On the Ceiling

No more of ceiling talk unless it's about Fred in Royal Wedding. (If you have Netflix Instant, it's available.)

The vote passed, there really was no choice. However, I am furious at the cuts that will be exacted upon the backs of those who can least afford it. My screech on that will be written next week when I have enough bandwidth to research properly.

(photograph via Fred Astaire Annex)

Shakespearean Insult Kit

Thou vain sheep-biting malt-worm!
Thou spleeny hell-hated puttock!
Thou dissembling rump-fed jolt-head!
Thou saucy ill-nurtured bum-bailey!

That will get you started. But then visit the Shakespearean Insulter for more taunts & disgusted (& amusingly disgusting) descriptives.

I've been using it on Twitter (along with virtual cream pies). Because truly I need to blow steam. I am ready to burst due to the insanity here in DC. (And really, elsewhere, it's not just here).

In a coffee shop. Yes, I'm still here.

(photograph probably by uncredited still photographer Bob Penn/The Taming of the Shrew)

In Moments of Quiet

“Now, it isn’t that I don’t like you, Susan because after all, in moments of quiet, I’m strangely drawn towards you… but there haven’t been any quiet moments.” -Cary Grant as Dr. David Huxley, Bringing Up Baby, 1938

Several boyfriends know just how Cary feels. (They're still my friends, though. I think that speaks well of me. And Julie is nothing like that naughty Baby.) Only Cary could look handsome wearing Kate Hepburn's clothes.

I had photographs of people running, but nothing quite does it today. I'm running only in my mind. I was an unofficial cop (again!) on Saturday, feeling tottery, & in clothes not fit to be seen - maybe even by Julie the Cat. I stayed up too late rereading Enduring Love because Marie-Laure at AUREA is reading it & I wanted to discuss it with someone. This completely undid the relaxation of re-watching Annie Hall.

And (her voice rising), I'm being tempted by a friend: Do you want your birthday gift on Wednesday or on your birthday? Oh no. Decisions. Could you resist this? "I battled Huns, Goths, Mongols, Vikings, Zulus, Picts, and Celts...at...to...obtain.."

So, I'm posting dumber stuff than usual for a week if you want to skip checking in. I need to maintain a schedule & this is why I'm not 'gone fishing'. As always, there are good links here & on Giulia Geranium. I've seen so many good posts today & over the weekend that if I link to them, the feedburner thingy will blow up both blogs.

(But I recommend checking out the Truthiness Rally - or Operation Strike of Truthiness--this is a fluid story-- by Stephen Colbert fans. It really does help to laugh. Aussie & European friends, it really is funny & not just American. Friends in Turkey & elsewhere who can't understand English, if you're translating this, facial expressions are funny, too. As evidenced by the film stills above.)

Cheers & I'll do better tomorrow. Really.

[photograph via many tumblrs, here]

All the Way to the End

"Surely all art is the result of one's having been in danger, of having gone through an experience all the way to the end, where no one can go any further. The further one goes, the more private, the more personal, the more singular an experience becomes, and the thing one is making is, finally, the necessary, irrepressible, and, as nearly as possible, definitive utterance of this singularity." --Rainer Maria Rilke

I'm running out of steam for the week, but I've been thinking about Ted Hughes' theory that all art originates from a wound in the artist. He does a better job of 'esplaining it. But Rilke certainly will do.

I heard from a friend today in Prague (he's been living with his wife Vera in an apartment in Prague Castle that Václav Havel arranged for them. It didn't even faze me - of course, you're living in the Castle. I'd already heard but didn't want to spoil his moment.) He is a novelist & filmmaker & friend of perv Milan Kundera. When The Unbearable Lightness of Being was released as book (& then as film later), I asked Arnošt. Well? "Exactly, exactly how it was. That bastard, he did it!" Then he picked me up & whirled me around the room.

It was/is a tight circle of friends/frenemies & a highly competitive bunch, of course: writers, painters, photographers, filmmakers, journos, etc. They supported the "wrong" person in 1968 & were invited to leave. Kundera's success spurred them all on (including director Miloš Forman). I hope someone writes a book about this gang of devils. (There are more.)

Arnošt & Vera lent me 'the borrowed flat' in Jerusalem for many weekends. They sat with me in the - I am not kidding - Elizabeth Taylor Cafeteria...or maybe it was the Frank Sinatra cafeteria (there were two) & tried to make me laugh. One time I got in a car with them. Only once. I was in the back seat with an old friend who then lived in Israel. He started to laugh hysterically...maybe it was the idea of the two of us tootling around the city with our friend--who should never drive (do you hear me, A?) anywhere. Ever. I accessed my "if I go, I go" attitude used to good effect in Greek & Italian taxis. Anyway, those wild & crazy Czechs, they lent me the flat for which I'll be eternally grateful. Now I want to stay at Prague Castle.

Here's to brave people - who, amazingly, miraculously laugh (with a large side of irony). And take it all the way to the end.

[two stills from Unbearable Lightness of Being, still photographer-genius Phil Bray; the "real" iconic photograph via filmwell(dot)org]

Atonement

"Was everyone else really as alive as she was? For example, did her sister really matter to herself, was she as valuable to herself as Briony was? Was being Cecilia just as vivid an affair as being Briony? Did her sister also have a real self concealed behind a breaking wave, and did she spend time thinking about it, with a finger held up to her face? Did everybody, including her father, Betty, Hardman? If the answer was yes, then the world, the social world, was unbearably complicated, with two billion voices, and everyone’s thoughts striving in equal importance and everyone’s claim on life as intense, and everyone thinking they were unique, when no-one was." --From Atonement, by Ian McEwan

Some pretty photographs for the next few days & I hope they will divert bizarre people away from my blogs. I'm being comment-spammed like mad. Found out last evening that my mailing address has been changed (for some things, not sure of extent yet) & much is missing.

I do not apologize for one single thing I have said or written (or thought) the last several days & weeks here...certainly I have much to atone for in my life. But my crime of late, if anything, is silliness. Which never killed anyone. Unless they died laughing. If I die laughing, many years from now (!), I shall be grateful.

I shall respond to your lovely comments & emails. Soon. Difficult week (more than usual) ahead. Cheers, everyone.

[Atonement stills by Alex Bailey - the "happy ending" Briony, in her guilt, her atonement, granted to Cecilia & Robbie. I just reread the novel.]

Good Evening, Bedazzler

Stanley Moon: Apart from the way He moves, what's God really like? I mean, what colour is He?

George Spiggott (Devil): He's all colours of the rainbow, many-hued.
Stanley Moon: But He is English, isn't He?
George Spiggott (Devil): Oh yes. Very upper class.

Peter Cook as the Devil (of course), Dudley Moore as poor little Stanley. There are so many funny scenes, but the quote above because I was a religion major undergraduate, descended from, um, people who are (still) annoyed with the English upper class, etc. Here he is, up to "routine mischief"(it's his job, remember) & his explanation re: Fall from Grace.

Here's a link to the hilarious b&w sequence with Cook as Drimble Wedge, top pop star, filling girls with squeals of delight as he drones on with cold, mean, & dismissive statements. To the utter bewilderment of Dudley Moore's Stanley-as-singer.

Good evening.

[Peter Cook wearing very cool specs via 24media tumblr]

Update-If the blog looks weirder than usual, I'm trying to reinsert Googley Analytics properly. I know that this blog isn't up there with the big dudes, but it is surprisingly well visited. Since changing the template, I have been informed by a computer analysis that no one has visited. Not even the people who have commented. Ahem.

Sunday Shopping - Sailor Stripes

I hate to see people taken advantage of. Ending on a preposition & I do not care. My mother dressed me in these (& sailor collars) from about 3 weeks old - yes, I remember. Late last night, I flipped through a J. Crew catalogue; they've been pestering me with their 20% off emails (one offer ends today - I shall let it go, please read on). In one scenario, a stick-insect girl (not like egret-girl--there is a difference) dripping in frippery. Twisted behind her, a suspiciously familiar striped shirt. I thought: eh what? Only on-line. Hmmm. I just looked.

The Saint James shirt is more expensive than buying it from France (including shipping!). Mine are from France & I did not pay these amounts, so I'm cheesed off on behalf of others. Depending on the number of items purchased the weight, etc. you might be assessed customs/douane. But if you're in the market for one shirt, for heaven's sake do not buy it through J.Crew. Here's a link to Brittany-boutique. It must be the connection between Brittany & Wales. My Welsh is up. Fume.

If you want to buy a coat or several shirts, it may well do to break up your purchases. E-mail the nice guy who runs the shop. If you're in NYC or will be & just cannot wait, well go for it at Saint James boutique. Who am I to tell you that instant gratification is wrong? But I'm not linking to them (unless they buy me off with a free shirt. I'm only half-kidding. But I'd tell you, I really would.).

If you want a similarly made/designed striped shirt, go looking--they're ubiquitous. But I'm telling you, most of the fashionista sites are showing shirts over $USD85 (or made by enslaved people). A good place to look is agelessbeautyalways or go ask Sasha at Liberty London Girl for responsible & fashionable recommendations.

More important: it's the 66th anniversary of D-Day--the Normandy Invasion. If you think that's ancient history, I submit that you are out of your mind. Go stand on those beaches & imagine a cold, horrible Tuesday (it was) with all those Allied soldiers & sailors waiting to wade into that. I can barely think about it. (See? Flaming liberals have feelings.) I decided not to do posts on Giulia Geranium (here's last year's - June 6, 1945 - Only the Beginning ) or here this year. Still...

Back to work. I'll be seeing you.

(photographs via brittany-boutique (dot) com/Audrey T. from a cute site Pink Peony--to the author: props to you for discussing cruelty-free diamonds)

Verba volant, scripta manent

Words fly away, writing remains.

(One of several ways to translate, don't argue, I'm not up to it today. Truly.) Latin Phrases link for amusement. [photograph by Phil Bray]

Top Hat

It's raining, the world is a mess (gee, thanks BP for making it so much worse), but I'm resisting one of my gloomy, moody umbrella photographs. Because of the now-dead-in-the-water "Top Hat" idea to contain the spill in the Gulf, I keep humming the song. From the Fred & Ginger movie. Which is massively irritating & ruining a re-viewing. Fume.

If you missed SNL's cold opening about LLPOF* BP's list o' let's try-it-maybe-it'll work, you should take a peek. The Dolphins with Mops idea -- it will take some time to find a suitable photograph. I'll stick with the stuff I'm writing off-line. But if I could draw...[photographs via brittanica.com & doctormacro.com]

*As in liar, liar + trousers a-lit, smokin', flaming, spontaneously combusting, etc.

Week's End - Mirage/Mirare

Some additional The English Patient stills (by brilliant Phil Bray). I've used them to help with some research/writing prompts & as I'm metaphorically stuck in the desert/Middle East (& Italy), they continue to resonate. The shots in the Cairo apartment were not done there but I could swear they were shot in the Garden City quarter. Those maniacal production artists.

By the way, I recently read the late (so sad) Anthony Minghella's award-winning screenplay & it is well worth buying for any would-be adapters, fans of the film & novel. You'll find that many things you think are in the novel are not - they're in the screenplay; since it didn't bother Michael Ondaatje, it sure doesn't bother me. I am sorry there aren't more stills available of the Hana/Kip story thread; I have some in folders, but that can wait. I'm beyond indulging myself here. [many images from www.availableimages.com/movies/1996/english-patient-the/pictures; other credits, from here. But everything really comes down to Phil Bray.]

Have a great weekend.

Gregory in Black & White

Distressed that racial epithets were hurled at civil rights hero John Lewis & others over the weekend. It stings, it really does. Also homophobic (to be polite about it) screams at Congressman Barney Frank. It's at times like these I clutch my copy of To Kill A Mockingbird & re-order the film from the Netflix Fairy. I saw a dreadful production at Ford's Theatre years ago...it was worth seeing for the sake of the young sons of my then-boyfriend (hate that word). These children were (are) biracial as are some of my family members. Their racist grandmother took us to the play; that was one weird day.

Gregory Peck was a card-carrying, proud liberal, too; that makes the film that much sweeter. And did you know he became a friend of Bob Dylan? Yep. Because of Brownsville Girl. When Dylan received the Kennedy Center Honor, he asked Peck (along with Springsteen) to be part of the festivities. Here's the Peck-narrated video.

It's gonna be a long haul.

[photographs via classicmoviekids.com; alt film guide]

Week's End - Reds

Even though I'm rereading Keats, I have been preoccupied with WWI (& the Russian Revolution). The Sepia Saturday peeps & the Netflix Fairy are to blame. Equally. (Also, cleaning. Because John Reed's Ten Days that Shook the World fell off a shelf & so there you are. Can I blame Warren Beatty, too?) Julie the Cat just purged me from the house finances committee. Uh oh.

[photographs via New York Times & Alt Film guide-www.altfg.com/Clive Coote, uncredited still photographer/Reds]

Felinity in Black & White & Color

Writing in heated exile (no not in Hell, you devils). Complicated feelings & I feel some essays (at least one) coming on; a pile of poems to revise. One new one. I couldn't do without Julie, that's for sure. The fuzzy photograph was an attempt to use the new laptop's web camera before we lost all power (& heat). The four-legged redhead has mostly regained her high spirits; however, she has refused a request to hop off the bed for a re-shoot. I don't blame her.

High winds still, maybe some more snow in a day or so. Not thinking about it now. I hope we can go home on the weekend. Our hosts have been great & I've tried to repay in tulips & two dinners cooked (so far). Also I created a little pop art installation of retro mini Coke bottles with pink baby carnations & green button mums (culled from otherwise dead bouquets). All in a row, on a windowsill. It seems to have gone over fairly well.

[Dr. Zhivago still by Ken Danvers, photographer for David Lean's film via BFI.uk.org/Catherine Deneuve & Coke bottle via LIFE archives/ridiculous webshot of GG et moi via a Toshiba laptop. The Italian book collage is from a scan I did for Giulia Geranium. Maria Caterina di Perugia gave the book to me on one trip back to the States. Now that we are staying at her house, I thought it would look cute over here. Maybe I've posted it before, we'll see what pops up.]

Baby, It's Cold Inside

No, you didn't. Photographs of Bridget Jones & Mooch the Cat as The Dude? Yes, I did. As much as I'd like to indulge a Lara fantasy, this is not Dr. Zhivago. Virtual visits recommence when my fingers unfreeze or I get those fingerless glove thingies. Julie's fur & my hair are slightly blowing in the breeze--inside. ciao

[film stills via imdb & Patrick McDonnell cartoon via San Luis Obispo blog -- ironically enough]

Week's End - Winter Lace

The house at Varykino has been transformed into a sublime white and icy landscape. [by Ken Danvers, still photographer for David Lean's Dr. Zhivago. via BFI.uk.org]

Wednesday, 30 Dec. update: I'm way under-the-weather. Off & on & unpredictable. Hence, more uninspired-than-usual images, etc. Trying to keep stuff current on the GG blog through New Year's Day. Also wondering how nervy I have to be to stretch (in my opinion) fair-use policy. Believe me, I see photographs & images that are cool &/or useful but...it seems, dare I say, wrong. Somehow. Does this keep anyone else awake or at least worried? I've asked this before...over & again on both blogs.

La Danse, le ballet de l'Opéra de Paris

Just returned home from AFI where Frederick Wiseman's documentary is playing in the gorgeous Art Deco Silver Theatre. Now back to real life. [photograph via La Danse site on Facebook]

Magic Casements

Poetry should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance. --John Keats

"Oh fer cryin' out loud, stop with the Keats." Well, no. I was rereading the odes last night, particularly Nightingale...& it's his birthday. What a good excuse to put in some stills from Jane Campion's Bright Star. (The blueandpurple is swoony.) Click on the Bright Star link...it's Jane Campion's interactive production site--storyboards, rehearsal video, production design images, & the like. I still search for photographs of the director's cat, Topper who plays, well, the Cat. (He's a brilliant scene stealer.)

From today's The Writer's Almanac:

It's the birthday of the poet John Keats, (books by this author) born in London (1795), who was just starting his career as a poet in 1818 when a series of brutally negative reviews of his first two books appeared. And then, that same year, Keats learned that his brother was dying of tuberculosis. Keats spent the last few months of 1818 taking care of his brother, who died a few weeks before Christmas. In the wake of his brother's death, Keats moved into a duplex with a friend, and in the other half of the duplex lived a beautiful 18-year-old girl named Fanny Brawne, who became the love of his life. He declared his love to her soon after they met, but he decided not to marry her until he'd secured his reputation as a great poet.

Enemies, A Love Story

Saw it again, only the second time. I forgot how good it is; here's the NYTimes review. Also, dragged the book off the shelf, to re-read. You want a scary Hallowe'en story? Oy. Real life is scary enough. Many people just do not get it. (I just looked at some blogs/sites for images--there aren't many.) Oh well. Life is stranger than...etcetera. (You will also laugh--out loud.)

[photographs via scoopy]

Week's End - Umbrella Girl

Off to procure a large, safe (beautiful) umbrella to weather threatening storms on their unwelcome way. Getting wet with Gregory Peck would be lovely; with the slim pickings in Washington, DC (over the age of interns), I'm choosing the bumpershoot* route. Have a great weekend wherever you are. xo

*or 'bumbershoot'. Stop the arguing over slang for 'umbrella'! Only on the Internet...

[photograph by Constantin Joffe, 1947 via myvintagevogue]

Taking the Waters

Rereading, ruminating, & taking the waters. Apartment style, alas, not in a Czech spa town. Though I have done.
[reading in the bath by Nina Leen/LIFE archives; film still/Unbearable Lightness of Being/still photographer Phil Bray]