Week's End - Walkies

I just watched a video taken while trying to figure out the web camera.* No, I did not know it was recording. I leave for a while, come back with braids undone, wearing a big scarf, coat, & red lipstick. Julie hops up & looks in the lens. Then more of me looking puzzled, biting my lip (stop it!), sighing & rolling my eyes (yes, at me). Score by Bach. No, I am not embedding it here. Julie neglected to take a photo of herself...she just fought me while I held her up to the camera...then proceeded to have an asthma attack. Guilt. I'm going for a walk.

*But, you say...that photo of you & Julie during the snowpocalypse in February, you knew how to take a web shot. Um. I recently realized that it's all fuzzled because I hadn't taken off the, um, protective film.

(plaid coat by laura trevey via rachel follet/lovely clusters)

Making an Exit

Every exit is an entrance somewhere else.--Tom Stoppard

Making an exit, planned or not, is almost always an option. Hold your head high while doing so. If you are pulled together with flattering lipstick & comfortable (but pretty!) shoes, it really helps. Armor thyself. Do not run away as if on fire. (Unless being chased by a lunatic. If you are on fire, believe me, you have other things to worry about. Remember: stop, drop, & roll.)

I've slunk through bookshop & library shelves, wound around corridors, exiting through a catering area more than once. Yes, I was on the ground. Once I crawled out of a club on my hands & knees through the kitchen. (I no longer do these things.) This is in response to a friend who told me that he cannot attend an event because of someone's possible appearance. But I've done the same, so I can't wag my finger at him. (I did not advise him to wear lipstick, no.)

(I'm turning off comments for this post only to relieve people from feeling imposed upon to make them.) OK, pressure's on. Just opened the comments.

(photograph via AMC of Joan/Christina Hendricks because she's putting on her armor here; plus, I can't see the finale of Mad Men until it downloads on iTunes tomorrow - mimph)

Cutting Up in Black & White, Part One

"Well then, we went and had tea with Henry James today ... and Henry James fixed me with his staring blank eye — it is like a child's marble — and said 'My dear Virginia, they tell me — they tell me — they tell me — that you — as indeed being your fathers daughter nay your grandfathers grandchild — the descendant I may say of a century — of a century — of quill pens and ink — ink — ink pots, yes, yes, yes, they tell me — ahm m m — that you, that you, that you write in short.' This went on in the public street, while we all waited, as farmers wait for the hen to lay an egg — do they? — nervous, polite, and now on this foot now on that." --Virginia Woolf

From today's Writer's Almanac site. (Thank you, dear Garrison.) As solemn as I am today (& lately), this made me laugh out loud. It's the natal day of Henry James. I will elaborate, in the summer, on the big huge embarrassing booboo gaffe scene I made /committed/created in an academic department one fine spring day. Briefly, then...I was caught mocking James, his plots, sentences, & the stentorian-voiced (female) professor who taught his oeuvre--ahem. (Let me be clear: she was a literary luminousa & scary. Grown men quaked in her presence.) My impromptu comedy skit, including different voices--when I go for it, I go big, people--was a hoot; everyone laughed until they cried (or peed their pants.).Then all went suddenly silent. The sickening realization that, holy cow-wow, she's right behind me. Right? Where is everyone going? You're leaving me alone? Cowards!

I blame...my mother (of course I do). Yes, and all relatives & family friends who encouraged me to perform, to mug for their cameras, & generally to entertain them. It had a weird effect of making me even more shy--except when performing. (And now, they want me to pull a Tina Fey. Too late, people. Besides, do you realize that you will be in this stuff? Huh?)

It cannot be overstated how often my mother was stopped & asked: do you know who you & your little girl remind me of? Also what cannot be overstated is how much my second sister looks like the young Shirley. [Photographs by Allan Grant in 1957/LIFE archives]

PS: Mom, et al: you asked for it. What can I say? You have a few months to procure hush money.