Here's Your Hat...

Though it sounds very Blondie (the comic strip, not Deborah Harry), I need one more (hat). It's so hot outside that I'm delaying errands until early evening (when the hail & thunder will no doubt arrive...timing is not my forté), hence the hat hunting. The b&w Nina Leen photographs were shot for fun. Perhaps that's why Suzy Parker popped the goofy number on her head. It's definitely a case of "one of these things is not like the others." (I love the blue dress.) And that's why I need one more hat; I miss my beloved messed-up (real) Panama. It's less girly when that is necessary & it has a coolness factor that I need.

Unfortunately, a few years ago, I left the hat in my mother's car. It was a somewhat contentious weekend & very hot, as well. I painted a lot of trellises, pruned a lot of roses, & whatever else was on her list. She popped out to do some errands & a pint of Ben & Jerry's was placed in the upended hat. Panama hats can withstand a lot of abuse, but a desert-battered chapeau will go to hat heaven when it becomes a Chunky Monkey Lake. I don't even like that flavor!

[I can't remember where I got the color Suzy pix but myvintagevogue has a very nice selection, so here's that link. The Panama is via Village Hat Shop (dot) com]

Week's End - Café Stories

People have suffered enough this week with my unedited goofball antics. But I have a little café story. As I was gathering my things to leave, I fell/draped over a small table (see above) when I espied a man on whom I had a severe, disabling crush walk in. It was my secret (until then). The two friends who'd shared my wine (one white wine glass!) shared my mortification--hey, the whole outdoor audience, shared in it. Oh, it got better. I abruptly raised up from the waist (think cobra position), turned around (to run away, of course, wouldn't YOU?), & fell right into/over the chair in which I'd been sitting for 2 hours. Skinned my knees, broke a sandal strap, my sunglasses. The psychic damage would have been awful...but he asked me out after he pulled me up off the sidewalk.

Here's to a lovely weekend, whatever you have planned. (Watch your step.) A big thank you to Kristin Espinasse of French-Word-A-Day fame (well-earned) for the use of her photograph. If you've not been to visit Kristin, you must. I insist. I'll fall right onto your desk if you don't.

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.

Here Kitty, Kitty - Two Drama Queens

Sometimes I act like a cat to get my way. (Yeah, I know.) Julie, Julie please let me give you your medicines. If looks could kill, I would've been a dead mouse last night. Oh woe. Friday Update on previous post, here.

[photograph by Roger Ballen, via Cup of Jo]

The Little Italian Mouse

Whaddya mean you love Topo Gigio? Socialist!

[Jean Seberg & non-Italian mouse from The Mouse That Roared, here.]

The Wind Blows

You don’t need a weatherman
To know which way the wind blows...Subterranean Homesick Blues

It nearly blew me right off my feet. The wind is howling, though it could be the shrieks of villagers with pitchforks & torches.

Good night!

[Photograph via bohemea ]

Pas de chat*

Guess which one I was today? Out & about all over Washington, knocking things over, upending a display at Utrecht Art Supplies. Turning around to catch something & knocking over whatever was on the other side . At the optometrist's I dropped all my bags & picked up my (big) purse the wrong way & dumped everything out onto the floor. In front of a lot of people. I did something at Macy's but I'm blocking it out. Stacks of pajamas or underthings involved. I left a wake of nonsense behind me & thought of Neil Young's Hurricane, & dancing ballerina-hippos.

I did laugh though...trouble is, I don't think anyone could tell I was thinking of a dancing hippo. I just realized it's good I didn't mention it; maybe they would think I claimed to see a dancing hippo. I just might as well go back to my coppery curls.

I shall spend the rest of the evening gracefully balancing a book on my head & channeling Sylvie Guillem. (I would include her link but it's crashed. Ha, her website fell over.) *'step of the cat' - a jump - there's a famous dance of four cygnets in Swan Lake, sixteen pas de chat...show-offs.

ciao

[Lucy at the barre, LIFE archives; lovely ballerina & her swain, Tamara Toumanova & Serge Lifar, Swan Lake, Sydney, 1939-1940 / photographed by Max Dupain/State Library of New South Wales collection which I adore.]