People I Can't Tell Apart

It's not that they look alike.
Kate Winslet looks only like herself. But.....
I always think she is also Cate Blanchett. There is no reason for me to think this except that I always do. Yikes!! They are really different. One always plays Queen Elizabeth, I think, and makes herself look really old and unattractive--she will step in for Vanessa Redgrave one day--the other one plays sort of crumply messed-up modern girls. Is that it?

Now these two do look alike and the first thing I always do when I have one of their books--the first thing I do when I read any book--is scrutinize the author photo. I am deadly at this. I take note of everything, right down to the linoleum. In fact, author Tom Robbins at one time had the same kitchen tile as I do. Yup, the very same. I say at one time because probably he isn't like me and gets around to upgrading his kitchen more than I do. Mine is still here if he wants to see it.
Wait. This is getting away from me.
Anyway, I certainly know who Stephen King is. I don't read horror books as a rule, but I've read a couple of his and they are good. He is a wonderful essayist and I assign one of his very good ones in my class. I like to think I am contributing to his income in a small way. Steve! Dude! Plug my book! Take me out for dinner! We can split the brownie sundae!
I adore Garrison Keillor and nobody understands love better than he does, which may sound odd, but I am reading his book Liberty about a 60-year-old guy who falls in love with a 28-year-old girl and contemplates throwing his life up in the air and going off with this girl to points unknown. I can already tell he's going to stay with the wife. Fine.
Anyway.
I always marvel to myself how alike the two are. Big square skulls, TV screen foreheads, slump shoulders, floppy old-style hair, and long long long sentences with a flair for specific details. SK obviously is given totally free rein by his publisher. I can't imagine what his first drafts must look like. They must be carted around by wheelbarrow. His computer must weigh several tons.

I don't want to go on too long myself. Maybe next time we can discuss whether Gordon Brown is the same person as Dudley Moore, except Moore is dead. This won't stop my confusion, though.
A bientot
love,
becky

A: Honey?
B: Yes, dear?


A: Did you remember to turn off the oven?
B: Aren't there like twelve employees at our house who can do that?
A: No one knew you were toasting Pop Tarts. It's probably still on.
B: Yeah, so? When was the last time someone made dinner at our house?
A: Is that a dig?
B: No, of course not.
A: A slam against me?
B: Jesus. No.
A: Is it? Because I can take this opportunity to go off with John Mayer. You can have HIS date. Haha.
B: Very funny, darling.
A: You probably have secret plans to meet her anyway.
B: Oh, right. No, of course not.
A: I don't know if I believe you.

JA: Honey?
JM: Yeah. Hi! Hey, man.
JA: Are you listening to me?
JM: Yeah. God, man, long time no see. How ya doin'?
JA: Did you think I looked good when I stood up there?
JM: Oh yeah. Definitely. Hey, how are you? Good to see you.
JA: Do you think Brad felt just a little pang? Don't you think I'm a couple of pounds thinner than she is?
JM: I'd say so. Dude! Vanity Fair party--I'm there!
JA: I think my skin might be a little better.
JM: Hey man, order me a drink, okay?

Robin: You are such an asshole.
Sean: Shut the fk up.
Robin: You didn't even thank me in your speech. Why am I even here with you?
Sean: Cause you're using my credit card, you bitch.
Robin: Look how happy everybody else is.
Sean: Life is good, baby, and it will be better after our divorce.
Robin: I can't count on you for anything.
Sean: I'm a great actor. You can count on me for that.
Robin: Oh yeah. You probably left the oven on too.
Sean: That's cause I'm hoping you'll put your head in it.

Still fantasizing about the 81st Oscars, dear reader. Feel the joy.
A bientot
love,
becky

New York Fashion Week--Les Miserables

All pix are from the Boston Globe and if they are not visible here, it's because they busted me for it. Come on, you guys, let's work it together, eh?
Fashion has always been the realm of Coolness, but sometime in the last twenty years or so, it became the realm of the Seriously Pissed Off.
I mean nobody looks happy. Ever.

And really why would you if you had to look like this? From Marc Jacobs, one of the swell lines available today. I would pay this girl twenty dollars to walk into Hannaford's and argue about her change.


This girl too. Although they'd probably hand over all the change and money in the till because they thought she was a robber. Okay, just a minute, maam, there's another twenty under here. Oh, I'm sorry. Don't shoot me, okay?

I guess Marc Jacobs is into anonymity or something like that. HONEY, IS THAT YOU? ARE YOU PLAYING SOYLENT GREEN AGAIN?

I promise this is the last Marc Jacobs. This woman will beat the living shit out of you with her hundred-foot-long scarf which has nails on the end of it. You will have to pay a hundred bucks or so. Her hair is not only ratted, but there is a real rat living in it.

Mickey Rourke possibly, just possibly, is the very last person you'd expect to see at a fashion show. Maybe he wrestled some of these girls. Or did their hair. But he certainly conveys the Very Unhappy Look that everyone covets.

This is more like what we're used to, sort of the Heroin Princess Cadaver style from Erin Fetherston. Can you see those high heels? I had stilts as a kid that weren't that high.

Um, this is menswear. I guess. Sort of a Halloween Colombine Shooter Nostalgia.

This could fly at Hannaford's. Or I could wear this on my walk up Berlin Road and scare those goddamn dogs that always bark at me. You have to be able to speak in a monotone to pull it off, though. PLEASE STAND CLEAR.
And finally, one last girl who is smiling. Smiling because she knows her career is over, because she will be beaten senseless backstage for falling down in front of the audience.

PLEASE LOOK AT THIS GIRL'S ARM, WILL YOU? LOOK AT IT CAREFULLY. SEND HER A SANDWICH TODAY.

I'm going back to Scarf Anxiety. I can't take it.
A bientot
love,
becky

BL--BL--BL--

You know what they are, dear reader. Yaay!!!

The current crop includes some old favorites, such as "We found out my dog had Lime Disease"
(no more tequila for Fido!!!)

and some new ones too: "I have a bunch of moose's and hairspray to help me get ready to go out."
And really, why couldn't a moose give grooming advice? If you don't count the flies and ticks, they are certainly hygienic and probably ego-invested as all hell in those antlers they have. I'm sure certain configurations invite taunts of sissiness as do certain human styles. HEY!! DUMBASS!!!! WHAT'S WITH THE BABAR EARS!! DID YOU GET THOSE FROM YOUR MOMMY! YOU ARE SO GAY!!!

But to move on.

"I didn't know how I would coupe at first."

I tried convertibling and later on hatchbacking and even a bit of stationwagoning, but none of them helped.

"In my bedroom you will see starch white walls."
Well, you know, maybe this one isn't a blooper. Perhaps mashed potatoes have been thrown at the walls for so many years that the flowered wallpaper has actually been covered up. Or hominy grits. Yuck.

"My dog was tied up with his long red leash barking and running around."
That is one scary leash.

"These are things I try to do on a daily biases."

"Some scientists at Perdue University....."


""My bed size is a full with a big corduroy confronter."

Busy today, dear reader. A bientot
love,
becky

If I Could Be in a Painting

I love Matisse for his wallpaper of course. No one does better swirly patterns than he and I believe I could spend eternity in this dining room looking out at the lovely lawn, even if I had to be a servant. Someone has been in here recently, drinking liqueur and making a mess of these fruit trays. But they are easy to fix and give me a good chance to leave a note in with the lemons. It's all part of the secret correspondence I have going on with the butler. Oh, you didn't think I'd be fooling around with the stable boy, did you? God.

After leaving the note, I have to take my excitement and go to my room. Here I am in Woman Reading, trying to contain myself. I save my lover's notes and read them in private. I almost have some of them memorized. I have to be careful and so pull myself into the corner. I like to think no one can find me.

My mother would have said, "You're going to put your eyes out"and indeed it is a bit dark in here, but you know these old houses. Lots of tchotschkes on that bureau and it looks a bit mussed, but you know, I just don't have the time. My sweetheart has given me all these pretty things, including the unfinished painting lying on its side next to me. It will be so much fun to find a place for it on the wall. He says it is of his ancestor, but I think it isn't.

I do love the family I serve, especially the young mother and daughter. Here they are in Moorish Screen. The husband has just taken them to Turkey to purchase this extravagant item and it now has to be displayed prominently in the parlor. They have continuous parties for their friends to come view it and that gives me a lot of work. Even Madame gets a bit weary of it and I think you can see that in the way she leans on the mantelpiece. I mended the girl's pink dress and she does look charming with her maman.

Later, when they have gone to the opera, I practice my etudes. I am a brilliant composer but no one knows it. This is called The Pianist. Again I like this room because of the wallpaper.

Finally, I go for a walk and get a Glimpse of Notre Dame in the Late Afternoon.


Thanks to the great and wonderful HM. Bloopers next time, dear reader.
A bientot
love,
becky

What I Forgot About Paris

Concorde Metro stop







Touring Montmartre with Joseph and new friends.







Marcel Ayme wrote Le Passe-Muraille or The Walker-Through-Walls, which this statue commemorates.














Others think they can come through too.












Oh, go ahead.











The Moulin de la Goulette is in Montmartre and different from the Moulin Rouge. Both are in the lap dance section of Paris. Don't ask.









Christmas decs on the Champs Elysees.









Vive le France!!!









If you walk across the street and you are still alive, you see this.
















And this.





Down the other end of the Champs. Actually, I can't remember what this was. I forced my daughter to pose for this.









The Obelisk on the Place de la Concorde where the guillotine stood. Pull your scarf a little tighter.












I look just like her, don't I?













entering the Louvre and marveling










In the Louvre competing with Mona.









Arkansas reunion at Luxembourg Gardens











Putting things into perspective.










Uncomfortable up in the Eiffel Tower





Finally, and how can you ever say finally, but here is my best picture. I think it is pretty good. My daughter is in it. Can you see her?






I am still in love.
A bientot,
becky

Good Things About February

1. Um.

2. Well?

3. Uh, well.

4. I guess that's about it.


Seriously, there are some decent things to celebrate this month. Let's start over.

1. Outdoor winter sports such as skiing, snowboarding, ice skating, etc. Some people like them. I guess this is a good thing. Then again some people don't. Let's ask Bette what she would say.

GOD. GET ME OUT OF HERE. LIGHT THE FURNACE AND DON'T CHINTZ ON THE BAILEY'S.

2. Groundhog Day. This reminds us that winter is finite. It will end. Maybe in only six weeks. Let's ask Scrooge what he would say. Well, I guess he always says the same thing and let's say it with him, dear reader. That's right, BAH HUMBUG! SAME TO YA! UP YOURS! WHATEVER! Okay, okay.


3. Truck Day for the Red Sox. The day the Red Sox get all their equipment shipped from Fenway Park to Fort Myers. Pitchers and catchers report soon. By the way, I love this verb "report." I picture them all saluting and wearing military uniforms. Let's ask funny man Don Rickles for a comment on Truck Day.

TRUCK THIS! YOU'LL BE LUCKY IF YOU SEE FORTY DEGREES IN YOUR LIFETIME! TAKE MY WIFE! TAKE MY WIFE TO FORT MYERS! (Don may be channeling Henny Youngman, actually).

4. Hot chocolate. You really can't argue with it.

5. Valentine's Day



Yeah, har!!! Maybe this will be the year I get three dozen red roses delivered to my house. What was that, Bette?

MAYBE THIS WILL BE THE YEAR PIGS WILL FLY.

Hey, I'm trying, okay? I'm going to cross my fingers, dear reader, and hope for the best. I'm going to enjoy the coziness of a cold February day, knowing I can't possibly be expected to go outside and walk in it. I'm going to take an extra nap. I'm going to spend an extra hour reading something fun (Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation is my latest). Weather should be a backdrop for our lives, not our lives. Right? Is anybody buying this? A bientot


love,
becky