Happy 101st Birthday Bette Davis!

The waitress leaned over the table- "And what will you be having today, little girl?" I popped my eyes as wide as I could, announcing loudly "I think... I will have a large order of PROGNOSIS NEGATIVE!"

My mother rolled her eyes and said that, no, actually, I would be happy with the Little Red Riding Hood Spaghetti. I was probably about 7 when I started thinking this would be a fantastic thing to say every time my family took me out to dinner. It's something Bette Davis said in "Dark Victory," and I thought I was a terribly clever little girl, and I also thought that it was not long before I would be a glamorous movie star in my own right, hailed by all of America as the second coming of Ms. Davis.

In reality, I was a very strange, very friendless little girl. But, truth be told, I was so firmly convinced that everything that I was going through socially at school and such was "paying my dues" for my soon-to-be fame, that it never bothered me. The kids on the bus called me "Miss Hollywood." Swear to god.

Hers was the first death I cried over.

I idolized Bette Davis- my image of myself in my mind was not of a young, 7,8,9 year old girl, but of a sassy, sharp-toungued, tough-as-nails broad. For christmas one year I wanted a floor length white fur (which I would need when I walked the red carpet in winter). I swanned around the house in a long fake fur robe, pretending a plastic straw from McDonalds was a cigarette in a long holder. I focused on Davis not just because she was probably the greatest film actress ever, but because she was so tough, you know? She was someone who couldn't be fucked with.

I wanted desperately, viciously, passionately to be an actress. I wanted it more than anything in the world- and I probably would have managed to get in a lot more trouble were I not firmly convinced that people would come back later in my life and report all that trouble in tell-alls to the tabloids. This was back when that was a bad thing. I worked towards that goal, and nothing else in life, until I was 19 and suddenly realized that I'd lost all that drive to claw my way to top, to starve in waitressing jobs and schlep to auditions every day for a dream that just might not happen. And it didn't break my heart the way I thought it might. I was totally ok with it. I stopped acting and decided to find something else to do.

The fact was, I lost my passion for it because I didn't need it to get me through the day anymore. Theatre, and acting, and the thought of someday being Bette Davis were the things that got me through the most craptastic parts of my life unscathed- but by the time I was 19... I was ok. I didn't need to focus so hard on the future because the present wasn't all that bad. In fact it was pretty swell. The only problem was that I was horribly, terribly lost- because I'd never considered any other future at all. So, as we all know, I was completely lost and totally floundered for a number of years, went through 87,000 majors and plans and schemes, until I finally settled on writing. It's tough because I still haven't felt as insane, and unwaveringly sure about anything as I did when I was younger about the acting- but on the other hand, I'm glad I don't have to be.

I still like to get inordinately dressed up and watch Bette Davis movies by myself. I've seen every single one of them, and I've read all of her autobiographies multiple times. And sometimes I do still need to be tough as nails, and when I do, I channel her. It works for me.

Confession: I think Sylvia Plath was kind of an asshole

It was the summer Lorena Bobbitt cut her husbands dick off with a Ginsu knife...

I first read The Bell Jar when I was 11 years old. I often joke with my mom about how appropriate it was for her to hand that particular book to a girl that age- but she maintains that 11 would be the time to read something like that, considering how mental everyone is during puberty. I think now that it might have been because it's one of the few times in one's life where being an ungrateful twit seems like a rational personality option, and thus the book would be more appreciated at that age.

Truthfully- the only thing I *really* liked about it were the parts with Doreen- who seemed pretty bad ass, and I didn't quite approve of Plath's somewhat snide attitude towards her, anyway. Even when I read it later in highschool, I found it difficult to muster up a huge amount of sympathy for either Esther or Sylvia. It just wasn't in me to do it. I tried, but my head kept popping up with things like "Oh for godsakes. She should go out in the world and meet some people with real problems and then try feeling sorry for herself." She just seemed so ungrateful for the things and opportunities she was given. I don't know, I think I read Jonothan Kozol's Amazing Grace at around the same time- so my empathy level for such people was not exactly at an all time high.

It's not that I don't think she was a good writer, but I do think she was an asshole. It's perfectly possible to be an asshole and a writer at the same time. I can provide you with some examples if you like.

I think she was an asshole for killing herself with her kids in the damned apartment. I mean, I think you have to be pretty selfish if you're going to go and off yourself when you have children that are dependant on you, and, you know, might want a mother-- but to not care if your kids saw you lying there dead- well, you might as well be a sociopath.

I think she was an asshole because Olive Higgins Prouty was kind enough to finance her education, as well as her stay in the sanitarium- and she thought she'd pay her back by writing a scathing caricature of her as Philomena Guinea. That was a crappy thing to do. If someone paid for my school and my treatment in a fancy dancy sanitarium, I would probably have nothing but lovely things to say about them. But that's just me. What kind of an asshole to do you have to be to turn around and do that? And may I just mention that Prouty was alive and well at the time The Bell Jar was published (which, along with her snide depictions of other people, is why it was originally published under a psuedonym).

Would you want to be friends with Sylvia Plath? I sure wouldn't. Nothing you did would ever be enough for her. You'd probably have to sit and listen to her prattle on endlessly about her psychic pain for hours and hours, and she'd never say thank you- she'd just assume that the privilege of being privy to her deep thoughts and unending anguish was thanks enough. She'd deliver a lot of hidden stabs about you being "shallow" as well.

By the way, I happen to like Prouty a lot- she wrote the novels that two of my all time favorite movies were based on- Now, Voyager and Stella Dallas, which is how I started reading her books in the first place. She's actually pretty awesome, and I'd heartily recommend checking her out.

I've never found weakness and frailty to be especially charming qualities in a person. I think that part of what bothers me about Plath is actually something Bette Davis once said:

"The weak are the most treacherous of us all. They come to the strong and drain them. They are bottomless. They are insatiable. They are always parched and always bitter. They are everyone's concern and like vampires they suck out life's blood."

True dat.

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!

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
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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.

Best idea for a remake ever...

Ok, so read this thing from the NY Daily News:

At least one fan thinks Clay Aiken is just divine in "Spamalot."

A source tells me that cast members have grown used to one woman who has seen the show more than 40 times. She often waits by the stage door for her former "American Idol" idol.

Finally, one of the other actors asked her why she was so devoted to the carrot-topped crooner.

"She said, 'He is the Savior,'" recounts the snitch.

Yes, as in Jesus Christ.

"She is at the stage door from 9:30 in the morning, waiting all day to talk to people as they come in," laughs the source. "She says talking to the other actors, she feels a step closer to Clay."

"I am not familiar with this devoted fan, but I know there are many of them," said a rep for the show.

Tell me that doesn't sound just a little bit like the beginning of All About Eve? You would not believe the things that are popping off in my head right now. All I can picture is Clay Aiken doing a Bette Davis impression, and it is rocking my world. Seriously.