In Which I Start Off Talking About The Marx Brothers and End Up Going on Some Rant About Feminist Linguistics.

I am feeling much better today, after having spent a week or so feeling especially persnickity. Maybe because it's my day off and I have no plans to do anything whatsoever. Unless I go see Duck Soup in the park tonight. I do love me some Marx Brothers...

Totally unsurprising fact about me- I own every Marx Brothers movie in existence. I also firmly believe that if one were to combine all of the Marx Brothers into one man, and have him not be dead, that I would totally marry him. At the very least, I would let him hit it.

Surprising fact- I can play "Lydia the Tattooed Lady" and "Everyone Says I Love You" on the ukulele.



This little clip actually brings up something I've been wondering about lately. In all these old movies, people say things like "Are you making love to me?" when CLEARLY no intercourse is taking place- and really, if it was, one would assume that that the lady would be aware of what's going on. Maybe it was one of those Hayes Code things? So now I'm curious as to how the phrase underwent the transition from apparently meaning "flirting", and then to mean "fucking" and then to become an insanely creepy, horrifying and ladybonerkilling way of saying 'fucking'.

I think it's one of those phrases/words that tends to be 87,000 times more shudder inducing to women than it is to men. Like the word "moist." Moist is a terrible word because it is most commonly used to refer to either baked goods or vaginas (or towelettes, but they don't count in this scheme)- baked goods make you think of yeast, and then you bring the ladyparts into it and what do you get? Yeast infection. Bad times for everyone. Mystery solved.

There are a few good reasons for why "making love" is similarly terrible, I think:

1) When you get "the talk" from your parents, this term tends to pop up a lot. At this point in your life, you're probably a little "ew, boy germs" about the whole thing (at least you are if you're 8 and you're me.). Then it's the sort of sex you associate with your parents- which, duh, even if you're the most liberated person ever, you don't so much want to think about it- and thus, also the sort of sex you associate with the baby making process. Which I totally try to avoid, for the sake of all humanity. It's "when a man and a woman love eachother very much and want to have a baby" sex, and that is just too much pressure for any lady to handle.

2) I don't think women are so much comfortable with the idea of two separate kinds of shtupping. Like, it's a good, dirty, fun time if you don't like the person all that much (fucking), and then if you love them it's supposed to be totally boring and involve candles and rosepetals and such (making love). I am so not into rosepetals, and should not be allowed near an open flame for any reason. For me, it evokes that whole scene in The Godfather where Connie's husband is out getting blowjobs from bimbos or something, and then won't let her do it because she's the mother of his children and is thus supposed to be a saint or something.

3) For me, anyway, it's something that elicits a red alert when used by a dude I don't know too well. You know, because either he's trying to pull the old boyfriend fake-out, or he's a genuine creep who thinks he's your soulmate 10 seconds after meeting you.

4) It sounds censored, and one gets the feeling that if you have to use a priggish, Haye's code sounding euphemism like that for sex, you're not all that comfortable with it. Thus, you are probably not all that good of a time. Blah.

Movies I Think You Should See (That Are Free Online)

For your convenience, and because I love you, I have compiled a list of some of my all time favorite movies that you can actually see online, for free! Yay!



Now, Voyager - If we are at all aquainted, you've probably heard me mention this movie at least 45,000 times. Bette Davis is spinster aunt who gets sent to Claude Rains' sanitarium, gets a makeover, goes on a cruise, meets Paul Heinreid and is all sorts of glamorous and selfless, and you will cry at the end. A lot.



Cat on a Hot Tin Roof - "Why do I always feel like a cat on a hot tin roof?" Because you *are* hot, Elizabeth Taylor. And so is Paul Newman. Burl Ives, not so much, but the other two make up for it.



The Philadelphia Story - Starring Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart. Kate plays a fiery socialite set to marry a kind of lame nouveau riche type dude, Cary Grant is her far more exciting ex husband, and Jimmy Stewart is a journalist covering the wedding. It's yar, darling, really it is.



Holiday - Another picture starring Katherine Hepburn as a fiery socialite and Cary Grant as a love interest, except this time it's Grant who's engaged to the lame person, Hepburn's sister in the movie.



Dark Victory- "I'll have a large order of prognosis negative!" Another Bette Davis picture, which could have been ruined by the presence of Ronald Reagan in it, but is not. Also, a young Humphrey Bogart is so retardedly sexy in this movie that you may have to fan yourself.



The Lady From Shanghai - "I told you, you know nothing about wickedness." I promise you that this movie will rock your face. If you've never seen it, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.



Camille - My favorite book, movie, and opera. Greta Garbo stars as Marguerite Gautier, the original hooker with a heart of gold (also, consumption). You actually may want to watch this before "Now, Voyager" to get some of the references.



Grand Hotel - If you were ever wondering what movie it was where Garbo says "I vant to be left alone"- it would be this one. And it is glorious.



Affair in Trinidad - Since "Gilda" is not available, here is another teaming of Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford, where Miss Hayworth is a glamorous femme fatale, that I happen to be especially fond of.



Horsefeathers- I heart the Marx Brothers. This movie includes the song "Everyone Says I Love You" and is generally quite awesome.

Enjoy!

And also some other things?

God- I won't shut up lately, will I? It's probably not the best idea considering I've been feeling so curmudgeonly lately, what with the weather and all.

But do you know who makes me happy always? Katherine Hepburn. It's true, and this interview is awesome.

I plan on staying in tonight, as I remain phoneless until tomorrow, and have plans for tomorrow (actually suspect I have a number of plans... but I don't recall what they are), and Sunday is of course the first Sunday Night Sex Show of the new year (7:30! The Burlington! Do not be square!) So I am going to play hermit this evening, because in addition to that stuff, I just bought prizes and new movies and am not made out of money. So I will stay at home and watch them and be all sorts of hermity.

What movies, you ask? Awesome ones. On VHS. Most of which I have seen but do not own (or did own and no longer have, like The Philadelphia Story, which I once lent to someone and never got back. You know who you are! I also had to buy another copy of "A Confederacy of Dunces" thanks to your evil non-returning-of-stuff ways!)- but here is the list. Because I'm bored.

- As previously mentioned, The Philadelphia Story
- Camille (Which is just one of my favorite movies ever, I lost it the last time I moved, sadly.)
- Stella Dallas
- Arsenic and Old Lace
- Platinum Blonde
- Lady Killer- the only one I haven't seen! Starring James Cagney! Who I think is neat!

By the by, speaking of old movies that no one gives a crap about but me, I should tell you that you have not lived until you have seen me have a bit too much to drink and try to explain the plotline of Gilda to people who haven't seen it yet (which, weirdly, is something I tend to do somewhat often). It involves hair flipping, and singing and dancing, and the occasional attempt to recite this scene from memory. I try not to brag, you know, but this really is an exceptional talent of mine.

Colours seen by candlelight will not look the same by day (or what I did with my Amazon gift cards)

I just found the letters of Elizabeth Barrett and Robert Browning (both volumes!) on Amazon for $9.74. I've never owned a copy- but when I was a kid, I really wanted one- I was absolutely in love with it. I'd sit indian style in the middle of the aisle in the library for hours when I was like, 9 or so reading the huge leatherbound copy they had of it there. I think it was almost bigger than I was. I never took it out for some reason, I just read it while I was there. But now I will own my own copy, which I'm sure will not be huge, or leatherbound, but it will be mine- and that will be quite nice.

So I got that, and also The Wordy Shipmates by Sarah Vowell (which I've heard so-so things about, but whatever, I like her), 2666 by Roberto Bolano, Phillip Roth's new book, because I love him, and a biography of sorts about Hepburn and Tracy, and Fantasy Island Season 1, and also The Lady from Shanghai (which, weirdly, I do not own), and the Greta Garbo Signature collection. Because I plan on being Garbo-esque this winter. Not so much in terms of being glamorous and mysterious, because everytime I attempt such things I spill coffee on my blouse or fall off of a curb. It's more that I just really, really hate to be cold.

My favorite Jimmy Stewart Holiday movie is not in fact "It's a Wonderful Life"

The Joy of A Secular Christmas

Like Torie Bausch, Christmas has never been a religious holiday for me. Duh- because I'm an athiest. I never felt any guilt, like she did, in "secularizing" it though, as I figure Christians try to ruin enough stuff I like that it's only tit for tat :). Both of my parents were raised Catholic (my father still sort of is and will occasionally try to get us to go to midnight mass, but he usually passes out before then anyway), so it's something they grew up with and just continued doing, I suppose.

But, even as a heathen, there are lots of things I like about Christmas. Perhaps I am just a festive person.

1. The Shop Around the Corner- which is the movie I refer to when I say that my favorite Jimmy Stewart christmas movie isn't "It's a Wonderful Life." It was once remade as a crappy movie in the 90's starring Meg Ryan, Tom Hanks and AOL, but as I've never seen that version, it has remained untainted.

2. Laura Nyro- Christmas and The Beads of Sweat- it's not really a Christmas album per se, but it's what we listened to at my house during the holiday anyway. Laura Nyro is one of those things I have in common with my parents and no one else at all, so it's kind of nice.



3. Lobster- being that my parents were raised Catholic, we still eat seafood on Christmas Eve, and my Dad makes baked stuffed lobster because it's my favorite thing ever.

4. Seeing my parents and sister, because it's one of the few times a year I get to do so.

I can't give you anything but love, baby

Love in the 90's


Bullshit in the 2000's... (or what I did on Thursday night)

Boy (via text message)- What r u up to?
Robyn- Watching Bringing up Baby.
Boy- Huh?
Robyn- It's a Katherine Hepburn picture
Boy- Come to ___.
Robyn- It's 1am. I can't.
Boy- That's stupid. Come out.
Robyn- Sorry, I'm tired. (and frankly, after watching Cary Grant all night, you're going to look like pretty lame anyway.)

Gah. I don't know which is more terrible- the term "hunk" being at all acceptable, or the fact that this particular text message conversation has taken place more times and with more dudes than I can possibly name. Occasionally more than once a night. Also, have had four or five conversations with the ladies this week in which I have advised, "If he's only calling you at one am, he is not all that interested in your sparkling personality or witty conversational abilities. Promise." Which is always easier to say than it is to remember.

This is the thing- in order for me to put forth the effort tear myself out of my warm bed and away from Cary Grant and then get myself gussied up quickly, the dude has got to be pretty damned awesome. If he is texting me at one am, and cannot get it together to plan a day ahead of time, he is, clearly, not all that awesome. Or at least not all that well mannered. So I stay in bed. Call me lazy or whatever, that's just how I feel.

Song For One of The Girls

Here in my heart I am Helen;
I'm Aspasia and Hero, at least.
I'm Judith, and Jael, and Madame de Stael;
I'm Salome, moon of the East.
Here in my soul I am Sappho;
Lady Hamilton am I, as well.
In me Recamier vies with Kitty O'Shea,
With Dido, and Eve, and poor Nell.
I'm of the glamorous ladies
At whose beckoning history shook.
But you are a man, and see only my pan,
So I stay at home with a book.
-Mrs. Parker.

The Kiss of The Spider Woman

According to the Daily Mail, Jennifer Aniston said in an as yet unreleased interview with American Vogue "What Angelina did was very uncool." (ooooooh!)

This, of course, passes for news. Even, you know, when actual things are happening in the world.

Let it be said that I have never found Jennifer Aniston to be in the least way even remotely tolerable. I got sick of her in the 90's- primarily, I guess because my sister, in middle school at the time and going through the age of obsession, was overly enamoured with all things Aniston, and even had her hair cut into "The Rachel"- which totally made anyone wearing it look just like a cocker spaniel. Talking about her, writing about her, or acknowledging her existence at all is irritating business for me. But, some things must be addressed.

All the world loves a catfight. So, I don't know- maybe Aniston saying that what Brad Pitt did wasn't "cool" wouldn't sell as many magazines... but still- isn't what he did a lot less cool than what she did? I don't see that Angelina owed her anything- she wasn't the one who married her. To read the tabloids, one would think Angelina had slipped some magic seducing powder into his drink and he couldn't help himself. Which, I'm quite sure, is not the case.

This has happened before (and I've discussed it here before, but I will again). In 1958, Elizabeth Taylor's husband, Mike Todd died in a plane accident- she leaned on his best friend, Eddie Fisher- who was married to Debbie Reynolds at the time- for support. And then in 1959, she married him. This was one hell of a huge ass scandal. People loved Debbie Reynolds- she was a sweet girl, she was an everywoman... She was Tammy. Taylor, on the other hand, was darkly beautiful- considered, in fact, to be the most beautiful woman in the world, a far superior actress, a classic vamp with violet eyes and a bad temper. People hated her after she married Eddie Fisher, and for this reason, was blackballed out of the Academy Awards that year, despite phenomenal performances in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Suddenly Last Summer and Raintree County.

There are kind of a few similarities here and there, ya think? History repeats itself. But the biggest similarity of all- no one ever thought Eddie Fisher was an asshole. It was all Elizabeth's fault. She seduced him- of course he didn't have a choice! And they felt even worse for him when she left him for the true love of her life- and possibly the sexiest man ever, Richard Burton. Poor Eddie Fisher. Poor Debbie Reynolds.

It disappoints me that we haven't evolved all that much since the late 50's. Why is the woman to blame and not the man- even when it's clear that he's done more wrong than she has? Why are we as a culture so eager to think of men as helpless victims of a woman's sexuality? I think it goes back to the Victorian idea that it's the job of women to keep men moral- because I don't think we fault men who "steal" women to the same degree. Personally, I could do without that responsibility.

At the end of the day, though- I just don't believe people can be stolen. I've never understood that idea. I think that if someone can be "stolen" than they weren't really yours to begin with. I don't ever want anyone to hang around me because they think they have to. I feel as though it would be doing me a great disservice, as I am quite charming enough to find people who would hang around because they want to. If you want to hang out with someone else who is not me, than go and be well, and let's not chat about it any further. I do not compete.

Honestly, I truly think that Aniston ought to be grateful to Angelina Jolie for ridding her of someone who did not want to be with her and probably just didn't have the balls to do it on his own without being "seduced."

She's just a small town girl...

(First off, can I just tell you that I just watched Biden's speech in Tampa, and have been giggling for an hour over the fact that he said something along the lines of "we need someone who can raise up his hand and say no! Not some angry man lurching from position to position" Because the imagery in that was just fantastic. He's right. McCain- cannot raise up his arms, was definitely lurching last night. Lurching is an amazing word)

Anyway... Sarah Vowell was on The Daily Show last night talking about the whole weird love/hate thing conservatives have with NYC- you know, they sure love talking about 9/11, but think the people who live there are evil elitist jerks or something. Which, you know, is not in fact true.

But I believe I know why they think this. See, when someone grows up in a small town, 9 times out of 10, they're dying to leave. That's what spurs this country on, the desire to get the fuck out of wherever your parents raised you. The people who don't get out and wish they could, are bitter. The people who don't want to get out, I assume, feel like the people who did thought they were "too good" for that life. Which, I think, is why people in those towns feel that NYC and other cities are elitist. I mean, it's not like people are clamoring to move to Wasilla, ya know? If they were, it would certainly be more populated.

But I don't think it's a matter of insult on so many levels. Some people are better suited to city life, and some are happy in smaller towns. Country Mouse, City Mouse and all that. I mean, it's possible that people grow up in cities and decide that they'd prefer small town life, but you don't hear about that so much. I mean, if someone here did that, I wouldn't take it as a direct insult to my way of life, so much as a personal decision on the part of the other person. Living in cities sort of forces you to deal with multitudes of people not living the same life as you are. Every day, I meet people who believe things that I do not, that do things that I do not- were I to take it as a personal insult to my being, or a rejection on some level, I'd be pretty unhappy with life.

The thing is, I sort of feel like a lot of these people just watched "Mr. Deeds Goes to Town" a few too many times or something. And while the Capra films are lovely and heartwarming (and I do love love love "It Happened One Night"), they're not really, like, fact. Despite the fact that Hollywood is supposed to be another bastien of the elite, there are craploads of movies out there espousing the whole idealized vision of Wholesome Small Town America vs. Corrupt Big Cities. And if that's where you're getting your information from, yeah, it's gonna be a little skewed.

At the end of the day, I think that it has more to do with hierarchy than anything else. Our capitalist culture demands that in order to be worthy, you have to be better than someone else. I mean, that's pretty much the whole reason people are racist or homophobic- fear of not being better than someone else (look at the people who are, and try to tell me I'm not right about this). Small towns have little to offer in the way of "things to do"- so it probably makes them feel better to cling to the idea that they are morally superior to larger cities, despite all the meth use and teenage pregnancies. They have to have something, I guess.

There never was a woman like Gilda...

Gilda is on the TCM OnDemand thing right now. It's pretty much the best movie ever, so you should probably watch it if you have cable.

A few figs from thistles...

First Fig
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light.

Second Fig
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

EVM
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I'm having a lovely and non-sensical chat with my mother about my hypothetical tattoo dilemma. I do not have any, and will probably not ever have any, because I'm freaking petrifed of needles and need to be distracted at the doctors office by puppets and promised ice cream in order for them to take my blood. Also, if I did in fact have a tattoo, I would drive myself insane trying to coordinate my outfits around it. Because I'm like that. However, I still like to postulate about what sort of tattoo I would get were I to get one which I won't. My mother sometimes worries that I am serious, and reminds me of my 8th grade plan to get a butterfly tattooed on my ankle (I know.) and also how cool I thought my naval ring was at age 15- and she tells me that it's just a bad idea anyway, because they always end up looking dirty somehow. I will add here, that when I was 17, she said I could get a tattoo, but only if it was a giant battleship across my chest.

My current idea is that I would get a tattoo of two figs- which, I explained to her, would be problematic because they'd probably look like balls... and that would take a bit of explaining, I would imagine. Oh, and possibly somehow the poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay would be woven in- but even though it's quite short, it would still be a lot of words. This was my problem with trying to figure out a Dorothy Parker related tattoo. And who feels like explaining who Edna St. Vincent Millay is every day of one's life? I imagine it would be exhausting, and difficult to do without sounding pretentious. Where would I even put these figs? Why am I pondering this?

So, anyway- I tell her I came up for the idea when I decided recently that were I ever to have a daughter, which I won't because I'm too selfish and squeamish about biological things- I would name her Vincent- which would be neat, because a) That's what EVM called herself, b) it's the last name of my dad's best friend, who I'm probably closer with than most of my relatives, c) I would be keeping a long standing family tradition alive of people being named Vinny, and d) I like boys names for girls. Oh, and her middle name would be Ray or Rae- after my grandfather and my favorite uncle (and my mum, I guess, since that's her middle name as well).

My mother agrees. "That's why I named you Robyn. I also like the name James for a girl."

"Ooh- that's a good one." I said, "Except it would remind me of the Elvis impersonator's son* and also of that one guy I dated who got all "Why aren't you being funny?? Waaah!" After I lost my keys and fell in a puddle."

"Maybe you should join a convent?"

"I know, right? Oh, I also like whatever Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland's names were in that one movie they were in that wasn't 'Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte'"

"Oh, yeah, that movie! What are you even talking about, are you on drugs? You sound like you're on drugs" (Spoken by a woman who gives directions based on where things used to be. I digress.)

"No- give me a second. Um... you know, they're sisters and they both have men's names, and Bette Davis steals Olivia de Havilland's fiance and ruins everyone's lives? And Hattie McDaniel and Butterfly McQueen are in it too?"

"Oh... I think I know that one. I can't remember what it's called. Is it the one where she says "What a dump?"

"No, no- that was another one- the one with Joseph Cotten. Give me a second- it'll come to me."

"You go do that, hun, I have to do laundry"

"Ok- I'll talk to you soon. I own it, I know it's somewhere, I'll go check."

Ten seconds later, I call her back...

"It's In This Our Life, and their names were Stanley and Roy! I like that, I think Stanley is a neat sounding name for a girl."

"Oh, that's Obama's mother's name."

"Crazy! Who knew!"

"You knew!"

"Oh, you're right, I did."

"Maybe you should go drink some coffee?"

*Back when we lived in Massachusetts, we lived next door to a creepy Elvis impersonator. True story. The whole house was like a shrine to Elvis, except this one little section that was the wife's little shrine to Dolly Parton. The whole family was frightening. Maybe I'll tell you about them some other time.

It was Brigid O'Shaughnessy!

Maltese Falcon Actually Stolen

Do you think they have a private detective working on this case? I kind of hope so. And I hope it's some world-weary guy who wears a trenchcoat, and chainsmokes and talksh like thish. Because I would totally marry him. Or, possibly whoever stole the Falcon in the first place- because damn, is that bad ass or what? Unless it was Mary Astor. I don't think I'd marry her. Or Bebe Daniels. Possibly Bette Davis, though (the Bette Davis movie "Satan Met a Lady" was based on The Maltese Falcon, and her character, Valerie Purvis, was supposed to be Brigid O'Shaughnessy). Because Miss Davis and I are totally soul sisters.

In case you don't know, I have this thing where I have always secretly wanted to be a femme fatale who attempts to foil a hard-boiled private detective. I watch a lot of film noir, I can't help it. Also, I really, really want someone to knock on my door and ask me if I'm decent, whereupon I flip my long, flowing hair back like I'm some kind of coquette and say "Sure... I'm decent." In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, that's what Rita Hayworth does in the movie "Gilda." I actually have a whole list of things I want to do that occur in movies that involve me being far more glamourous and smooth than I actually am. It sort of breaks my heart a little every day to know that I will never be described as being Garbo-esque. Alas, we all have our crosses to bear.