(written at a previous date)
Dear Harriet Walter,
When I registered on Facebook many months ago my dad recommended that I never show it my heart, or something to that effect. For various reasons.
I wish my semi-friend - let us call her K - had been given that advice.
It's embarassing to see people post statuses sagging with angst and whining over how they miss or dream about an indeterminate "you".
I seriously hope she doesn't wonder why nobody responds to those statuses, because they are of a nature too private for social comment.
I'll just have to imagine that K is talking to you, Dame Harriet.
I'm so glad my best friend hasn't gotten into Boy Complications yet. Maybe soon, but not so far.
(Best Friend is a class act, by the way. She and I once had a heated argument about what the word "gargoyle" meant for about 45 minutes at our pastor's digs because we'd both shown up for youth group too early by accident and had to find a way to pass the time. Three different dictionaries were consulted and she made some very insulting comments as to the relative qualities of said dictionaries, as the one that agreed with her definition was a Merriam-Webster. She nearly exploded with futile rage when I said "But this one is right because it agrees with me!" because I'm a bitch. Eventually we ended up arguing the definition of "definition", but thankfully by then people had arrived and we could get on to the snacks and couch-claiming and interactive sermon.)
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Fred and Ginger
(written at a previous date)
Dear Harriet Walter,
A few things about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers:
-I just found the song "The Whichness of the Whatness" as performed by Fred and his sister Adele on Youtube and it is basically dripping with awesome. The "aaaaaah!" noise kills me every time. I had no idea Adele's voice was so scary-high, but I got used to it. She was probably mostly affecting it anyway. Fashions and whatnot. Like Snow White. Ew. I wonder what she sounded like when she was speakin' like a normal person.
-If Fred and Adele were English, not siblings, and (as far as Adele goes) more reasonably pitched on the vocal front, they would be such a fantastic Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane. For serious.
-The slo-mo dream sequence dance that Fred and Ginger do after "Colorblind" in Carefree is the greatest thing ever.
-I've heard a few different versions of the fiasco that happened when Fred and Ginger were filming Top Hat and they had to do "Cheek to Cheek" and Ginger wanted to wear her freakish blue feathery thing as a gown and Fred was like "wtf no" (basically), but I have today found a favorite:
"Although Bernard Newman was in charge of dressing the stars, Rogers was very interested in dress design and make-up. For the 'Cheek to Cheek' dance routine, she wanted to use her own creation. Astaire (who normally approved his partner's gowns and suggested modifications, if necessary, during rehearsals) saw the dress for the first time on the day of the shoot, and was horrified at the way it shed, recalling later: 'It was like a chicken attacked by a coyote, I never saw so many feathers in my life.' Astaire lost his temper and yelled at Rogers, who burst into tears, where her mother 'came charging at him like a mother rhinoceros protecting her young.' An additional night's work by seamstresses fixed the problem. Later, Astaire presented Rogers with a gold feather for her charm bracelet, and serenaded her with a parody of Berlin's tune:
Feathers — I hate feathers
And I hate them so that I can hardly speak
And I never find the happiness I seek
With those chicken feathers dancing
Cheek to Cheek."
I have no idea if any of that is true, and I have serious doubts, but I don't even care. I would slaughter infants to be able to hear Fred sing that song.
-I don't normally care about clothes more than your average 18-year-old who's figuring out her tastes in apparel, and I don't even care about this particular dress that much, but the gown Ginger wears in "The Continental" (from The Gay Divorcee, which is lame except for the musical numbers) is definitely not black and white (if you compare it to Fred's clothes, you can tell) and I want to know what colors it was so badly I may go insane. I will be like a Lovecraft hero if Lovecraft heroes were fashionably-minded.
-I want to own a tailored-to-fit-me replica of the "Colorblind" dress. And a flappy cloak. Possibly like the cape that goes with the "Never Gonna Dance" dress.
And then I want to stand on a breezy clifftop and be visually dramatic.
Dear Harriet Walter,
A few things about Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers:
-I just found the song "The Whichness of the Whatness" as performed by Fred and his sister Adele on Youtube and it is basically dripping with awesome. The "aaaaaah!" noise kills me every time. I had no idea Adele's voice was so scary-high, but I got used to it. She was probably mostly affecting it anyway. Fashions and whatnot. Like Snow White. Ew. I wonder what she sounded like when she was speakin' like a normal person.
-If Fred and Adele were English, not siblings, and (as far as Adele goes) more reasonably pitched on the vocal front, they would be such a fantastic Lord Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane. For serious.
 |
| Look at them. Look at how fabulous they are. Look. |
-The slo-mo dream sequence dance that Fred and Ginger do after "Colorblind" in Carefree is the greatest thing ever.
-I've heard a few different versions of the fiasco that happened when Fred and Ginger were filming Top Hat and they had to do "Cheek to Cheek" and Ginger wanted to wear her freakish blue feathery thing as a gown and Fred was like "wtf no" (basically), but I have today found a favorite:
"Although Bernard Newman was in charge of dressing the stars, Rogers was very interested in dress design and make-up. For the 'Cheek to Cheek' dance routine, she wanted to use her own creation. Astaire (who normally approved his partner's gowns and suggested modifications, if necessary, during rehearsals) saw the dress for the first time on the day of the shoot, and was horrified at the way it shed, recalling later: 'It was like a chicken attacked by a coyote, I never saw so many feathers in my life.' Astaire lost his temper and yelled at Rogers, who burst into tears, where her mother 'came charging at him like a mother rhinoceros protecting her young.' An additional night's work by seamstresses fixed the problem. Later, Astaire presented Rogers with a gold feather for her charm bracelet, and serenaded her with a parody of Berlin's tune:
Feathers — I hate feathers
And I hate them so that I can hardly speak
And I never find the happiness I seek
With those chicken feathers dancing
Cheek to Cheek."
I have no idea if any of that is true, and I have serious doubts, but I don't even care. I would slaughter infants to be able to hear Fred sing that song.
-I don't normally care about clothes more than your average 18-year-old who's figuring out her tastes in apparel, and I don't even care about this particular dress that much, but the gown Ginger wears in "The Continental" (from The Gay Divorcee, which is lame except for the musical numbers) is definitely not black and white (if you compare it to Fred's clothes, you can tell) and I want to know what colors it was so badly I may go insane. I will be like a Lovecraft hero if Lovecraft heroes were fashionably-minded.
 |
| what is that. WHAT. |
-I want to own a tailored-to-fit-me replica of the "Colorblind" dress. And a flappy cloak. Possibly like the cape that goes with the "Never Gonna Dance" dress.
And then I want to stand on a breezy clifftop and be visually dramatic.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Order! Order!
Dear Harriet Walter,
Dude!
I know I'm, like, a week late to the party, but I just found out that you got your Order upgraded in the New Year Honours for services to drama the other day!
Congratufuckinglations!
"Dame Commander". Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire. It's so nifty I just want to puke blood and sunshine and happiness.
"Dame Harriet Walter". Like, totally equal to Dame Judi Dench or Dame What's-her-face. SO. AWESOME.
(I think I'll have to be totally rude and keep writing to you with "Dear Harriet Walter," though. "Dear Dame Harriet Walter (DBE)" just hasn't got quite the same ring to it.)
YAY! <3
Dude!
I know I'm, like, a week late to the party, but I just found out that you got your Order upgraded in the New Year Honours for services to drama the other day!
Congratufuckinglations!
"Dame Commander". Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire. It's so nifty I just want to puke blood and sunshine and happiness.
"Dame Harriet Walter". Like, totally equal to Dame Judi Dench or Dame What's-her-face. SO. AWESOME.
(I think I'll have to be totally rude and keep writing to you with "Dear Harriet Walter," though. "Dear Dame Harriet Walter (DBE)" just hasn't got quite the same ring to it.)
YAY! <3
victory
(written at a previous date)
Dear Harriet Walter,
Last night was a historic, historic night.
Historic.
Eighteen years I have lived on the wrong side of a series of glass boxes.
Eighteen years I have raged. Seethed. Screamed curses at the sky.
Imagine a balloon, an ordinary red balloon. Imagine it being pumped up with pure frustration and hope until it cannot hold any more, and explodes, and falls down to the dirty supermarket floor, defeated, collapsed, aching with failure. A failure that is not its fault. A failure that is the fault of the useless metal claw within the glass box, which falls and stays and rises and clamps back unto itself halfway back up its fucking rise to the ceiling of the glass box.
I am that balloon. I have seen all my hopes and desires sit within those glass boxes, unmoving, untouchable, mocking me with their loveliness. Mocking me with my failure. Saying, somebody else will succeed, I shall escape my prison, but you will not be the one to succeed, because you cannot succeed. You will never succeed. Never, never, never.
Guess what, you little bitches?
I have done it.
I have seized one of your fellows from his rest atop a strangely green Tweety Bird and the head of that slut Betty Boop (wearing a Santa hat) and a friendly owl whose eyes were glazed with death and unintelligent love.
I have claimed the soft orange fox, and his large, startled eyes could not be more appropriate within the context of last night.
I have done it.
I have beaten the claw machine.
Dear Harriet Walter,
Last night was a historic, historic night.
Historic.
Eighteen years I have lived on the wrong side of a series of glass boxes.
Eighteen years I have raged. Seethed. Screamed curses at the sky.
Imagine a balloon, an ordinary red balloon. Imagine it being pumped up with pure frustration and hope until it cannot hold any more, and explodes, and falls down to the dirty supermarket floor, defeated, collapsed, aching with failure. A failure that is not its fault. A failure that is the fault of the useless metal claw within the glass box, which falls and stays and rises and clamps back unto itself halfway back up its fucking rise to the ceiling of the glass box.
I am that balloon. I have seen all my hopes and desires sit within those glass boxes, unmoving, untouchable, mocking me with their loveliness. Mocking me with my failure. Saying, somebody else will succeed, I shall escape my prison, but you will not be the one to succeed, because you cannot succeed. You will never succeed. Never, never, never.
Guess what, you little bitches?
I have done it.
I have seized one of your fellows from his rest atop a strangely green Tweety Bird and the head of that slut Betty Boop (wearing a Santa hat) and a friendly owl whose eyes were glazed with death and unintelligent love.
I have claimed the soft orange fox, and his large, startled eyes could not be more appropriate within the context of last night.
I have done it.
I have beaten the claw machine.
Monday, January 10, 2011
nutrition
******EDIT 7-21-11: this post is so annoying and loud that it makes me want to punch myself in the face so I have erased it because I can
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Swing Time/Top Hat
(written at a previous date)
Dear Harriet Walter,
I'm confused. I've been thinking about the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies Swing Time (someyearinthethirties) and Top Hat (alsosomeyearinthethirties). They're generally considered the two best of the ten Fred 'n Ginger flicks, and different people are always saying one of the two is the best followed by the other. I thought once I saw them both I would have a definite opinion on the debate which would automatically negate everybody else's opinions but I don't.
Like, Top Hat has a tighter plot, better characters and a better supporting cast...but Swing Time has such damn fine musical numbers.
Honestly Swing Time is a bit like a mosaic, with the plot forming the grout which frames and holds together the interesting bits which are the musical numbers.
Also, seeing as the two numbers are basically parallel (at least in my mind), I have to say that Ginger's white swirly gown in "Never Gonna Dance" (from Swing Time) is SO MUCH BETTER than Ginger's gown in "Cheek to Cheek" (from Top Hat). I mean that awful feathery creation is just such an...object!
(Later PS: Have just learned that the white Swing Time gown was in fact light pink. Am shattered.)
Dear Harriet Walter,
I'm confused. I've been thinking about the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movies Swing Time (someyearinthethirties) and Top Hat (alsosomeyearinthethirties). They're generally considered the two best of the ten Fred 'n Ginger flicks, and different people are always saying one of the two is the best followed by the other. I thought once I saw them both I would have a definite opinion on the debate which would automatically negate everybody else's opinions but I don't.
Like, Top Hat has a tighter plot, better characters and a better supporting cast...but Swing Time has such damn fine musical numbers.
Honestly Swing Time is a bit like a mosaic, with the plot forming the grout which frames and holds together the interesting bits which are the musical numbers.
Also, seeing as the two numbers are basically parallel (at least in my mind), I have to say that Ginger's white swirly gown in "Never Gonna Dance" (from Swing Time) is SO MUCH BETTER than Ginger's gown in "Cheek to Cheek" (from Top Hat). I mean that awful feathery creation is just such an...object!
 |
| totally awesome, classy and gorgeous and so on |
 |
| komondor had sex with an ostrich and their baby was a yeti and it lived in a haystack and ginger murdered it and wore its skin as an evening gown |
(Later PS: Have just learned that the white Swing Time gown was in fact light pink. Am shattered.)
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Breakfast at Tiffany's
(written at a previous date)
Dear Harriet Walter,
I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's with my sister a few months ago.
At the end when everything was being all rainy and dramatic/romantic, the camera was watching the guy playing Paul (George Peppard or whatever) and he was saying something dramatic and acting as a Romantic Lead and stuff and I just don't know.
I was like "I wish this guy was Ryan Reynolds."
My sister was like "YESSS"
And I was like "LIKE HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE"
Just think about it.
Dear Harriet Walter,
I watched Breakfast at Tiffany's with my sister a few months ago.
At the end when everything was being all rainy and dramatic/romantic, the camera was watching the guy playing Paul (George Peppard or whatever) and he was saying something dramatic and acting as a Romantic Lead and stuff and I just don't know.
I was like "I wish this guy was Ryan Reynolds."
My sister was like "YESSS"
And I was like "LIKE HOW AWESOME WOULD THAT BE"
Just think about it.
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