 The Only Illusion that Counts |
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I cannot even believe that it's already February, the month of my birth and Mardi Gras and Valentine's Day, and it's starting off with such putrid weather that I can scarcely imagine driving back to work after my lunch break. I hope this is not a portent of things to come. I'm not sure which disgusts me more, this foul rainy cold ickiness or Hilary Duff's appearance on Joan of Arcadia. It's a toss-up. I am so sad to hear from Elizabeth that Little Women, the Broadway musical, is not good. Poor Sutton Foster! She deserves better, doesn't she? I listen to her singing on the Thoroughly Modern Millie soundtrack often, and she is sublime. Her Millie really is kind of Jo Marchish when you think about it, especially when she sings "Not for the Life of Me." Anyway. I love the most recent movie version of Little Women so much. Especially when Marmie asks Jo something like how can a person with such extraordinary gifts expect to live an ordinary life and then tells her to go and embrace her liberty. I CANNOT EVEN TYPE THESE WORDS WITHOUT TEARS FILLING MY EYES. I would also like to point out that I am quite jealous that certain beyotches I know are going to see Duran Duran. This is just to say that reading Chiara's journal makes me happy. Of all of her entries that I love, I think this one is my favorite. I like to imagine us going to a double feature of these movies in Seattle in the present day and weeping openly into our popcorn during Stand By Me and giggling at the homoerotic splendor of The Lost Boys and crushing inexplicably on the Frog brothers. Anyway, all of these thoughts of Millie make me think of my sister, whom I'll be seeing in a few short weeks. I'm not sure how I'm going to endure the freezing cold of her current homestead, but I will just have to bundle up. I don't really have a warm coat or anything really warm enough to protect me from such things as ice freezing in my nostrils which she's reported happening lately. We might just have to get very drunk to keep warm at her favorite neighborhood bar that I picture her gathering in every night in a very St. Elmo's Fire kind of a way. I wonder which character she would be in that scenario. I think every little girl wanted to be a little like Jules, snorting coke with the Sheiks and wearing crazy fabulous outfits, but in truth I was a lot more like Mare Winningham's Wendy, being scared to climb out the window onto the roof but being lured there anyway by a bad boy every now and again. I think I still love St. Elmo's Fire more than is probably healthy or reasonable. Lisa knows, doesn't she? I mean, haven't we talked for years about Billy the Kid and how awesome it is to make our very own peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with our very own peanut butter and jelly? Or am I making that up? Speaking of Mare Winningham, I love her, and I TiVoed but have not yet watched the Hallmark Hall of Fame movie with her and Keri Russell that was on Sunday night. I've already gone on and on about my love for her, though, so I will not affront anyone with further exultation of her awesomeness. Maybe my love for St. Elmo's Fire really all just boils down to how hot Rob Lowe used to be and all of his sweaty saxophoney yumminess, but I don't really think that’s it. I think I love it just because it's about friends, captured in a moment in time, who are rescuing and falling in and out of love with each other when they're all really lost and trying to find their ways in the world. I think that it's a timeless story because I think my friends have been that way for more than a decade now (or two decades in some cases, Jesus) and our moments in time just keep changing along with our lives and we try to keep up with each other as sanely and as loyally as we can. High school, college, jobs, moving away, coming back, and, in some cases, getting married and having babies and Lord almighty in heaven I cannot wait until my One True Niece comes home. Some of us are settled and some of us are not, some of us are still chasing our Dale Beavermans, some of us are still climbing on the bus to go to the city and waving goodbye, some of us are still waiting for our bylines, and some of us are still having sex in the shower like Ally Sheedy and Andrew McCarthy. And it's all good, most of the time, because we're still going through it all together. And on that nauseatingly and hideously schmaltzy note, I will now also confess that I am listening to Carole King right now and loving every damn minute of it. Over and out. 
About this time in ...
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