Ten Months Down......And Happy Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           The year is certainly spinning down, isn't it?  Here it is, the end of October, which, of course, is Halloween.  My trick and treating days are long past, but I am not above watching a few horror movies, this evening.  And I already began this weekend, with "The WASP Woman!"  What a hoot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                              No, Halloween is not the fun time it was for me as a kid. Though I enjoy the trappings, and I want you readers to know that Baby Gojira, looking so cute in his Halloween outfit, sends you his wishes and love.

                                What a month!  From dentistry to "The Cherry Orchard!"  From anxiety to Celia Keenan-Bolger, who takes it all away.  Though not as skillfully as my beloved, who graces every day of every month.

                                   Some big events coming up in November, and beyond--so stay tuned, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      See you next month--when we all vote for HILLARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Birthday, Halloween Or Not!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 I could not let this October end, without a birthday wish to one whose birthday--at least the date--is not known, but it is in October, so, either, today or prior, Sister Camille D'Arienzo has turned 79. And continues to remain as upbeat, energetic, inspirational, and beloved, for those directly close to her, or those, like my beloved and myself, who never miss her Sunday broadcasts on 1010 WINS.  She always leaves one with something to think about.  I strive to have her strength of compassion, especially when it comes to forgiveness, and I do my best, but that is a hard one, girls.

                                 So, here is wishing Sister Camille a wonderful birthday celebration, and a very spirited and spiritual year.   And the Fatima Centennial is coming up.  Keep us in your prayers, Sister C, as you remain in ours.

                                    And have a glorious birthday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Commercial Is Absolutely Disgusting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                         I would love to know what tasteless jerk thought this one up!  The first time I saw the commercial for the spray, "V.I. Poo," I thought it was some outtake from "Saturday Night Live."  I mean, the entire thing is on the level of that program.  But when  I realized it was real, I was, to put it mildly, shocked.  And it takes a lot to shock ME, dolls!

                         The product is actually a type of air freshener.  According to the ad, before defecating, one sprays the seat, and maybe the bowl, and this casts away undesirable odors.  Really!
I am not about to test it out!  My bathroom time is private, girls, as all ours should be.

                         The ad even has the nerve to show waste products, referring to them as "devil's donuts!!!!!!!!!!!"  You have got to be kidding!  We have sunk to a new low.  Scatological advertising!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                            The animal kingdom is appalled!  They have more discretion!

                              As if the picture above was not disgusting enough, here is the ad, so you can see for yourselves!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                Barf!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How Oddly Appropriate To Say Farewell To This Icon On Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                             To kids like me, in the Sixties and Seventies,  horror meant "Zachereley."  On "Chiller Theatre," and other programs offering up trash horror, his wit and macabre appearance, almost replicating Lon Chaney's Erik in the 1925 "Phantom Of The Opera," but played for laughs, made him, among my generation, the "cool ghoul," we all wanted to be.  I can tell you, I did!

                              I never got to meet him, though he made personal appearances in the Metropolitan Area, during my childhood.  Upon his death, just a few days ago, I leaned more about him--as he seemed to vanish, after I grew up--than I ever had before.

                               He was born in September of 1918, which meant he died at 98!!!!!!!!!!!   He really WAS a "cool ghoul," to live that long.  I had had no idea he was still alive.  He was living, in Manhattan, and died in his own apartment, one of the New York's last rent-controlled residences.  That alone is an accomplishment.

                                His real name was not much different from his persona.  He was born John Zacherele in Philadelphia, graduated from the University Of Pennsylvania--yes!!!!!!!--and had a distinguished career of service in the Army, before launching himself on the road to horror fame.  He never married--hmmmmmm-- and lived contentedly alone.

                                So, on this Halloween, farewell Zacherely.  You were the coolest of the "cool ghouls," paving the way for the likes of Vampira, Elvira, and "Mystery Science Theatre." 

                                 Rest In Peace, you cool ghoul!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chop! Chop! Goes This "Cherry Orchard!" Thank God Celia Is On Hand To Save The Show!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                     I cannot, in all good conscience, recommend this production of Chekhov's immortal work.  Its poetic and lyrical language have been ruined by Stephen Karam's lugubrious and  ethnocentricized translation.  Then there is Simon Godwin's godforsaken lack of direction, with everyone flailing about, as if on speed, unsure of what play they are supposed to be in, or what we, the audience are supposed to be watching.  Forget the minimalist settings, and the period disparities within the costumes, did anyone think of challenging Godwin, saying, "Just what are we supposed to be doing, sir?"

                                     They all should have, but for the exception of the divine Celia Keenan-_Bolger, the only one who keeps one glued to their seat.  As Varya, Miss Keenan-Bolger breathes new life into that tried but true adage about there not being small parts, only small actors. After seeing what Celia does with the role of Varya, I shall never complain about the size of any part I may taken on hereafter.

                                       What Celia does is nothing short of extraordinary.  When Varya first appears on stage, in the beaming light, cross around her neck, it as though Jennifer Jones was onstage in "The Song Of Bernadette."  Celia's beauty and luminosity are comparable, and so is her beautifully internalized work here.  Her Varya says even more with gestures than with lines, and when Celia communicates with a head turn, or a hand gesture, one feels in the presence of true acting greatness, recalling the days of Modjeska, Nazimova, and Blanche Yurka.  This is one "Cherry Orchard" that could do with a whole lot more of Celia, and, as I watched, I was counting ways I could have added her in to the staging.  Too bad Mr. Godwin and I don't think alike.

                                        As for the other actors, they are trapped!  Diane Lane is so actressy, which makes sense, as her character had been an actress--think Desiree Armfeldt--only Kamal's text fails to mention this very important distinction.  John Glover plays his role like some queen out of a John Waters film, and Joel Grey is doing vaudeville.  Close behind Celia is Tavi Gevenson, in the role of Anya; no surprise there, since she did Celia's job, when playing Mary Warren in the recent "Crucible,"saving that theatrical mess.

                                        Really, if you want to learn about and witness genuinely great stage acting, the kind audiences don't get to see much anymore, than go see this production, keep your eye exclusively on Celia, and let her work her magic.

                                         For the less devoted, I would recommend "Matilda," while it still runs!  Really!

                                         Love you, Celia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Is A Literary Splash, Girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           I hesitated for a long time, before reading this one, dolls!!!!!!!!!  A book about a plane crash????????  Not another "The High And The Mighty;" just what I need, with my fear of plane crashes, even though I watch the opening sequence of "Final Destination" again and again.

                            The plane crash is the least of this novel, and Mr. Hawley, to h is credit, does not dwell on that event itself, but more on the cause and its aftermath.  The survivors, a bohemian artist, and a toddler, heir to a fortune, are fought over by relations and lovers alike, but the character studies Hawley constructs are used to get more and more at the truth behind the crash, which, once found out, is both shocking and mundane.  Or, rather, shocking because it is sheerly mundane.  It is certainly not going to make feel any safer--quite the reverse--about flying on a plane.

                             But, as a novel, Noah Hawley has written a proverbial page turner, so if I, who fear plane crashes, could get caught up with this, then the rest of you should be fine.  I have never heard of Hawley before, but with this breakout book, he emerges as a writer to keep an eye on.

                               Take the challenge!  Read this while flying on a plane!

                                Like reading "Rosemary's Baby," when pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Did It Again, Girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                Yes, I am through with the dentist now, until April.  Got through everything all right....including the bill, which is not fun, at all.

                                   But stay tuned, for, over the weekend, I have many things to write about and cover, besides which we are coming up on Halloween. Could anyone get in a screening of "Rosemary's Baby" for us, please, or at least the 1978 John Carpenter classic, "Halloween."   Something; I mean, come on!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                     So, it is going to be a blog filled weekend, in between with everything else I do!!!!!!!!!!!!  But now we can kiss the dentist goodbye...with time enough to block it out!

Isn't He The Cutest Thing????????????????

                                  I did not even know about the Montauk Monster, when I went there last summer.  But, since I have found out--in July of 2008, a mysterious creature washed up on shore at Montauk, looking like a cross between a gigantic raccoon, or a baby dinosaur.  Now, I know Gojira had nothing to do with this, because he does not eat flotsam and jetsam from the sea.  He dines on the high end, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                 So, the monster has become kind of a local legend.  I think there are more out there, and I thought this drawing was the nicest--so cute and lovable, which I am sure this creature is--or creatures are.

                                  I wonder if Roberta saw the monster, back in 2008.

                                   Anyway, it gives me a good reason to go back to Montauk next year.

                                   Who knew exciting things awaited one, there?????????????????

Can You Believe They Are Going To Revive This On Broadway????????????????????

                                                      "Ouisa:  You are my SLAVE, and you will
                                                           serve me, BOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
                                                         Paul: Ah am from New York! And ah ain't
                                                            no slave boy to no motherfuckin' White
                                                          BITCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

     
                                         Once upon a time, in the late 1980's, an enterprising grifter named David Hampton, claiming he knew some private school children, as he was the son of actor Sidney Poitier, found his way into the lives of news exec and Dean of The Columbia School Of Journalism,  Osborn Elliiott, and his wife Inger.  Believing his story, they invited the young man into their home.  But they were quickly disillusioned, one evening, when they returned home from a prestiege engagement, and found Hampton had brought into their home, a gay hustler, a naked creature of the streets, who robbed them, and probably had crabs, so they all got it, too.  Hampton spun another story, about how his father would get them auditions for the film version of "CATS," but soon Hampton was out on his butt, and eventually convicted.

                                           One of the Elliotts' friends turned out to be a rather mediocre, and overrated playwright named John Guare. When  they told him this story, he saw its dramatic possibilities, and wrote what is now his signature work, "Six Degrees Of Separation."  It was trouble from the word go.

                                             Blythe Danner had originally been cast as Ouisa. But she quickly backed out of it, and no one, to this day, knows why.  Blythe is not talking.  Stockard Channing was recast, as Ouisa, and when it opened, at the Vivian Beaumont Theatre, Lincoln Center on May 16, 1990, I could not get over how crazy the critics were falling over this thing.  That big old closet case, Frank Rich, thought it was the greatest thing to come down the pike.  By the time I saw it, with my "Chorus Line" fave, Kelly Bishop playing a wonderful Ouisa, I was already calling it "Six Degrees Of Crap," which I still do to this day, and painting comic speech balloons on the poster that had the lines above--created by me--which would have livened up the play quite a bit.  The only redeemable thing I thought was in the play were the actors who played the obnoxious children, the only honest characters in the play, and the ones I identified with most, because they were exactly what they were supposed to be, while everyone else was pretending to be something they weren't.

                                               And the play puts down everyone, even New York, When the two young actors, innocents from another part of the country, ended up murdered, I was completely disgusted with the whole thing.

                                                The movie was not much better, except the actual New York locales, were luscious to look at.

                                                  And now this clunker is going to get revived, Guare must need cash, since he never had a hit since.  I love Allison Janney and John Benjamin Hickey, but can they breath life into this turkey??????????????????????

                                                    Now, darlings, if I could get seen for one of the obnoxious children, that COULD make a difference.                                          

What A Schmuck For A Bitch!!!!!!!!!!!! Another Parent From Hell Makes Bitch Of The Week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Who could imagine Chevy Chase playing such a despicable character? But, when I recently saw his performance on the "Law And Order" episode "In Vino Vertias," meaning "In wine, there is truth, I have to say I was impressed by his acting, repelled by his character.

                                   Chase plays Mitch Carroll, an on-the-outs New York actor, who was something of a celebrity in the day, but cannot get by now, because of his drinking. Which, of course, he does not blame for his problems.  Once he starts guzzling, the ones who are blamed are the Jews in the world; Carroll is a barely self-contained Anti-Semite. He is also a narcissus supreme, and when the two chillingly coalesce, one sees how evil he is.

                                      Because of his celeb status, Carroll got custody of his son, when his wife should have. She loves him, the father barely acknowledges his existence, yet keeps venting his anti-Semitic rhetoric at the boy, until the child absorbs it, in a desperate effort to please his father.  This is taken to the extreme, when, egged on by rhetoric and desperation for , John, to please his father, hunts down and kills Danielle Hertzberg, the producer whom he believes blackballed him in the industry, and has kept him from working.

                                         At first, John is going to take the rap from Dad. But Jack McCoy shows the boy clearly that the father is a narcissist, who does not care for anyone but himself.  When the boy sees this for himself, he turns on his parent.

                                           Mitch Carroll is no Mitch Bayes.  He is a psychological abuser, and if Charlotte had beaten him to death, I would not have shed a tear.

                                              Chevy did a wonderful job, in a role that earns for Mitch the desigination of the winner of the Raving Queen Bitch Of The Week Award.

                                                He does go away to prison.  For extra punishment, he should be forced to attend Temple services!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Used To Think Custer's Last Stand Was "Custard's Last Stand!!!!!!!!!!!!" Really!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                I was reminded of this, darlings, in light of my recent posting on the TV show, "Branded," which, to me, was always suggested by Custer and the Battle Of Little Big Horn.  And then I thought how similar the name "Custer" is to custard, and pleasant thoughts began floating threw my head, visualizing golden spoonfuls of yellow, being mouthed by me, tasting delectable, sweet, and oh, so comforting!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  Custard. There is nothing like it. Even Jell-O's Golden Egg Custard, which I was practically raised on.  How I would love some homemade!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I know it is an especial favorite of Baby Gojira!  It goes down easy, for someone who is still a baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    This stand is somewhere up in New York State.  If I get there, I will have some, and get my picture taken.

                                       You will be the first to know, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Is Going To Be Me, Dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                        As you know, Lady Gaga, Liza, and I, are the last of the belters. This one has had her day, and then some.  But, when she was young and starting out, she blew every one away, and that is what I intend to do, in the near future. Even if I have to dress like this; I am going to hit the clubs, and score with the electricity of my voice. I , too, have "thirty six expressions," you know!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                         My vocal cords are as tough as ever. Just ask my beloved. So, when I hit the pavement, darlings, look out, It won't just be in front of the Waverly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                         Get off the stage, Barbra!  Forget "Gypsy!"  It's MY turn to do  "Funny Girl" now!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Should Have Dreams Like This!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                           Well, actually, girls, sometimes I do!

                            This is an iconic still from Edwin S. Porter's 1906  expressionist film, "Dreams Of A Rarebit Fiend."  I did not know till recently that the basis for this film was an early American comic strip, of the same title.  You never stop learning, dears!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                               Now, as to "rarebit fiend," I thought that meant the guy gorged himself on too much "Welsh rarebit," which is some kind of cheese sauce thing, barely made anymore, that was poured over toast, and eaten.  When I was introduced to it, back at my Aunt Jane's in the 1960's, I thought it was "Welsh rabbit," and threw a fit over having to eat a rabbit.  I would not be convinced, that time, though, later, I came around.

                                  So, I cannot recall if the film's dream is due to the man's consumption.

                                   What I do know is it replicates a desire of mine--to fly away, over the rooftops of London, to Neverland, just as in the movie and musical "Finding Neverland," and, of course, Peter Pan.  True, I could step on the Peter Pan Flight ride and have an approximate experience, but would require a trip to Florida and Disney World, which I am not willing to make.

                                       I just hope my sleep meds will carry me over the roofs, like the guy pictured!!!!!!!!!

                                        As for the rest of you, pleasant dreams, dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Did, Darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I Have To Go Back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                       Remember that Sixties toothpaste commercial--I think it was for Crest--where the little girl was ecstatic, telling her father, "I had only one cavity, Daddy?"  I suppose I should have felt like that yesterday, but as I never had a cavity in my LIFE, until I was 35, to have one now, fast on the heels of 62, is just too much to take. Let alone another visit to the dentist, which, for me, means more antibiotics, and a large bill. The one yesterday was $365, girls!  And all I got was an X-Ray and a cleaning.

                                       I don't mind going twice a year--every six months--because, in between, I block it out, like a colonoscopy.  But this is the pits, dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                         This filling had better be the end of things till next Spring!  Or else, watch out, when I am told to bite down!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                             Chomp! Chomp!, kiddies!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Darlings, I Hope My Dental Visit Tomorrow Does Not Turn Out Like This!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                              This is Guy Rolfe, unmasked, as "Mr. Sardonicus," based on the Ray Russell short story about a disfigured man with rictus, who has himself restored sugically to normal--with an unbearably awful price. It is in the collection of Ray Russell stories I recently bought, and it is in the 1961 William Castle movie--one of his better efforts.

                                Think of the tooth cleaning this guy must get. If they have to go deep, I don't know how it is done.  Fortunately, my teeth do not look like this, but, since I suffer from Dental Anxiety Disorder, I think Mr. Sardonicus is a perfect symbol for those of us who dread going to the dentist.

                                  Keep those pearly whites, dears, but don't get too greedy.  Or you might end up looking like Mr. Sardnoicus.

                                     Heh! Heh! Heh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Indian Summer Is Like A Woman................"

                 So begins Grace Metalious' immortal classic, "Peyton Place."

                  Now, Indian Summer 2016 is here, to last with us, until the long, dreary cold of the next several months finally sets in.  But many things can happen during Indian Summer; activities revived, a last jaunt in the out of doors, the last sunset watched, as it burns in the West.  Yes, Indian Summer is all this and more. Carnival, street fair, even circus time.  A last hurrah before the storms of Winter batter against us, rattling our windows, like the ghost of Catherine Linton in "Wuthering Heights."

                     Enjoy Indian Summer, while you can. Because, after that, the roses fade!

"He Was Innocent. Not A Charge Was True. But The World Will Never Know!!!!!!!!!!"

                                Well, darlings, I am here to say the world will know!

                                 I know how I have written about the Sixties TV show, "Branded," starring Chuck Connors.  I was never allowed to stay up on Sunday nights to watch it--that's how young I was, but I always loved its haunting opening and theme.

                                     These days, I feel I am living it, and have much to prove.  Not nearly as much as Chuck, but soon I will be turning my back on an important part of my present, which will slowly ebb into an important part of my past.  The transition is the hard part.

                                        Not to fear, it's not love, darlings.  I am the wealthiest and luckiest person in the world, when it comes to that. Keep tuned, and soon all will be made known.

                                           Meanwhile, here is the "Branded" opening and theme to ponder!!!!!!!!

Oh, My God!!!!!!!!!!!!! Roundabout's "The Cherry Orchard" Opens Tonight, And Celia Is Going To Break Audiences' Hearts!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                Darlings, I cried real tears, when I first saw this photo.  Just look at Celia Keenan-Bolger, on the far right, as Varya, you can see by the tilt of her head, the look  in her eyes, and the way she holds her hands that Varya is in torment.  I am sure I will cry real tears, when I see Celia make her first entrance.

                                So, get ready to have Celia break hearts, everyone, and, hopefully, a long overdue TONY Award along the way. 

                                 The photo also demonstrates all the technical work and character exploration Celia has done in preparation for this role.  So meticulous, and typical of her acting portrayals.

                                   Tomorrow, I expect the town will be abuzz with Celia talk.

                                    I cannot wait to see for myself, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  And share it with you!

                                    Break a leg tonight, Celia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Have A Blast With "Christine," Darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      Don't let the campiness of the headline fool you, girls; this movie is no walk in the park.  Christine Chubbuck, who shot herself on air in Sarasota , Florida, the morning of July 15, 1974, has not been in such vogue since....well.....her stunt.  Now, there is this narrative film, starring Rebecca Hall in a devastating performance, and an upcoming documentary called "Kate Plays Christine," which explores an actress, Kate Lynn Sheil, preparing to play this very difficult role.

                                      Hall's performance is the grabber, along with some good work by Tracy Letts and J. Smith Cameron.  Maybe because of personal experience--losing two friends to suicide, and my own feelings of loneliness during a period when I expected to be single forever--Hall made me feel Christine's pain to a greater degree than others.  I was crying and upset, before the movie was halfway done.

                                      What Christine's final act represented--to the world, to our culture, to herself, is never explored in enough depth.  The film gives the superficial drama of a troubled woman, cloaked by a group of top flanking actors, doing their best work, but never offers up any conclusions of its own.  One might just cavalierly say the film leaves the viewer to draw his or her own, but that is not good enough.  I wanted to fill in the dots about Christine--what happened in Boston that keeps being alluded to, but is never explored, what kind of upbringing she had, or siblings, what her school experiences were like, and how this utterly gifted woman was able, in spite of demons, to carve degrees of success out for herself.  Yes, the movie might have been longer, but it would have been  worth it, to get to know Christine better.  Only a glimmer is given here, made to seem more substantial by Hall's compelling performance, but from a dramaturgical point, it really isn't all it might have been.  Now, if Tracy Letts had written it......

                                       But that is conjecture.  Still, I want to warn you, dolls, the act IS shown in what, for me, was the most uncomfortable sequence to watch since the murder scene in 1994's "Heavenly Creatures."  It does not last as long as the latter, but plenty is seen.  Look at Hall's eyes as she delivers the speech; it is like looking into a person's hell.

                                        Perhaps the film is doing a service in firing up people's knowledge for more about Christine.  In exploring her, perhaps can be found better ways to help those like her--and they are out there--be prevented from going down Christine's path.

                                          And, darlings, even if you see it for your own, emotionally cathartic reasons, I would not recommend a second viewing.

I Refuse To Drink The Kool-Aid!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                    To many children of my generation, including your s truly, Kool-Aid in the summer was the most cooling thing imaginable.  Gallons of it were consumed during our childhood years, and prior to the pre-sweetened era, when the sugar had to be added yourself.  It was sweet, good, thirst quenching, and made us crave for more.  Is it any wonder that decades later, so many of us now have type 2 diabetes?

                                    Then, when the whole Jim Jones thing happened, drinking Kool-Aid took on an entirely new, and far more chilling, meaning.  Today the phrase "don't drink the Kool-Aid" refers directly back to that tragedy, in Guyana, on November 15, 1978, but, in the years since, it has become code to not giving in to something you don't want to do--whether it's wearing THAT DRESS to a certain party, or subscribing to today's corporatist culture.

                                     Which is where I am at.  I have gone from drinking Kool Aid to metaphorically refusing to do so.  Maybe I am regressing to that "Peter Pan' stage of life,, when "growing up was awful-er than all the awful things that ever were."  Which meant became a corporate conformist.  Like Rod Serling  was getting at in "A Stop At Willoughby" (my favorite "Twilight Zone" episode, with James Daly in a great performance) or his classic TV drama about business, "Patterns."  le plus ca change, le plus meme chose, darlings.

                                     I never had it in me to be a conformist.  Otherwise I would be on Wall Street now.  Why aren't I?  Why, instead. do I write this blog?  To make some laugh, and help others, who can relate.  To borrow from the great Lillian Hellman, "I will not cut my conscience to fit this year's fashions."

                                      Lillian was right,  my dears. Just ask true visionaries, like Anna Wintour!!!!!!!!!!!!


                                

Take My Word For It--No Matter What The Age, Never Trust Anyone Named Brandi Or Tiffany!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                          If "The Sleepover" is  any indication, those are bitch names.  And, in that story, Brandi and Tiffany were the real bitches. Ariel, while the murderer was just a weak acolyte--she wanted so much to be with the IN group that she let herself recruit sweet Rita Baxter as a victim. Ariel is a bitch, but, to quote Diane Neal as Casey Novak from "Mean" on 'SVU', back in 2004, "The last time I looked, being weak isn't an excuse for murder!  It's just pathetic!"

                           Ariel is pathetic, but she killed Rita, so who can feel sorry for her?  Brandi and her brother had parents from hell, but, hey, so did Ryan and Tina Bayes have Charlotte for a mom, and they were not implicated in a murder. Though Ryan, as a minor was forced to participate in one.

                             I am glad Tiffany and Brandi got what they deserved, as adults.  Especially Tiffany, who fell off the social ladder and became a house bound, down and out alcoholic!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                              Be very careful what you name your daughters, dolls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I Just Love Frances Conroy As Ma Polk!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                  They keep telling us "American Horror Story" is going to make a hundred and eighty degree twist, but I see no evidence of that.  I have seen it, however slowly evolving, starting out "Blair Witch-ish" and all, with the Roanoke story, with just a tiny bit of "Picnic At Hanging Rock" my theory, only slightly hinted at) thrown in for good measure.  Now, with the Polks, embodied brilliantly by Frances Conroy as Ma, the brains of the whole operation, and, in a brief appearance, Chaz Bono, a chip off the old Leather face, the show is hearing into "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" and "Motel Hell" territory.  Remember, as the saying went, "It takes all kinds of critters, to make Farmer Vincent's fritters."

                                    My money is on Ma Polk.  I cannot wait to see what Frances is up to next. Will she square off with Kathy Bates, as the Butcher???????????  They could put that one into Madison Square Garden, and it would be the only time queens attended a sporting event!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      I know, I know, I am SUCH a bitch!!!!!!!!!!  Well, listen when a TV show like this strings viewers along, the payback had better be substantial. And with a short season of only ten episodes, we are waiting!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                        Frances Conroy, however, is welcome, anytime. No matter what she does!!!!!!

                                         Bet the Polks turn out to be distantly related to the Motts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Some Literary Over Indulgence!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                         A literature instructor who goes to Athens for a Summer, to teach writing, is at the heart of Rachel Cusk's short-stories-disguised as novel, a series of ten vignettes touching upon the human condition, children, menstrual blood, dog abuse, which left me livid, and all that kind of technique-y writing that The New York Times just loves to suck up and hail as the new voice of reason.

                                         Well, Miss Cusk, I have news for you, dear. Despite some fine writing, and things that got to me, unless your next endeavor is practically the Second Coming, I will not be reading it. What a come down from "City On Fire."  Now, there's a book!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            Did I really care for anyone in these stories?   Only Mimi, the abused dog. I kept wishing Mimi had chewed through the author's manuscript, and then spitting it out.  I never felt it took me so long to finish so short a book.

                                              I did not like it.  But Miss Cusk does show evidence she can write. She just needs to make a stronger case of it for me.

                                                Skip this one, girls!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Gojira's Happy Face Puts A Positive Spin On Retirement!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                      Girls, remember the pivotal scene in "Network," when Peter Finch went to the window, opened it, screaming out into the night, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it, anymore?"  Well, Gojira wants all of those who might be considering retirement to take a cue from  Peter, and do the same.  Only in a smiley, positive way, like he is.

                                       Not that lovable Gojira is thinking of retirement.  Oh no; after being a film star for over 60 years, and still counting, are you kidding?   However, we Baby Boomers don't have as much shelf life as Gojira, so it is time to think about how we want our older years to be.  Before going, however gently or not, into that good night.

                                        I have every confidence Gojira will see me through what I have to. But, remember, he is here to  help any one of you; in fact, he looks forward to it.  As  I look forward to future potential opportunities.

                                         Here is that pivotal scene from "Network."  Let this be your positive mantra! Just like lovable Gojira!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"May We Come To Trust The Dreams We Must Fulfill!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                You are correct; that is "Merrily We Roll Along," (the OBC, of course!!!!!!!!) but not "The Hills Of Tomorrow."  The number actually pictured is the first act finale, "Now, You Know!"

                                   However, its joyous, hopeful moves, call to mind "The Hills Of Tomorrow," a song of hope and yearning, as I get nearer, like Julie as Maria, to stepping out from the abbey.  Personally, my mood is mixed; joy and excitement are in there, but so are some darker emotions.

                                     Still, I want to put a positive spin on all this, by incorporating this joyful shot from 'Merrily' with its opening song. All prior to seeing the film I simply cannot wait to see, darlings!!!!!!!!

                                      Here is the show's original opening, which, of course, includes the song!!!!!!!!!!

There Is A Little Bit Of Rita Baxter In All Of Us!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                            If only Rita had lived out the time to find her potential.  It was tragically cut short, in what was the previous post. But Abigail Mavity's performance in the role made her unforgettable.

                            Rita was that kid who so many of us once were. The one who does not quite seem to have her act together, even though she is on the right track, who views those who seem to have their act together, as better than she, until she finds out the truth. As well as the ugly truth that not all friendships are genuine, which sadly leads to her death.

                              Rita most likely would have peaked in her Thirties--personally and career wise. She was a good science student, and was on the track to a career in that field.

                               In "The Sleepover," Rita is seen, first and last, riding a bicycle, carefree, hair blowing in the wind.  To Lily Rush, who sees her last, and to so many of us who got beyond our "Rita-ness," let us always remember that carefree girl, forever riding her bicycle.  I know I will.

                              The next time you see a twelve-year-old joyously riding down a street, think of Rita!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This Week's Bitch Is One Of The Youngest Perps On "Cold Case!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                             I cannot believe, darlings, I have never written about the classic episode of this show, entitled, "The Sleepover."  It is a natural for this blog.

                              It is said to be based on the Shanda Sharer case.  I never thought of it at the time I first saw it--but after glancing at it again--I can see the connection. Ariel Shuman, the winner of this week's Raving Queen Bitch Of The Week Award, is young, but deadly.  She claims what happened to Rita was an accident, but it really wasn't, dolls. And Rita Baxter, played by Abigail Mavity, was probably the sweetest and saddest of all this show's victims.

                               The interesting thing is that while Ariel is the murderous bitch, this episode serves up plenty of bitches and victims.  Tiffany O'Connell and  Brandi Beaudry, whom Ariel especially wanted to be friends with in Middle School, are the garden grown suburban bitches; you know, from the Diane Dykeman school of suburban bitchery. Yeah, that's right.

                                Rita is bright; she is at a prestigious school on a scholarship, but she earns it. It is clear she would have cleared Advanced Placement Biology.  Rita is her own self; she does not drink the Kool Aid, and really does not want to be with the "IN" crowd.  But her friend, Ariel does, and when Ariel gets invited to a sleepover at Brandi's, Ariel thinks she is coming up in the world, but things are really starting to turn ugly for all.

                                   Brandi and Tiffany reveal themselves to be the bitches they are, taunting Rita for her appearance, and forcing Ariel to participate. At one point, Brandi talks about killing Rita, but even Tiffany draws the line here, and leaves. Rita and Ariel  stay, and, at one point, Brandi's parents, The Beaudrys, return.  They turn out to be parents from hell, on a par with Charlotte Bayes, and Roger Mulvaney.  They both abuse their children, Brandi and Neil, who has mental problems, with physical and emotional abuse.  When they return, the girls hide, but Rita is caught.  The Beaudrys go easy on her, but force Neil to hold his sister's head, under water, in an act of abuse. Rita witnesses it, but has the guts to confront Brandi, saying it is wrong.  and that maybe she could help. Brandi sends Ariel and Rita home. Rita isn't bothered, but Ariel is, as Brandi renounces their friendship, saying Ariel is not to sit at their lunch table anymore in school.  Ariel is devastated, and takes out her anger on Rita, who only wanted to be her friend. She pushes Rita, who slips, and falls into a ravine, landing on stones, killing her instantly.   Brandi sees what has happened from her window.

                                    As the years go on, Neil's problems get worse, Brandi becomes a party planner, and a drug addict, Tiffany a DWI house bound alcoholic, and while Ariel, like Rita, is bright enough to become a doctor, the cross she bears, for Brandi keeping her secret of Rita's death, is to supply Brandi with prescriptions, when needed.

                                     Thanks to Lily,  all the girls are brought together, and get their comeuppance. All are dragged off to prison, but Ariel will probably get life for killing Rita.  She is one of the youngest and saddest bitches. Killing because she wanted to be in a clique!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Even I never went that far.

                                        Not that I did not think about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                        But Rita was the sweetest, as you shall discover. Meanwhile, that Ariel deserves to rot. She was played by "The Ring's" Daveigh Chase in 1990, and Emma Bates in the 2004 segments.

                                           Choke on it, Ariel!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

What A Grand, Dickensian Trope!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                    "City on fire, rats in the street, it's the end of the world!"
                                                       ---Stephen Sondheim, "Sweeney Todd"

                                              When this novel came out last year, I had every intention of reading it.  I only recently finished it, and my single regret is I did not read it in 2015, for it certainly would have made my Book Of The Year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                Garth Risk Hallberg references every encapsulating detail about Manhattan, especially the East Village, in the late 70's.  But his reach goes as far as the swanky Upper East Side, the Upper West Side, and as far as Flower Hill, Long Island.

                                                 My two favorite characters were Samantha and Charlie.  And why not?
They were not much younger than I was at the time, though I experienced some of that East Village nastiness, but always from the gay perspective--and I lived to admit it!  But the way Hallberg brings all his characters and situations together is just breathtaking.  No one but Dickens can do this, and I have no doubt Mr. D was a big influence on Mr. H.

                                                  As was Victor Hugo.  When you have heard the name Fantine, on here, you know I am talking about the tragic character in "Les Miz," be it novel or musical.

                                                   In an unusual way that blew me away, Mr. Hallberg pays homage to Fantine.  The tragic Samatha is shot, hospitalized, and basically placed in a Karen Ann Quinlan--another past reference!!!!!!!!--situation.  Two of the most devoted nurses watching over Sam, as he prefers to be called, are named Mary-Pat and Fantine.  I am convinced Mr. Hallberg intended this, because it is a role reversal of sorts--in the Hugo novel, Sister Simplice  watches especially over the dying Fantine, because  the other sisters refuse to go near her, since she had been a prostitute.  Hallberg has made Fantine here his novel's Sister Simplice, and Sam his Fantine!  Talk about emotional resonance with readers!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                  As for length, Hallberg's tome runs over nine hundred pages.  While it seems daunting, it is one of the fastest nine hundred page reads I had the pleasure of enjoying.  And had wished it had kept on going.

                                                      When I closed the book, I let out an elongated "Wow!"  I felt for the novel, and all of its characters.  I recognized characters and phrases ("Shooting galleries?"  I had forgotten that one!  Not a part of my life, but, hey I knew!) long past.  I sympathized with all in the book, but I sympathized with Mr. Hallberg, at the end.  This is his first novel, and it is such a stunner, his is going to be a tough act to follow!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                          Which does not mean I don't wish him the best, and await his next endeavor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Sharing Horizons That Are New To Us!/Watching For Signs Along The Way!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

                                       Oh, Karen, Karen, where are you now?????  Horizons are for knowing, but what about the ones we don't often know where they lead.  Well, Dorothy followed that course, and looked what I got her--MGM stardom, price paid by drugs and a premature death.

                                        I am not planning on any of the above, though I wouldn't mind a little stardust.  Just a thought, loves.  Who knows; I may still be wanted, just like the Princess Kosmonopolis!!!!!!!!!!

                                         I have always been a big believer in one thing leading to another.  I mean, let's face it, in "The Sound Of Music," Jules has to come out of the abbey in that dreadful getup, but the payoff is that miraculous wedding gown, which, to this day, I want to wear. 

                                         I may not have the glow of The Carpenters in their day, but I have the determination of Scarlett O'Hara in my veins.

                                          Some had to step their way out of Scarlett!  Well, hons, some will have to step out of my way, too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            But let's end with Karen!

What Kind Of Nut(s) Would Do Something Like This??????????????????

                                Let me start with the photo, because it is captivating.  It is a tower, in South Carolina, where a man and his fiancee planned to ride out Hurricane Matthew.  However, my chief subject of this post is a Halifax man named David Mitchell.  No, not the brilliant writer. He resembles some ersatz "Survivor" wannabe, complete with bare chest, long hair, pigtail pulled back behind, and he is going to ride out Matthew, in the middle of the ocean.  From what I now understand, he survived.

                                I am certainly happy about that.  But why such macho bullshit?  Why would anyone want to put themselves through that?  And that Carolina guy, subjecting his fiancee????  If he wants to play ape, that's fine, but why subject her?

                                I am telling you, our lovable reptile friend, Gojira, who is tougher than anything when he wants to be, wouldn't be seen going near a storm like this.  He's too smart, which is why he has remained a star for decades!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                And I know, in my last post, I mentioned trying things one has never done before, or may not be especially adept at.  But bad musicianship or rank amateur poetry never killed their creators.  Maybe it humiliated them, or provided a wake up call, but THIS????????????

                                  But, no, I am not going to now put "Riders Of The Storm" on here.  My point is made.  Girls, if you want to ride out the storm next time, tell me, provide a full report!  I will be interested.

                                   Remember this, though--Dorothy and Toto had more sense!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Should I Have Been Patti Smith??????????????????

                                            I mean, how could I, darlings???????????  With my influences??????????

                                            Really, the questions I am asked sometimes are amazing.  I know what my age is, but I don't view myself as old.  But youngsters, I means teens and twenties, obviously do, and sometimes, to be honest, I must say I view them as "petit enfants!!!!!!!!!!"

                                             I had such a generational encounter, when a member of the younger set, perhaps because I was carrying around Garth Risk Hallberg's  "City On Fire," asked if I used to hang out with Patti Smith in the Chelsea Hotel.  I had to laugh, because, while the idea of the Chelsea was appealing, I would certainly not have fit in with that crowd.  For starters, I am not a musician.  While I have a voice, its style is so removed from Patti and the Chelsea crowd that I would not feel comfortable in that world.  Secondly, Patti is a poet; she puts words and lyrics together in a structural, rhythmic fashion I just don't have.  As someone who does write, I have, over time, experimented with poetry.  It hasn't turned up on here, because I instantly knew I did not have the touch.  One either does or doesn't.  Secondly, I did not, even while doing it, enjoy the creation of it, as I do the prose in these posts, or the short stories I have attempted, so if that wasn't enough of an indication, I would have been just plain dumb.  Lastly, when I put the results up against Patti, or Sylvia Plath, or anyone versed in this art form, even I could see the limpness of my results.

                                          I am sure many of us, for experimental reasons or curiousity, attempt things we are not good at, to see what it is like, or to test the waters.  Sometimes, there is surprise success.  But I am as far removed from poetry and Patti Smith as I am from being a day trader on Wall Street!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                           This is the answer I would have given that young one, had both of us had the time.  As it is, I just laughed and said, "It's a nice thought, but you have got to be kidding."

                                            I am more from the school of Sondheim.  The furthest I go with avant-garde is Elizabeth Swados (RIP) and her lyrics from "Runaways," or setting my favorite Sylvia Plath poem, "Daddy," to music.  Within the poetic realm I am more of an appreciator than a creator.

                                            Case in point, I will offer on here what is considered Patti Smith's masterwork, or at least one of then, "Horses."  I acknowledge its talent and brilliance, but, sweeties, it runs nine minutes, and I simply could not get through it.

                                              I am more comfortable with tea at the Plaza, or such, and a string quartet playing Vivaldi.

It Isn't So Much About Not Giving A Shit, As Letting The Cards Fall Where They May!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                              Let's face it, hons, Alice knew when she was being dealt a hand, and so do I!!!!!!!!!!!  This is why I am going to follow Alice's lead, regarding what I said earlier on here, about the Pink Palace.  Like Alice, maybe it IS time to emerge from my decades long underground Wonderland immersion.

                                              Only Time will tell, as Alice would attest.  When Wonderland becomes no more, the only thing to do is exit gracefully.  Just as Alice was taught, and I was, at Miss Porter's!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                 Which is why 'Alice' is one of my favorite books.  And why I always go ask her..even when she is ten feet tall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                                   You will kept apprised, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

                                            But, what better way to express my attitude, than with this song from "Follies"  Here goes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!