Farewell To January, Loves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                               Can you believe we are already one twelfth through the year????????????

                                Our January was anything but slow.  On the go, the whole time--David's birthday celebrations, Dan and Jennifer, Lynda and Marilyn, seeing "The Office! A Musical Parody," as well as "Little Women," wherein I cried REAL tears darlings, staying at some elegant hotels--The Willard in D.C., The Madison, in Morristown, with the most pleasurable showers and elegant cream rinses!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Not to mention my successfully tackling "Anniversaries," by Uwe Johnson!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Celia Keenan-Bolger turned 42.  Joan Baez, earlier in the month, turned 79!

                                     This had to be the most action filled January I have experienced in ages!

                                      So, who knows what February holds?  Romance and a few chocolates, I hope!

                                      See you next month, dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Loads Of Fun, And Filled With Insight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            Whether one reads it as an adult or a Young Adult does not matter, though, because of its darker aspects, I would not recommend for anyone younger than seventh grade.

                                             Set in 1980's Niagara Falls, the story is neurosurgeon Jacob Baker's looking back on his seminal twelfth Summer, when things came to a head with the titular club, and a sad family secret he finally is told that makes the novel insightful, as well as fun.

                                               Honestly written, from both a child and adult perspective, this is the perfect "fun" book for me, after finishing Uwe Johnson's "Anniversaries," or anyone who has conquered an similar challenging work.  Like, say, "Clarissa," by Samuel Richardson.

                                               The book reminded me of another posted on here, "Meddling Kids," by Eddie Cantero.  This is more satisfying, and as one interested in things occult myself, I love Uncle Calvin's Occultorium, as he calls it.  And what a great character.  One does not learn how great, until the very end.

                                                  If this is Craig Davidson's debut, I look forward to more.

                                                  And if you need something light, but driven, this is the book for you!

                                                 Cheers, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                           

Can You Believe I Forgot Yesterday Was Thursday?????????????????????

                               Is my mind going?  I hope not, but the days keep blurring into one another, till I can't remember what day of the week it is.  Last night, David reminded me it was Thursday, meaning I forgot it was Bitch Of The Week Day, and that 'SVU' was on last night.  I made it to 'SVU", so, here, now, is Bitch Of The Week.

                                This has been a week for bitches. That Fotis Dulos and Michelle Troconis!!!!!!!!!!!  Trash skank whore, whose face shows life has been lived on drugs!  And that Dulos, taking the coward's out, in this instance, by suicide, still maintaining he did not kill his wife, Jennifer.  Like hell!  Now he is gone, but Michelle had better come clean.  She may not have done the deed, but I am certain she helped disposed of the body parts he dismembered.  Which is why Jennifer has not been found.

                                  Then there was this bitch I was going to pick--some Dad, out on Long Island, I think, who poisoned his son's Halloween candy, killing him for insurance money.  Why didn't this guy have a vasectomy???????????????

                                     But once I heard the story of Michael Valva, 40, and his drug addicted slut, Angela Pollina, 42, I knew I had found the perfect Bitches Of The Week.  This duo, who do live on Long Island, are guilty of abusing their eight-year-old son, Thomas, in various ways, but the most damaging was when they forced him, to spend the night in a cold garage, clad only in pajamas, with no blanket or pillow.  The eight-year-old, who had autism, died of hypothermia, and the body was found on January 17.  These two pieces of scum were arrested and charged, and if they do not get the death penalty, they certainly should get LWOP.

                                       The boy's biological mother, and Valva's ex-wife, Zubko-Valva, said she knew of the abuse, and made desperate efforts to regain the boy's custody, but the judges always deferred to Valva, who was an NYPD cop.  This spells a conspiracy of loyalty between cops and judges, and the mother is calling for an investigation into them and social services, who did nothing, and I agree.  Along with Valva and Pollina, they share honors as Bitches Of The Week.

                                       But these two child abusers have Hell waiting for them.  Though it is hot there, maybe Satan will have them freeze, to remind them of what little Thomas went through. I bet even the Prince of Darkness was appalled by these two.

                                         Then, after thawing out, maybe the will be roasted alive!

                                          Two pigs on a porker, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OK, Girls, Here Is "Little Women!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                Let's start with Beth.  She is the most problematic character in the story, and the most difficult one to play.  Most Beths I have seen take the easy way out--we know from the start she is the one who dies--and anyone who does not, does not know this story, and should read the Louisa May Alcott classic, which is one of the seminal works in American literature--so all most do is sit around, mope, looking sad and tired, until it is time for them to drop.  But Eliza Scanlen, fresh from her triumph as psycho killer Amma Crellin in 2018's "Sharp Objects," brings to Beth a spine, a sharpness she has never shown, in addition to her everlasting kindness and love of music.  And her suffering is as depicted as realistically as in any version I have seen.  When Beth goes, in this version,   it is truly heartbreaking, and it is the scene pictured above, that stays in my memory, as it is the most heartbreaking one in the entire film.

                                 Besides Scanlen, thanks should be given to adaptor/director Greta Gerwig, and cinematographer Yorick Le Saux.  Much of the success of this film comes from how the actors are staged, the scenes are lit, and because of Le Saux's brilliant composition, "Little Women" succeeds where it may not have, because of this, and the risk Gerwig takes.

                                  That risk is telling the story in a non-linear way.  Now, Aaron Sorkin did the same thing with "To Kill A Mockingbird," on Broadway, but  this approach works better with "Little Women," which turns out, at the end, to come full circle, causing Saoirse Ronan's excellent portrayal of Jo March, to evolve into Louisa May Alcott.  Clever, Greta, clever.  Though the opening of the film can be confusing to those who know the story, and even those who do not, by the end, an understanding is reached.  It takes time to be sucked into this "Little Women," but within several minutes, the warmth of the story and the brilliance of the actors reeled me in.  Though, perhaps still recovering from the heartbreak of Beth's passing, I was confused, following, to see a scene of Meg's wedding, which, obviously takes place before Beth's passing, because there she is in the midst of everything, energetic, and dancing her heart out.  Literally.

                                      Now, Meg.  Emma Watson blends in wonderfully, but is not the stunning beauty Meg ought to be.  The ball sequence, and some of the camera shots on stairs, makes it clear Gerwig has seen "Gone With The Wind," as these look like shots taken from that film.  For my money, Trini Alvarado in the 1994 version, was the best Meg, and if Watson is not up to Alvarado she does not, at least, destroy the ensemble blending of the piece.

                                         Saoirse Ronan, whom I did not realize was so tall, is an impassioned Jo March, and nails all the character's eccentricities by not overplaying them.  I was worried Laura Dern might come off too contemporary as Marmee (I cannot believe she is old enough to play it!) but she gives a beautifully understated portrayal, and, like Scanlen , underplays the character so that she does not come off as sickeningly sweet and cheerful.  Her speeches on human wisdom are  all the more thoughtful, and intended for all of us to ponder.

                                             There is not a bad actor in the bunch.  I did not recognize Chris Cooper, an unexpected choice for Laurie's grandfather, but he makes his screen time count.  As does Timothee Chalamet, as Laurie, who, frankly, is called upon to do nothing but look pretty.  He seems to be the silly little simp that Amy is when first encountered, but, especially after the ice accident, and Florence Pugh's transition to lady hood, Amy becomes an unexpected tower of strength in the March family story, and a real surprise,  Miss Pugh does not disappoint with her performance, which is the most evolving of the girls, and her mature scenes with Laurie show a woman who knows herself.  And when she throws herself into Jo's arms, following Beth's death,  saying "I miss her too, Jo.  She was the best of all of us," she echoes my sentiments, and that of the audience.  And tears flowed.

Now, Meryl Streep, as Aunt March. Perfection.  What else can be said?  It is MERYL, after all, Everyone adeptly holds their scenes with her, but whose eye is the audience on?  I cannot believe the Divine MERYL is old enough to play this character.  If, God forbid, another adaptation of "Great Expectations" is brought to the screen, I am sure MERYL will play Miss Havisham.  And she will be the best one since Martita Hunt, in the David Lean, 1947 film.

Perfection also lies in Jayne Houdyshell's portrayal of housekeeper, Hannah.

I am sorry to say the only one to disappoint is Louis Garrel, as Friedrich Bhaer.  He is much too young and good looking for the part, and his age, and lack of romantic convention is what drew Jo to him, and is missing here.  A minor quibble, and since Gerwig does such a nigh perfect job, I wonder why she went soft in her casting, here.

But the beauty, vivacity, and radiance, of Eliza Scanlen's Beth is what makes "Little Women" worth going out to see.  What a smart career move, from "Sharp Objects," to this. And she is just as good here.  I cannot wait to see what she does next.

Same with Greta Gerwig.  I was skeptical when I heard she was doing "Little Women," but she has captured the period and the characters superbly, and in an understated way that belies the lavishness of previous versions. Remember, the March family were considered poor, and Gerwig understands that.

This is the most imbued with humanity film I have seen in years.  Go see it, and ponder on your own lives, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And learn how to be good hostesses!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some Abandoned Amusement Park Photos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  You know how much I love such places, girls, so I came across these a few days ago, and thought I would share them with you.

                                     This is another shot of the abandoned "Wizard Of Oz" Theme Park, which, I believe, is somewhere in North Carolina.  How I would love to walk through it on a Spring or Summer day, or spend a night in there, to see Munchkins dance, witches fly, or Judy Garland's ghost singing "Over The Rainbow."  A dream come true.

                                       And the fact that these attractions have been abandoned for years, but have not been dismantled, tells me there is an interest of the type I mentioned above, out there!  Meaning people are doing it, even as I write!

This is some place call "Joyland," in Kansas.  The colors geot my attention.  I bet this ride was fun. Wouldn't it be great to sit in it, and walk about to see what else awaits one, there?

And here we have some kind of ersatz thing in Georgia.  Looks kind of haunting doesn't it?

Like a tornado is approaching.

Speaking of Georgia, why has no one created a "Gone With The Wind" Theme Park?  Where one could make Scarlett's walk from Atlanta to Tara, walk out in the garden at dawn, spouting "As God is my witness...." not to mention owning the biggest and most vulgar house in all of Atlanta?  Now, that would be sure to warm the cockles of a lot of plantation hearts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Including mine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

See how much fun these places can be?  Even more, when not in operation!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A Surprise Delight, And A Kind Of Beacon Of Hope!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            The best thing about seeing "The Office! A Musical Parody," at the Jerry Orbach Theatre last Saturday, was my David was tickled pink over his birthday gift!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                          And, I am telling you, the way the day started out, with us leaving at noon for a 2PM matinee, in a downpour rivaling "The Rains Of Ranchipur," I was drenched, and nervous we would not make it on time!  Oh, my God, what if we did not?  My lovely birthday gift ruined!  You know, I would just get hysterical.

                                            I was beginning to, anyway, as David was taking in the laundry, I was in the downpour, when I hear this car horn beeping.  It was our next door neighbor, Dan, who said he was going into Manhattan, and, when he heard where we were going, drove us straight from our neighborhood, in Brooklyn, to the entrance door of the theatre.

                                               As for the show, it was delightful.  As I watched it, I was reminded of how there used to be places--Village Vanguard, Village Gate, Upstairs At The Downstairs--where up and comers could perform little vignettes on their way to Broadway.  This show reminded me of those days--it was funny, the songs were promising because they had some originality to them, and the cast was superb.

                                                Sarah Mackenzie Baron (is she any relation to Sacha Baron Cohen?) played Michael Scott (the Steve Carell role) with the aplomb of a butch lesbian, which gave some scenes an unexpected lesbian tinge to them.  Not to mention the woman has a Broadway voice that should...well...be on Broadway!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                   But the entire ensemble worked well, and, even though the whole bat thing had to be explained to me later, I found it funny in the watching.  Kudos to Donald Garverick and authors Toby and Bob McSmith.  These are the kind of up and comers we need to give Broadway back its flash of lightning that seems to be missing in what is in most of its current offerings today.

                                                     So, if you want a jolt of musical theater hope, visit "The Office! A  Musical Parody" for some rejuvenation, and to test if your workplace is as crazy as this!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                      Darlings, in my last several years there, mine exceeded it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Well, Girls, I Did It!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                         On January 28, at 4PM, after 23 days of reading, (meaning an average of 80-plus pages a day) I completed Uwe Johnson's 1,668 page masterwork, "Anniversaries."  Now, as  I emerge from it to the real world, I feel I shall never be the same.  Though I have moved on to one book, and started another, I feel I still not have recovered from this work.  My head is reeling.

                                          In one sentence, it is a year in the life of Gesine Crespahl , and her daughter, Marie, from August, 1967, to August 1968.  But it is also about the post-Hitler era, the Holocaust and its aftermath, and is crammed with so many historical and cultural references--Franz Schubert to Franz Werfel, for example--not to mention Soviet Russia, the invasion of Czechoslovakia, the Viet Nam War, the riots in New York.....it is like unspooling a mammoth mural, and then drinking in all the images.  It is an indescribable experience.

                                            And it is not for everyone.  The book is extremely Germanic, in that there is not one ounce of humor in it.  Poor Lizbeth, Gesine's mother, whose life drove her to suicide, her daughter into the midst of the Holocaust, and Marie into the Sixties revolution in New York City.  The book goes back and forth in time, in a Proustian way, and it comes full circle, ending with Geisine and Marie by the water, on a beach.  And wait till you read about all of Gesine's Baltic relatives, who haunt this novel like the ghosts of her memory that they are.

                                               I have never read anything like "Anniversaries," and I expect I never will again.  Whom would I recommend this book to?

                                                Those who are already omnivorous readers, who desire a challenge, and who feel they have something to prove to themselves.

                                                   I am telling you, it would tax Virgil!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             

"She Paints For Vengeance" Offers Up Interesting Possibilities, But......................!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 Tonya Glanz, as plaintiff, Monica Russo, was the most angry and impassioned victim I have seen since Tracy Pollan played Harper Anderson.  It was refreshing to see such anger and passion in Monica, and I was with her all the way.

                                  But, of course, there are flaws.  She is a starving artist living in New York, who lives with a boy friend, whose sleaze factor is one step that of a drug dealer.  Now, I get the whole starving artist thing, darlings, but why did she have to be a pole dancer?  How about a waitress or a barista?  Or a researcher?

                                     This episode used the sleaze factor so much I thought they were out to get Monica, not help her.  Now, realistically, Tonya Glanz looks too suburban and robust, to work as a pole dancer.  That her boyfriend tolerates it says something about their relationship.

                                       Here is where things get dicey.  The girls all dance in public, sure, but high priced clients pay for after show services.  In one of these encounters, Monica maintains she was raped.  And by some faux celebrity named Markeevelous Ryan, wonderfully played by  Wole Parks.  Jenna Stern is also excellent as attorney Elana Barth, who goes after Carisi  like a mongoose in this, his first case.  The court room scenes crackled with tension unseen since earlier days, but I was so afraid Barth would win for Ryan, and Carisi would go back to law enforcement.

                                         Of course, Mother Olivia has to step in and comfort Carisi, inspiring him to find something to use against Ryan.  That is his contempt for all women, and when he finally gets on the stand, and admits it was not rape because sex is all these women want, to extort money from him, and what are they good for, to him, but sex, jurors are enraged, and Carisi lands his first conviction.

                                         As I stated, Monica is an artist.  She paints beautiful, impassioned pictures, and she first comes to the squad's attention when pictures and billboards chronicling her rape openly--a gesture I applaud--appear all over the city!  But, then, how does one afford to do this on a pole dancer's salary.  I mean, come on, hons!  But I felt and was with her anger.  I might have done the same thing.  And I have wet my toes in it on this blog.

                                          So, of course, the episode has to end on a contrived note, with Monica, happy and safe,(but still pole dancing, and with sleaze boyfriend) directing Carisi, Finn, Rollins, and Benson to an above ground billboard, where she has replicated either a religious painting, or Greek God art, showing  Benson and Carisi's faces, painted onto the bodies of winged angels!!!!!!!!!!

                                           Could anything be more contrived???????????????

                                            The writers get the big pictures right, but when they close in on details, crucial to the story being plausible, they mess up every time.

                                              Yes, Mariska hogs all the action; she calls the shots.  She has Dick Wolf by his balls.

                                               But don't blame the other actors.

                                               Fire the writers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Girls, I Have Been Derelict In My 'SVU' Duties!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 This may be a two in one post, as so much time has elapsed, and so many disappointments have been experienced, with this show.  The short hiatus gives me a chance to catch up.

                                   "Must Be Held Accountable" was unsatisfying, because no one really was held accountable.  The only good thing was it ended as it began, with Steve Getz (snarky and sleazily played by Vincent Kartheiser) does commit suicide.  We get to see it twice, and never has such a tragedy made me so happy.  The guy is clearly a stand in for Jeffrey Epstein, who, happily did the same thing.  And watch out now, darlings, for Prince Andrew!

                                      Meanwhile, Frank Bruno, who held Rollins and her therapist at gunpoint, kidnapped Rollins, and hit the road, gets just a slap on the wrist?  Why?  Because he is ex-NYPD?  Are crooked cops now exempt from punishment? And how about Rollins, and her misjudgment in leaving her gun in her car's glove compartment.  Does this not even rate a reprimand?

                                         And how about the Bucci women--Donna, Ivy, and Milly? The mother is a pimp, Ivy is a slut, and knows what her sister is in for, and is OK with it?  The entire family should have been thrown together in one cell, while we watched them tear each other to pieces.

                                         As for Carisi, is the show never to let him be free of his cop status?  While he is still an ADA, when things heat up, he is always called in for his cop skills?  Why?  Because they need a man?  What about Finn?  Never were the likes of Stephanie March, Diane Neal, and others, used this way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  So, why Carisi???????????????????

                                           No, this episode came a cropper.  Its greatest mistake was its title.

                                           It should have been called "No One Held Accountable!"

                                           Guess this will be just one post!

Happy Birthday, Celia Keenan-Bolger!

                                This is my favorite picture of Celia, as it captures her radiance!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 Today is Celia's birthday, and she looks fabulous.  Of course, I wish Celia the best, and hope she has a wonderful birthday, but I cannot help wondering what her next stage venture will be.  I have a theory.  If you follow her Southern trajectory with Laura Wingfield, and then Scout Finch, I think she would make an excellent Frankie Adams in "The Member Of The Wedding."

                                  But it is Celia's choice, of course.  Whatever she chooses to do is fine with me, and I will be there.

                                    So, Happy Birthday, from The Raving Queen, Celia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    Celebrate, and take a day off from dusting that TONY Award!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Trailer Trash Thing Was No Othello....But Her Children Were All Desdemonas, Darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Trailer Trash, or White Trash, it is the same low bred social class, isn't it?
Rachel Henry, this week's winner of The Raving Queen Bitch Of The Week Award, is 22, and what credentials she has.

                                   To start with, she had three children by this age!  Tramp!  Slut!  Notice I said "had." Because those children are now dead.

                                     The offspring--Zane Ezri Henry, aged 3, Mireya Henry, aged 1, and Keyana Rios, only six months!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       Smack this bitch across the face, take her to the town square in Maricopa County, Arizona, where she lived,  chain her to a stake, and burn her alive, as a witch, even if she curses the town out.

                                          Hey, the town is cursed already, just having had this bitch in it!

                                           She was also a drug addict, which could have motivated things. At one point, the children were removed from the home.  Too bad they went back.

                                              Added to this, she was said to have sung lullabies to them, as she killed them.  Well, Rachel, when you get to the slammer, the only music you will hear is Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues!"

                                               Give this bitch the LWOP she deserves!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"In The Heat Of The Night........" Seems Like A Cold Spot, Hangin' On A Vine!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Girls, I am telling you, when was the last time we stayed in and watched a movie on Channel 13, Saturday night?  It had to have been back last Summer, when they ran "The Song Of Bernadette."  Recently, they showed "In The Heat Of The Night," and what a surprise it was.

                                  One could say this film was the surprise of 1967.  It beat out top contenders, such as "Bonnie And Clyde," "The Graduate," "Guess Who's Coming To Dinner," and even "Doctor Dolittle," for Best Picture.  And the Quincy Jones song was a hit.

                                   Many of you have seen clips.  Certainly the best one is when Mr. Endicott slaps Sidney Poitier, who slaps him right back.  While the nice servant is standing in the background, waiting to serve lemonade.  Violence and graciousness go together in the South!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       And those scenes in the cotton fields!  Like outtakes, from "Gone With The Wind," which was also re-released, that year!

                                     The most famous clip is when Rod Steiger yells, "Now, don't you push me, boy!," and Poitier gives the iconic response, "They call me Mister Tibbs!"  But when one sees the film, the surprise is they are not saying this to each other, even though the edit suggests it in the clip.  Each says the line, respectively, to other characters.

                                        The two leads are in top form.  Poitier should have been nominated, and Steiger is good, though many have said, over the years this was compensation for his not having won for "The Pawnbroker," in 1965.  I will have to see that film to make up my mind.

                                           The last surprise is the film turns out to be surprisingly simple.  Though racism, and disillusion in the South are touched upon the film has more to do with town tramp, Delores Purdy, played marvelously, by Quentin Dean.  She is a 16-year-old nymphet trollop who parades herself as naked as she can get in front of her window in the evenings, and all the men, including policeman Sam Wood (Warren Oates) shows up to watch.  Well, Delores gets knocked up by Ralph, the psychotic looking restaurant guy, who kills Lee Grant's hubby, Mr. Colbert, for the abortion money.  He leaves the restaurant late at night, and Ralph follows, and kills him.  Though when Delores' brother brings in his tramp sister, you'd think he was all worked up because they had been having an incestuous relationship, and he was jealous of Ralph.  Which is plausible, but, I am telling you, 1967 was not ready for this,  It was just ready enough for "In The Heat Of The Night."

                                               So, the story may not be much, but the performances, including several small ones by Beah Richards, Larry Gates, and William Schallert.

                                                The film teaches one not to mess with small town Southern tramps!

                                                But I just love Quentin Dean as Delores Purdy.  She steals the movie!

Oh, My God, Darlings! Convent Station, And The College Of Saint Elizabeth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                            Following our sumptuous stay at The Madison Hotel, David and I had to head back to the city.   But not before Lynda and Marilyn treated us to breakfast, in appreciation for our coming to the party, not to mention that this January 10 marked our third wedding anniversary.

                             We had a lovely breakfast, and visit, at a local diner, but the real highlight of the morning was when we were taken to  Convent Station, near The College Of Saint Elizabeth, where we were to get our train back to New York!

                                Lynda drove us through the college, and it was so exciting, I am telling you, I got spiritual palpitations.  I expected to see a vision, I wanted to enroll, I wanted to joy the nuns for 4AM morning prayers, and sleep on a wood bed in a cell with just a cross above the bed.  Not to mention prostrate my body for hours on the stone church floor, as penitence.

                                 Because, darlings, this is what REAL nuns do!  But the trip came with disillusion.  I did see a nun, but she was not a REAL nun.  She was an actual nun.  The difference is her habit barely came over her shoulders, and it showed her hair.  Her dress was below the knee, but you could see legs.  REAL nuns completely cover their bodies.  And they do not get into cars, and drive off!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I mean, this is too much.

                                   Then, I saw a former nun, a white haired woman, getting out of a car.   While she looked like a Beans n' Franks Lesbian, she had that scowling former nun look that told me she had once been in the convent.  I wonder what her story was!

                                     In conclusion, we proceeded to Convent Station, to await the coming of our train.  As David and I sat in the back, I was shocked to discover that Convent Station is not some heavenly oasis ib the midst of Jersey, but a local, Catholic pick up joint, where elderly male Catholic trolls come by, and pick up women!!!!!!!!!  I mean, the nerve!  One of these gents, spotting us all sitting in the car, walked up to the passenger front side, banged on the door, asking Marilyn, "Are you Eileen?"  Another was on the prowl, until some woman in a car drove up, and he got in.  The Station has an indoors, so who knows how many "brief encounters" take place here?

                                        I mean, what is this?  Is there a local nursing home near by?  Are these guys on the lam?  If so, the kitchen help needs to start slipping salt peter into these guys' nightly mashed potatoes.

                                          We made it back to the city, no worse for wear.  Our travels, while enjoyable, have ended, for the time being.

                                             But to have my illusions shattered at Convent Station!

                                             How can I possibly recover??????????????????

On To The Next Travel Adventure!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Talk about living, like Jackie and Lee!  No sooner were we home, from D.C., with one day of rest, before we were packing our bags, and heading out to the much closer Morristown, New Jersey.  We had a birthday party to go to.

                                    Our friend, Lynda, of Lynda and Marilyn, was turning 90 on the 14th, and wanted the party on that day.  So David (taking some time off from work) with me, joined the two of them, their daughter (Lynda is actually Len, a cross dresser!) Hailey, and her husband, Jay, and their friend, Arnell, and his girl friend, Joanie.

                                     Let me tell you, darlings, barely an hour out from Manhattan, you can succumb to sumptuous plantation living.  Just look at the outside.  The interior lobby is all turn of the century décor, which is breathtaking for a hotel in New Jersey.  Our room was bigger than our apartment, and the shower facility was so fabulous I have to have one installed--with two shower heads, a seat to sit on, and all the conditioner and cream rinse one could ask for.  When  I was done, I swear, I walked out of that bathroom, feeling I looked like Gene Tierney!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As for the birthday dinner, the evening before, it was like something out of "The Harvey Girls," which, ironically, David had recently watched.  Most of us had steak, though Marilyn had salmon, and the vanilla ice cream I had was scrumptious,  The chocolate mousse turned out to be the most popular dessert ordered, and a mini birthday cake, was brought in by the staff, who, with us, sang "Happy Birthday," to Lynda.  Who got some gorgeous gifts, including some kind of red, floral patterned caftan that I am just dying to see him wear!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who would expect a foray to Jersey would be this elegant?  I could actually stay at The Madison for a week.

But we had to get home, the next day, and back to some semblance of our normal lives!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If only some of my animal friends had been there.  The canines would have loved the steak!

And so did Gojira!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Is The Film That Cured Me Of Psycho Binge Watching!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      After getting home from our wild Washington, D.C. weekend, I was looking forward to binging on psycho movies and writing about them.  I've posted the outcome of "The Wrong Friend," with the Rick Donovan stand in, so I switched to something about women.  Despite the picture seen, "Psycho BFF," just filmed last year, is hardly a comedy, but veers occasionally into camp.

                                       There is a lot of contrivance.  It has two separate opening sequences.  In the first one, Deandra, (Juliana Destefano), the shy, daughter of Renee (Kate Watson) hates the Florida town she is living in, because, as she says all writers (which is what she wants to be) live in New York.  I bought all that, but the idea that the too pretty Destefano is a shy thing is beyond credulity.  She would be snapped up by the most popular cliques immediately.

                                          The second sequence is a bit more fascinating.  Halfway through the story, Olivia (played by Alexandra Doke, looking like she is trying to evolve into a Goth Julianne Moore, with traces of Shelley Plimpton!!!!!!!!!) mentions to Deandra, a friend she had, named Liberty, who died.  The second opening scene, looking as though shot in New England, shows Liberty and Olivia arguing.  The latter accuses the former of saying she is crazy, and that her mother was, too.  Liberty denies all, but she is standing with her back to a bridge overlooking a dry ravine, so, before you know it, Olivia has Liberty flying over that bridge, plunging to her death.

                                               When they meet up, Olivia protects Deandra from the Mean Girls, thereby earning her friendship.  Whether Olivia has lived in the town all her life, or has just arrived is never made clear, but she and Deandra become besties, with, of course, the inevitability of Deandra being loosened up by Olivia, to be as non-authoritarian as she.  This, of course, does not sit well, with Renee, who forbids her daughter to see Olivia.  Neither are having it, so they cook up a scheme to run away to New York, where Olivia can start anew, and Deandra can live with her father.  This, without even a high school education, I might add.  Right!

                                                   You know the rest.  With Deandra at her beck and call, Olivia becomes more dangerous.  It becomes clear what happened to Liberty, and, as for Olivia's mother, whose death traumatized the girl, was it due to suicide, or did Olivia kill the woman herself?  This is hinted at, but never fully explored.

                                                     The whole thing culminates in a sleazy motel bathroom fight, with the girls locked in, and Renee and a police officer outside.  The girls toss and turn, the shower goes on, they get their hair and T-shirts wet--where is the cream rinse????????--and,  twice, Deandra knocks Olivia's head against the bathtub, a la "Fatal Attraction," but, like that better film, Olivia is not dead.  The cop finally breaks down the door, Deandra is united with her mother, and Olivia is hauled off somewhere.

                                                        The final scene is right out of "Notes On A Scandal."  Olivia is seen walking the floor of a psych facility to a lounge.  Now, allowing someone as lethal as Olivia to freely walk about is questionable, but I told you the movie was not all on the level. Arriving in the lounge, she finds some mousy thing, curled up in a fetal position.  Olivia sits on the sofa, puts her hand warmly on the girl, and says, "Hi...I'm Olivia."

                                                           The premise is supposed to be the story beginning all over again. That is what the filmmakers want.  However, the actress playing the other girl, who speaks not a word, appears so bat shit crazy herself, I think she could end up giving Olivia a run for her money.  In which case, what a fabulous comeuppance for Olivia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                            This movie will get anyone off the psycho craze.

                                                             And if you begin with this one, you will never get addicted.

                                                             Let's hope Olivia gets her GED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just another chick flick, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How Does One Wrap Up A Weekend Trip To D.C.? Why, By Visting The Smithsonian National Park Zoo, To See The Pandas, Of Course!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                   Aren't they just the cutest, darlings?  One thing--they are much bigger when seen live.  And you know how much I love animals, and, I swear, there was one moment when I thought a panda would go home with us, because one came close, I called out to it, sweetly, and it was coming right to me.  Until another panda distracted it.

                                    Would I have been caressed?  Or mauled?  Or both?

                                     From a distance, they do look rather sweet, and after psycho binging the night before, I needed something sweet to take the sour taste of trashy human destruction out of my system.

                                      So, with the Pandas, we bade farewell to our nation's capital!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Should Have Been Called "The Psychotic Pole Dancer!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                 Let's go back to my Psycho Movie binge watching in our sumptuous room at The Willard Hotel, in Washington D.C.

                                  But before doing so, let me digress ahead a bit. While safe in our own residence, I tried to watch a movie called "The Wrong Friend," and I learned something very important.

                                   Female psychopaths are much more interesting, and clever, than males.

                                   "The Wrong Friend" was this sociopathic guy, who assaulted women, then tried to worm out of it.  He was played by this actor going nowhere--because no one in these movies ever seem to--but he did bare a striking resemblance to Rick Donovan.

                                      Now, for gay men of a certain age, that name is sure to mean something, and arouse even more.  But, despite this, he was not allowed to display any of the charms that Rick had, so just because one resembles a sex symbol, does not a sex symbol make.

                                      The sad thing was, all this psycho had was looks and brawn.  Female psychos are so much smarter and clever.  They use their minds, and their emotions to burrow into those of whom they are going after, to entrap them where it ultimately does the most damage--psychologically.

                                        Of course, there are exceptions,  Joseph Cotton as Uncle Charlie in "Shadow Of A Doubt," and Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates in "Psycho."  But this is High Grade Hitchcock, not the Biodegradable Crap constituting these fun movies.

                                         Now, back to the movie at hand.  I guess the filmmakers could not make up their minds on a title, I watched it under the title "The Psycho I Met Online," but I have also seen it listed as "The Psycho She Met Online."  Had I been consulted, I would have opted for "The Psychotic Pole Dancer," which would, I am sure, have garnered more viewers.  But, since when do these creative types listen to me?

                                         As for the story, even if I spoil it for you, you know it anyway.  Its template seems to be 1992's "Single White Female."

                                         Chelsea Hobbs, reminding me of Kelly Martin, plays Karen Hexley, an EMT, whose redneck looking husband is hospitalized from a car accident.  In fact, one of the opening scenes has Karen on the job, bringing in her hubby on a gurney.  Talk about taking one's work home with them.

                                          Now, Charity Shea, plays a shady character named Miranda, but whom we later find out, goes by the name, Cheyenne, which, by the way, is perfect for a pole dancer!  She is seen tracking someone down on her computer, saying with finality, "Now, I have found you."  Do I have to tell you what is coming?  I am sure you know, already.

                                          Karen has all the things Cheyenne wants, a stable, handsome hubby, a house, a real career.  Cheyenne's life is portrayed as living like a skank, with a boyfriend who is, obviously, some kind of drug dealer.  It is soon learned that Karen is the person she is tracking down.

                                            Karen and Andrew are in a financial bind.  They have bills to pay, especially with the hospital, though, since Karen is an EMT and is connected there, I do not understand why she hasn't better insurance.  But, remember, in movies like this, one is not supposed to ask such questions.  I just cannot help it.

                                              To combat financial difficulty, Karen comes up with the notion of offering the extra rooms in their house as, basically, Air B'N'B's.  You can hear the music in the background of your mind when the husband wisely asks, "And invite some weirdo into our home?"

                                                And, boy, is he right!  Cheyenne, now masquerading as career business woman, Miranda Breyers, sees Karen's ad, and answers it.  Turning on the charm all psychos seem to initially have, Miranda and Karen connect.  She gets the room, saying she in town on business.  Right.  The thing is, Charity Shea's looks are classy enough, to pull this off.

                                                The plot heats up.  While Karen is at work, Miranda goes through every item in the house, looking for evidence of something.  The second chink in the armor comes when she wants to spend more and more time with Karen, and the latter gets, understandably, squeamish.
But the real reveal comes, when, crossing a street, Miranda spots a trampy woman from her past, who calls her by "Cheyenne."  It turns out the girl is working at a strip club in town, and Cheyenne knows the biz, so, before you know it, she tells Karen she is extending her stay, while working as a pole dancer.  She looks to healthy and robust to be in this profession, but, hey, this is fiction.  She does not look as trampy as the other girls.  But she should.

                                                  Cheyenne's/Miranda's double life is accidentally spotted by Karen's friend, and former sorority sister, Aubrey Hunt, well played by Alexis Maitland.  She tells Karen, who confronts Miranda, and at last there is the Big Reveal.

                                                     Karen and Miranda have the same mother.  When Karen's father was in the Army, the mother had a fling with Cheyenne's dad.  When Karen's daddy got home, to find his wife pregnant, all he asked was that, once the baby is born, it is put up for adoption.  Which it was.

                                                      Miranda, with psycho resentment, tells Karen of her horrible life--a series of foster homes and bad families, leading to drugs, prostitution, and what she is doing now.  By re-connecting with Karen, she hopes they can renew their sibling relationship--which never existed, anyway; but what does that matter to a psycho???????--and Karen agrees to try, but Miranda, of course is much too possessive and demanding.

                                                       The whole thing culminates in blood.  Miranda sneaks back into the house, having moved, shoots Andrew, but the police arrive, and, in front of Karen, Miranda charges at the officer, looking as frightening as one of 1958's "She Demons" in full make-up, and the officer, with no other choice, shoots her dead.  So much for sisterhood.

                                                        What made me sit through this crap?  I am a sucker for Psycho Movies, but, for the level it is on, Charity Shea and Chelsea Hobbs deliver pretty good performances.  Better than the Rick Donovan guy in "The Wrong Friend."

                                                           The stories are invariably the same.  But it is a chance to check one's brain in at the door, reveling in glorious trash!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                            To each his own, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, isn't "The Psychotic Pole Dancer" a better title?????????????????????

Celebrate MLK Day, With Mahalia Jackson!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 Martin and Mahalia--what a great combination.  The first let loose with powerful oratory, the second with her powerful vocals.  And both expressing the same thing in their own way--Freedom!  For all!

                                  But which Mahalia to choose?  There is so much, darlings!  Now, I prefer her stirring "Battle Hymn Of The Republic," but, on this day, I think the choice should be "We Shall Overcome!  Here it is!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      Happy MLK Day to all, and tell it like it is, Mahalia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Girls, I Am Now Reading Volume 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                               Yesterday, exactly two weeks after staring the first volume of "Anniversaries," I have begun the second.  It picks up right where it left off, even numerically, as the first page is 881.  I have broken a thousand, and it seems as compelling as the first.  What a world to inhabit. So, this should keep me busy for the next two weeks.  After that, who knows?  I may need a rest home.

                                                But, I am telling you, this is a literary experience!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                 Make the effort, darlings!  Even if it turns out to be the only thing you read this year!

                                                  And the next!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Mia Farrow Is Catholic!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I Have Got To Sit Down, And Have A Talk With Her!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                   I wonder if Mia has seen "The Song Of Bernadette?"  It should be required of all Catholics, and, certainly she should have viewed it before, or after, shooting "Rosemary's Baby."  It might have saved her from the "strum und drang" of her then future life--you know, Woody, Soon-Yi, Dylan, everything.

                                    Nevertheless, Mia and I could talk up some Catholicism, with respective horror stories, and good ones, about having been raised such.

                                      But where to have such a discussion?  My choice would be tea at the Palm Court, in The Plaza.  They still serve a tea--or there is The St. Regis--but I feel a high tea would be more appropriate for an informal discussion than a full course, high end meal.

                                       So, Mia, get in touch with me!  And stay in touch with that fine young man of yours, Ronan!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       Can you believe it, girls?  Mia is now the same age as Ruth Gordon, when she played Minnie Castevet in "Rosemary's Baby?"

                                         When one's parents were as gorgeous as Maureen O' Sullivan and John Farrow, no wonder she looks so good!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Goodbye, And Good Riddance!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 Ever since I began my annual visits to the Metropolitan Museum Of Art's Christmas Tree, Demarchelier was always a visual landmark, pointing me the way.  Its colorful red, outdoor look, and cozy interior setting, always tempted me, and I entertained notions of trying it.  Yet, somehow, I could not bring myself to go there by myself!

                                  Back in December of 2012, with David, and Auntie Alvin, we visited the famous Christmas tree, then thought we would have a sophisticated repast at Demarchelier.  It turned out to be a mistake.  The service was for shit, David was called out for being rude, and I published, in 2012, a scathing post on the treatment I received, where I was practically pushed out of the place by Nasty Hostess and her bar colleague, who were upset not only over my scene, but that it was causing customers to wisen up, and leave the premises.

                                   We never went back.

                                     Well, darlings, I am telling you, chickens do come home to roost!  And what goes around comes around!

                                       Because, on December 28, 2019, Demarchelier closed its doors, presumably, for good.  The landlord is going to build a condo on it---very Upper East Side, darlings!!!!!!!--and, supposedly, the establishment will open, at a future date, on a smaller scale, in Greenport, Long Island!!!!!!

                                        Sweeties, you have got to be kidding me!  Where the hell is Greenport, Long Island, and who on the Island is going to be interested in faux French food?  Demarchelier tried to pass itself off as high end, because of its location, but, if it does open on the Island--and I doubt it--it will sink to the level of such franchises as Le Bonne Soupe and Au Pain Quotidien!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, pay close attention, here, girls!  The restaurant was opened in 1978 and was located near East 62nd Street.  In 1990, it moved to the location I always knew, at East 86th, near Madison Avenue.

The details of the closing and relocating were confirmed by co-owner, Emily Demarchelier, who, with her father, Eric, runs the restaurant.  Get ready girls, because here it comes.

See this picture of Emily?  This--I can never forget her face and attitude--was the bitch who gave us all the trouble on our 2012 visit, whom I took on verbally. after being nasty to my David, and who, when we looked on Yelp reviews, was consistently referred to as "Nasty Hostess."

What is it with father-daughter run businesses?  Just like The Strand Bookstore, run by the late Fred Bass, and his bitch daughter, Nancy Bass Wyden.  Now, Fred has passed, Nancy is running the store, and I just pray The Strand does not go the way of this place.  On a recent visit, it seems to be doing well enough, and I have never encountered, or had a run in with Nancy, so all I can do is wish The Strand the best.

As for Emily and Demarchelier, you got what you deserved, bitch.  You will never succeed on Long Island, and it is kind of sad that a potentially pleasant place had to be undermined and ground into a hole by incompetents.  But, then, why should I be surprised?  Look at the fate of the former cultural institution I used to work for!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bon Voyage, Demarchelier! The blame rests solely on how the owners, or at least one, treated its patrons--shabbily!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actions do have consequences, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Get Over Yourself, Gwyneth!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 When Tennessee Williams wrote Tom Wingfield's beautifully poignant end speech in "The Glass Menagerie," where he says, "Blow out your candles, Laura," he could not have anticipated the disgusting act of Gwyneth Paltrow.

                                      Poor Blythe Danner.  Gwyneth's mom must be hanging her head in shame, or shaking her head in resignation, throwing up her hands, and saying, with resignation, "What can I do?"  After all, the woman is 47 years old!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


                                       In what I consider still her finest performance, as  White Trash Ginnie in "Flesh And Bone," back in 1993, she delivered, at one point, the telling line, "It's not my face the boys want to see."  We all understood what she meant, girls!  And if any of you don't, consult a biology textbook or an encyclopedia!

                                        The "Goop" Queen--because that is what she does, a lot of goop, which is a synonym for junk--has exceeded imagined boundaries by issuing a scented candle, complete with holder, labeled, "This Smells Like My Vagina!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                         I mean, gag me with a spoon!  All gay men run!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Obviously, Miss Paltrow has a very high opinion of her vagina.  I don't understand that, but she is entitled.  But why would she want to share it--or its alleged scent--so freely with others?????????????

                                          My hope is that this is not sold in stores, because it will not sell.  Instead, you will have obscenely curious patrons of all sexual orientations, picking this up, and sniffing it, to.....well...smell for themselves!!!!!!!!!!!  Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            If it is, hopefully, limited to her GOOP website, then only certified Gwyneth cultists will buy it.  And, while I, thankfully, have never met any, I know they are out there; younger women who will, upon maturity, evolve from Gwyneth to Martha Stewart.  Both are high end bitches, but even Martha has more propriety than this!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Hey, Gwyneth, if you are still ovulating, why don't you just market your used tampons?  I am sure enough nuts out there would but them, preserving them under a bell jar!  In which case, these folk have mental problems far exceeding Sylvia Plath's!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Which Gwyneth, herself, played!

                                             How do you solve a problem like Gwyneth?  Not like Maria!!!!!!!!!!  The best solution would be to have her withdraw completely from the spotlight.  Others have, and I respect their choice.  And some of those I miss!

                                              Gwyneth would not be missed, except by those, like Blythe, who, in spite of it all, love her.  I, for one, could well do without her!

                                                Gwyneth, honey, couldn't you have been a little more subtle in your marketing?  Couldn't you have called the candle, "See You Next Tuesday?"