just died this week. He was working until this season. He was ninety-three years old."
Eli and Marilyn were great friends. I love that sweet glimpse of her in that anecdote.
There was a dog who had a part in the picture and he caused a lot of problems. He was not a good movie dog. Humorous anecdote here:
Completing the action in the living room of the Stix house, Huston rehearsed the players for a scene in which Roslyn [played by Monroe], a little high from the drinks and the dancing, falls fromt he front door, where the step is missing. The rehearsal of the fall was so realistic that everyone held his breath until Eli caught Marilyn in his arms. This prompted Gable to say that for a moment he was afraid Eli wasn't going to catch her and they would all be out of work. After a moment in the picture in which Roslyn dances dreamily by herself around a large tree, Gay Langland takes her to the station wagon to drive her back to town. Guido helps them into the wagon, but Langland's dog, Tom Dooley, wouldn't cooperate during the takes. Miller thought that Eli could simply kick the dog into the car. Furiously, Eli wondered whether they couldn't find a dog that would simply get in and sit down. But it was too late; Tom Dooley was in too many scenes to be replaced. Alabam' Davis thoguht that Tom Dooley was simply a "method" dog and all he needed was a dramatic coach.
And this made me laugh out loud (the book is full of overheard snippets like this):
Two persons were discussing [Frank] Taylor in the lobby and one man said, "What's Frank Taylor's background?" His friend, "He's a publisher." "What's a publisher doing producing a movie?" "They're going to release the book in movie form."
I know this isn't really a book review (what I'm writing here) - but I kept a running list of anecdotes and snippets I loved from this book - and I knew Ceci, at least, would appreciate it ... there's so much good stuff (although I would also like to read a more distanced story of this shoot: why it got so expensive, what happened, why the film doesn't really WORK - at least not the way everyone expected it to - a lot of that had to do with the fact that Gable died shortly after shooting - before the picture was released - and that gave the picture a kind of notorious reputation - Huston was watching a scene in the editing room of Gable being dragged by a rope behind a truck and he commented to himself, "They're gonna say we killed Gable." Who knows - it might have been a mega-hit if Gable had been alive when it came out.) But anyway. Onward with the excerpts.
Here's an excerpt from an interview with the great Montgomery Clift who is, in my opinion, the definition of an intelligent (and yet also intuitive) actor. The guy had it all. He was a raw nerve, but he was also an intellect, he studied his craft. Amazing - it's all here in his language. Listen to his openness. Is it any wonder that this man was destroyed by the mere act of living? He couldn't hack it. Thank God he was an actor - at least he had a place where he was SUPPOSED to be that open. Oh, and believe it or not - Montgomery Clift was terrified of working with all of these people whom he considered to be giants (and they are - but so is he!) - he was intimidated by Gable, by Huston, by Miller - he couldn't believe he had been asked to be in this thing ... the beautiful (and yet tragic - because he couldn't see his own goodness) of this man:
"What I think of Miller - boy, he represents to me such an ideal as an artist! Somehow the artists are all allied, whether it's Miller, Cartier-Bresson, Marilyn or Huston. My feeling aobut Miller is that I sort of face East every time I see him. I'm that much in admiration of him."I was happy that there was something he genuinely wanted me to do. Acting with all these goddamned talented people around is pretty frightening, but I look forward to it. If I were convinced they were also scared ... The problem is how to remain thin-skinned and yet survive. One can uncallous one's self, you know. I haven't talked to John or Arthur about the part. I don't have any desire to formulate anything too strong of my own. I don't know what John or Arthur may be after. He knows what he's written about. I think Taylor's tremendously talented to put together this network of people. Nothing of him is the norm. There is the whole terrible problem of remaining vulnerable, and Taylor has the small, intimate means of making you feel wanted. And it's a lovely thing to work with a director who is not vain.
"I have no misgivings about this character. Someone said, 'My God, it's exactly like you.' Now it's just a question of can I do it? It's a wonderful part, and if I don't do it justice I'll shoot myself. You're not the master of a film as an actor. A director with control contributes. I don't know where contribution begins and ends. Whenever the fortuitous happens, it happens. When I see the film, if I vomit, I'll know I haven't done it justice.
"I find no value for myself in analyzing something down to some terribly finite Freudian point, because it loses its measure of relish. Wonderfully enough, Arthur is so wildly aware of the ambivalence in relations between people that for a performer it is almost an offense to dissect it. I imagine that he, as a writer, would not be able to write it if he consciously tried to become clinical and symbolic. Nothing would flow. I have trouble working with people I greatly admire. I started with Eli. You know, it's been two weeks now and I can't find one goddamned thing I don't like about him. I've never worked with any of these people before.
"I wish I were more thin-skinned. The problem is to remain sensitive to all kinds of things wihtout letting them pull you down. Now, take this - the fact that someone drops a book of matches at a time when he most wants not to seem ill at ease. To a normal person that is not a terribly moving talent, but to an actor in films, such a thing maybe perhaps changes the whole relationship to the girl that dropped the matches. The only line I know of that's wrong in Shakespeare is 'Holding a mirror up to nature.' You hold the magnifying glass up to nature. As an actor you just enlarge it enough so that your audience can identify with a situation. If it were a mirror we would have no art. Essence is a wonderful word. Miller has written the essence of Roslyn. You'd be bored to death if it were a mirror. Take the line in the script, 'Who did this to me? The ambulance did it.' Magnifying the essential things that liberate the imagination and enable one to identify - when one has those qualities, they are fabulous gifts. Take a pause, for example. That I call a magnification. I wouldn't call it a mirror. The magnifying glass has been misused totally, but in this picture it has been put to the use of capturing what possibly is flitting in and out of someone's mind and one person's relationship to another and another, and that's what's fascinating."
Amazing analysis. I have a lot to think about from his words.
Okay, so anyone who discussed impressions of Marilyn Monroe, anyone who knew her, came into contact with her, has my ear. Listen to Henri Cartier-Bresson's impressions of this woman:
Henri Cartier-Bresson, photographer. That's Thelma Ritter, Monroe, and Huston - discussing an upcoming scene
"I saw her bodily - Marilyn Monroe - for the first time, and I was struck as by an apparition in a fairy tale. Well, she's beautiful - anybody can notice this, and she represents a certain myth of what we call in France la femme eternelle. On the other hand, there's something extremely alert and vivid in her, an intelligence. It's her personality, it's a glance, it's something very tenuous, very vivid that disappears quickly, that appears again. You see it's all these elements of her beauty and also her intelligence that makes the actress not only a model but a real woman expressing herself. Like many people I heard many things that she had said, but last night I had the pleasure of having dinner next to her and I saw that these things came fluidly all the time ... all these amusing remarks, precise, pungent, direct. It was flowing all the time. It was almost a quality of naivete ... and it was completely natural."In her you feel the woman, and also the great discipline as an actress. She's American and it's very clear that she is - she's very good that way - one has to be very local to be universal."
"One has to be very local to be universal." God, this is also food for thought. This is something I have been working on in my own writing, my own acting, my own art - for years. The best artists are, indeed, "very local" and it is this very local-ness that makes them universal. Thanks, Henri. And thanks for appreciating Miss Monroe in such a specific way.
Inge Morath - that's Monroe talking with Paula Strasberg, her ubiquitous acting coach
Now listen to this conversation between Huston and Miller (unlike most writers - he was there throughout filming - and although he messed up a couple of times, in terms of not knowing his relationship to a film director - which is different from that to a theatre director, where - 9 times out of 10 - Miller will be the bigger star, and Miller will always have the final word. Not so in films. However, the following conversation - about how to shoot a certain scene - shows that Huston was completley open to Miller's contributions - mainly because it is he who wrote it, and it is he who understands, better than anyone else, the point of view of each scene. BUT - how to make that come across? That'll be Huston's job. This is true collaboration here:
John Huston and Arthur Miller sat for an hour in Steve Grimes' reactivated saloon, discussing the camera's point of view as the station wagon with Roslyn, Gay, Isabelle, Perce and Guido enters the town. The shot in question was to be a long continuous look at the car from a motorized cameral dolly, involving a great deal of action on both sides of the street. There was understandable anxiety.Huston: "Do we shoot them or what they see?"
Miller: "What they see."
Huston: "Then we hold on a few things."
Miller: "A cowboy backing a horse out of a trailer, or the shot I wrote about the Cadillac and the bumper."
Huston: "Thsi thing about the gamblers and the showgirl. It's just happening. If it's pointed out, it's bad. It acquires a significance it doesn't have. (Pause) I'm just trying to see which is the better way."
Miller: "I'm inclined to stretch her (Roslyn's) point of view.
Huston: "It's her point of view, or it's our comment."
Miller: "The shots can be brief."
Huston: "They ahve to hold long enough on the screen to be seen. (Pause) These shots are literally vignettes."
Miller: "My feeling is there is a compromise to be made here. If you keep referring back to their car, you can pull in anything you want."
Huston: "You have to keep moving. As you go by things, you see them."
Miller: "I'm afraid if we stick to their point of view (the passengers in the car), it would limit us. Shoot the car and the passengers from inside the car."
Huston: "Then you can't cut to vignettes, like the deputy jumping up and down on the Cadillac bumper."
Miller: "How about an omniscent view."
Huston: "Then you lose your people, you go into God's viewpoint of the town. (Pause) We mustn't confuse Roslyn's viewpoint with our own. If we shoot her looking at the deputy, aren't we endowing it with significance?"
And that is a glimpse of a good director at work. Young directors today should study John Huston's movies for this kind of intelligent structured point-of-view work.
The following anecdote made me laugh:
August 22 - For once, everyone was glad to go to work, just to escape the hell of Reno. The power lines had not yet been repeaired and the Mapes coffee shop was down to cold cuts and coffee. Shooting today was a sequence of Dick Pascoe, as Clift's stunt double, riding a black and white Brahma bull out of a chute and across the ring until he was thrown, then rescued from the bull's horns in the nick of time by Jim Palen, made up as a rodeo clown. Four times the bull crashed through Steve Grimes' fencing with Jones' horsemen in frantic pursuit. On the last breakout, the bull scattered the crowd of extras in the street, taking refuge in Gold Canyon Creek. Each time the bull got loose, Pete Logan, who used to announce the rodeos in Madison Square Garden, called over the public address system, "Carpenter, please."
hahahaha They're so over it. Oh, bull got loose, there goes the fence again, carpenter, please.
More on the bull (and notice the good humor here about Monroe's absences ... yes, it was annoying ... but the tone of the anecdote is not annoyed):
August 25 - Shooting again in the rodeo ring, long shots of Pascoe on the bull and the bucking horse. The bull got loose again, prompting remakrs that the bull needed a carpenter's local to follow him around and was harder to get on the set than Marilyn Monroe.
hahahahaha
Monroe could not work in the morning - due to many issues, mainly having to do with insomnia - and always crashing into the deepest of pill-induced sleeps at around 6 a.m. This kind of thing was always a problem for her - ALWAYS. John Huston took care of her, was gentle with her, made her feel confident about her ability to play the part - never harassed her - and yet obviously was frustrated that he could not begin shooting with her until noon, at the earliest. They got so little done, waiting for Monroe. And every single night - Huston and a couple of buddies - sat up gambling and drinking. So everyone was sort of losing it - in terms of sleep, (and also money - Huston lost a ton - thousands of dollars). Monroe was addicted to sleeping pills and Huston could never walk away from a bet. Eventually the situation cracked and Monroe's health broke down. She was flown to Los Angeles to recover. Shooting stopped.
Take a look at this photo.
Cornell Capa, photographer
Members of the crew and also locals in the town ... gathering to see Marilyn off. This photo goes a long way to explaining Marilyn's affect on people, and even though she was a pain in the ass - she was so well loved. I mean, obviously - she was a huge star - that wasn't an accident - audiences loved her as well - who cares that it took her an entire day to get out the line "Where's the bourbon" in Some Like it Hot? Yes, it drove Billy Wilder to distraction that she could not get the line right ... but when push comes to shove, she's Marilyn Monroe, and her mere presence in a film was enough to justify all that crap (Lindsey Lohan - who I actually like, and think is very talented - needs to realize that she is not yet at that place ... she may be some day ... but not yet). When the cameras rolled, and Marilyn was on ... you didn't want anybody else to be there. You didnt' care about the lost day of work. Because she is Marilyn Monroe and you can count on 1 or 2 or 3 fingers the actors who had that kind of magic. Not only that - but the photo shows her relationship with the crews on her films - having a good rapport with the crew was always very important to her. She loved crews - the gaffers, and grips, and carpenters. They treated her with kindness, they loved her, and she loved them back. She had a harder time with the executives, the business folks - who treated her like a whore who just got lucky. The dudes holding sound equipment up on ladders knew better. A lucky whore? Are you kidding me? Have you seen what happens to this woman when the cameras start to roll? Marilyn, in her scenes, often played to them - the crew - because she knew how much she was loved, it made her feel comfortable and confident.
Another anecdote showing why John Huston was so good with actors. If you tell an actor exactly how to do something - well, first of all, you're an ass. Why don't YOU act then if you think you can do it better? Second of all, you're cutting off the magic - the possibility of something that might be better than what is in your own head. People say about Woody Allen that he never tells them anything, never directs ANYthing - what he does is - is cast well - he casts perfectly - and he is completley confident in whatever EVENT is taking place in any given scene. The actors need to know the EVENT ... not how to do it. Here is what I am talking about:
Eli Wallach volunteered an example of Huston's genius as a director. In the scene today, Gable and Wallach are alone at the table, watching Monroe and Clift dancing, and getting drunker and drunker. Wallach quoted Huston as saying, "Eli, yesterday in Virginia City I was deeply drunk. So drunk it didn't show." That was all he said, and Eli played the scene that way, saying later that Huston was a master of indirection.
So many directors have no idea what the actor's craft even is (especially now - when directors come out of film schools, as opposed to the theatre). Telling an intuitive actor like Wallach to be so "drunk it didn't show" is perfect. It's just mysterious enough that Wallach can just run with it.
James Goode gets some AMAZING interviews with Clark Gable - who at this point - had only a couple months left to live. It's astonishing - and so sad - how vital and YOUNG this man still was. His intelligence, his openness, his curiosity about life and his own craft ... he's still in process. He worked his ass off.
Eve Arnold, photographer
Amazing actor. There are also a couple of anecdotes in the book about him murmuring to John Huston after watching Montgomery Clift do a scene: "That Clift boy really comes across." He was amazed by Clift. In my opinion, Montgomery Clift gives the best performance in that film - and Gable could notice it happening - and didn't have any weird ego thing about it - he was more just in awe. "The look that comes in that kid's eyes sometimes ..." Here are some excerpts:
"I don't know exatly what they mean by method acting. I do know it must have a lot of merit, because it has proven itself with some of the people we have in the business today. The acting I know - what I know of it - originally came by working with professionals in the theatre, being privileged to working with them, watching them work from behind the scenes. I had a great deal of training from Lionel Barrymore. I was a juvenile lead in a play called Copperhead. I played an extra in Romeo and Juliet with Jane Cowl. I was given the opportunity to understudy Romeo, Mercutio, Tybalt, Benvolio. I memorized all of the parts and watched all of the movements from the wings, understudying Dennis King as Mercutio, Rollo Peters as Romeo, and Lewis Hester as Tybalt, and got a great deal of experience in Shakespearean roles ..."Acting came to me first because I wanted to do it, but it was hard work. You had to work. I didn't learn one particular way of acting. I learned several different ways - I'm still learning. Strangely enough, I learn something new in every picture I make. I don't know what they mean by a finished actor. As far as I know, finished is when you can't get a job."
heh. I just find all of that so moving
Now a bit about the bedroom scene - which ended up causing a lot of problems - because of the nudity ... or the implied nudity ... and in one case, the actual nudity:
Inge Morath, photographer - more on her later ... she ended up being Arthur Miller's next wife - and last wife. They were together until he died last year. So the shots of Marilyn and him ... taken by Morath ... are fascinating to me. Inge Morath said, of Marilyn Monroe: "She is the only woman I ever knew who photographed 10 pounds lighter." ha!
At the Stix house Huston was shooting the bedroom scene again, at the request of both Gable and Taylor. Gable, dressed, walked into the bedroom and kissed Monroe awake. She stretched, nude between the sheets, and reached for the white terry-cloth bathrobe. She sat up and put it on, through nine takes, exposing her right breast to the camera in the seventh take, which was the shot that was finally printed. Huston interrupted the takes, saying angrily, "It's a mess ... I mean the sheet you're holding in your hand." Huston arranged the sheets and the blanket. Tom Shaw said they could use the shot of the exposed breast for the foreign market and one of the others for the United States ...Arthur Miller and Frank Taylor had looked at the film of the bedroom scene; Taylor thoguht that the take whicih momentarily showed Marilyn's breast was by far the best, and wanted to keep it. Miller was undecided. They asked Marilyn, who said that it was natural. She said that the picture had no seal from the Motion Picture Association anyway, and added, "Let's get the people away from the television sets. I love to do things the censors wouldn't pass. After all, what are we all here for, just to stand around and let it pass us by? Gradually they'll let down the censorship - sadly probably not in my lifetime" Max Youngstein had called from United Artists in New York, "just out of academic curiosity," and was told about the shot, which Taylor described to him as "a beautiful natural accident."
Max was enthusiastic. "Let's use it! Let's do it! The time has come! This is UA's answer to television!"
John Huston, who was opposed to the shot, listened to Taylor and Miller, and said, "Fine, I've always known that girls have breasts."
Eve Arnold, photographer - that's Gable and Monroe, I love that one
Marilyn Monroe herself finally consented to an interview. Here are a couple of excerpts:
"I'd prefer not to analyze it [acting] ... it's subjective; rather, I want to remain subjective while I'm doing it. Rather than do much talking I'd rather act. When it's on the screen, that's when you'll know who Roslyn is. I don't want to water down my own feeling ... Goethe says a career is developed in public but talent is developed in private, or silence. It's true for the actor. To really say what's in my heart, I'd rather show than to say. Even though I want people to understand, I'd much rather they understand on the screen. If I don't do that, I'm on the wrong track, or in the wrong profession.... Nobody would have heard of me if it hadn't been for John Huston. When we started Asphalt Jungle, my first picture, I was very nervous, but John said, 'Look at Calhern (the late Louis Calhern, a veteran actor), see how he's shaking. If you're not nervous, you might as well give up.' John has meant a great deal in my life. It's sort of a coincidence to be with him ten years later."
Eve Arnold, photographer - Marilyn didn't spend any time in the casinos - not like John Huston did - but she did come out with the crew one night. Here's a shot from that night - Huston and Monroe ... look at her girlishness. I just love her.
And that image is in contrast to the one taken near the end of the shoot - Monroe and Miller, their marriage nearly over, standing in the hotel room they no longer share. And Inge Morath took this photo.
Inge Morath, photographer
Miller and Morath did not get together on the shoot - their romance began after - and was haunted a bit by Monroe, of course -who died in 63 ... but Morath had a good head on her shoulders and was very taken with Monroe. Morath, asked many years later, what it was like to be the wife who came AFTER Marilyn Monroe, considered by some to be the sexiest woman in the world - (this was in the NY Times, this interview with Morath) - and Morath said, "You have to remember that I also had a great career in my own field, and I also had had a number of pretty terrific boyfriends." hahaha She was 65 years old when she said that, maybe older - and I just loved her for that. She loved Marilyn Monroe - she said that after she married Arthur Miller (okay, please forgive me - but tears are in my eyes right now) - she had a recurring dream - where she and Marilyn Monroe were dancing together. Beautiful glimmery ghostly now-dead Monroe dancing with Inge Morath - the woman who finally made Arthur Miller happy. Such self-knowledge in those statements, such acceptance and joy.
Here's another one of Moraths photos - this from the beginning of the shoot. Notice Arthur Miller in the foreground, Marilyn a tiny figure in the background.
Inge Morath, photographer
So I figure I'll end this now. Down below you'll see a couple more photographs that I LOVE (including one of my favorites ever taken of Marilyn Monroe - it's the first one in the group) ... and one last anecdote, which shows the main thing I loved about this book - which didn't go too deep, stayed on the surface a bit more than I would have liked ... but anecdotes like this - fragments of time captured - funny moments nailed down and remembered - it's the kind of writing I like, it's why I keep a journal:
That evening, John gave a birthday party for both Arthur Miller and Montgomery Clift at the Christmas Tree Inn on the Mount Rose highway outside Reno, high in the mountains. It was attended by Mrs. Walter Huston, John's mother, Marilyn and Arthur (in one of their rare public appearances), Monty Clift, Eli Wallach, Angela Allen, Eve Arnold, Gladys Hill, Ernst Haas, Tom and Ruth Shaw, Russell Metty, Doc and Connie Erickson, and Ernie Anderson; Rudy Kautzsky, Marilyn's driver, Charles Edwards, Eli's driver; Charles Coffman, Clark Gable;'s driver; Ralph Thelander, Clift's driver; and Al Edgecomb, driver for Huston.The occasion was raucous. Most of the people there had held themselves in for three months, but the next day was the last day of location shooting, and a few remarks seemed to be in order. Marilyn's unfamiliar social presence only added to the compulsion. A few of the verbal exchanges:
Eli: "I'm abandoning my career." Russell Metty: "How can you lose what you never had?"
John was talking to Marilyn. Monty leaned over to listen. John to Monty: "Are you about to make an observation?" Clift: "No ..." John: "Well, you look like you're about to make an observation." Clift: "No ..." John: "Today's your birthday, so shut up."
John to Mrs. Guy Michaels, the wife of the owner of the Christmas Tree: "I want my steak well done, very well done, burn it." Marilyn: "How cruel!"
Arthru Miller looked over his presents, one of them being twelve pencils from Ernst Haas: "Nothing loosens my tongue like an unsharpened pencil."
Huston: "How old are you, Arhtur? Spit it out clearly; you're not in a pool hall now."
Russell Metty got to his feet at this moment and delivered a series of humorous broadsides around the room, determined to speak his mind after a long silence: "Arthur writes scripts and John shoots ducks. First Arthur screwed up the script and now his wife is screwing it up. Why don't you wish him a happy birthday, Marilyn? Arthur doesn't know whether the horse should be up or down. Marilyn thinks we should keep the scene showing her half-naked in bed. Monty is buying into the Del Monte grapefruit juice business. Ernie Anderson is the most mysterious man I know. No one knows what the hell he does, but he always seems to have John's telephone number in San Francisco. This is truly the biggest bunch of misfits I ever saw." (Applause)
The dinner collapsed, and the company went into the bar and began to gamble at a crap table. Huston won and lost, and Arthur Miller rolled for the first time in Reno, winning a little and then losing it all. Marilyn was persuaded to try: "Oh, why don't they ever come up right (throwing a seven after making a point)? Oh, I didn't mean that, can I take it back?" When she got the dice again, Marilyn asked John: "What should I ask the dice for, John?" Huston: "Don't think, honey, just throw. That's the story of your life. Don't think, do it."
Ha!!
Below you'll find more photos - as well as to the PBS website that hosts a ton of them, if you want to see a bazillion more (which is yet another reason why PBS has my monetary support and will forever).
Wonderful little book, LOTS of fun to read - and makes me want to see The Misfits again.
EVE ARNOLD PHOTOS
HENRI CARTIER-BRESSON
What a candid, huh? Look at all three of those men.
INGE MORATH PHOTOS
The Books: At the Altar: 'The Gossip of Valley View' (L.M. Montgomery)
At the Altar - 'The Gossip of Valley View' - by L.M. Montgomery
I think this might be my favorite TYPE of Lucy Maud romance: involving two maybe middle-aged people ... not too romantic ... but either good companions ... or ... who knows. I like when she writes about people past the first flush of youth, having romances. She always gets so much of it right (in my opinion). Like the wonderful story 'The Hurrying of Ludovic'. It's what happnes when people can no longer afford to be all romantic and dreamy-creamy, moonlight and roses ... it's what happens when that stuff fades ... and yet still you find yourself in love. And this story, 'The Gossip of Valley View', is very funny - true Lucy Maud:
A rumor starts in a small town - that Young Thomas Everett and Adelia Williams are going to be married. Now ... the two are not even courting ... Young Thomas Everett, a confirmed old bachelor who lives out on a farm with a grumpy housekeeper, hears the news about himself at the blacksmith one day and bursts into laughter. Adelia Williams? Nice little lady ... but he has no intention of getting married. But because of the laugh - and because neither of them out and out deny it - the gossip spreads. And spreads. I love how Lucy Maud describes this. The growing belief in the story ... people stopping Thomas on the street to congratulate him. He thinks it's all rather silly - he barely knows Adelia - but when the minister and his wife stop by Thomas' house and mention his engagement - Young Thomas gets a bit perturbed. This is getting far too serious. It's no longer a rumor - everyone believes it. Meanwhile, in the story - there has been NO contact with this Adelia Williams. He glances over at her in church during this whole thing - and she's glancing at him too. They both look away. So she obviously has heard the rumors too. Thomas does have the presence of mind to admire her rosy cheeks, and to think: She doesn't look like an old maid at all. But still: he has no idea who she is. All he knows about her is that she has the reputation of being a fantastic home-maker and house-keeper and cook and all that. That's it. The rumor keeps growing. People start just making shit up. Young Thomas hears whispered rumors about Adelia's trousseau - what color her hat will be - it's starting to not be funny. It's starting to be downright annoying. Finally, Young Thomas has had enough. His brother Charlie - who lives in - Manitoba? Winnipeg? Somewhere far from PEI, I'll tell you that - writes him a letter congratulating him on his upcoming engagement, and says, "Give Adelia a kiss for me!"
Young Thomas (who has also been having problems with his grumpy housekeeper) has now had enough. Enough of the rumors. And enough of the messy house. What they hey ... He goes over to see Adelia. This is the excerpt below. It's the end of the story.
This is our first time meeting Adelia. And I just LOVE her reaction. It makes me laugh - makes me feel like we could be friends. Also: it's just typical Lucy Maud.
Excerpt from At the Altar - 'The Gossip of Valley View' - by L.M. Montgomery
Young Thomas shaved and put on his Sunday suit. As soon as it was safely dark, he hied him away to Adelia Williams. He felt very doubtful about his reception, but the remembrance of the twinkle in Adelia's brown eyes comforted him. She looked like a woman who had a sense of humour; she might not take him, but she would not feel offended or insulted because he asked her.
"Dang it all, though, I hope she will take me," said Young Thomas. "I'm in for getting married now and no mistake. And I can't get Adelia out of my head. I've been thinking of her steady ever since that confounded gossip began."
When he knocked at Adelia's door he discovered that his face was wet with perspiration. Adelia opened the door and started when she saw him, then she turned very red and stiffly asked him in. Young Thomas went in and sat down, wondering if all men felt so horribly uncomfortable when they were courting.
Adelia stooped low over the woodbox to put a stick of wood in the stove, for the May evening was chilly. Her shoulders were shaking; the shaking grew worse; suddenly Adelia laughed hysterically and, sitting down on the woodbox, continued to laugh. Young Thomas eyed her with a friendly grin.
"Oh, do excuse me," gasped poor Adelia, wiping tears from her eyes. "This is - dreadful - I didn't mean to laugh - I don't know why I'm laughing - but - I - can't help it."
She laughed helplessly again. Young Thomas laughed too. His embarrassment vanished in the mellowness of that laughter. Presently Adelia composed herself and removed from the woodbox to a chair, but there was still a suspicious twitching about the corners of her mouth.
"I suppose," said Young Thomas, determined to have it over with before the ice could form again, "I suppose, Adelia, you've heard the story that's been going about you and me of late?"
Adelia nodded. "I've been persecuted to the verge of insanity with it," she said. "Every soul I've seen has tormented me about it, and people have written me about it. I've denied it till I was black in the face, but nobody believed me. I can't find out how it started. I hope you believe, Mr. Everett, that it couldn't possibly have arisen from anything I said. I've felt dreadfully worried for fear you might think it did. I heard that my cousin, Lucilla Barrett, said I told her, but Lucilla vowed to me that she never said such a thing or even dreamed of it. I've felt dreadful bad over the whole affair. I even gave up the idea of making a quilt after a lovely new pattern I've got, because they made such a talk about my brown dress."
"I've been kind of supposing that you must be going to marry somebody, and folks just guessed it was me," said Young Thomas - he said it anxiously.
"No, I'm not going to be married to anybody," said Adelia with a laugh, taking up her knitting.
"I'm glad of that," said Young Thomas gravely. "I mean," he hastened to add, seeing the look of astonishment on Adelia's face, "that I'm glad there isn't any other man - because - because I want you myself, Adelia."
Adelia laid down her knitting and blushed crimson. But she looked at Young Thomas squarely and reproachfully.
"You needn't think you are bound to say that because of the gossip, Mr. Everett," she saidq uietly.
"Oh, I don't," said Young Thomas earnestly. "But the truth is, the story set me to thinking about you, and from that I got to wishing it was true - honest, I did - I couldn't get you out of my head, and at last I didn't want to. It just seemed to me that you were the very woman for me if you'd only take me. Will you, Adelia? I've got a good farm and house, and I'll try to make you happy."
It was not a very romantic wooing, perhaps. But Adelia was forty and had never been a romantic little body even in the heyday of her youth. She was a practical woman, and Young Thomas was a fine looking man of his age with abundance of worldly goods. Besides, she liked him, and the gossip had made her think a good deal about him of late. Indeed, in a moment of candour she had owned to herself the very last Sunday in church that she wouldn't mind if the story were true.
"I'll - I'll think of it," she said.
This was practically an acceptance, and Young Thomas so understood it. Without loss of time he crossed the kitchen, sat down beside Adelia, and put his arms about her plump waist.
"Here's a kiss Charlie sent me to give you," he said, giving it.
December 2, 2006
Nostalgia
Major nostalgia. My friends'll know why. I mean, yeah, because that whole scene was once so much a part of my life ... and that whole building, too ... but also ...
Just brings me back, that's all.
Scary cleaning jag
I've gone insane. I have thrown out furniture. I have enlisted neighbors to haul shit out of my apartment. Some of them have taken home items I do not want. Filing cabinet, chair, etc. My apartment is too small, and frankly I have tooooo many books. But the books must not be thrown out. The FURNITURE MUST GO. I'm also giving my desk to my hot Latin super - tomorrow we will heave it down to her basement apartment. She speaks nary a word of English. I barely speak any Spanish. Yet we were able to make our arrangements quite easily, with hand gestures, as well as mime-esque movements connoting "you want desk?" "Yes I want desk." Once that desk is out of my apartment I am going to weep tears of joy because of the added space. Of course it will IMMEDIATELY be filled by the Barrister bookcase coming my way (yay!) - and eventually I need to get a big plush arm chair - and then who the hell knows where THAT will go ... but I will find a way.
I am still halfway done with the Great Purge and so my apartment looks absolutely nuts - like a crazy person lives here - piles of crap EVERYWHERE - and this will be a project lasting a couple of days so I will tolerate the chaos until the day comes when all will be in order. I need to hang pictures - I still have a couple framed prints I haven't gotten around to putting up (my painting or - etching - or whatever it is - of Sarah Bernhardt!) - and there needs to be Swiffer action but I can't begin that until the Purging part is done, because it would be pointless.
I have moved one of the bookcases in my kitchen (uhm, there were 3 in there - it just was way too crowded) over near the bathroom in the front hall - there WAS a bookcase there, a small one - but I moved that one into the main room - (why am I telling my blog this?) - and eventually I may get rid of it, once Barrister gets here. But I shuffled the book collection around - and now the bookcase by the bathroom has all of my biographies and memoirs in it. It thrills me to look at it. I have had to move all the kids books elsewhere - which I was able to do by moving other crap around ... but the main thing has been; getting rid of that damn chair (which passed as an armchair, but - bah - I'm sick of it) - and my giant filing cabinet which was just gathering dust. I don't need it. I kind of just needed it for the SURFACE of it - because I put my printer on it - but seriously - that's a rather large piece of furniture to keep for the TOP of it.
Hmm. What else. I even considered getting a single bed - just to make more space - but I figured, no. Might as well remain optimistic. However, the last time I had a boyfriend, I had a single bed. So perhaps it's a sign??
I am having a manic episode. It is hard to keep feng shui in mind. But I am trying. I think I have too many books to be orthodox feng shui. But at least I'm clearing out some serious space. And once that desk is out - I can just ... revel in that empty wall ... the world map high up on the wall ... and nothing else beneath it. Clean and open. The desk has not been sat at or used in over a year. And definitely not since I became a Mac person. I sit with the ol' laptop in the bed (the DOUBLE BED) ... and that is how I prefer it. I feel much more like working when I'm in bed. (Hm. That somehow doesn't sound right.)
But the sun is shining through my newly Windexed windows, the ceiling fan is going, it was 70 degrees here yesterday and it's gotta be in the 60s today (which, frankly, pisses me off ... I want snow and cold. Thanks.) ... but while the weather lasts, I will keep going. The Purge shall continue.
My friend Beth is coming down next weekend - for Christmas shopping, beers, and frenzied conversation ... so I am determined to get all of this done by the time she arrives.
Update: I put Sarah Bernhardt up. She looks BEAUTIFUL. I put some other pictures up too which have been leaning against the damn wall in the closet ... they look so pretty!
Okay. Gotta go. More to do, more to do.
Update:
Blurry camera phone shots of pictures hung:
Here's a horrible photo of Sarah - but I'm just so pleased that I found a nice spot for it, and I think she looks really nice. I had bought this really cool frame for her a while back and I just love the look of it.
AND - I moved my Varitek painting from the shadowy indistinct spot where it once was to a much better and more prominent spot on the dingy paint-peeling falling-apart kitchen wall. No, but seriously. I just LOVE where he is now. I gloat at him proudly.
You can see my heating pipe sticking out into the middle of the room ... which has, at times, been the bane of my existence since it gets literally SMOKIN' hot in the winter ... but oh well. What can ya do.
Oh, and here are my two Irish pictures: One is a copy of the original 1916 Proclamation and one is a page from the Book of Kells. Bought both of these at the Trinity Library in Dublin. I just love the look of these two as well. Oh, and you can kinda see the dark brown paisley curtains my mom made me over to the left. She made those for me, uhm, 2 years ago? And I'm still not over being grateful for them, and appreciating them aesthetically.
word association
I got it from Anne! There were times I couldn't limit it to one word.
1. Yourself: pale
2. Your spouse: strong
3. Your hair: thin
4. Your mother: smile
5. Your father: fireplace
6. Your favorite item: HMW
7. Your dream last night: Window-Boy was the star of it. It was a bittersweet dream, I was hanging out with Window-Boy and his wife ... watching their behavior together ... and it made me feel a bit lonely, but also like he was okay in his life, he was doing okay ... which, in real life, I am not always so sure of. It was a strangely comforting dream.
8. Your favorite drink: bloody mary
9. Your dream car: champagne colored jaguar
10. The room you are in: bedroom
11. Your ex: confusion
12. Your fear: being alone when i'm old
13. What you want to be in 10 years: writer, wife, mother
14. Who you hung out with last night: myself
15. What you're not: ambidextrous
16. Muffins: no
17: One of your wish list items: Jean Harlow biography
18: Time: space
19. The last thing you did: talked with Flynn, made an appointment for tonight
20. What you are wearing: black fleece hoodie, the black pants Jean made me get this last weekend, black fishnet socks
21. Your favorite weather: rain, cold, grey
22. Your favorite book: harriet the spy
23. The last thing you ate: I made pancakes
24. Your life: mine
25. Your mood: good
26. Your best friend: I'm lucky - I have a couple
27. What you're thinking about right now: laundry
28. Your car: no
29. What you are doing at the moment: sitting
30. Your summer: burning man
31. Your relationship status: hopeful
32. What is on your TV: off
33. What is the weather like: sunshiny
34. When was the last time you laughed: last night. Watched Bringing Up Baby. Cary Grant eating dinner, staring at the dog, standing up still holding his spoon, announcing loudly, "Excuse me" and following the dog out of the room. It NEVER GETS OLD
December 1, 2006
Outtakes
What I would not give to see the following outtakes:
Howard Hawks tells this story about filming Bringing Up Baby. They had such a good time filming it. Hawks and Grant were great friends, Hepburn and Grant were great friends ... everyone had a blast.
In the scene out at the house in Connecticut - after she has stolen his clothes and he is reduced to putting on that jodhpur uniform with the ridiculous Japanese sandals - they come into the bedroom - only to find that the box (which had held the bone) is now empty.
Of course - the script is full of double entendres around the words "box" and "bone". And - well - the first line of the entire film is: Cary Grant sits on the scaffolding, contemplating an enormous bone, with a perplexed look on his face. Then he calls down to his secretary/fiance, "Alice! I think this one belongs in the tail!" She calls back up in a tired voice: "You tried it in the tail this morning."
So all of the double entendres naturally put people in a giddy mood. Cary Grant was supposed to come rushing into the bedroom, see the empty box, and say, "Where's my bone?" Hepburn, innocently, says, "It's in the box."
Apparently - they could not get through these 2 lines without cracking up. They spent an entire day (Hawks was notorious for taking his time filming) TRYING to say the lines. But Grant would start roaring with laughter - or Hepburn would crack up - they would get themselves together and then try again. But the longer it went, the funnier it seemed - until the two of them were apparently completely incapacitated. They were staggering around, weeping, slapping one another - Grant shouting at Hepburn, "WHERE'S MY BONE?" Hepburn shouting back, "IT'S IN MY BOX."
Of course they eventually got it right... but I laugh every time I've read a description of that one hilarious day and SO wish that I could see the footage.
Oh, for a DVD extra!!
Today in History: Dec. 1, 1934
Josef Stalin and Sergei Kirov
Since I'm reading this book right now - I'll finish it tonight - it's only 150 pages long, not even ... I thought it would be appropriate to note that Today in History, 1934 - Sergei Kirov was murdered. (More here.)
The murder was the excuse ... the excuse to launch the terror that would grip the country for a decade after until any opposition was either killed, imprisoned, or completely pacified. (The word "pacification" always gives me a chill - in this context.) Robert Conquest, in his introduction to this book, writes:
This century has seen horrible crimes on a mass scale, culminating in the Jewish Holocaust. No comparison with these can be sustained. But as an individual murder, there is, for various reasons, none to match the Kirov murder.Single events - even accidental ones - have often turned the path of history. The assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand, just over twenty years previously, brought on a perhaps otherwise avoidable Great War. At any rate, that is the only individual crime (or dual crime, since the Archduke's morganatic wife was also killed) with which the Kirov murder can remotely be compared. But even the assassination of the Archduke had no further intrinsic result beyond the crisis leading to war. There was no mystery about the responsibility. No long-lasting politicies were based on any theoretical view of it.
The Kirov murder, however, was made the central justification for the whole theory of Stalinism and the necessity for endless terror.
Of course - Conquest had first published most of his books before the Soviet Union had opened up, before perestroika, glasnost, and all the rest, and he had to pretty much guess at a lot of this stuff. The reports of the "trials", the credulous Western witnesses (Beatrice and Sidney Webb, for example - but there were many other useful idiots), the lack of any reliable documentation ... at least not available to us. Conquest's accomplishment is even that much more astonishing - since he was working almost blind.
As Conquest wrote many years later, in his Great Terror: A Reassessment:
This killing has every right to be called the crime of the century. Over the next four years, hundreds of Soviet citizens, including the most prominent political leaders of the Revolution, were shot for direct responsibility for the assassination, and literally millions of others went to their deaths for complicity in one or another part of the vast conspiracy which allegedly lay behind it. Kirov's death, in fact, was the keystone of the entire edifice of terror and suffering by which Stalin secured his grip on the Soviet peoples.
Chapter 1 of the book I am now reading is entitled "The Murder".
Here's an excerpt:
The Smolny, a handsome structure with a classical front of pillars and pediment, set in its own park facing eastward up the Neva, was where Kirov had his offices. Seventeen years earlier the former aristocratic girls' school had been the headquarters from which Lenin directed the seizure of power. Since the transfer of the capital to Moscow, it had been the center from which not only Leningrad city and province, but the whole Soviet Northwest, was controlled. Kirov's offices and those of other local leaders were on the third floor (i.e., the British second floor).Kirov had returned on 29 November from a plenary session of the Central Committee of the Communist Party in Moscow. The other Leningrad members of that Committee had accompanied him: in particular his number two, and most trusted colleague, the "shockheaded" Mikhail Chudov, Second Secretary of the Leningrad Provincial Committee of the Party; and his other "closest collaborators," as an official biography puts it, the "elegant" I.F. Kodatsky, head of the city's government as Chairman of its Executive Committee; P.A. Alekseyev, Chairman of the Leningrad Trade Unions; A.I. Ugarov, Secretary of the City Committee; P.I. Struppe, Chairman of the Provincial Executive Committee; and B.P. Pozern and P.I. Smorodin, Secretaries of the City Committee, Kirov, Chudov, Kodatsky, and Alekseyev were full members, and the others candidate members of the Central Committee.
They had already reported to the Leningrad Committees, and on the evening of 1 December the whole of the active membership - the aktiv - of the city's party were to assemble for a more public report at the Tavride Palace. Soon after 4 p.m. Kirov arrived at the Smolny to confer with Chudov and others on the text of the report. It was already dark and there was snow on the ground.
According to one official Soviet biography "his personal guard" had accompanied him in his car but did not follow him upstairs into the Smolny. This man, a veteran called Borisov, is described as devoted to Kirov. He had been detained by men of the People's Commissariat of Internal Affairs (NKVD), and is next heard of at Leningrad NKVD headquarters. He had two days to live.
Kirov went up to his office without him, perhaps not noticing that the usual guards on each floor were also absent.
All accounts agree that the assassin had entered the Smolny without difficulty, and gone up to the third floor. He had earlier worked there, and had a good knowledge of the building. He seems to have hidden in a lavatory, from which he watched the arrival of Kirov's car.
Kirov first conferred briefly with Chudov and others. There is some divergence even in official accounts, and more in others, about which room this meeting took place in, but this is of no great significance. In any case, it seems that he left Chudov's office, or more probably his own reception room, and walked along the corridor to his 'working office'. To reach it, he had to make a left turn, which allowed the assassin, emerging from his retreat, to shoot him in the back of the neck.
The next divergence in the accounts is of more significance. In most, only one shot is mentioned or assumed, but some speak of two shots, the second fired by the assassin in a suicide attempt, but missing him and hitting the ceiling. One report has a different explanation for this second shot.
In any case, the assassin fainted and fell beside his victim. Chudov and the others hurried out into the corridor. Kirov was carried bleeding and unconscious into his office and, when the doctors came, was given adrenalin, ether, camphor, and caffeine, but he soon died. The autopsy gives in great detail the path of the bullet and its effects. It was also established that a Nagan revolver was used, and that this was what was found near the assassin. Meanwhile, NKVD men arrested the unconscious killer, and Chudov telephoned the news to Moscow.
The murder was not done on impulse. The assassin had been preparing his act since the summer. But after various setbacks, his final written plan of the campaign is dated 1 November 1934, in the interrogation records.
It will be seen that there were already some suspicious circumstances. The mere fact of an assassin seeking to kill Kirov is easily enough understood (though his precise motives remained to be established). The question was, how did he get the opportunity? Why were the Smolny guards absent? Where was Kirov's own bodyguard?
Or, to put it another way, who gave him his chance, and why?
Photo of Kirov's funeral procession. Note the presence of Stalin behind the casket. Unbelievable.
In the first days when Leningrad was orphaned, Stalin rushed there. He went to the place where the crime against our country was committed. The enemy did not fire at Kirov personally. No! He fired at the proletarian revolution.�Pravda, 5 December 1934
Blank covers ...
I've thought a couple times about writing a post focusing on books I bought merely because of the cover. I love the whole cover-design thing - I find it fascinating - especially when I have bought a book just because the cover appealed to me ... and sometimes ... not often, but sometimes ... these random books whose covers literally called to me ... have turned out to be some of my favorite novels ever. (Hopeful Monsters is a great example - however, the edition of the book out now does NOT have the cover that it had when I bought it ... and I have to say, I probably wouldn't have bought it, impulsively, with its current cover. I shiver to think of not having discovered that book merely because of the cover design!!)
So, speaking of book covers - I love this whole idea:
According to consumer research, when we decide whether or not to buy a book, cover design is always the most important thing. Despite this, we'd like to introduce you to a new series of books called My Penguin.We're throwing open six of our favourite Classics by publishing them with naked front covers and we'd really love for you to be involved - and to have as good a time coming up with covers as we've had in putting the series together.
The 6 books are:
Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment
The Brothers Grimm, Magic Tales
Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Oscar Wilde, Picture of Dorian Gray
Jane Austen, Emma
So cool! The books were released - with reader-designed covers - yesterday.
Scroll down here to take a look at the gallery of covers they have received from people (you can click on them to enlarge the images). A 5 year old sent in her design for Picture of Dorian Gray - ha! Love it!! But there are so many cool images in the gallery - really fun to look at.
The one below might be my favorite, though:
Proust questionnaire ...
Anne's answering a bit of it at a time. I love that Oscar Wilde and Louis MacNeice are mentioned.
The film criticism blog-a-thon
Matt Zoller Seitz (whose group blog The House Next Door is a must-read for anyone into any kind of entertainment - movies, TV, whatever it is - GREAT blog - running commentary on The Wire, Dr. Who, Battlestar galactica, Lost, The Sopranos ... in-depth really fun essays - top-notch writing) - anyway, Matt asked me to participate in Andy Horbal's Film Criticism Blog-a-Thon - Matt asked film bloggers and movie reviewers to submit pieces on their 5 favorite film critics, to be posted on House Next Door (they should be up tomorrow) - and I was so thrilled to be asked to participate. I've been reading Matt's reviews for a while now - mainly in the NY Press - and I'm a wee bit addicted to his blog - so I'm really flattered that he approached me. My piece isn't up yet - but go check out the links at the main Blog-a Thon page: starting here - Yum!!
Diary Friday
I didn't know what to write in honor of today, which is World AIDS Day. Alex, of course, cuts to the heart of the matter. And there's also this montage.
Two of my best friends have this disease. And I think of Joey, Michael ... those I knew who have passed ... young young people ...
I decided to post a diary entry from the summer of 1996.
I wanted to write something in honor of today, and I immediately thought of the summer of 1996, so I went digging for the journal to find it. I knew what the journal itself looked like (I'm crazy like that) - and found it in no time. It's a big old-fashioned ledger book. I read the entries I was looking for. And suddenly, the terror and the grief came flooding back. That was 10 years ago. TEN YEARS AGO. In those first few moments ... I thought that my best friend would die within the year. It was a death sentence. The thought was so wrenching that when I think of Alex - losing ALL of her friends - having to say goodbye to ALL of her friends ... I just don't know how one survives it. I mean, we do ... we all survive horrors, grief can be lived with, endured ... but my memory of those first moments remain (although I never think about them anymore). My best friend is still here. He is healthy. But he is HIV positive. But when I "got the call" in 1996, it was as though the clock suddenly sped up - sands racing through the hourglass - no time, no time left at all ...
This is in remembrance of all of those who have lost someone to this dread disease, this is in remembrance of all of those who have passed. This is also in honor of those who continue to fight the disease, those who live with it, those who walk side by side with it every day.
I am lucky. I am lucky that my two friends are still alive. That I can cherish every stinking moment that I have with them. I have been given that time. By modern medicine. Others were not so lucky.
Remember them today.
JULY 3 1996
Finally talked to my dear MJF. It's been way too long. We are constantly either exactly neck and neck or one step ahead of one another. I mean that - we talk - and it has been over a month since I saw him - and of course we did the whole catching up thing - but - we don't have to explain ourselves. I said one sentence about plannig the shower, and he knew every button it would push in me. Like: "Were you stressed about the cards?"
JULY 11, 1996
Words.
So sad. I can't even begin to express this.
It's odd - troubling - amusing - how used to looking for the drama I am - I act out uncertain moments in my head - to prepare -
It's a comfortable known place - the playacting
It's absurd what - comes up - surfaces - when death is involved
My thought process today - I mean it is absurd where my mind went and is still going. Then I catch myself. Look at yourself! I mean, I know I am in shock.
I can't realize it yet. It is like I am in a nightmare.
I forget and then remember again. Dash of cold water --
It's MJF.
I just can't - Or - I can ...
And I was at my desk today - doing my stupid job - thinking and thinking - in some sort of horrible dream - but - still - not really feeling it -
Then somewhere - it - smacked me on the side of the head - out of left field - I was gasping - and holding my heart -
and then it subsided -
leaving me cold and achey again.
I bought a ticket to Chicago forr 2 weeks from today.
JULY 24
Bought a ticket 2 weeks ago to Chicago on the1st - wave of this nightmare.
A waking nightmare.
But now - MJF is a part of this study - the Cocktail - he has been flown to NYC for a month - lots of drugs - it could save his life. It might not. He arrived yesterday.
And now I'm flying tomorrow to Chicago see MJF - only MJF's here in NYC.
JULY 26
I'm in Madison Wisconsin. It's all been a whirlwind. I spent yesterday morning with David and MJF in Hoboken.
MJF.
I saw MJF.
It's all still so freakish - and scary - I can't realize it somehow ...
I have a friend who has a terminal disease now - and - I must adjust. Seeing MJF is - so normal - we're so close - we would have moments of forgetfulness - and we would talk about other things - but then - in the pause that would follow, the virus would always reassert its presence. Jackie said to me, "It's in the room with us."
MJF looks very skinny to me - yet he looks strong. He is on a rigid and scary pill regimen. To skip any one of these pills, to forget - is to let the virus grab the reins. He was decribing to me the sense of urgency in this frantic pill-popping. He's bombarding the virus (and the rest of his body) - To stop is lethal. In my head I got a picture of the crazy whack-a-mole games. I said, "It's sort of like --" and I couldn't get the word out - I did one vague gesture - and MJF nodded and said, "Yeah. Whack a mole."
Beauty.
But he's scared. Terrified. I am too.
Out of nowhere he said, "Oh, Sheila. What have I done to myself?"
He has it.
He has it.
I just can't get used to it yet.
I feel that he is very blessed to be part of this study - maybe this virus can be regulated - Look at how far they have come in 5 years ... If he can hang on for 5 more - who knows what other advances will come ...
But the pills are making MJF sick.
It's horrible to see. I feel so hopeless. No, not hopeless. I feel helpless.
There was lots of hysterical laughing. We all were battling back terror and despair. We talked about this. I felt giddy.
I was walking up the flights of steps to David and Maria's - my heart was pounding. I was about to see MJF and how WEIRD it is that it is here in Hoboken and not in Chicago. What does that mean? Anything? It's got to mean something!
I got to the 2nd flight and I heard MJF's loud wonderful laugh - I love that laugh! - I had a feeling that some crazy tableau was waiting for me. I opened the door. David was standing right there - one arm up against the wall - in a sexy pose - hand on hip - TOTALLY NAKED - with his penis tucked beetween his legs so he looked like he had a vagina - and he said to me coquettishly (which was so grotesque), in a Cockney accent, "Tell me ... am I pretty?"
MJF was around the corner, unseen - and I heard his laugh - that shocked pleased MJF laugh - I tried to comprehend what was before me, could not do it, and turned and walked away. Causing much hilarity.
So there was that element to our time together.
And then there were moments when we'd all well up - or one of us would - There were lots of scared silences during which we'd reach out to touch each other. Silent comfort. We're all so scared.
MJF has mounds of pill bottles - and a chart so he can mark down what he's taken ...
It's so weird - creepy - to actually get used to it. I haven't really begun to do that yet. Except for those first days - I'm sort of blocking now. MJF and I talk a lot on the phone - about the Olympics, his shows, Jeremy - not just AIDS. I realize how good I am at making people laugh when things get heavy. I do that.
We would be having a very serious conversation - I remember one in particular - and then I made some crack - I couldn't help myself - and MJF and David were literally falling down with laughter, staggering about.
I'm not doing it to discount the seriousness. I'm not doing it because I'm uncomfortable with sadness - I'm doing it because I sense in my bones that we need to laugh. I respect that power of laughter. It's not really a conscious thing =- writing it down makes it conscious - but in the moment I just do it.
I mean, that bizarre humor was already inherent in the situation. ("Am I pretty?") David and MJF took me to the Newark Airport, sending me off to visit MJF in Chicago. I mean - WHAT???
It's surreal. I almost didn't want to go. Missing out on time with MJF. But MJF said, "Something's going to happen this weekend, Sheila."
We're all getting into mysticism here.
Trying desperately to MAKE SENSE of this.
God. God be with me.
AUG. 21, 1996
Hoboken. The feeling in the streets there. A nice wind. Wide sidewalks. Entrepreneurs. Walking towards my friends - could see Jim's walk clearly.
Meeting. Hugs. Maria looks beautiful. Just beautiful.
Restaurant. Red and white tablecloths. The kids - 2 such dif. babies - dominating attention. At one point, all kinds of conversation going on - Maria and Brooke involved in talking - while Emma had Maria's finger in her mouth and Brooke was dangling a toy in front of Mackenzie.
Brooke - cool and beautiful - long denim skirt, birkenstocks, pastel blue toenail polish, no makeup and a peach colored bandana. Fabulous. The 2 of us were awkwardly and hilariously rolling the stroller out of the restaurant and I said to her, "We look like an alternative lifestyles couple." 2 lesbians with their baby. She had been solicited earlier. Pulled over to a cab. "Want to make a little $?" Upset her. "Do I look like a prostitute?" With her baby, her bandana, her sandals ...??
Can't realize that MJF is leaving. The 2 of us ....
I will write him a letter. It is good to be together, yet at the same time it's like we're holding each other at bay right now. Death is between us. We even tried to admit to each other tonight. We hugged goodbye and I felt nothing. Cold as a stone.
Denial. So deep. I could barely appreciate him, so much else was going on ...
We are now forming a new friendship in a new landscape.
I made an awkward bumbling toast - to being together, to love, to health, to MJF - I wanted to try to break through my own banality. We haven't all been together since David and Maria's wedding. 1992. Years.
Maria's wonderful emotional approving "Yes, let's" smile across the table at me when I raised my glass -
Clink.
MJF ... I think he's afraid to go there. As I am. Before this whole study happened - there were those 2 or 3 days of - terror. God. It is all so surreal. How to talk about it. How to honor it. I have no idea.
I had brought Liz's angel cards. The ones she gave me. We each picked one.
Jim - Beauty
Me - Healing (God. And the Angel Card of last new Year's Eve: Openness - That prepared me. I have to be open in order to heal.)
MJF's was tres interasant: Obedience.
Wow. That brought a coldness over the table. None of us could really deal wtih it.
David - Courage
Maria - God, what did she get? Oh yes. Peace.
Brooke also got courage.
Interesting point: People took out their cards and were keeping them - when actually you sholud put the card right back into the pile.
So David picked Courage, passed the plate to Maria - she picked - and then passed it to Brooke - who glanced around the table - and anxiously said, "Everyone should put their cards back in! You sholudn't keep them!"
So we all put them back in, she shuffled them up - and she got Courage too. So - subconsciously - perhaps she knew what she needed.
I love all that. Helps me make sense of life. Helps me bear things. Helps me have joy.
We are all so exhausted. So scared.