tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19789254817485227972024-03-12T19:55:28.958-05:00My Pretty Baby Cried She Was a BirdLisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.comBlogger777125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-58233940134245537922020-05-14T15:21:00.003-05:002020-05-14T15:24:01.741-05:00Review: A Way of Life, Like Any Other
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/439731" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="A Way of Life, Like Any Other" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320554767l/439731._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/439731">A Way of Life, Like Any Other</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/149339">Darcy O'Brien</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3335649909">4 of 5 stars</a>
<br /><br />
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When I first laid eyes on <i>A Way
of Life, Like Any Other,</i> by Darcy O'Brien, the book was in the fifth
position of a “five Hollywood lives” list compiled by author Susanna Moore for the
Wall Street Journal. I was surprised to see only two familiar titles on said
list in a nonfiction genre that I’m as familiar with as the back of my hand. Well!
I would have to see just what this was about. Turns out, the semi-fictionalized
memoir of O’Brien’s Hollywood adolescence is just a treat from first page to
last—that rare combination of a subject I wanted to read about written by
someone with a singular position to have witnessed and a singular talent for describing
*just* that. Some of the raunchier passages aside, I was dazzled by O’Brien’s
ear for dialogue and admired the dry, deadpan wit of his observations of life in
the movie colony as his actor parents’ respective stars began to fade and then
blink out altogether. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">O’Brien’s parents were George O’Brien
and Marguerite Churchill, two silent movie stars who, to put it kindly, had
limited success in the talkie era. By the time the book opens, sometime in the early
fifties’, the two former celebrities are navigating a messy divorce and a
transition to civilian life, neither able to accomplish this pivot with any
particular degree of grace. Our narrator, grade-school aged, finds himself
caught in between helping his mother plan boozy dinner parties and picking her
up from her occasional suicide attempts, while his father is mostly exiled from
his life by his mother’s resentment over the divorce. This material, in less
capable hands, would be the stuff of a Jerry-Wald-produced soap opera style
tearjerker, à la <i>I’ll Cry Tomorrow</i>. Instead, O’Brien makes the occasionally
lurid episode seem oddly mundane with his detached, trenchant insights into his
mother’s behavior. Her overfrank discussions with her son about her sex life,
her problems with her ex-husband, and her own disappointments in life feel as
inappropriate as they do real. After Churchill’s second marriage, to a Russian
sculptor, falls apart spectacularly in Rome, O’Brien is sent home to California
to live with his father, whose Gary Cooper-isms and sincere good-naturedness are a sea change
from the constant hysteria of the first several chapters of the book with his
mother. George O’Brien, too, is a broken character—listlessly existing from week
to week in an “after the parade’s gone by” state of nostalgia for his career in
westerns and burying himself in volunteer work at the local Catholic church for
lack of other obligations. However, O’Brien’s father seems like a much calmer
broken character, and you develop an odd affection for him and his aw shucks
manners, compared to the mild antagonism I felt towards Churchill for just how
little she seemed to care about anyone besides herself. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Later, O’Brien goes to live with
a schoolmate’s family at their palatial Beverly Hills estate, and sees
first-hand the behind the scenes life of Sam Caliban, a B-picture mogul who
seems to be an amalgam of several old Hollywood directors/producers. Caliban
balances gambling debts, production overages, his son and wife, and a starlet
girlfriend with a juggler’s grace, and his brief dominance of the middle third
of the book makes you wish he had his own spin-off. There’s a liberated, sexy
love interest in the form of Linda, O’Brien’s would-be girlfriend whose
contradictory endorsement of the free love movement and the looming presence of
her actual steady boyfriend keep the two at arms-length. In spite of these
focus shifts and a few cameos, including a well-read if monocular John Ford,
the two real stars of the book are O’Brien’s parents, who feel as flawed and
realistic as if they were sitting in front of you. George O’Brien’s
occasionally cowboyish dialogue in particular (“I want you to know there’s
always a bunk for you here and all the chow you can eat”, he tells his son at
one point) reads half-humorous, yet wholly earnest—you get a feel in some of
the less folksy, more formal aspects of <i>pater</i> O’Brien’s speech for a
lost time, of someone born at the turn of the century. A scene between father
and son over a small inheritance in the book’s last scene is as strangely
moving and mildly disturbing an observation of character as anything you’d read
in a classic novel, it really took my breath away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">If you’re looking for a
star-studded tell-all, this is definitely not the right book for you—but as a terrifically
unique, brilliantly well-written period piece, <i>A Way of Life, Like Any Other </i>'s<i> </i>sense of time and place is transportive and just really a lot of mordant fun
to read. O’Brien wrote several other fiction and nonfiction titles before his
premature death in 1998 from cancer, and I’m so excited to discover more from
this highly original voice in literature.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3335649909">View all my reviews</a>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-77002955075296219542020-05-05T16:09:00.003-05:002020-05-05T16:24:44.238-05:00Review: Nobody's Child: Poverty, Justice, and the Insanity Defense in America
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/45894129" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Nobody's Child: Poverty, Justice, and the Insanity Defense in America" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1568260398l/45894129._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/45894129">Nobody's Child: Poverty, Justice, and the Insanity Defense in America</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19186538">Susan Nordin Vinocour</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3320114357">2 of 5 stars</a>
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"Nobody’s Child: A Tragedy, a Trial, and a History of the Insanity Defense", by forensic psychologist Susan Nordin Vinocour, effectively covers exactly what the title implies it covers—and you, as the reader, mostly get what you were promised. Mostly. Vinocour sets out in her book to examine what exactly constitutes an insanity defense, both in legal terms and practical application, through the lens of a child abuse/murder case in which she was a key defense witness. The actual execution of the book, however, in terms of its persuasive power and writing level, is less successful than its lofty (and honestly, noble-minded) goals. I started the book riveted to the case study that makes up the bulk of the frame narrative, but gradually lost interest in the book entirely as the story was bogged down by a series of contextual history lessons that neither particularly illuminated the case at hand nor contributed greatly to my understanding of a complicated psycholegal concept. <br /><br />The book opens with the story of Dorothy Dunn, an intellectually disabled black woman in her forties’ who is accused of horrific child abuse and neglect leading to the death of her grandson, Raymie. Raymie is found on the kitchen floor of his grandmother’s dilapidated home in a state of rigor mortis—he had been dead for three days when Dunn called an ambulance from a pay phone to come “fix” her predeceased grandson. When authorities arrived, the oddly distant woman had trouble answering basic questions and asked if she was “going to jail”. Indeed she was—to await trial for the second-degree murder of her young charge. Did the boy suffer a head injury following a fall (a theory supported by the crime scene), meaning the grandmother’s prolonged delay in seeking medical attention caused his death? Was he beaten by the grandmother, whose disregard for the child’s wellbeing went as far explicitly denying the child medical care, which resulted in his death? What exactly happened in that kitchen three days earlier, and what was Dorothy Dunn’s state of mind when it happened?<br /><br />Enter Vinocour, contacted by Dunn’s public defender lawyer to psychologically assess Dunn’s mental state both presently and at the time of the alleged crime. Vinocour’s job was not so much to determine whether or not Dorothy Dunn had committed a crime, but to decide whether Dunn’s mental instability at the time of Raymie’s death would support an insanity plea. Though the term is bandied about often in fictional legal dramas, I’d never really considered what the actual legal definition of the term was, or how it would affect a criminal defense. The author, a former lawyer herself, attempts to interweave chapters on the history of this term and its evolution, from the middle ages to the present, with chapters of somewhat straightforward reportage of the Dunn case and its progression through the legal system. It’s in this call-and-response, history-versus-case-study approach that an otherwise engaging and affecting book loses its way.<div><br />Vinocour provides historical background in these alternating chapters in much the dry, pedantic way a poorly written literature review at the beginning of a research paper would. The information is synthesized from a variety of historical sources and cases and presented as evidence for the everchanging nature of the legal definition of insanity—from whether or not the defendant had a guilty mind to whether or not the accused party could tell right from wrong to whether the criminal could tell what they were doing while committing the crime, etcetera. All these arguments are incredible interesting—it’s just that the author seems unable to present them in a way that is interesting. The facts of each case are laid out on the table, briefly discussed, and then the tide of the text moves along, without really engaging the reader in a meaningful philosophical inquiry into the implications of the each of these different criterion for a person to be deemed legally “insane”. The cases she uses, while classic, are also ubiquitous—not being a legal scholar by any means, I was already familiar with several of her historical case studies, and as there was no insight into the cases, merely a presentation of the facts, I didn’t learn anything particularly from these portions of the book, and just had to kind of wade through to get back to the true-crime portions of the book. In more deft hands, the cases would have provided thought-provoking material for considering the change, over time, of what was considered “insane” versus simply “morally bankrupt” or “evil”, and whether or not those definitions served the process of “justice” in its many possible definitions. As is, these chapters grind the momentum of the book to a halt at times, and felt both stale and drawn-out.<br /><br />Far more successful are the author’s chapters describing her participation in the pre-trial and trial aspects of the Dunn case. Vincour vividly retells the story of a woman and her family who were let down by social service safety nets again and again, forming a compelling counter-narrative to the prosecution’s accusations of Dunn’s intentionally callous disregard for her children’s safety and wellbeing. From CPS’s lack of intervention in Dorothy Dunn’s own bleak childhood (in which she was born mentally challenged, and was physically and emotionally scarred by parental abuse and neglect), to its continued disinterest in pursuing what seem in hindsight to be glaring, actionable problems within the Dunn family (children with high lead levels from lead poisoning, malnutrition, Raymie’s mother’s mental instability and drug use, Dorothy’s attempt to put one child in foster care only to have him returned, Raymie’s essentially being “left” at Dunn’s doorstep by CPS when there were no alternative arrangements available for his care), there’s a continual feeling that this family was allowed to fall through the cracks, and only the fact of a homicide case brought attention to a group of people who could have used the help and public interest well before the tragedy occurred. Vincour succeeds in painting a grim picture of a woman living on the margins of society and left with very limited intellectual and physical resources, to fend for herself “as best she could”. When her best was shown to be inadequate, even by her own standards, still Dunn was expected to just carry on somehow, caseworkers willingly turning a blind eye to the limitations of her childcare abilities because her children and grandchild didn’t fit the very narrow criteria to be removed from the home. An admittedly overworked, underfunded system that was ostensibly designed to protect children, support caregivers, and keep families together in the end did none of those things for Dorothy Dunn and her family.<br /><br />Vincour takes special care to highlight the possibility of the media’s influence on the trial’s outcome, in spite of the promise of an impartial jury trial. The judge in this case declined the defense’s request to place a gag order on the media, leading to media coverage emphasizing the more salacious aspects of the crime that was fully accessible to the jury via the nightly news or their daily newspaper. It was easy for me, just an uninvolved party well after the fact, to read these headlines and the descriptions of the crime scene in the beginning of the book and have a knee-jerk reaction to Dorothy Dunn’s culpability in her grandchild’s senseless death. How much harder would it be for a jury in the courtroom, looking at autopsy photos of the child’s broken body, to NOT form an emotional rather an analytical reaction to the incredibly emotionally upsetting idea of a child dying in such circumstances? This was one of the more interesting takeaways I had from the book—that a public whose interest skews towards the ghoulish (read: yours truly) can often assume a false sense of being “certain” as to what must have happened based on media reporting that is well-aware of that taste for the Grand Guignol aspects of the case and caters to it specifically, in the interest of ratings/selling newspapers. If all you hear are the more nightmarish aspects of a crime, how can those evocative details fail to color your impartial view of a crime and the person accused of committing it? Now, sometimes a murderer is just an out and out murderer, legally caught dead to rights-- but in these more ethically murky waters, it’s interesting to consider how our own biases and the media’s support of those initial natural feelings of repulsion to horrible events that make us more likely to judge people whose shoes we’ll never have to walk in. <br /><br />All in all, and in spite of its flaws, a stimulating look at an aspect of the legal system that, considering the everchanging nature of mental health issues and their public perception in America, deserves frequent revisiting.<br /><br /><br /><br />
<br /><br />
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3320114357">View all my reviews</a>
</div>Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-73688462647359311872020-04-26T13:38:00.001-05:002020-04-26T13:44:36.000-05:00Review: Apropos of Nothing<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/52647113" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Apropos of Nothing" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1584992046l/52647113._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/52647113">Apropos of Nothing</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/10356">Woody Allen</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3301905147">3 of 5 stars</a>
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I didn’t even know Woody Allen was writing a memoir until I read in the news a few months ago that Ronan Farrow had taken to Twitter to denounce the project and its alleged lack of factchecking, rekindling in the media for the umpteenth time the decades long bloodfeud between the eighty-five year old multi-hyphenate filmmaker and what could loosely be termed his family. Stating that he was unaware, while working on his much acclaimed nonfiction bestseller, Catch and Kill, that a relationship existed between the publishing house and his estranged father, Farrow decried Hachette’s “lack of ethics and compassion for victims of sexual abuse” in pursuing the project and cited this “breach of trust” as a factor in his decision to part ways with the publisher. I got the same uneasy feeling I always do when someone mentions Woody Allen in the media—a momentary lurch of excitement (he’s one of my favorite directors) followed by a chastened feeling that I shouldn’t be excited (he’s the center figure in a messy child abuse allegation that continues to play itself out in the media lo, these many years later, with no real resolution in sight). After an employee walk out in protest of l’affaire Allen, Hachette folded and announced that they were no longer publishing Apropos of Nothing, as it was titled, returning the rights back to the author. Well, hell, I thought. I wonder what was in the book. Days later, I found an article on DailyMail using some of the more salacious portions of the Allen autobiography as pull-quotes—wait, how did they get a hold of this? Turns out, Arcade Publishing picked up the title and quietly released it in print and a number of e-platforms two weeks after Hachette cancelled his contract. I dutifully plopped down my $9.99 for the Kindle edition and there it sat in my queue for a few days before I plucked up the initiative to read it. Would it be awful, justifying Ronan Farrow’s public criticism? Would it be wonderful, highlighting the injustice of trial by media? Which was worse?<br />
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In a way, Apropos of Nothing meets both of my very different projections. Allen tackles the subject of his life story with characteristically mordant humor, covering his childhood in Brooklyn and his miraculous ascent from wunderkind comedy writer to stand up comedian to acclaimed auteur filmmaker in you-were-there detail. The first two hundred pages or so are as immersive, interesting, and witty as anything in his motion picture catalog, peppered with Woody-isms (“I’m eighty-four, my life is almost half over” was a good one) and well-employed but performatively florid vocabulary (“cynosure” comes up twice in the text, if that gives you any idea of what I’m talking about, when “envy” would have been perfectly serviceable both times). There’s a page or two devoted to exposing ellipses or idiosyncrasies in his knowledge/taste as a moviegoer (the man has never seen Wuthering Heights or Now Voyager and “loved” Irene Dunne but only “enjoyed” Carole Lombard, which just blew my mind). He takes special care to describe his relationship with troubled actress and second wife Louise Lasser, and though he does mention at length his brief affair and lifelong friendship/working relationship with the fabulous Diane Keaton, it’s more guarded and less candid (not kiss-and-tell, just candid) than you’d hope for in a book about his life. I have no complaints for the entire first half of the book, or if I do, they’re very, very minor. I felt like I was listening to an old friend talking, and hung on every word. It’s when Allen gets into his association with and subsequent dealings surrounding Mia Farrow that things go off the rails.<br />
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As I said, I spent the first two hundred pages of the book going, “It’s a travesty this almost didn’t get published, this is one of the best books I’ve read about being a young comedian in New York in the fifties’ and sixties’. So fascinating! So forthcoming with the details!” When Mia Farrow enters the picture, the keen eye for storytelling goes right out the window, and what follows is a seemingly interminable rant about the miscarriage of justice that he insists occurred at the abrupt end of his personal involvement with Farrow and beginning of the notorious relationship that has seen him into his twilight years. You’re probably familiar with the story of Woody Allen leaving Mia Farrow for her twenty-two year old daughter, Soon-Yi, and subsequently facing a firestorm of press coverage over allegations that he sexually molested his adopted seven year old daughter, Dylan. This section of the book, though I knew it was coming, was difficult for me. Regardless of who did what, I struggled with the relentless vilification of Mia Farrow (and occasionally her children) that dragged on for pages, and pages, and pages, and pages. Mia has a troubled family history, including a brother in prison as a convicted pedophile. Mia was erratic, impulsive. Mia locked one of her kids with a disability in an outbuilding overnight as punishment for something trivial. Mia neglected her kids, ignoring some and favoring others depending on her whim. Mia was verbally abusive. Mia hit Soon-Yi with a phone (back when phones were big, heavy, landline affairs). Mia coached her kids to say things happened that didn’t to exercise control over and discipline them, an abusive behavior that Allen says culminated in her alleged coaching of Dylan to describe the molestation he maintains never happened in any way, shape, or form. Allen quotes extensively from a recent piece written by Moses Farrow, the only pro-Woody supporter among Mia’s children, and incorporates statements from the two (two!) child abuse investigations that took place in the early 90’s. Even if every single accusation Woody Allen makes about Mia Farrow was factual and not seemingly partially-true, partially the product of almost thirty years of being deadlocked with Farrow in this ugly deathmatch bent on personal annihilation, it still feels slimy to wade through this constant mudslinging. It gets tedious after, say, fifty pages of him circling the same subject (“didn’t do it, look how crazy Mia is, how on earth can people not see my innocence”, ad infinium). As in Mommy Dearest’s treatment of Joan Crawford, there’s no “person” there in his description of Mia Farrow, just a relentless bogeyman with no motivation other than the senseless destruction of her ex’s life. In rendering Farrow two-dimensionally evil, he weakens his own credibility, and in perseverating on the subject of his total blamelessness in this section, you feel like you don’t want to believe him as much as you would had he explained what happened and continued in the same even handed vein as the first section of his book. I feel like if the book had been properly edited and not come out under cloak-of-darkness as this notorious subject, a good editor would have made Allen either make his point about “his side of the story” and not keep getting licks in at the expense of his audience’s increasing discomfiture, or somehow shaped this section into something more revealing than an endless polemic on how wronged and innocent-above-all-things he is. I like him (in spite of myself) and came out liking him less for this giant hunk of the book being about settling scores more than telling the story of what happened to him during this explosively contentious period of his life.<br />
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The rest of the book is patchy and never regains the momentum of the first half—Allen describes people he knows or worked with in a disinterested string of adjectives and glides over his movie output with the shorthand of whether or not it was well-received, whether or not it made any money, whether or not it was a hassle to make. Anecdotes are weak at best. There are a few tidbits here and there (Michael Keaton was originally cast as the lead in one of my favorite Woody Allen movies, the magical-realism steeped Purple Rose of Cairo, but Woody found him “too contemporary” to fit the 1930s matinee idol part—he was replaced by Jeff Daniels), but for the most part, it’s almost like “well, I came and said what I had to say, let’s wrap this up”. Barely any mention of his two children in his marriage with Soon-Yi except that he has them and they’re in college. Soon-Yi is aggressively described as “bright and witty” but we get very little sense of her as a person so much as a cause throughout the book. Talk about a let-down. I didn’t need a tell-all, but I would have appreciated a “tell-some”. I felt like I was rewarded for having slogged through the middle part with this half-hearted, blasé denouement that left me very, very confused as to whether or not I could say I “liked” the book. Again, if you asked me two or three hours in, it would have been a RESOUNDING yes. After the Mia Farrow hit job and the wishy-washy final fifty pages, including these almost chidingly written passages about his recent public woes related to an Amazon deal gone south and several actors distancing themselves from him during the MeToo movement, I can’t say I overall recommend the book. If you can, read the first 200 pages and when you see things turning for the worse, go ahead and bail. I kind of wish I had. I can’t say the book diminished my esteem for him as a tireless creator of finely made, sensitively wrought movies, but as a writer and a person, he may have lost some points with me.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3301905147">View all my reviews</a>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-18122843746459476162020-03-04T14:13:00.003-06:002020-03-05T19:35:12.943-06:00Review: Ghost Wall<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38922230" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Ghost Wall" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1521962112l/38922230._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38922230">Ghost Wall</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/703374">Sarah Moss</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3199961552">4 of 5 stars</a>
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"Ghost Wall" had a beautiful cover and a constant flashing banner advertisement on the Lit Hub website, so when I saw that my library’s online collection had a copy, I said let’s give it a whirl. And what a whirl. Even at a brief 152 pages, this book flies by so quickly and is so densely packed with forceful writing that it feels less like a snack and more like a meal. While it had every opportunity to skew YA fiction rather than adult lit (teen protagonist, forays into bildungsroman style flashbacks), the tone of this novel is as mature as blue chip stock. I LOVED it, even as I was unnerved by some of the behaviors of the characters and eventually shocked by the denouement. Good shocked, but shocked.<br />
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The story is told in first person from the perspective of Silvie, a twenty-first century teenager on an Iron age re-enactment trip with her parents, an archaeology professor, and a handful of students from a local university. The group is living in an encampment in the English countryside and attempting to follow ancient folkways practiced by the Britons in the time period—hunting and foraging for food, wearing long itchy tunic shifts over bare feet, sleeping in a communal hut, cooking by a fire. Silvie’s father, Bill, is not an academic, but an almost obsessive amateur enthusiast, who has dragged his family along for the experience. As the story progresses, it becomes more and more clear that Silvie’s normal life is not all that normal, lived in the shadow of her physically abusive, emotionally manipulative father and a cowering, complacent mother. Her parents’ behavior on the trip mirrors their home dynamic, just with even less places for Silvie to go to escape the scrutiny and the threat of discipline. She makes quasi-friends with one of the college students, a free-spirited girl named Molly who questions many of the strictures placed upon them for the immersion experience, sneaking off to a gas station when the mood strikes her to get some very non-period junk food snacks. Molly’s confidence and carefree attitude seem to both attract and frighten Silvie, who worries constantly about “getting in trouble” even when no one is watching or should care. Something about the idea of Silvie seeing a possible version of herself, stripped of the worry and doubt that comes with being under the thumb of a domineering, abusive parent, in Molly is very touching at the same time as it is very sad.<br />
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I was interested in some of the class differences explored in the book— the parents speak in a strong Mancunian accent from the north of England which seems accurately reproduced in the book without feeling like you’re wading through a soup of regional dialect. Silvie several times mentions the students’ accents as “sounding posh” as if they were somehow putting on in a way that Silvie and her parents were not, and Molly at one point makes a stab at imitating Silvie’s mother’s accent, which is not well received by Silvie herself. The students all seem relatively disinterested in their studies in spite of the opportunities they’ll afford them as university graduates, while Silvie mentions that she doesn’t see a point to going to university, and will probably just start a job after she finishes high school. Silvie’s father’s place in the field trip, as a lower working class, weekend aficionado of the armchair variety rather than a practicing professional, leaves him open to a kind of posture-off with the actual professor on the trip, and you can’t make out if the blustering is part of Bill’s bullying personality or an effort to establish his authority on the subject despite his lack of formal education. A particularly telling exchange happens when he brings up an obscure Celtic warrior queen in the midst of a historical discussion and the professor corrects Bill’s pronunciation before responding. “Boudicca, said the Prof, we call her Boudicca these days, it seems a more accurate rendition.” What a pill, I thought. The man drives a bus five days a week and somehow still finds time to know as much as you do about something you have a terminal degree in, Professor Whateveryournameis. But I digress.<br />
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As the book progresses, you can almost feel a knot tightening in your stomach, as nothing so much about the circumstances but everything about the voice and style of the writing points to dread. I remember being shocked/weirdly thrilled by this sentence in the second chapter, which is casually dropped in between some lines about the roughly built period-correct shelter: “Some of the Iron Age people kept their ancestors’ half-smoked corpses up in the rafters, bound in a squatting position, peering down empty eyed. Some of the houses had bits of dead children buried under the doorway, for luck, or for protection from something worse.” Well! This macabre tidbit gives you good idea of some of the tone of the book, which in some sections has the eeriness of a dream coupled with the banality that comes with spending a large portion each day walking the countryside searching for edible berries or setting traps for rabbits… the days seem as boring as they are surreal, in a way, each action or plot point strangely seems to anticipate the next. Also, the frequent references to the bog bodies—human cadavers that become mummified by peat bogs and are present an invaluable resource to the archaeological/anthropological community in reconstructing the lives of Iron Age (and later) peoples—don’t really do anything to lighten the aforementioned kind of ghastly vibe. The story is semi-haunted with the idea of death and brutality of a time period long since passed.<br />
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The book builds to a climax which, as I said before, makes sense in the context of the story but is shocking in its execution—I won’t spoil it for you, but get ready for weird to meet weird to meet unreasonably weird. I thought at the beginning of the book I might like to go on a similar field trip and experience what it was “really like” during such a different time period, but I now decline any going offers, thanks the same. If you’re looking for sensitive, incredibly well crafted storytelling with a sidecar of can’t-put-your-finger-on-it apprehension, "Ghost Wall" is your book.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3199961552">View all my reviews</a>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-25006972416400776692020-03-02T16:10:00.001-06:002020-03-05T19:34:58.163-06:00Review: In the Dream House<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43317482" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="In the Dream House" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1547869259l/43317482._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43317482">In the Dream House</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6860265">Carmen Maria Machado</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3214372874">3 of 5 stars</a>
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Carmen Maria Machado’s “In the Dream House” is technically a memoir, but don’t expect to open to the table of contents and detect a linear path from Machado’s childhood to her current status as happily married graduate of the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. What Machado has done with this book is a truly expert level of deconstruction, to both the story of her own tortured love affair that forms the basis of the book and the structure of memoir itself. I was equal parts intrigued and delighted by her efforts and if you’re at all interested in the subject, you will be too.<br />
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Sectioned off into one page, one paragraph—sometimes one sentence—long gulps of prose, the book is formatted into capsules titled “Dream House as _____” (Dream House as Epiphany, Dream House as Lesson Learned). Each title is a wry statement on the subject of the confession, criticism, recollection that follows, lined with witty footnote references to fairy tale tropes. The capsules piece together and pore over the details of a relationship Machado had in her twenties’ and the nightmarish psychological and verbal abuse that accompanied it—the tense feeling of dread you get as she falls in love with a beautiful girl who adores her, and as that girl gradually becomes a monster, is as unnerving as an actual horror story. Yet, because it’s real life, there are horrible moments followed by mundane ones, and peaks of ridiculousness (arguments that start over nothing and end with Machado literally having to lock herself in a bathroom away from her girlfriend like Shelley Duvall in The Shining) followed by plateaus of semi-normalcy. The book gives you a teeth-clenchingly realistic idea of what it is like to be in the slow boil of non-physical abuse—because Machado’s girlfriend never hits her, and because Machado truly wants to hang on to the relationship and the love and acceptance she’s found in it, she thinks she can manage her behavior and change her reactions enough to make the girlfriend stop losing her everloving mind on Machado for such tiny indiscretions as “falling asleep while watching a movie with her roommates and not immediately answering her girlfriends calls”. As any survivor of this kind of a relationship could tell you, it was never about the unanswered calls, and it would never not be about SOMETHING. <br />
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Taking advantage of the dip and dive of the story structure, Machado incorporates everything from literary and film criticism (discussing Ingrid Bergman’s performance in Gaslight, for example, a movie that lends its name to the current psychological term for being manipulated into questioning your sanity by someone for their own gain) to research into the issue of underreported domestic violence among lesbian women into her narrative. To the latter point, I thought of just how many heterosexual, male-on-female stories of violence there are in mainstream literature, news headlines, etc—how the battered-by-a-man battered woman is a familiar trope in books and media. Conversely, I had trouble trying to think of a famous case of a lesbian relationship shaded by violence (though Machado brings up several in an insightful section on historic cases of female-on-female abuse or murder). She goes on to consider how personhood, and the right to even BE in a public or legal binding relationship, is such a comparatively new concept in the lesbian community that the more nuanced, and even negative, views of members of this group have yet to come to popular acceptance. Hopefully, with this book and with the encouragement of other voices from people with similar experiences, that will begin to change.<br />
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By telling her story in such a rivetingly original way, Carmen Maria Machado has created with In the Dream House both an intensely personal and a compulsively readable account of her attempt to “make sense” of a love affair gone wrong, and a thought-provoking meditation on the idea of the way in which a fairy tale romance can turn into a nightmare. Once I started reading it, I had to stay up to see what happens, and if that isn’t the highest form of praise an author can get from me, I don’t know what is. Check it out.<br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3214372874">View all my reviews</a>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-91784295582734922702020-02-28T10:44:00.001-06:002020-03-05T19:34:45.311-06:00Review: Romance in Marseille<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46062158" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="Romance in Marseille" border="0" src="https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1565069917l/46062158._SX98_.jpg" /></a>
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/46062158">Romance in Marseille</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/36919">Claude McKay</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3197295419">4 of 5 stars</a>
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I picked up “Romance in Marseille” based on some buzzy reviews from LitHub and New Yorker—a lost classic from a giant of the Harlem Renaissance? Sign me up, man. After reading several pop lit titles in a row, I have to say Claude McKay’s writing was like a cool drink of water— I was a little worried that something pulled out of the archives unfinished after ninety years might have languished in obscurity for a reason, but I could put those fears to bed within the first five pages. This is a GREAT book. I don’t know that that it quite lives up to the breathless hype of the reviews, but it was a wonderful introduction to the work of a truly talented author and a brisk read at 90ish pages.<br />
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"Romance in Marseille" opens with the amputation of protagonist Lafala’s lower legs and feet, which, way to start the book off with a bang. Originally from West Africa, Lafala was discovered as a stowaway on a French freighter bound for New York—the shipmen punitively locked him in an unheated lavatory for the remainder of the voyage, resulting in frostbite to his feet and their subsequent amputation. It says something about “what we’ve come to expect from protagonists” that I already started wondering if this was some kind of device, where Lafala might wake up and realize it was all a dream, but no, he actually goes through the entire book as a double amputee, and that’s one of the really interesting parts of this novel. In the (unnecessarily voluminous) introduction, there’s a quote from McKay about how he wanted to treat Lafala’s disability without the usually heavy strings and maudlin overtones. Lafala, soon outfitted with prosthetic limbs and crutches, is no Tiny Tim--thanks to an enormous settlement from the ship’s owners, he becomes attractive in his affluence and more envied sans feet than he was with them. While the subject of his legs is never all the way out of sight, it’s treated with a distinct lack of pity and so much more naturalness than the usual writer from this time period would handle a similar situation.<br />
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After winning his lawsuit, Lafala returns to the port of call he initially stowed away from—Marseille. He picks back up with a prostitute, Aslima, who stole all his money the last time he was in town and instigated his departure in the first place. She has a change of heart towards him in his newly disabled state, feeling partially responsible for his misfortune, and refuses to take money from him like her other clients—they begin a kind of is-she-or-isn’t-she-going-to-rip-him-off-again pas de deux, a situation triangulated by Aslima’s white pimp, Titin. At the local café, Tout-va-Bien, a colorful assemblage of misfits pass in and out of focus— there’s a feeling of a more diverse, more French version of Christopher Isherwood’s Berlin, as gay and straight, black and white, middle class and poor figures mingle. Some of this gets a little too character-sketchy, where the flash portraits of new people get in the way of the narrative, which is essentially a story of Lafala and Aslima, but I think some of this could be chalked up to the book not being “finished” by McKay before its way-posthumous publication.<br />
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My only real complaint with the book is the long, long, LONG introduction and the EVEN LONGER and even less useful explanatory notes presented in this edition. The introduction gives a bit of an overview of the history of the manuscript, contextualizes the idea of the “stowaway” narrative, draws connections to possible real life inspirations used by McKay to form the backbone of the novel and some of its characters, and presents some ideas on how forward thinking the themes were for their time. I appreciated being clued in on these concepts but it felt stretched for length and overly pedantic. What I said about the intro goes twice for the explanatory notes—I mean, it would be useful to know that a muezzin is a term for the person who recites the call to prayer in a mosque, but can I not Google that? Did they have to explain what a Morris chair is? Spoiler: it’s an Arts and Crafts movement style chair designed by William Morris—not that that has hardly any bearing on the narrative, it’s just a descriptive term used for a chair you would see in the time period of the book. It felt a little like the notes at the end of a Shakespeare play, where you really would be lost if you didn’t understand a particular Renaissance-era reference or word, except this is the 1920’s and you won’t die if you don’t know what a pianola is…you can infer based on the context that it’s some kind of musical instrument, and I didn’t really need them to tell me it was “a type of mechanical player piano, introduced in the 1880s, that lost ground to the gramophone beginning in the 1920’s.” I already knew that from reading a lot of books from the 1920’s, but if YOU didn’t, YOU would be fine, trust.<br />
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Short and long of this—skip the introduction until after you've finished the book, skip the explanatory notes altogether, and dig your teeth into this lushly written novel by a somewhat forgotten, but hopefully not for much longer, voice of early 20th century African American literature.
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/3197295419">View all my reviews</a>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-86933206024763519102020-02-27T15:27:00.001-06:002020-02-27T15:27:08.733-06:00Long Time No See!! (Book Reviews are Coming)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Hi ya, hi ya, hi ya. How ya been?</div>
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I have been gone a VERY VERY long time from this space, but in case you were wondering, yes, I am still digging up vintage goodies and blithering on about them like my life depended on it, just mainly at my <a href="http://www.instagram.com/shewasabird">instagram</a> (which is 50% kids, 50% things I saw at Goodwill) and my personal Facebook page. I live! Why am I surfacing for air after a such a long period of inactivity? I thought it might be fun to dip my toe back into the world of online writing via this blog publishing app on GoodReads. Lemme tell you the plan.</div>
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For the past year, I've been trying to put writing and reading back into a place of prominence in my day to day life. It's not easy with two kids under four, a full-time job, and a household to run, but I know lots of people make it work with even more going on, and I'd like to join their beleaguered but happy ranks. I have a GoodReads account (feel free to <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/shewasabird">befriend me</a>!) and I've been trying to log and review every book I've read this year. Of course, because resolutions are so, so hard to keep, I am already behind but trying to catch up on the review portion of that aspiration. I was telling Matthew today that I know the audience for people blogging about things that aren't very influencer-y is practically nil, but it makes me feel more like "me" to think and write critically about things, so by Godfrey, I might as well give it a shot. And it would be nice to be able to look back on the year of books in a better-laid-out-format (don't tell 'em I said that, but wow, GoodReads's layout is for the birds). </div>
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So, hail my triumphant return to blogging!! :p Joking aside, I am excited to try to reclaim some of that creative energy I once had here at She Was a Bird. If you like to read book reviews, I'm going to tell you the good word about everything I've been reading. I used to skew heavily nonfiction with my reading shelves, but I've been getting more and more into fiction (that didn't show up in a sixties' horror anthology, lol) for the first time since probably college, thanks to my job. When I'm not treating French titles for francophone Canadian libraries, I'm working on what we call "hot titles" in the library collection development world-- books with media mentions, starred reviews in Booklist and Kirkus, etc. I'd love to hear from you if you have recommendations or you've read any of these titles and you want to bat about big ideas like "did they seriously kill that dude a hundred pages into the book with a hundred to go" or "if this woman uses one more adverb in this book I'm going to scream". Book talk is second only to thrift store talk in my recent conversational habits, and I'm here for it.</div>
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If you're still out there, thank you for reading in the past, and I hope some of these new book reviews (and who knows, maybe more topics if I get up the gumption) will be of interest to you. What have you been up to! Have any artistic endeavors you may or may not be able to keep up, like me, haha? </div>
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Talk soon, take care.</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-29075846678242671802018-04-12T09:00:00.000-05:002018-04-13T22:19:39.311-05:00Undercurrent (1946, Katharine Hepburn, Robert Taylor, Robert Mitchum)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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<i>Undercurrent</i> was part of a multi-disc set of Katharine Hepburn movies I bought circa 2007, back when I was a single gal working in a fully grown up job with hardly any bills and I used to trawl half.com for good eBay deals on classic box sets (bid time return, lol). It's hard for me to remember back to a time when I was actively collecting dvds, but there you go-- fossil record evidence of the pre-streaming days. I remember having liked the movie more than I thought I would back then, but ten years later, in the throes of this Robert Taylor kick I'm on, I thought I'd give it another spin. And oh, what a spin it was.<br />
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The movie follows scientist's daughter Katharine Hepburn, at first glance messy in slacks and a shapeless shirt, who falls for dashing industrial millionaire Robert Taylor when he comes to discuss some mineral's commercial possibilities in government contracts with her father. Taylor pitches woo, Hepburn unstupidly marries him, and they fly off back to his home-base of Washington, DC to start their happily ever after. However, the introductory cocktail party thrown in honor of the happy couple is a nightmare for Hepburn as she is dowdily dressed among the swans of political high society and out of the loop for all the Congressional shop talk, and things only go downhill from there. Everyone keeps mentioning "Michael, Michael, Michael" as they congratulate the newlyweds-- where's Michael? Has anyone seen Michael? What about Michael? The young man is revealed to be Taylor's brother, a presence that hangs spectre-like over the onscreen proceedings. Did Taylor have something to do with his disappearance...or dare we say it, possible MURDER? What connection does the sultry, sleepy-eyed caretaker (played by OH HELLO ROBERT MITCHUM I FORGOT YOU WERE IN THIS) at Michael's ultra modern cliffside hideaway have to the mystery? Why does an increasingly more agitated Robert Taylor react so violently to the mere mention of the brother's name?</div>
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While I was deeply invested in the midcentury women's magazine story going on here (which, indeed, was adapted from a story by Thelma Strabel that was serialized in Woman's Home Companion magazine between 1944-5), <i>Undercurrent </i>is a bit of a mess. A beautiful, well meaning mess, but a mess just the same. </div>
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For one, the movie owes a substantial debt to Daphne du Maurier's <i>Rebecca, </i>which made a more successful transition to the screen only a few years earlier, and in that sense, also to <i>Rebecca</i>'s spiritual predecessor, <i>Jane Eyre</i><i>. </i>Both <i>Rebecca </i>and <i>Undercurrent </i>follow the plot impetus of an inexperienced woman who marries hastily and finds herself ill-at-ease in the soignée circles to which her new husband belongs-- each features a husband harboring some dark past that yet haunts the marriage by way of an unseen character is continually brought up to stir the mystery. In <i>Rebecca</i>, no less a luminary than the fresh-off-the-set-of-<i>Gone With the Wind </i>Vivien Leigh was turned down for the role of the timid second Mrs. de Winter in favor of a more believably maladroit Joan Fontaine. No such favors were done in the casting of <i>Undercurrent.</i> My GOODNESS could they have chosen a more ill-suited actress to fill the unsure shoes of the protagonist in this than <i>Katharine Hepburn</i>, who, in spite of her extraordinary acting chops, is by very definition brimming with brash self-confidence.</div>
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At a turning point in her career by 1946, Hepburn had already clocked two distinct phases in her onscreen persona. Her 1930's body of work, in which homegirl won not one, but TWO Best Actress Oscars, was defined by a dewy, vulnerable, unusual-but-lovely-in-her-way Hepburn, always playing an endearingly odd duckling, full of vigor and strident self-assurance but also secretly susceptible to showing real hurt in a way that would bring tears to the moviegoers eyes as they did to her own (see: <i>Morning Glory, Alice Adams, Stage Door</i>...as I just start crying thinking about them). In the 1940's, the ingenue gave way to the brassy society/career girl, who traded well-enunciated barbs with Jimmy Stewart and Cary Grant in <i>The Philadelphia Story</i> and tackled taming sportswriter Spencer Tracy in <i>Woman of the Year. </i>The brisk, assiduous spinster/semi-spinster roles she was to play in the latter half of her career (<i>Summertime, Desk Set</i>) were yet to come. And so why not, well-meaningly enough I'm sure, plop our Kate into one of the LEAST believable characterizations of her career (yes, I'm counting this as only third behind her role as an Ozark mountain hillbilly in <i>Spitfire </i>and her role as a native villager in rural China in <i>Dragon Seed...</i>because those really did happen somehow). Even 1930's Hepburn in this role would have been too headstrong to play Ann Garroway-- she's EVERY kind of wrong for this role, and yet somehow, I guess through the magic of consummate professionalism, she manages to make the best of things and comes off only just "wrong" and not "embarrassingly wrong". </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Now this hat, on the other hand-- that may actually be embarrassingly wrong.</i></td></tr>
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There's a shift in her costuming after the disastrous dinner party when the character begins to care about her appearance and suddenly her blade-of-grass-slim figure is hung with designer clothes instead of sloppy slacks and untucked blouses...some things go well on that front, and some not so well. I would like to mention in a special category though the ankle-strap wedgies she wears for a large portion of the movie, which should have got their own line in the credits. Ahem:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdilXlLIkp4M5Y-hCqXDcf0mFFFWb4w5l0P4A64UIIgzeZ7z06_S7QW6u8gfEsxqBJlMLJv9JUBDnlZLiLhuELCo31dgkt3d4Nyh7m3CHWRheTlUHP5tHe61wkeOMhyphenhyphenWnxjE9vprTyZ8iI/s1600/undercurrent+1946+katharine+hepburn+lame+de+fond+vincente+minnelli+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdilXlLIkp4M5Y-hCqXDcf0mFFFWb4w5l0P4A64UIIgzeZ7z06_S7QW6u8gfEsxqBJlMLJv9JUBDnlZLiLhuELCo31dgkt3d4Nyh7m3CHWRheTlUHP5tHe61wkeOMhyphenhyphenWnxjE9vprTyZ8iI/s640/undercurrent+1946+katharine+hepburn+lame+de+fond+vincente+minnelli+2.jpg" width="588" /></a></div>
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Robert Taylor, freshly returned to the screen from war service as a flying instructor in the U.S. Naval Air Corps, is very good excepting the occasions in which he is very bad-- he has a habit of darting his eyes around like some kind of cartoon villain to telegraph caginess, which...could be better than it is. Nobody's perfect! However, it's a credit to his charisma and a fault with the casting in that you can't really dislike him in the way that's necessary for you to dislike him to make the part work. This is a Cary-Grant-in-Suspicion type husband role, where you should be charmed by him at the same time you're distrustful of him. Cary Grant had a kind of darkness to him, which made him a great Hitchcock leading man, and believable as someone who is only *pretending* to be as <i>sans souci </i>on the exterior while nursing some strange grudge, and Taylor just doesn’t have it in him to be as convincingly layered as the role demands. </div>
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My biggest gripe from the movie (<b>SPOILERS AHEAD</b>, stop reading if you haven't watched it yet) is the ending. There's a weird clash between the married Garroways about twenty minutes from the end that makes no sense, where Hepburn is suddenly afraid Taylor is going to kill her, and also inexplicably "in love" with Michael. I understand how this makes sense from a "ooh, wouldn't that be a fun way to end an already kind of histrionic movie" point of view but in terms of the development of the characters, what in the Sam Hill were they thinking?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Wait we're what? I'm doing...wait, who am I in love with?" -KH in the end of this movie</i></td></tr>
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<u>What happens in the end of the movie</u>: Robert Taylor either inadvertently or purposefully caused the death of the immigrant scientist upon whose work his company's fortune is founded, Robert Mitchum threatens to reveal him as a murderer/fraud, Taylor threatens to off Mitchum, Taylor and Hepburn argue, they go off on a horse trail together with their neighbor, Taylor schemes to get Hepburn alone and tries to force her horse off the cliff, Hepburn is thrown from the horse and the horse tramples Taylor to death. Mitchum comes to visit Hepburn in the family home where she's recuperating from her accident and there's a kind of understanding that they may get together sometime after the credits roll. Me, eyeballing the "the end" card like "WHAT. DO YOU MEAN."</div>
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<u>What should have happened</u>: Robert Taylor inadvertently caused the scientist's death but thought covering it up was better than being accused of murder and ruining the family name-- his weird neuroses come from being under the strain all these years. Mitchum threatens to reveal Taylor as a murderer, Hepburn continues to press Taylor about his brother, Taylor continues to act weird and lashes out at Hepburn. Taylor and Hepburn argue, they go off on a horse trail together and Taylor has some kind of complete mental breakdown because he's been kind of neurotic the entire time and now the added stress of Mitchum and Hepburn dips him over the edge. Time skip (calendar pages fly, fall turns to winter turns to spring, etc). Hepburn visits a sanitarium where she meets with a doctor in his office. The doc says Taylor's doing much better, but the delusions he's been suffering under will only improve if he has the love and support of his wife and family. Hepburn and Taylor have a scene in his room where he's in some very sharp pajamas in which he's obviously much better and contrite/vulnerable and Hepburn pledges to see him through this illness. She runs into Mitchum in the lobby who's coming to visit Taylor, they have a little mini-resolution scene, Hepburn has some great line referencing the "undercurrent" mentioned earlier when they first met, music swells, end credits. Me: "Ahhh. MUCH better."</div>
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Unfortunately, no one consults me in these matters. WHY. WHY. I'll have to go soak my head, I guess-- you guys check out all these contemporary-to-the-time press clippings, <a href="http://mediahistoryproject.org/">courtesy of the archives over at the Media History Project</a>, while I do.<br />
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So! Seen any great, little-seen movies lately? Had a crush on an actor or actress that had flown under your radar previously? What's your take on Katharine Hepburn? Let's talk!!<br />
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That's all for today, but I'll see you again soon! Take care!</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-74227133683932642752018-04-05T07:43:00.003-05:002018-04-05T07:43:57.896-05:00Confessions of a Plant Killer (Plantscape Inc. Interior Landscape Review)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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Tell the truth-- are you a low down plant murderer like myself or are you one of the blessed few of my acquaintance who could keep an orchid alive in the Kalahari? And if you're in the latter category-- how on earth do you do it? </div>
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I feel like "plant tending" is one of those adult competencies no one mentions to you until you're far too far behind to hope to catch up-- nothing looks as grown up as a room full of floor-trailing leafy limbs and ferns and palm sprouting things in full verdant splendor, but good golly, it's hard to keep those green things green. I had a nice, Victorian-looking palm plant in a big pot that I proudly bought at Home Depot some years ago, whose green fronds turned yellow and then brownish and then just shriveled up and died without so much as a pause in between color change stages for me to ask myself what I was doing wrong. I'm not sure if I was overwatering, underwatering, or just putting too much of my faith in the Lord Jesus to keep the plant alive if I couldn't...but in whatever case, that plant in heaven now (RIP). However! Oddly enough, this inauspicious beginning and taste of plants in my house didn't discourage me-- it only convinced me that I needed a more forgiving plant in my life. And so far, I have two-- a Christmas cactus I bought heavily discounted after Christmas, and an Easter Lily, both of which are alive if not totally thriving in my back bedroom after getting kicked out the living room by an overly inquisitive toddler. I do wonder, though, if the real answer is in Dustin Hoffman's dad's friend's advice from <i>The Graduate:</i> <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSxihhBzCjk">"One word. Plastics."</a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>To dreeeeeam....the impossible dreeeeam..... </i>(<a href="https://www.pinterest.com/pin/361836151306325394/">source</a>)</td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.plantscapeinc.com/">Plantscape Inc</a>, which describes itself as a "leader in the manufacturing of interior landscaping related products exclusively for commercial projects and the wholesale trade", contacted me via email the other day, and was I pleased! All my blogger friends back in the heyday of personal blogs would get offers from eShakti and the like and all I ever got were weird offers to "organically increase traffic on my website" or "order metal bracket pulls at commercial prices" (I wish I was kidding). When Plantscape offered me a plant of my choice to review for the blog, so you'd better believe I snapped one up tout de suite. The process took less than I think a week or so from ordering to having the plant in a large box I originally mistook for a flower delivery on my front porch.<br />
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Here's what the plant looked like on the website (minus the hearts...the hearts are mine):<br />
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And here's what it looks like at home with me:
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Sorry about the unintentional camouflage, outside on the patio was the only <br />place bright enough to photograph this guy!</i></td></tr>
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Not bad, huh? I honestly think it looks a little better than the photographs, and how often is that the case (trick question: never). I also always worry that the plant will be smaller than I imagined it when I ordered it online, but this one was about exactly the size I expected it to be, and packaged safely enough that none of the leaves were bent or broken in transit. All I had to do was "fluff" some of the leaves and I honestly am ready to have it on display.<br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">I was impressed with the quality of the plant. I feel like the field of plastic plant-making must have come a long way since my memory of very noticeably fake ficus trees and the like in the dentists' offices of my childhood. I can remember, too, my mom putting together flower wreaths for family plots at the cemetery that, in spite of her good eye for color, bore about as much resemblance to a real flower as Velveeta to Wisconsin cheddar. This, however, minus a few little places where the glue shows and I might need to scrape a bit of the excess, looks like a very realistic plant!</span><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">I think the key to good fake indoor plants, beyond buying one that isn't egregiously fake looking, is just blending it in where a real plant would look reasonable or WITH other real plants. Sometimes, reading interior design blogs, I'm shocked to find that the fiddle leaf fig I was drooling over and wondering if the owner misted every day with a perfumed spritzer or exactly HOW they'd managed to coax such an exotic thing into living in a non-climate-controlled Nashville sitting room, was not from a nursery but from Overstock's large selection of fake indoor houseplants (as in </span><a href="https://abeautifulmess.com/2016/06/are-you-faux-real-how-to-find-the-most-convincing-faux-plants.html" style="text-align: justify;">Elsie from ABM's guide to fake plants in ya own home environment</a><span style="text-align: justify;">). Color me impressed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for decorating with fake plants" height="400" src="https://hgtvhome.sndimg.com/content/dam/images/hgtv/fullset/2015/1/12/0/Tana-Nesbitt_Dilido-Residence_Living-Space.jpg.rend.hgtvcom.1280.1280.suffix/1421100045715.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Now if I could only get that midcentury wall unit AND that possibly real, possibly fake fiddle tree, I would be so happy. <a href="https://www.hgtv.com/design-blog/design/designer-confession--i-use-faux-plants-and-here-s-why">Source</a></i></td></tr>
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Now, the thing left to do, and the thing I should have already done before I committed to writing a blog about the new fake plant in my life, is to find a suitable pot to put it in, and then I think I'm going to put real dirt in around the ersatz stuff in the plastic container the plant came in. Usually, landscaping rocks and dirt together would look better in my opinion, but having a toddler around with curious hands who likes to put anything/everything in his mouth, I feel like dirt is less likely to trigger a visit to the emergency room than smooth river stones. Though, I mean, ideally, he'll just leave it alone ( ha, ha, HA, I can hear you say...it's ok, I say it to myself, too). The last fake plant I had, which I kept in the living room and loved DEARLY, I had to eventually surrender back to Hobby Lobby because I felt bad about having this $100-ish dollar home decor object that Remy was 400% going to destroy before the end of the year. He liked to take each of the approximately 24" leaves and pull on them as if they were something in a ribbon twirling competition. While this mischief hadn't caused any major damage yet, I knew it was only a matter of time (glad I kept that receipt).</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDiMpDKUdvAuIgb4VQGEHUy4OYmSAh3acmB8lM0z3-xMmdtxnKQVLOQDvFTSbmXPH-jjGPsL7t1zpDEMZ5m43ZFoQgHsQM5hFiwrao7pjGmoWqNYivPut9tOE7JVlp2k5QZAiikJD6_Y7/s1600/shewasabird+plant+hobby+lobby+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDiMpDKUdvAuIgb4VQGEHUy4OYmSAh3acmB8lM0z3-xMmdtxnKQVLOQDvFTSbmXPH-jjGPsL7t1zpDEMZ5m43ZFoQgHsQM5hFiwrao7pjGmoWqNYivPut9tOE7JVlp2k5QZAiikJD6_Y7/s640/shewasabird+plant+hobby+lobby+.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Look how cute that plant looked. God speed, fake plant from Hobby Lobby.</i></td></tr>
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<span id="goog_917172409"></span><span id="goog_917172410"></span>I'm hoping to put the new Plantscape plant in exactly the place of the old one, but what kind of planter should I use? I think all of these look great. I might just run out to World Market or Hobby Lobby and grab something this weekend.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVHoBCQP7r0KeHWbS6lmopNYZlaKv9MHG565d3NoaSWVK_jXb8yCinR0ZwMVgaPkBEZCfM9Yx__DX4SsyfXLK58V9r21XyFPB27RSZ6dWbmfradbxzSbfzPHhq4-d05j6d6_MDnHjy93B/s1600/plants+and+planters.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="793" data-original-width="888" height="569" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZVHoBCQP7r0KeHWbS6lmopNYZlaKv9MHG565d3NoaSWVK_jXb8yCinR0ZwMVgaPkBEZCfM9Yx__DX4SsyfXLK58V9r21XyFPB27RSZ6dWbmfradbxzSbfzPHhq4-d05j6d6_MDnHjy93B/s640/plants+and+planters.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Century-Wooden-Planter-Holder-Included/dp/B07C96JD4Q/ref=sr_1_4?s=lawn-garden&ie=UTF8&qid=1522867517&sr=1-4&keywords=mid+century+planter">one</a>, <a href="https://www.worldmarket.com/product/brass-planter-with-stand.do?sortby=ourPicks&from=fn">two </a><a href="https://www.worldmarket.com/product/small-black-and-natural-seagrass-calista-tote-basket.do?sortby=ourPicks&from=Search">three</a>, <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/259001487/plant-stand-size-s-mid-century-hairpin?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_b-home_and_living-outdoor_and_garden-plant_stands&utm_custom1=c2746971-42e3-42d2-b0f6-3af6eaed0e53&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIjMSnn6Sh2gIVRFp-Ch0gzgU8EAkYCCABEgJE5_D_BwE">four</a></td></tr>
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So! If you're a green thumb, what are your tips for keeping a plant this side of the land of the living? If you have fake plants in your house, how do you style them to keep them looking less like "80's resort lobby" and more like "I can't believe that's not real!" ? Let's talk!<br />
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Back to movies next week, but we'll talk again soon! See ya then.<br />
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For more on Plantscape:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.plantscapeinc.com/services/interior-landscaping">interior landscape design</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.plantscapeinc.com/">interior plant service</a><br />
<br />
<i>This is a review post for Plantscape Inc. All opinions are my own. I was compensated for this post with a product supplied by them.</i></div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-63628646423758848872018-03-29T09:00:00.000-05:002018-03-29T09:00:33.168-05:00Ebay Shopping: Vintage Celebrity Letters edition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Good morning!</div>
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How's March treating you? I am still kicking. Today I thought I'd pop back in and show you a few of the things I've been drooling over in my free time (such as it is) that I in no way shape or form can afford-- letters from classic Hollywood celebrities on eBay!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8t_PhUf9MnXfBo6LdhJIboYFhKkSMj562imSe86gbanFR-xlR859tIqWtzHrIf9qBHvoLWghv3ur4Y8Ra600mXppAALm4sPYZjfPfW2GpfclHaWDoUhYpTuHz1ieIuCHuioTGdkIS7r7/s1600/vintage+celebrity+letters+golden+age+hollywood+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="948" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP8t_PhUf9MnXfBo6LdhJIboYFhKkSMj562imSe86gbanFR-xlR859tIqWtzHrIf9qBHvoLWghv3ur4Y8Ra600mXppAALm4sPYZjfPfW2GpfclHaWDoUhYpTuHz1ieIuCHuioTGdkIS7r7/s640/vintage+celebrity+letters+golden+age+hollywood+blog.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Many, many moons ago (or not that many, maybe like a year and a half ago), I came across a letter from Tyrone Power to a screenplay writer back in Hollywood on eBay. Power was filming a movie in Spain and, to say the least, having a bad day. Typed out under his scrolled initials on his personal notepaper, he vented for two pages about the lackluster scripts and the general listlessness that has settled in on him after forming his own production company a year or two previous. He went on to describe how he felt everything had been for "f-cking nothing" before apologizing for being in such a black mood and closing with some tidbits about what he would be doing in the next month or so. The content itself, the fact of the letter existing was riveting to me-- homeboy has been dead since 1958, and here, I think maybe five or six years before his untimely death from a heart attack while filming overseas, was a letter from a person who didn't know how his story would end, who wasn't the two dimensional almost obscenely handsome guy from all those Loretta Young or swashbuckler pictures, but a real person with feelings and moods and all the rest. This was someone who sounded like me gmail chatting at the end of particularly crummy shift at the library. And you could own it! You could have in your hands the same letter written by the same guy the letter so plainly illustrated. I was hooked! And I was disappointed-- I think it had a buy it now of $300. I may be profligate with my money in the service of a good, selfish cause sometimes, but that's $150 a page, guys. It sold, and my heart was sad...but ever since, when I have a free half an hour or so to binge, I stalk around on the Movie Memorabilia listings looking for similarly revelatory evidence of the lives movie stars lived in and around their famous careers.<br />
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1) <b>Charles Boyer, 1946</b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7u_-FhTyleXvgNLy0zloz-zfUUUdOaqaHRcLLdTXBDrbRTBnsLCPfdRafDEfc7ze-VOTkUGHIdNtMGRkEFYG3tTKaNVENs3uiVNiRGPH5J28XtMeQO3abtAxl3EpZnIGbg5gCzIyUBbzD/s1600/CHARLES+BOYER++AUTOGRAPH+LETTER+SIGNED+12+28+1942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1576" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7u_-FhTyleXvgNLy0zloz-zfUUUdOaqaHRcLLdTXBDrbRTBnsLCPfdRafDEfc7ze-VOTkUGHIdNtMGRkEFYG3tTKaNVENs3uiVNiRGPH5J28XtMeQO3abtAxl3EpZnIGbg5gCzIyUBbzD/s640/CHARLES+BOYER++AUTOGRAPH+LETTER+SIGNED+12+28+1942.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/CHARLES-BOYER-AUTOGRAPH-LETTER-SIGNED-12-28-1942/302326898939?hash=item46641660fb:g:hyUAAOSwfpVZJdoO">CHARLES BOYER - AUTOGRAPH LETTER SIGNED 12/28/1942</a></td></tr>
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One of France's best Hollywood exports, <a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2016/07/where-does-love-go-1965-charles-boyer.html">I've spoken before</a> at length about how Charles Boyer is near the top of historical mystery dates I'd like to open the door to-- I have an original autograph of his in my collection, but wouldn't I give my eye teeth for this two page letter, currently. Only $600! Or $28 for 24 months-- it sounds so much less expensive like that (also if I start buying on celebrity autographs on time I would never stop). The letter is in French, which is less difficult for me to decipher that Boyer's tiny, elegant handwriting, which sometimes makes m's that look like w's and forms q's as p's. Nevertheless, I got out my magnifying glass and made good progress with what the letter said. Here's a taste for you, an exclusive transcription and <i>traduction </i>by yours truly:</div>
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<i>Je ferais à vous dire combien ma femme et moi étions près de votre peine. Puisse le destin favoriser la cause pour laquelle Raoul s’est battu avec tant de ferveur jusqu’à son dernier jour. </i>(I would have you know how much my wife and I feel your pain. May fortune favor the cause for which Raoul fought with such feeling to his last breath)<i>.</i></blockquote>
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Interesting stuff, right? Boyer wrote this letter in 1942, to the mother of a friend, Raoul, who it sounds like was killed in action during WWII. It's very beautifully written in a way that reminds you of how eloquent people used to be in print (as opposed to say my habitual "where you at you've been gone forever don't forget fries" text sent to my husband during his time at the grocery store). I wish I could find out more about who Raoul was but the context clues (including a mention of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genevi%C3%A8ve_Tabouis">Geneviève Tabouis</a> and the French language newspaper <i>Pour la victoire</i>) have turned up goose eggs so far. I appreciate that Boyer is as beautifully spoken off screen as I would have imagined him to be, and that this heartfelt condolence letter made its way to eBay where I could read it.</div>
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<br /><br />2) <b>Claude Rains, undated</b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobXKdl2mswqYv2aObz0eB8RjYcfn7Fs_sm7Oei2OmiOpbVtXTr9AgT7hNg01toiYRVeVmSPB1rOrb8xniMvhPmvpwZuwHejvcZFOm17peI4w1ULZO2V0_i2sEIn6kuxvUb9KxfVVSfV-I/s1600/2+Page+Letter+By+claude+rains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobXKdl2mswqYv2aObz0eB8RjYcfn7Fs_sm7Oei2OmiOpbVtXTr9AgT7hNg01toiYRVeVmSPB1rOrb8xniMvhPmvpwZuwHejvcZFOm17peI4w1ULZO2V0_i2sEIn6kuxvUb9KxfVVSfV-I/s640/2+Page+Letter+By+claude+rains.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/2-Page-Letter-By-claude-rains/222708784842?hash=item33da7a5eca:g:8~IAAOSwZqZaAITM">2 Page Letter By claude rains</a></td></tr>
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This letter is far less literary, but I'm obsessed with it because of who wrote it-- my OTHER, and possibly top of the list, crush, Claude Rains. It's $500 or only $45 for 12 months (this is obviously a shorter loan term and seems more expensive, lol). In searching for an autograph of his for sale online, I've found many examples, all of which were in the high three digits or low four...but god willing, I'll locate some less pricey cocktail napkin or coaster he scribbled on eventually and add that trophy to my autograph wall. I think Rains may have the worst Hollywood handwriting I've seen so far-- his autograph is usually just a hasty scrawl at the bottom of an 8 x 10 (or, cheekily in this case, <a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/Claude-Rains-VINTAGE-autograph-signed-photograph/112217258358?hash=item1a20ab7976:g:~FgAAOSwiQ9ZVNon">along the collar of his photographic self's dress shirt</a>). This, however, is a full on letter, on his personal stationery! It reads (I think) :</div>
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Dear Charlotte [?? something "man"],</blockquote>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your treatment of Mr. Johnson is a beautiful work of art and I shall treasure his works even more! Here is your check. I have an idea—culled from your library (such a lovely place for work)—a glass case for maybe the open book. If and when you can, could you give it a thought and tell me where to go for such a rarity? Always my most grateful thanks and real appreciation. You are a great packer too. </blockquote>
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Sincerely, Claude Rains </blockquote>
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I love how excited he sounds about this glass case to display her book on (probably) Ben Jonson, an early modern playwright. Can you just hear him reading this letter aloud?<br />
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3) Errol Flynn, 1956<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPclIZlebqSvT1Tdr0ykHETWTy94PQ6WWK0mQfoEx1Zaf7y81oXxUOSMMxQk6sVAaOzq9dgogAAstyCGjMetIV8QcM_69LEsOoi43gMw_BVUPme8Q7lv9WDx0XgxYtvnoFC4rGbNVCenT/s1600/ERROL+FLYNN+RARE+SIGNED+LETTER+CRITICISING+PRODUCER+OF+ERROL+FLYNN+tHEATRE+1956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXPclIZlebqSvT1Tdr0ykHETWTy94PQ6WWK0mQfoEx1Zaf7y81oXxUOSMMxQk6sVAaOzq9dgogAAstyCGjMetIV8QcM_69LEsOoi43gMw_BVUPme8Q7lv9WDx0XgxYtvnoFC4rGbNVCenT/s640/ERROL+FLYNN+RARE+SIGNED+LETTER+CRITICISING+PRODUCER+OF+ERROL+FLYNN+tHEATRE+1956.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/ERROL-FLYNN-RARE-SIGNED-LETTER-CRITICISING-PRODUCER-OF-ERROL-FLYNN-tHEATRE-1956-/253404805642?hash=item3b001a7a0a%3Ag%3ArQcAAOSw6hNac45z&nma=true&si=MkhqU6R%252BRSp9VOdHXDcUgC3klTo%253D&orig_cvip=true&rt=nc&_trksid=p2047675.l2557">ERROL FLYNN RARE SIGNED LETTER CRITICISING PRODUCER OF ERROL FLYNN tHEATRE 1956</a></td></tr>
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This one is a pip simply because Errol Flynn is POPPING. OFF. on a producer of his mid fifties' tv show, <i>Errol Flynn Theatre.</i> Don't be fooled by the letterhead and address...it may look like slash WAS official correspondence, but the tone is decidedly unprofessional (and FANTASTIC as a result). Lots of celebrities had anthology tv shows in the fifties'-- Boyer was part of <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_Star_Playhouse">Four Star Playhouse</a>, </i>which included Ida Lupino, Dick Powell, and David Niven to round out the quartet; <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Barbara_Stanwyck_Show">The Barbara Stanwyck Show</a></i>, <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_Fairbanks_Presents">Douglas Fairbanks Presents</a>,<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Joseph_Cotten_Show"> The Joseph Cotten Show</a>, </i>and<i> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Montgomery_Presents">Robert Montgomery Presents</a> </i>all featured the title presenter as an occasional actor to bring new faces to the screen and try to hang on to the relevance of their forties' motion picture stardom<i>. </i>What surprises me is that I've never even heard of this one, in which Flynn and third wife Patrice Wymore would turn in thirty minute live performances of adapted material (<a href="https://archive.org/details/Errol.Flynn.Theatre.Strange.Auction">I found an episode on archive.org</a> that I plan to watch after posting this). I've never heard of it (or retained memory of it) and I've been through AT LEAST four or five books on Flynn, he's one of my favorite movie stars! You can read the letter itself, but in sum, Flynn is up to here with the lack of quality and corniness of the scripts presented pre-production for this series... throwing around terms like "old hat", "corny", "ordure", "mediocre" in a scathing but somehow still lighthearted memo. Speaking as someone who has watched a lot of 1950's tv in my day, I can attest to the low grade material that was sometimes placed in front of tv dinner eating Eisenhowerites...so maybe this was more of the same. However, the hilariously literate way Flynn, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Showdown_(Flynn_novel)">a published author in his own right outside of his acting work</a>, lights 'em up makes me wish there was a book collecting his correspondence-- if this was a throwaway business communication, I'd love to see some of the personal stuff.</div>
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Whoever bought this for $220, kudos! You have a treasure on your hands.</div>
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4) <b>Katharine Hepburn, undated</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVt72IqsPKqLVE_BDwXQC_oTX3idac7Sce_2Ghfv5YpL8KI51LcLnim4D6QbsMQ-ljNv5-PDlVYb0F5FeQOF3qj_ScUUq80krXtygdgUFvoDGYNs282L30V15ZAiAPoR1zVXa7FJ7Ub1OK/s1600/KATHARINE+HEPBURN+AUTOGRAPH+LETTER+SIGNED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="816" data-original-width="1220" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVt72IqsPKqLVE_BDwXQC_oTX3idac7Sce_2Ghfv5YpL8KI51LcLnim4D6QbsMQ-ljNv5-PDlVYb0F5FeQOF3qj_ScUUq80krXtygdgUFvoDGYNs282L30V15ZAiAPoR1zVXa7FJ7Ub1OK/s640/KATHARINE+HEPBURN+AUTOGRAPH+LETTER+SIGNED.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/KATHARINE-HEPBURN-AUTOGRAPH-LETTER-SIGNED/302318867506?hash=item46639bd432:g:VsUAAOSwdjNZGx6C">Katharine Hepburn Letter Signed</a></td></tr>
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The jerkiness of Hepburn's imprecise script in this letter seems to mimic to me her own idiosyncractic speech pattern...I like to think of all those either ellided or staccato tones as recreated here by the individual letters. Look at the e's in "feel" and the general rectangularness of each line! I'm no graphologist, but that has to mean something to a handwriting expert. Ebay seller "historydirect" transcribes most letters, God bless them , so this is an easy one to read if you're looking at the listing:</div>
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<i>"I came back from Florida to be greeted by your huge Stowaway treat - then found the grapefruit & the tangerines - You are obviously quite insane & must be going broke rapidly. They are all so good but I worry that you spend too much on me- Your letters always make me feel fine & your story of the broken dish - oh how often i've done just that. Trying to catch up with the endless letters. Affection." </i></blockquote>
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"You are obviously quite insane and must be going broke rapidly" is such a cheeky little line, I love it. I revere Katharine Hepburn...but I hated...hated... HATED her autobiography, "Me". One, for its ersatz ee cummings tone and composition-- two, for the fact that, considering this is someone who had to have lived THE MOST AMAZING LIFE, she was surprisingly tight lipped on anything I had any interest in, and all too open with things I had no interest in. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1YBXV0dJ_I">The audiobook was a little better </a>because you could hear her perform the otherwise almost too self-indulgent text, but I still give it failing marks-- <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tracy-Hepburn-Intimate-Garson-Kanin/dp/0670722936">Garson Kanin's book about Tracy and Hepburn</a> was about a million times more interesting. Just FYI. Yet another person I wish had a book of letters collected so that we could see more of "the real [insert name here]".</div>
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5) <b>Clark Gable, 1938</b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFM74HdXMuRFUgbOuSyi9MzQDeK2BQBkxtLZrv08mSyOrXS4I4za9LIpJ4O2t2FqxarbQW6j7YZvzfyScLxYXPf4SmzKtq0ZdoYoqDxgtIkKdmerPXlspsKnJZNDDpMQSc7ImJ-h6rejKg/s1600/CLARK+GABLE++TYPED+LETTER+SIGNED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1600" height="324" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFM74HdXMuRFUgbOuSyi9MzQDeK2BQBkxtLZrv08mSyOrXS4I4za9LIpJ4O2t2FqxarbQW6j7YZvzfyScLxYXPf4SmzKtq0ZdoYoqDxgtIkKdmerPXlspsKnJZNDDpMQSc7ImJ-h6rejKg/s640/CLARK+GABLE++TYPED+LETTER+SIGNED.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/CLARK-GABLE-TYPED-LETTER-SIGNED-11-15-1938/302007621960?hash=item46510e9948:g:LvUAAOSwgY9Xfndi">Clark Gable Typed Letter Signed 1938</a></td></tr>
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I thought this would be a boring letter because it's typed, but it's pretty interesting! Lots of typed correspondence like this is strictly business-- contracts, "I hereby do" whatevers, etc etc. Or else professional blurbs under the guise of letters-- I've seen ones from silent star Colleen Moore and another from the aforementioned Tyrone Power that was really less a personal letter and more a press release for an upcoming project. However! "The King" wrote this letter on his personal letterhead to the editor of <i>Sports Afield </i>magazine, in November of 1938, a little more than a year ahead of the release of <i>Gone With the Wind</i>. It reads:<br />
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<i>"I hate alibis and this isn't an alibi-ing letter. I feel as though I have no good excuse for not having written sooner. I arrived home Sunday morning going directly from the station to the studio and haven't been idle one day since then. This has been the busiest and most difficult picture I have ever made. Still have three weeks to go. I am writing this between shots on stage. Needless to say I had a marvelous time up there with you and all the fellows from Minneapolis. Haven't been duck shooting down here but once. There were no ducks as usual. The pictures they sent to me I have distributed around the local duck hunters just to let them know there are ducks in some parts of the country. When I told Harry Fleischman about all the ducks and mallards he looked at me with a movie studios eye; however, having seen as many as I did I had a convincing ring in my voice, I know, because now all the guys here are saying, 'when you go up there again, take me with you.' Received Clara's letter giving me all the news. Are Murphy and Walt still working out in the club house every afternoon after the shoot? Give them my regards and tell them I hope to bend the elbow again with them next year. Are you going to spend the winter here in California or in Florida? If you are coming out here let me know because I'll have to kill the Fatted Calf'. Had a letter from Nick Mahler the other day regarding some skates that he was sending to me. Nick is a swell lad and never seems to stop doing things for someone. That was a swell party he threw and I enjoyed meeting all of his and your friends. Quail season opened here today but unfortunately I am stuck here as usual. All the gang went up by Bakersfield to warm up their guns. I think they will get their limits as quail seem plentiful here this year. Imagine the ducks are in at your place by now pretty thick. Wish I could be there for a couple of days shoot with you, however I am grateful for the fine shoot that I had. Kindest regards to all the gang and to yourself and Clara." </i></blockquote>
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Is that not a great letter? Like the others, can't you just hear him saying it? I love the jocular tone and the little jokes like "<i>T</i><i style="text-align: justify;">he pictures they sent to me I have distributed around the local duck hunters just to let them know there are ducks in some parts of the country." </i><span style="text-align: justify;">Gable was an avid outdoorsman who was frequently shot for <i>Photoplay </i>and other fan magazines in full hunting gear, tramping around his farm or up the country with his gorgeous wife Carole Lombard or friend Gary Cooper in tow. I'm always surprised and heartened to see my movie idols turn out to be kind of like they are in the movies-- doesn't Gable seem like a hail fellow well met? Somebody wire me $2,200 so I can keep this encased in lucite under my pillow.</span></div>
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6) <b>Douglas Fairbanks Jr. , 1987</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnTjMXMV8Y61hyphenhyphenOKLd1eq_vBNjp_p3LgJOzbxBrRQDjLUcvyOv6vMEEpqN20ScuOneD6JKR6JHSjbsS15iWPck8JOQWjCFMuaBFseBz9JqTFWhyjMFBjyhD9R8GuFBu6F59FQ_AJexezv/s1600/DOUGLAS+FAIRBANKS+JR+SIGNED+LETTER+BETTY+BARKER+FUNNY+CONTENT+LAURENCE+OLIVIER.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="760" data-original-width="1140" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnTjMXMV8Y61hyphenhyphenOKLd1eq_vBNjp_p3LgJOzbxBrRQDjLUcvyOv6vMEEpqN20ScuOneD6JKR6JHSjbsS15iWPck8JOQWjCFMuaBFseBz9JqTFWhyjMFBjyhD9R8GuFBu6F59FQ_AJexezv/s640/DOUGLAS+FAIRBANKS+JR+SIGNED+LETTER+BETTY+BARKER+FUNNY+CONTENT+LAURENCE+OLIVIER.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/DOUGLAS-FAIRBANKS-JR-SIGNED-LETTER-BETTY-BARKER-FUNNY-CONTENT-LAURENCE-OLIVIER/222853662549?hash=item33e31d0755:g:OuMAAOSwXOVaaTsi">DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS JR SIGNED LETTER BETTY BARKER FUNNY CONTENT LAURENCE OLIVIER</a></td></tr>
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This is one of my favorites because the idea of Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and Laurence Olivier being good enough friends to play little jokes on each other even into their respective eighties' is adorable to me. DFJr, former husband of Joan Crawford, wrote this letter to Crawford's former personal secretary. In it, he reveals that he and "Larry" used to pal around with frequent Crawford co-star Robert Montgomery (the often tuxedoed-in-1930's-movies father of <i>Bewitched </i>actress Elizabeth Montgomery), but apparently hated him. DFJr thought it would be a lark to send Olivier a picture of Montgomery made out to him personally and asked if the secretary had one of "any size, kind or description" for him to follow out his little prank. I live for it. The handwritten postscript is funny too: "PS. How and where are you!" Above, I've added pictures of Olivier and Fairbanks with Lillian Gish at an awards ceremony in the late 80's, Robert Montgomery in his prime, and Betty Barker, the assistant and recipient of the letter. I'm still getting a kick out of how cheeky this is days after I initially found it, so there.</div>
<br />7) <b>Natalie Wood, 1974</b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0APwN6hIu0x1YaChcE1QQ8FOq44XW63SrEE-9Q6cpJGulQVX2Yl7i7iZ8q3pgInTHjVryYkBJWtF_O663H-heIsBGp3lgNLTLAHFm2Ck7apu0YUgOKH4HPC7H7wP3dEAiyBxMSuqFZqmv/s1600/1974+NATALIE+WOOD+WAGNER+HAND+SIGNED+LETTER+WITH+ENVELOPE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="757" data-original-width="1600" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0APwN6hIu0x1YaChcE1QQ8FOq44XW63SrEE-9Q6cpJGulQVX2Yl7i7iZ8q3pgInTHjVryYkBJWtF_O663H-heIsBGp3lgNLTLAHFm2Ck7apu0YUgOKH4HPC7H7wP3dEAiyBxMSuqFZqmv/s640/1974+NATALIE+WOOD+WAGNER+HAND+SIGNED+LETTER+WITH+ENVELOPE.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.ebay.com/itm/1974-NATALIE-WOOD-WAGNER-HAND-SIGNED-LETTER-WITH-ENVELOPE-FRANCE-PSA-DNA-RIP/321923404559?_trkparms=ao%3D1%26asc%3D50687%26meid%3D841dfd4eb21449f0b2602eeae128cf74%26pid%3D100705%26rk%3D1%26rkt%3D1%26%26itm%3D321923404559&_trksid=p2045573.c100705.m4780">1974 NATALIE WOOD WAGNER HAND SIGNED LETTER WITH ENVELOPE FRANCE PSADNA RIP</a></td></tr>
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This is a GREAT and suitably bubbly letter from a pregnant Natalie Wood, on holiday in the south of France with her husband Robert Wagner. The addressee is <a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/latimes/obituary.aspx?n=joseph-g-milstein&pid=149127197">Dr. Joseph Milstein</a>, an LA ob-gyn who I think may have been her doctor...hence all the details on the pregnancy? It's very friendly either way.<br />
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The letter reads:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Dear Joe,</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Greetings from the South of France & Happy New Year! R.J. had 2 ½ weeks off so we flew here for a terrific holiday! It’s gorgeous here & London is absolutely pre-war, miserable, cold, & everyone has a tight lip! I might mention that before we left London I weighed in at 143 and when Gordon Bourne finished fainting he recorded the baby’s heartbeat, announced that since the heartbeat was 130 it would be a boy, and gave us the cassette. After R.J. and I finished fainting we wondered if he could be right & decided he had a 50/50 chance to be – or 106 to 100 if my current readings are correct! Here in France they have all kinds of special creams for the prevention of dreaded stretch marks & so far much of my holiday has been spent in the religious application of the aforementioned creams! I’ve been feeling great and we have a lovely flat in London & only 1 more month to be there so all goes well! Hope you had terrific holidays and every good wish for health, happiness & all good things for you & your family for ‘74</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Love from R.J. and Natalie</blockquote>
</blockquote>
Spoiler: the doctor was wrong, and Courtney Wagner was born March 9, 1974 (three months after the letter was written!). Only slightly creepy for the way things ended up for Wagner and Wood. :( Still, I love seeing her very legible handwriting and reading about how excited she was to have this baby, having been through the same myself what seems like yesterday.<br />
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8) Cary Grant, undated<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpp4JCSwpICMpOy_n50EwfiJKKh08Udur7uwPfPTt1q3XPNFMvTjOAmFSQKgxo5TihyRSWefvP-nagPK-OMiWjXPdsiTNPWSheRvYRamHvLWvWsu3t4qbbzO3MrmrYgGmTyLFY25cud_L/s1600/Cary+Grant+Personal+Written+Letter+to+Maureen+Donaldson+on+Faberge+Paper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="764" data-original-width="1600" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpp4JCSwpICMpOy_n50EwfiJKKh08Udur7uwPfPTt1q3XPNFMvTjOAmFSQKgxo5TihyRSWefvP-nagPK-OMiWjXPdsiTNPWSheRvYRamHvLWvWsu3t4qbbzO3MrmrYgGmTyLFY25cud_L/s640/Cary+Grant+Personal+Written+Letter+to+Maureen+Donaldson+on+Faberge+Paper.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ugh! This may be the one I wanted the most out of the whole batch. <i>An Affair to Remember: My Life with Cary Grant</i> is the <i>ne plus ultra</i> of celebrity girlfriends/wives memoirs, in equal parts romantic, dishy, and well-told-- I have read it at least four times, and that's coming from someone who never likes to re-read anything. Its author, Maureen Donaldson, is the intended recipient of this note on Faberge letterhead, written to her it sounds like slightly after the breakup of their four year relationship. The handwriting! The writer! (As I just sigh my dreamiest sigh). </div>
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It says:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
Maureen,</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
This-- the enclosed-- will relieve a little of the pressure. Now concentrate on your work, your reputation, and the daily [promise?] of self pride! You looked well and I was very pleased to see you.</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Cary </blockquote>
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I know, from several biographies I've practically committed to memory as well as Donaldson's book, that the man was probably no picnic to live with in real life, but my GOODNESS the <i>suavité</i>. "You looked well and I was very pleased to see you", coming from Cary Grant? Stop IT. I think this must have originally included a check ("the enclosed") and was probably a nice gesture from a very wealthy (though notoriously tight fisted) man to his ex girlfriend, who was at the time starting a career in photography. Speaking of, I googled "Maureen Donaldson" in Getty Images to see if I could spot any photos of her and Grant out on the town, being stalked by paparazzi-- instead, it came up with A BLUE MILLION late 70s/early 80s publicity photos she took of some people who took off, and some who didn't! <a href="https://www.gettyimages.com/photos/maureen-donaldson?mediatype=photography&phrase=maureen%20donaldson&sort=mostpopular">Click here to see early Jim Carey, Jodie Foster, Heather Locklear, and more</a>.</div>
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Well! I think I have talked your ear off enough for today. What did you think? Which is your favorite letter? Is there an old time Hollywood actor or actress you'd just love to snag a memento of? What kind of weird things do you look up on eBay when you're not really looking for anything in particular? I'd love to hear from you!!</div>
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I'm glad to be back on the semi regular and hope to keep in the habit of writing. Take care, and we'll talk again soon!</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-15478282317888262972018-03-15T09:00:00.000-05:002018-03-15T09:00:50.622-05:00Bing Crosby and Dean Martin à la française (French Records, 1953 and 1962)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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I have been gone but hopefully not forgotten-- how's tricks? Things are swimming along as smoothly as you could hope for with an almost fourteen month old under foot, but I thought I'd pop by and bend your ear on the subject of some vintage records that have recently come to my attention. In sum:</div>
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GUYS. THERE ARE TWO FRENCH-THEMED ALBUMS BY BING CROSBY AND DEAN MARTIN, RESPECTIVELY. I'd heard of these some time back but just got a chance to sit and listen this week thanks to Spotify. Wanna hear all about it? I knoooow that you do, haha.</div>
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<i>Allons-y!</i></div>
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1)<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Bing:_Song_Hits_of_Paris"> Le Bing: Song Hits of Paris: Sung in French by Bing Crosby:</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMXr0IjqkeUNIWIZr-qoACxE0UV0C_qu4lGv4pCapfbgEP-8IIekWOaFO4NdFr6hn0UHlr2YYk6z2jGRGKmgTKVt8jgTHITNBMLLtBOGfc7CDONG26JsT4L1sJ6oeduu0Oj_iOxaJAofh/s1600/Le+Bing+Bing+Crosby+Song+Hits+of+Paris+Sung+in+French+By+1953+francophile+chansons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimMXr0IjqkeUNIWIZr-qoACxE0UV0C_qu4lGv4pCapfbgEP-8IIekWOaFO4NdFr6hn0UHlr2YYk6z2jGRGKmgTKVt8jgTHITNBMLLtBOGfc7CDONG26JsT4L1sJ6oeduu0Oj_iOxaJAofh/s400/Le+Bing+Bing+Crosby+Song+Hits+of+Paris+Sung+in+French+By+1953+francophile+chansons.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This album popped up when I was looking through the Crosby discography to weed out Christmas records. Bing Crosby's contribution to supermarket/department store PA system soundtrack music from approximately October to December 25th is greatly appreciated, and "White Christmas", contextualized into its WWII beginnings and listened to for on its own merit outside of how popular it became, is incredible...but I was looking for more of his early crooner stuff after seeing the knock-your-socks-off <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wnet/americanmasters/bing-crosby-rediscovered-full-film/3605/">PBS American Masters doc</a> on his life and work and having read <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Bing-Crosby-Pocketful-Dreams-1903-1940/dp/0316886459">a really solid biography of the same</a>. And...what the heck...did I spy with my little eye A WHOLE RECORD OF BING SINGING ENTIRELY IN FRENCH? I did, mesdames et messieurs. I did.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE9jyIyaRSWDjMnHiUxGb3nQMSES0GjeKce3fNhSe2TzSUTuJuAv8CI2CaYDmL-yiq7003FXwrlWo5Z2p3C8Z_Gq_fQ9eYpsYrf6qpbANWJMSLZTCGhxP2vWHJHJ62oBJXb3bVyNVwqGP/s1600/bing+crosby+french.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="832" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpE9jyIyaRSWDjMnHiUxGb3nQMSES0GjeKce3fNhSe2TzSUTuJuAv8CI2CaYDmL-yiq7003FXwrlWo5Z2p3C8Z_Gq_fQ9eYpsYrf6qpbANWJMSLZTCGhxP2vWHJHJ62oBJXb3bVyNVwqGP/s640/bing+crosby+french.jpg" width="540" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>And ten easy lessons later...we have Le Bing!</i></td></tr>
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Der Bingle is actually not too bad at the French accent! I am impressed by his dedication to doing the entire album without switching languages-- a lot of people would have gone for translations with a bit of French sprinkled in (spoiler: see Dino's record below), but he definitely goes whole hog (<i>cochon entière</i>). The re-issue includes several French to English songs or Franglais songs, but the original record is mostly all French. Crosby sounds about like you would expect him to and doesn't make any hideous or egregious mistakes in accent-- HOWEVER. I would like to point out to the jury exhibit A, track four of this album, in the case of "does Bing speak French or is he working on this phonetically". </div>
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If you live on planet Earth, you've probably heard Edith Piaf's gorgeous signature hymne de l'amour, "La Vie en Rose". You may or may not have heard Louis Armstrong's English language version, which is *so* beautiful and maybe my second favorite interpretation of the song. For Armstrong's version, the lyrics are changed from Piaf's, because French to English translations sometimes have to take liberties to preserve the elegance of the sentiment. The English version's opening line: "Hold me close and hold me fast / The magic spell you cast / This is la vie en rose" is not exactly the same as "<i>Quand il me prend dans ses bras/ Qu'il me parle tout bas/ Je vois la vie en rose</i>". The French directly translates "When he holds me in his arms/ When he talks to me softly/ I see life in pink". As this is a woman singing, notice it's when <i>he </i>holds me in his arms, when <i>he</i> talks to me softly. In some French language versions I've heard with a male singer, they either switch the pronoun to "she" (<i>elle</i>) or take a note from the English version and say "you" (<i>tu</i>, in the familiar, which makes sense, as a person who makes my life la vie en rose is probably beyond the <i>vous </i>stage of the relationship). Bing blithely sings the song exactly as it was written for Piaf, meaning you have him saying things like "C'est lui pour moi/Moi pour lui dans la vie/ Il me l'a dit, l'a juré pour la vie" (It's him for me, me for him in life, he told me so, swore it for life). Um. Which, believe me, is very cool with me if he meant to sing a wrenching beautiful torch song to a man, but-- I don't think this was intentional. And it would have been such an easy fix!! Verdict: Our favorite ba-ba-ba-booer is not a genuine francophone, but puts up a pretty dang good show of it.</div>
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A typically pithy quote from him, cribbed from the Wikipedia page on this record:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
Of his French accent, Bing remarked at the time that any complaints should be sent 'to the back door of the United Nations'.</blockquote>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="File:Bing Crosby in Road to Singapore trailer.jpg" height="481" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/64/Bing_Crosby_in_Road_to_Singapore_trailer.jpg/795px-Bing_Crosby_in_Road_to_Singapore_trailer.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"So sue me." (Poursuis-moi, alors)</i></td></tr>
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The rest of the disc is a bit of a sleeper-- it reminds me of a lot of Eisenhower era crooner records in that you can put it on and forget that it's on outside of some standout tracks. No less than my blessed Frank Sinatra is guilty of this with some of his lesser Decca recordings. Overall, though, I have to say I was so pleased with the novelty of the foreign language format that I would listen again. It might even get better on a second spin, <i>qui sait.</i></div>
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Verdict: Three out of five croque monsieurs:</div>
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2) <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Style">Dean Martin: French Style</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqpxlHs1Kf1dRF_9EqJi66ZKOdUY1Dyac2EgNPPAipFirHx824VVwbNdWA5rNoiSTD7cikf-UNQN6pQ2xkx7jxAsQl8yt728XS6k-Ft-b8QzCQeJDuaYTps7M2mUyBusyNoZXhjx9PKOh/s1600/Dean+Martin+French+Style+sings+in+French+chansons+1962+francophone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyqpxlHs1Kf1dRF_9EqJi66ZKOdUY1Dyac2EgNPPAipFirHx824VVwbNdWA5rNoiSTD7cikf-UNQN6pQ2xkx7jxAsQl8yt728XS6k-Ft-b8QzCQeJDuaYTps7M2mUyBusyNoZXhjx9PKOh/s400/Dean+Martin+French+Style+sings+in+French+chansons+1962+francophone.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i>Dean Martin: French Style</i> is MUCH livelier, if more English-speaking, than <i>Le Bing</i>. If you remember, along with the likes of Jerry Vale, Connie Francis, and Al Martino, Dean Martin was part of a wave of second generation Italian singers, making up like an entire GENRE of music in the fifties' and sixties', the Italian American Italian language ballad. So! To have him travel up the continent to France isn't a stretch but a very interesting stamp on his musical passport nonetheless. Dino's waggish spoken asides are as light-hearted as his appearance on the cover <i>en blouse d'artiste, béret, et porte-cigarette</i> (and doesn't he wear it all with a dash!). Most of these songs are about France with tiny bits of French included, but I can appreciate a concept album right along with the best of them. Can you imagine someone's mom and dad / grandma and grandad pulling the cellophane off this record brand new in 1962, and putting it on a console record player while making beefaroni for the family? Something about the <i>earnestness </i>and unselfconsciousness of making a somewhat tongue in cheek but not satirical or snarky record cements a record like this so FIRMLY in the time period for me.</div>
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Songs to look for? Dino tackles "La Vie en Rose" in English with exactly the same timbre/pathos of his classic "Non Dimentecar", which I never realized sounds kind of like an Italian cousin of this song. I like his version of "I Like Paris"on this record-- but I looooove the <a href="https://youtu.be/h7nQZM85i9E">"I Love Vegas" version on this live Rat Pack record</a>. His riffs on his own song catalog in his Rat Pack performances are always one of the highlights of show for me. But I digress. Some low points include throwaway lyrics in between accordion blasts on songs like "The Poor People of France", which includes such lackluster paroles as "I feel sorry for the French/Every guy has got a wench/ Every couple's got a bench/Kissing shamelessly"...uh, this is like late movie career Elvis bad in terms of songwriting. BUT! I still think overall it's a lot of fun.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Dean Martin Y Jerry Lewis" src="https://i.pinimg.com/564x/7b/3c/3f/7b3c3f3b10f15e908c23b99d94d0e900.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Jerry Lewis in Paris-- did you know that restaurant <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fouquet%27s">is still in business</a>?</td></tr>
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Verdict: four out of five jambon emmental sandwiches from Monoprix, which have no earthly right to be as good as they are, considering they come out of a refrigerator case at a corner store:<br />
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You can listen to both of these albums on Spotify or even Youtube! What are you waiting for?<br />
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Well that's it for this installment of "what's been buzzing around in Lisa's head"-- I hope to share more weird recent finds with you soon. In the meantime, what you been listening to? Any great midcentury finds in either English or French? What do you think about non-native speaker foreign language celebrity records (what a section that would be in a record store)? Parlons-nous!<br />
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Take care, and we'll talk again soon!Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-41927033214461905962017-11-14T11:58:00.001-06:002017-11-14T12:01:58.241-06:00Unsolved Mysteries<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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Howaya, howaya, howaya. It's Tuesday, saints bless us, and I thought I would take a minute to tell you about your show of shows, <i>Unsolved Mysteries</i>, and its triumphant return to syndication. I mentioned a while back in my birth story post that we'd been watching episodes of <i>UM </i>on my phone while waiting for Remy to make his grand debut, and isn't it surreal that I'm sitting here, nine months later, with a not-so-newborn in my lap and Robert Stack telling me about a suspicious car fire...happier than a pig in mud.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4VCu111hSPZQjUeY4I9Sjw6wZWk2cExpJMRl8SquNbv6MzNTiu870pptA6RtuWohviAc8h8Xzn5M0oPb9Xkt0HCw-ncle-u0UOUXe5O9T7H6APo_Fz_njDfdhgxAKFluCo-z09eFodNm/s1600/unsolved+mysteries+original+logo+1990s+1980s+NBC+robert+stack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT4VCu111hSPZQjUeY4I9Sjw6wZWk2cExpJMRl8SquNbv6MzNTiu870pptA6RtuWohviAc8h8Xzn5M0oPb9Xkt0HCw-ncle-u0UOUXe5O9T7H6APo_Fz_njDfdhgxAKFluCo-z09eFodNm/s640/unsolved+mysteries+original+logo+1990s+1980s+NBC+robert+stack.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I watched a lot of the show when it was first aired on NBC, because in those long ago days of the late 80's and early 90's, there was no cable and just a single television set... meaning if your folks were watching <i>Cheers</i>, and you wanted to watch something on tv, you, too, would be watching <i>Cheers</i>. Hard to believe in this age of having multiple screens, technology on demand, etc, etc, but I can see myself on the brown shag carpet of the living room, probably chewing on the wood stick of a grape popsicle and wondering if the "someone may have the answers, that someone may be...you" tagline was true...though , to be fair, my sphere of influence was pretty small at nine years old and the killer/missing sister/UFO witness would have to be in my second grade classroom or my mom/dad/grandparents for there to be much of a chance of me being the missing link in this investigation. "God, I wish I knew more masked motorcyclists and key witnesses to disappearances," was a good summation of my feelings of ruefulness at not being more involved in inexplicable events.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi-ya, handsome!</td></tr>
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Sidenote: I had no idea in first watching the series that Robert Stack was any more famous than Wink Martindale, Mark Summers, or the other various early nineties' television hosts I could name off the top of my fourth grade head. Much later, I would get to know Stack for his performance in one of my favorite fifties' auteur-work-posing-as-soap-opera-melodrama, the lurid and lovely to look at <i>Written on the Wind. </i>In his youth, Robert Stack had the same distinguished speaking voice but a clean-cut , tanned, youthful handsomeness and smoldering blue eyed gaze that was really something special. He plays in that movie a paranoiac alcoholic playboy, heir to an oil fortune, who spends most of the movie being egged on to further debauchery by his nymphomaniac sister (Dorothy Malone) and mistreating Lauren Bacall, the latter of which is a problem for my-boyfriend-Rock-Hudson as his childhood best friend who's in love with Bacall. Sounds very <i>Redbook, </i>but in the hands of director Douglas Sirk, take my word for it, it's like a painting come to life. But anyway. Isn't it interesting to think he did that, and then <i>The Untouchables</i>, and then kind of kicked around Hollywood for twenty years or so until a career-reviving stint on everybody's favorite true crime/occult/reunion show in prime time?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRdjYwlJyYArfGNLQVHdBfFvhj1Gg6AZFuTwSGov-kQwvuW20gX2IEexa4p1oZQIhk4lKAdj0yc9Jrx4NhOLfrIW6xcFjWLVNunh9cBKeUdRR7Vegxga3IME5-m-NnDO5uFw7rSpE0v9L/s1600/unsolved+mysteries+alien+ufo+sighting+1990s+retro.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRdjYwlJyYArfGNLQVHdBfFvhj1Gg6AZFuTwSGov-kQwvuW20gX2IEexa4p1oZQIhk4lKAdj0yc9Jrx4NhOLfrIW6xcFjWLVNunh9cBKeUdRR7Vegxga3IME5-m-NnDO5uFw7rSpE0v9L/s640/unsolved+mysteries+alien+ufo+sighting+1990s+retro.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What the..." (I'd tell you what my favorite re-enactment was but they're all my favorite)</td></tr>
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Speaking of, I always prefer the missing people stories and ghost stories to the UFO and miracle stories, though the latter categories can be a hoot and a half. One category that had completely slipped my mind in the twenty plus years since I was originally watching the show was the "Lost Loves". It's easy to forget in the age of Facebook stalking and Spokeo that at one time, if you lost contact with someone for enough years, they could be very difficult to reconnect with in the present day. Some examples I remember off the top of my head: a guy who served in Vietnam with another guy and lost touch with him after they both returned home, an English girl in a German boarding school in the sixties who wanted to reconnect with a girl who was kind to her in her grade, a girl who wanted to find the two children who her father had fostered for a year in the 1930's before their father was able to take them back and moved away, and ALL THE TEENAGE MOTHERS who were somehow swindled/coerced into giving up their babies for adoption. I spend like a good 80% of these segments just openly weeping-- I can't help it if seeing a tough old guy tearing up over wanting to contact the daughter his estranged girlfriend ran away with in the forties' is like emotional quicksand for me. The updates where they find the people across decades and across the country KILL me... the one about the thirties' semi-orphans had the daughter of the foster father and the girl they fostered meeting as now-sixty-year-olds, and the one lady exclaims, "You still look like yourself!" Cue me just bawling. The idea of getting to see someone who meant so much to you that you took on a national search for them is so touching, and then the idea of someone before that reunion sitting at home, just minding their business, and then watching the episode and going "That's me! I'm the one they're looking for!"-- it's really something. "It meant so much that somebody out there was looking for me after all these years," is an oft repeated refrain from the reunited and the reunitees... it's so quaint to think that now, in five minutes in the Facebook searchbox, you can do what it took volunteer private detectives and a viewing audience of however million to accomplish thirty years ago.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiVK1eE0AsJYeo79fIXhCjPsWwmZVzK7HLZarf4_bFIyOMf5nGWnf_wadDQyDdyxTOyLNcPka0kSboJV9uPJM0wJxVKlkcrMipHEzCDG0aFC7TI37BfrPTXogXdRDaCb66ujtS_dI9gC5/s1600/1980s+1990s+retro+green+screen+computer+business+vintage+office.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="845" height="454" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPiVK1eE0AsJYeo79fIXhCjPsWwmZVzK7HLZarf4_bFIyOMf5nGWnf_wadDQyDdyxTOyLNcPka0kSboJV9uPJM0wJxVKlkcrMipHEzCDG0aFC7TI37BfrPTXogXdRDaCb66ujtS_dI9gC5/s640/1980s+1990s+retro+green+screen+computer+business+vintage+office.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"And so I told 'em...wait, the check didn't clear? There must be some kind of mistake!" --> flim flam man's oldest line in the book.</td></tr>
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One neat aspect of the series coming back into syndication is that the producers have inserted updates where available-- so when the story ends and you go, "MAN, did they ever find the missing girl/murder suspect/lost friend/etc?", a lot of the time there's resolution in the form of a paragraph that includes information on developments in the ensuing decades since the show aired. This becomes kind of a problem for the inveterate bingewatcher like myself, though, in that I became dependent on the updates-- when you get to the end of a particularly gruesome murder or disappearance and there ISN'T an update, you feel like "What?! What do you mean they never found out who did it?!" I got so worked up I had to google the case of <a href="http://www.charleyproject.org/cases/h/hammond_angela.html">Angela Marie Hammond</a>, who they still haven't found. I was sitting there with my socks up on the coffeetable like "THE BOYFRIEND DID IT, RIGHT? WAS IT THE BOYFRIEND?" And was very surprised when there were no answers to the many questions raised by the circumstances of her disappearance. One gets the impression from shows like <i>Dateline</i> and <i>20/20</i> that, ethical and moral beliefs aside and from a purely rational point of view, you should NEVER try and murder someone because 100% of the time you get caught. Except...those shows only use cases where people WERE caught, thus creating a beginning, middle, and end of the dramatic arc. The whole point of the crime portions of <i>Unsolved Mysteries </i>are that, uh, they were unsolved at the time...leaving some loose ends that continue on into the present day. The worst one I've seen so far was where a woman was looking for her husband, who had a concussion and disappeared a year earlier-- a stranger was interviewed who had seen the guy seeming disoriented on a bus and the trail went cold, but the wife never stopped posting flyers and looking for him. The update said they FOUND the guy two years later-- he had become an amnesiac after I think being mugged and hit over the head again in his concussed state...but when they reunited the couple, the guy didn't remember anything about their relationship and just went back to his normal life afterwards...can you imagine?! He was like, "Nah, you know, that was nice of you to look for me and all...but I'm kind of just happy like I am." This was all conveyed through two screens of text...if it were me, I would have done an entire new episode about this. But again! An embarrassment of riches here in terms of human interest stories.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfLUwfFLbfufu9RdKGduBTbm1ymliE_AknIqx48ZZqqzDCSfW-u9g9_Xrg0rsiMqHVyJRNMlJAwELBcpVYkbJVC-epWbzrbJl3m6n7wkqDM9jqjqAQWtbLSZgzg3m4HVuFsdZdYAqIPCV/s1600/unsolved+mysteries+case+closed+1990s+retro.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfLUwfFLbfufu9RdKGduBTbm1ymliE_AknIqx48ZZqqzDCSfW-u9g9_Xrg0rsiMqHVyJRNMlJAwELBcpVYkbJVC-epWbzrbJl3m6n7wkqDM9jqjqAQWtbLSZgzg3m4HVuFsdZdYAqIPCV/s640/unsolved+mysteries+case+closed+1990s+retro.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the updates are more straightforward than others.</td></tr>
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Last but not least, I'm obsessed with the fashion/hair on a lot of the eyewitness interviewees-- as the late eighties and early nineties are the LAST VINTAGE TIME PERIODS I wasn't old enough to wear with any sort of agency as it happened, I'm weirdly savoring the 1990's-does-1940s Adrian shoulder pad, the art teacher style vest/collared shirt combos, and ALL THE EARRINGS. Think about how each of these people would have gone"Oooh, I'm gonna be on tv...what is my BEST outfit? How do I want my hair done? What will my makeup look like?" It's a great example of everyday Sunday-best fashion of the time on people that weren't celebrities.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgof4q0C1w2SEW0VwmSznJ_siUHZGO8LDH47iQN9nG6dvJBapsMvH1B3B3LVOZhJjxplv83Bqk-DXIQ-bvNzp-tAx2u1WSn6GxD8bnhIi2B3LgMrLQ3eXUT1M62e3jj1BPbXw12RM1aDF40/s1600/unsolved+mysteries+shirtless+dude+1990s+retro.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgof4q0C1w2SEW0VwmSznJ_siUHZGO8LDH47iQN9nG6dvJBapsMvH1B3B3LVOZhJjxplv83Bqk-DXIQ-bvNzp-tAx2u1WSn6GxD8bnhIi2B3LgMrLQ3eXUT1M62e3jj1BPbXw12RM1aDF40/s640/unsolved+mysteries+shirtless+dude+1990s+retro.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was a particularly good one for re-enactments and the story was NUTS. I wish I could figure out how to look it up. That guy was a con artist/psycho ex who had his former girlfriend shot when she was about to testify against him.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sage advice AND my favorite review on the front page of Amason's customer reviews on the show</td></tr>
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So! Talk to me, people-- what have you been watching lately? Do you have any non-guilty TV pleasures from a bygone age of channel surfing that have come back in recent years thanks to streaming services?<br />
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And don't forget to check out <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=unsolved+mysteries">ALLLLLL the <i>Unsolved Mysteries </i>if you have Amazon Prime</a>.<br />
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If you need me, I'll be watching the skies for unidentifiable light sources and unmarked helicopters. Have a great rest of your week! Talk again soon.<br />
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PS: Shout out to blog reader Jodi who I met at an estate sale this weekend-- thanks for saying hi! :)</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-9027913860381022532017-10-20T09:40:00.004-05:002017-10-20T09:40:29.590-05:00Flashback Friday: My High School Bedroom, circa 2002<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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How's tricks? I'm back super fast to show you some little mementos from the life of yours truly, thanks to a recent scouring of the attic for things to list on Craigslist (note: it looks like a freakin' bric-a-brac store up there, but I'm working on it!). Stuck in a retro-unto-itself Kodak development folder in a shoebox in the attic, I found these snaps from my high school bedroom circa 2002. Having enjoyed recently stumbling across this tumblr account called <a href="http://meat13.tumblr.com/">Me at 13-ish</a> for the pure, unadulterated nostalgia of what the world was like twenty five ish years ago, I thought it might be fun to bask in the warm glow of what my one-room-sanctuary looked like shortly after the millenium.</div>
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Check it out:</div>
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1) Over/next to my bed:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIdU5wvsuUj4zIrrkkXjM8u108zCNd_VgztYg3S7krZ32vs4r1b1y_sl84djdIrBFpQmcvLfsqDeTqlS_xIj_1C_YpTsRaVaTGNUzuHoIyf5eCwlAlV9dHkPb0Nv6Uz2i8_eE6Oh2JVd-/s1600/Lisa%2527s+teenage+bedroom+2002+millennial+vintage+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="640" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggIdU5wvsuUj4zIrrkkXjM8u108zCNd_VgztYg3S7krZ32vs4r1b1y_sl84djdIrBFpQmcvLfsqDeTqlS_xIj_1C_YpTsRaVaTGNUzuHoIyf5eCwlAlV9dHkPb0Nv6Uz2i8_eE6Oh2JVd-/s640/Lisa%2527s+teenage+bedroom+2002+millennial+vintage+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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We moved from the house I lived in as a child (and currently live in now) to a house about six miles away in 1998, and somehow, I ended up with this corner bedroom. Maybe my folks had figured I had the most stuff out of the four of us (probably still true). As you can see, I took to decorating it with a precocious vigor for wall-coverage that remains with me to this day.</div>
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<u>Things of note in picture one</u>:</div>
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Do you remember how INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT your high school stereo was? This was a Sony I received for Christmas one year. I remember being psyched about the digital display, remote control, cd player, and dual cassette deck, but bummed it only played a single cd at a time-- the bigger wheels in my high school social circles had three (or, imagine, FIVE) disc changers.</div>
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My dad built the payphone-display for this apricot colored rotary dial phone-- why was the particularly important in my high school bedroom? This was the ACTUAL PHONE I used for daily calls. My folks didn't switch from pulse to touch tone because it was something like a dollar more a phone bill, and we had pulse (the old clickclickclickclick, click, clickclickclick sounding tones) until they literally no longer offered pulse. So, following the same rationale, why would we need punch button phones? Occasionally we had phones with buttons (including the memorable birthday I received THIS bad boy), but mostly I had a series of rotary dial phones in my room growing up, including an office model like this one that had heavy buttons for me to switch to lines the unit wasn't connected to, haha. One of my favorite numbers to dial in high school was my friend Xingxia's, one, because she's hilarious and we were always making plans to do something fun when I called her, and two, because her number, if I recall, was 400-0009....the zero is the furthest number on the dial, and the nine the next furthest, so you would dial four, and it would wind, and then the five zeros and the nine would wiiiiiind and wiiiind and wiiiiind.</div>
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The records were four of my favorites at the time-- <i>Next Years Model</i> by Elvis Costello, <i>Walls and Bridges </i>by John Lennon, <i>Heroes </i>by Bowie, and <i>Hard Rain</i> by Bob Dylan. My folks got the record frames at Restoration Hardware out in Green Hills back when the store and the concept was new-- I think they cost something ridiculous like $20 apiece or I would have lobbied for an entire wall of them. They had little metal fasteners to keep the backing in place that would *ping!* violently out of place if you put them in the wrong corners-- I was continually accidentally placing them in the wrong corners.</div>
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The pictures along the top are X-acto knifed pages from a book I found at a library book sale called <i>The Album Cover Art of Soundtracks </i>-- I need to buy another copy of it.</div>
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The two posters were from Tennessee Antique Mall on Wedgewood-- I'd won a drawing for a $50 gift certificate and bought like a TRUNK full of things, including these reprints from two very good classic movies. "More CHEESE, Mr Christian?" and "I'm ALIVE! Maggie the cat is ALIVE!" I wonder if these are still somewhere in my attic today.</div>
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2) Near the door/across from the bed:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtV_NmlfwNidHL57LrtRhaurzCmVAoZxswdKRDoKKHbgV8aNNU55bqSNpf4Fss4bphmIbLACZTNhUONBfrBdVK8Yvxoei-m0AZVIMYYTww2RwzUM-32PBeDl6FKmHvlyqVBTnXBYHMSIR/s1600/Lisa%2527s+teenage+bedroom+2002+millennial+vintage+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="431" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCtV_NmlfwNidHL57LrtRhaurzCmVAoZxswdKRDoKKHbgV8aNNU55bqSNpf4Fss4bphmIbLACZTNhUONBfrBdVK8Yvxoei-m0AZVIMYYTww2RwzUM-32PBeDl6FKmHvlyqVBTnXBYHMSIR/s640/Lisa%2527s+teenage+bedroom+2002+millennial+vintage+3.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
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<u>Things of note in picture two</u>:</div>
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My granddad on my dad's side made this barrister bookshelf I think for my dad, with a glass door insert, from a schematic drawn up by my great uncle, based on a sketch he made of a piece he saw in a book. Talented folks! I had these books arranged by subject matter-- the left is all literature, and the right is all movie/music biographies. Pretty much still the only two categories of books I have in the house, still-- I'd like to point out that the right category informed the left category, as a lot of these were purchased because I liked the movie version of the book or because I read that David Bowie or Jim Morrison was inspired by/had read these books. Rock n roll and movies, in my case, were gateway drugs to great literature. Almost all of these came from Book Attic in Rivergate and Great Escape in Madison (long before McKays became part of my life!). A list of the books I remember/can make out by the covers:</div>
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<b>Literature</b>: John Rechy <i>City of Night</i>, Samuel Beckett <i>Waiting for Godot,</i> Anthony Burgess <i>Clockwork Orange</i>, Kazuo Ishiguro <i>The Remains of the Day, </i>William S Burroughs<i> Last Word</i>s<i> </i>and <i>Interzone, </i>Dashiell Hammett<i> The Maltese Falcon, </i>Shirley Jackson<i> Haunting of Hill House </i>and <i>We Have Always Lived in the Castle, </i>Robert Heinlein<i> Stranger in a Strange Land, </i>Ken Kesey<i> One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, </i>Henry Fielding <i>Tom Jones, </i>Harper Lee <i>To Kill a Mockingbird, </i>W Somerset Maugham <i>The Moon and Sixpence, The Razor's Edge, </i>William Goldman<i> The Princess Bride, </i>Beau Sia<i> A Night in Shining Armor II: The Revenge, </i>Kurt Vonnegut<i> Slaughterhouse Five, </i>Richard Matheson<i> Somewhere in Time, </i>Bertolt Brecht<i> Three Plays, </i>Isak Dinesen<i> Seven Gothic Tales, </i>J.M. Barrie<i> Peter Pan, </i>Walter Tevis<i> The Man Who Fell to Earth, </i>Ray Bradbury<i> I Sing The Body Electric, October Country, Martian Chronicles, </i>Thomas Mann<i> Death in Venice, The Ghost Stories of Edith Wharton, </i>Thomas Hardy<i> The Return of the Native, Jude the Obscure, Far From the Madding Crowd, Daphne du Maurier Rebecca, </i>Isaac Asimov<i> I, Robot </i>Cholderos de Laclos<i> Les Liasions Dangereuses, </i>Tom Wolfe <i>Bonfire of the Vanities, Diary of Anne Frank, </i>Leo Tolstoy<i> Anna Karenina, </i>Thomas Harris<i> Silence of the Lambs</i></blockquote>
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<b>Biography:</b> Albert Goldman<i> The Lives of John Lennon, </i>Philip Norman<i> Sympathy for the Devil, </i>Jerry Hopkins <i>No One Here Gets Out Alive, Joan Baez poems, </i>Anne Edwards <i>Vivien Leigh, Lauren Bacall By Myself, </i>Lana Turner<i> Lana, John Lennon Remembers, The Playboy Interviews: John and Yoko, </i>Pamela Kennealy Morrison<i> Strange Days, </i>Peter Brown <i>The Love You Make:An Insider's Story of the Beatles, </i>Frank Zappa <i>The Real Frank Zappa Book, </i>Jerry Hopkins<i> Stardust: The David Bowie Story, </i>Angela Bowie<i> Backstage Passes: My Life With David Bowie, </i>Gloria Swanson<i> Swanson on Swanson, </i>Pamela Bosworth <i>Montgomery Clift, </i>Philip Norman<i> Shout! The Beatles in Their Time, </i>John Green <i>Dakota Days, </i>John Kobler <i>Damned in Paradise: The Life of John Barrymore, </i>John Barrymore <i>Confessions of an Actor, </i>John Lennon<i> Skywriting by Word of Mouth, </i>Lou Reed <i>Between Thought and Expression: Selected Lyrics, </i>Victor Bokris <i>Warhol, </i>Bette Davis <i>The Lonely Life and This and That, </i>Henry Fonda<i> Fonda: My Life, </i>Gene Tierney<i> Self Portrait, </i>Mary Pickford<i> Sunshine and Shadow, Gable, Valentino, </i>Lillian Hellman <i>An Unfinished Woman,</i></blockquote>
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Note the Maxell 90 min mix tapes in front of the books-- I had SO MANY MIX CASSETTES in this late period of tapes.</div>
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Above that, a set of 1930s cannisters I bought at an antique store on the square in Lebanon in like probably 8th grade (I still don't know why I wanted them so much, but I remember they were $35 and it seemed like a FORTUNE to me at the time). The picture of Bette Davis in a standing frame has a mirror on the opposite side and came from the Goodletsville Antique Mall circa 2000. My sister made the ceramic face and the Aquarian Tarot were a gift from my parents from the Tennessee Antique Mall...I remember they were $20 and I was STUNNED that my folks had remembered i wanted them during a previous visit and gone back to get them-- they were great with presents but not so great with encouraging my interests in "old stuff". Note the square of records below (they skewed mostly Bowie/Beatles/Lou Reed at the time, but most were $4-$6 at the Madison Great Escape or Phonoluxe out on Nolensville Pk). Note the VHS of <i>Backbeat</i> (which I'd love to see again, but that cassette is long gone) and the large collage that took up an entire wall back behind the furniture. I spy with my little eye Tom Petty (RIP, I was ridiculously all the way into him after seeing him in concer in 2001 with Kelsey at Starwood [also RIP]), the Fleetwood Mac <i>Rumours</i> foldout from the album sleeve, Tom Waits, and Bette Davis in <i>Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.</i></div>
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3) Across from my bed and the door, one corner of the room:</div>
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My dresser, completely crammed with tshirts, seventies' polyester dress shirts in the best garish patterns you could imagine, and Mudd flare jeans. On the dresser (my mom's, I think it's probably from the fifties' but she bought it when she and my dad set up housekeeping back in the 80s): a box with coasters in it that is currently on my coffeetable today, year of our Lord 2017...a figure of a Chinese boy holding a water jug that I think was a planter...a toy German Luger that was my dad's as a kid...a volume of the Time Life <i>Old West</i> book set, a bust of Beethoven, an early plastic baby doll from the 30's that was my grandma's and then my dad's, a wooden bird in a wooden bird cage, a container of blowing bubbles I think my first HS bf James Smith have me, a party decoration of a penguin with an Indian headdress added for flair, a terracotta frog from Old Time Pottery, an enamel milk jug with a pretty French seeming design on it, and a lamp shaped like a movie camera from back when there was a FANTASTIC thrift store across the street from Phonoluxe in the 00's (<i>il n'existe plus</i>). Note: I once dropped one of those dresser drawers on a copy of <i>Scary Monsters</i> on vinyl that I had opened, somehow not destroying the portable classroom record player my dad had scored for me from the school surplus warehouse, but creating a dent in it that rendered it unplayable on one side. :( I am the reason we can't have nice things. See the <i>Man Who Fell to Earth </i>promotional poster that came with a copy of the album I have-- I used to find so many amazing inserts and flyers and postcards and stickers in my albums. The <i>Good, the Bad, and the Ugly</i> poster was NINETY NINE CENTS on clearance at Media Play, and I passed up a similar reprint of a <i>Planet of the Apes</i> poster to my eternal chagrin... I had seen every movie Clint Eastwood made up until this point due to an Eastwood kick and the oddly complete collection of his movies at Nashville Public Library on VHS. The "Someone Talked!" poster is a WWII poster I got on vacation to the Smithsonian in 1998. I still love the accusatory tone and the stark image. The John Lennon <i>Imagine</i> poster came with the record-- I wish I knew what I'd done with it. If you didn't notice the preponderance of Beatles/Lennon books on the bookshelf list, know that I had AN ABIDING PASSION for John Lennon circa 1996-1998-- to this day, I still could probably write a serviceable paper on his life and work from the dozens of books I read about my favorite Beatle at that time.</div>
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4) Closet, to the left of the dresser</div>
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<u>Things of note in picture four</u>:</div>
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Paul McCartney and Wings promotional poster from a record, David Bowie <i>Space Oddity </i> poster from a record (I had like six copies of this album because they came with posters and back in the early 00's no one was collecting records and I think they were maybe four dollars apiece in great condition), Picasso Don Quixote sketch, and a Lemonheads poster. Confession: I never had the Lemonheads record, I just was obsessed with this photo of two gun toting kids walking down the road and eating a sandwich. This looks like an enormous closet but it was actually only normal sized-- the entire left hand side was taken up by part of the air conditioning unit. My dad built shelves around it and while there were another one billion paperbacks in this hidden storage, the only books I specifically remember being here were my collection of Stephen King paperbacks-- I'd read everything he'd written except <i>The Dark Tower</i> and <i>Eyes of the Dragon</i> by 8th grade (I still don't do fantasy). I ended up giving an entire paper grocery bag of these books to a girl named Emily Douglas in high school because she mentioned she was getting into Stephen King and I was trying to make room in my room for more books-- weirdly, I kind of miss having that complete a collection of books even though I hardly ever re-read things. I remember I kept all the short story collections (really my favorites of his, especially <i>Skeleton Crew</i>), <i>Salem's Lot, </i>and <i>The Shining. </i>Just in case. The clock above the closet is a replica of a Russian submarine clock my dad gave me for my birthday from Restoration Hardware. I feel like the 90s and 00s were better for realistic reproductions of vintage things people like us would like to collect. There's definitely a dearth of that out there now.</div>
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So ends this brief glimpse into my room! Here are two pictures of the girl who lived in it from around the same time period:</div>
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Two things I thought about looking at these photos-- one, isn't it weird that places you've lived in your life don't exist anymore? I mean, my parents still live in that house and the room itself exists, but that particular environment, which was SO important to me twenty years ago, just doesn't exist in its past form. I feel like I could easily draw an exact schematic of where I kept what and how everything was even WITHOUT the photos, so it seems strange that somewhere in the world that place has ceased to be a real place, and is only a memory. I think that must be how older people feel about the 1950's farm they grew up on or how downtown looked when you went shopping in 1970 or what their office job looked like in 1985. Not that it's a new feeling, it's just weird to get to an age where you're aware of that BEING A THING at all. Two, I wonder how different memories like that will be for Remy, as they'll probably have three dimensional graphic renderings of photographs or something similarly futuristic by the time he's old enough to be a teenager who wants to document the sacred sanctuary of his bedroom. He probably won't need a memory of his past because he'll be able to mindfeed back to the memory in artificial reality or something. It's interesting to think about!</div>
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Well, I have to get going, but let's talk! Do you have photos or vivid memories of your teenage bedroom? Have photos taken you back to a specific period in your life anytime lately? I'd love to hear from you.</div>
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Have a great weekend, be back soon! Til then.</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-66013277831099635162017-10-10T07:30:00.000-05:002017-10-10T07:30:34.130-05:00Four Vincent Price Halloween Records (1967-1978)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!</div>
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Betcha thought you wouldn't see me again what with an extremely active eight month old asserting his dominance over my previously placid personal life, but no! I carved out a moment or two here to say that I'm still living and loving being the little guy's ma, and that I am still conspicuously consuming and thinking critically about my little weirdo stuff I like. I was poking around on YouTube the other day for vintage Halloween records and just had to drop you all a line about some Vincent Price records previously-unknown-to-me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRR_0FYWexSlt8_AGpjWbyVbiujhpzov5ZAqpRh4UyAKGA141kTsE4HFeVovONvwy-rP-zdRQ7OsX1z6FM1syJUk9d8I0_4fDQdEHOClLBh8s6K8oRpIk4h0WcNzsmtDFliHprDf2t_bT/s1600/6685551_f520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioRR_0FYWexSlt8_AGpjWbyVbiujhpzov5ZAqpRh4UyAKGA141kTsE4HFeVovONvwy-rP-zdRQ7OsX1z6FM1syJUk9d8I0_4fDQdEHOClLBh8s6K8oRpIk4h0WcNzsmtDFliHprDf2t_bT/s640/6685551_f520.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That ascot, though (have you seen this incredibly adorable episode of the Muppet Show with VP as guest star?)</td></tr>
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You might remember from way, WAY back in 2011, <a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2011/06/vincentennial-2011.html">when my household celebrated the Vincentennial</a>, that Vincent Price pretty-much-anything goes over in a big way in my book...memorabilia of whatever stripe is always welcome to make a home in my home. An old board game of Hangman with his face on the cover? Lemme ha' that. A memoir written by his daughter Victoria about growing up Princess Price? I'll take two. A few years ago, my mother in law had a box of records sitting in her front room under the piano and I noticed ol' VP's long face peeking out of one milk crate. "Is that a record by Vincent Price?" said I. "Oh, sure. I think that was something we got for free from one of the record companies. You may have it if you want it," said she. Oh, I did. And that was the first of four albums I've found of Vincent Price reading weird, weirder, and weirdest scary stories for eager creepy-loving listeners such as yours truly. Since I never can keep a good thing to myself, and considering 'tis the season for scariness, I thought I would share the self same with you all!</div>
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If you please:</div>
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1) <i>Witchcraft - Magic - An Adventure In Demonology</i> (1969) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3aszI5Fs7Q">LISTEN HERE</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8OK7ck3kiUmjkcGPQx2vRLCxwYVinacMrPvvDo3DOg-O7F9u0FR7fI4QpsPdecUYilIMuRQHeUJ3v8YDY_7iNBUo904T1XHiWZdkjFhcN_1jvcPV0nwL9Bb1wroROCrUzOMZl5nRQfyd/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+1967+witchcraft+magic+demonology+record+vinyl.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx8OK7ck3kiUmjkcGPQx2vRLCxwYVinacMrPvvDo3DOg-O7F9u0FR7fI4QpsPdecUYilIMuRQHeUJ3v8YDY_7iNBUo904T1XHiWZdkjFhcN_1jvcPV0nwL9Bb1wroROCrUzOMZl5nRQfyd/s640/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+1967+witchcraft+magic+demonology+record+vinyl.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This was the record I mentioned that my MIL gave me. And it's a trip! This double album (an hour and forty five minute run time!) journey into the occult starts with the three weird sisters speech from Macbeth before VP himself welcomes us "to the world of witchcraft"! Me: Oh good, yes please. The ghoul girls return to punctuate each anecdote, narrated by Price, of magic and mayhem. The content here is more nonfiction, <i>In Search of...</i> style factoids than what I was expecting ( e.g. I was expecting readings of scary short stories, which solely comprises the content of the other three albums). But that's not at all a bad thing! Hitler and Churchill's respective involvements with astrology and parapsychological pursuits within the context of WWII? Why not, man. Instructions on how to cast spells with hexagrams? You have my attention. I had to skip through some of "Witch Tortures" because I am very delicate and sensitive postpartum (who would have thought a girl who used to set Matthew's lockscreen to Victorian postmortem snaps as a gag would finally grow uncallous to overly detailed gore?), and some of this is a little snoozy, but I had a nice thought thinking about some kids listening to this album at some 1969 sleepover by candlelight and getting spooked out of their socks. Plus now I have to try all these witchcraft instructions and see if I can't get a horror movie named after me for my trouble (here's hoping!).</div>
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2) Tales Of Witches, Ghosts And Goblins (1972) <b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoUG8T-zXfo">LISTEN HERE</a></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5B7Ac6r46Xlz4Mu_d2A7RpuyE8pqagu5Eo5lcL0Ch5TApYloX6PbQOvmQL-rtKVTvA2K9mHp7qHfTkgBgm3mdfbxvMpsvpsQFlEoMEf24N09bNzBBts7BStUKNv14NvlGiPoOEN2z7EzA/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+1972+tales+of+witches+ghost+and+goblins+psychedelic+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5B7Ac6r46Xlz4Mu_d2A7RpuyE8pqagu5Eo5lcL0Ch5TApYloX6PbQOvmQL-rtKVTvA2K9mHp7qHfTkgBgm3mdfbxvMpsvpsQFlEoMEf24N09bNzBBts7BStUKNv14NvlGiPoOEN2z7EzA/s640/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+1972+tales+of+witches+ghost+and+goblins+psychedelic+cover.jpg" width="634" /></a></b></div>
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The problem with this album is that it starts out <i>so strong</i> and then kind of lists along and then hits it one more time before the end of the B side. I'd give it an A+ just based on two tracks, though: "The Smoker" and "A Pair of Gloves". The first is adapted from a Iroquois legend, but I'm almost spoiling it for you by telling you that-- I really liked that I saw Vincent Price's name and this fantastic psychedelic cover, clicked "play", and was plunged headlong into a strange, strange little story about a guy who essentially befriends a skeleton, with NO MENTION of the Native American background of the tale. If you think of it as just an unaffiliated-to-a-certain-culture story, it has a healthy dose of main-line magical realism, and if that isn't just right up my alley. I won't spoil it for you, but again, it's the best story on the record excepting "A Pair of Gloves". THAT story involves a woman who as a child saw a vision of a man in a pair of antique gloves appear in her bedroom at night-- the last line of it made me a) almost gasp with delight and b) start the track over again because I needed to think about the whole story again. Simply fabulous. Alan Garner and Carl Carmer, respectively, are listed as the authors of these stories, and I'm going to have to poke around a little to find out if there are other bizarre stories like this in their curriculum vitae-- there are some young adult books written by the latter from the 1960s on Open Library, but I need to do more digging to see if it's 100 proof.</div>
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3) A Hornbook for Witches (1976) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNGz3IYkbb8">LISTEN HERE</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kUnSLLqvo2um2KfIPlm_UYydqqGUvFNJVmriYBLuehOzOtWR_67TVhnh_9HNJDi39kqDPhX26QmvmB_cpCeRPHt_7fcLLCDF4nuKKBYmsL9ftEMsh8Askf_hYm54MAqJ0qdivRXtUHka/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+a+hornbook+for+witches+record+vinyl.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8kUnSLLqvo2um2KfIPlm_UYydqqGUvFNJVmriYBLuehOzOtWR_67TVhnh_9HNJDi39kqDPhX26QmvmB_cpCeRPHt_7fcLLCDF4nuKKBYmsL9ftEMsh8Askf_hYm54MAqJ0qdivRXtUHka/s640/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+a+hornbook+for+witches+record+vinyl.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Yet another record that would be perfect for your 1970's middle school sleepover, this album combines readings of gothic literature with folklore approaches to summoning demons, etc. Much the same material as the previous album, but I very much like Vincent Price's handling of the verse in classic poems like Carroll's "The Jabberwocky" and the Leah Bodine Drake poem featured in the title track. I love the entire set up of the cover, from reminding you that these stories and poems would be best suited towards your seasonal use at Halloween, and describing the reader as "Warlock: Vincent Price". Side note: It's always been cute to me how many DIFFERENT commercial enterprises and endorsements Price took in his mid to late career, these records only being one arm of a far reaching second source of livelihood as a spokesperson. From the aforementioned board game to the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLq-xyQ2jw-eHKdLcpk9COnxt22KHIUi4Q">Vincent Price International Cooking Course</a> to "shrunken head apple sculpture kit" (<a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/32/db/26/32db267c7c43be56d2a8582fe27ff9ec.jpg">I'm quite serious</a>) to ads for <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/7d/f4/0b/7df40baaf53030a961e575b852332310--monster-high-food-vincent-price.jpg">monster vitamins</a>, <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/84/d9/b6/84d9b6717297fb917b9fc29c13056f05--vintage-recipes-vintage-food.jpg">raisins</a>, and the <a href="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/26/b7/2f/26b72f8042142b3a12c198c46d443613--retro-advertising-vintage-advertisements.jpg">American Dairy Associations</a>, he was a ubiquitous public spokesperson back in the seventies' and eighties', but never I think to his full detriment. Lots of other celebrities in ads come off as desperate, but I like how much ye olde Price just seems "game" and slightly impish in his irreverently popping up wherever they'd have him, somehow elegant and goofy at the same time. But I digress. One more record!</div>
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4) A Graveyard of Ghost Tales (1974) <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nnWVsIhNqaM">LISTEN HERE</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2OnPF42Fd-U-UIOQTrGqvN_D5V-4uB7wBhh-NsJ8_cNJxH4exhywryluaPDd6Mf6xanZi589pK_0rBoKX7jRXB-XdyLYzX3dD5J3fPLD4WvWPPSTwGXCP9Y_ykYOH3tewBlvAAnsTkkD/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+a+graveyard+of+ghosts+record+vinyl.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2OnPF42Fd-U-UIOQTrGqvN_D5V-4uB7wBhh-NsJ8_cNJxH4exhywryluaPDd6Mf6xanZi589pK_0rBoKX7jRXB-XdyLYzX3dD5J3fPLD4WvWPPSTwGXCP9Y_ykYOH3tewBlvAAnsTkkD/s640/vincent+price+vintage+halloween+album+a+graveyard+of+ghosts+record+vinyl.jpg" width="632" /></a></div>
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Another INCREDIBLE album cover (skeletons rowing a Katharine Ross figure in a boat as she plays a harp, an image that reappears in the third track of the A-side)-- this record is mostly "true" folk tales, including the first track, "Lavender", which retells the story of a gal ghoul called "Resurrection Mary" in many of its versions. I remember the name because of the memorable <i>Unsolved Mysteries </i>segment of the same name-- a female hitchhiker is picked up in an evening dress on the side of the road by a bunch of carousing collegiates, attends a dance with the boys, and is dropped off at home while still in possession of one of of the sheik's overcoats. Chivalry only going so far, the boys go to retrieve the coat at the girl's house the next day and... well, if you haven't heard it, I won't spoil it, but something about the simple eerieness of the story really appeals to me.<br />
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And if you like these, be sure to check out Vincent Price's 1970'S BBC radio drama, <i>Price of Fear</i>, which could have its own entire blog post if time permitted... <a href="https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL00B9EBD8EBBB44E3">you can listen to a playlist of them here</a>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDj96FdlcBXjSUw5osUeN3LH4U7l-KLIlwyVr5cdasypNPYp8uBk0pOavenBaUnjCV-Ik_dktzIi7IaPRr3LQvd4eVtcrbT432730ltoNeegdMQqeAn_spC8amcUXgvoDWEFItyn7RI2py/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+faces.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDj96FdlcBXjSUw5osUeN3LH4U7l-KLIlwyVr5cdasypNPYp8uBk0pOavenBaUnjCV-Ik_dktzIi7IaPRr3LQvd4eVtcrbT432730ltoNeegdMQqeAn_spC8amcUXgvoDWEFItyn7RI2py/s1600/vincent+price+vintage+faces.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The many faces of VP.</i></td></tr>
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So! What are your ghoulish plans for this month (other than watching my suggested VP videos, natch)? Do you have your costume planned out yet? Spill that tea!<br />
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Hope you've been having a wonderful fall so far, and I'll be back before you know it with more vintage eyecandy. Be good! See ya soon! :)</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-41290477468219619472017-04-14T13:34:00.001-05:002018-03-19T21:08:02.467-05:00My Pretty Baby Cried She Was a...Mom? (Birth Story, Vintage Baby Boy Greeting Cards)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Good morning!!</div>
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Don't worry, I haven't fled the internet yet-- I've just been busy the past several months as Matthew and I welcomed a brand new baby boy into the world...!! Our son, Remy, was born in late January, and I've been trying to get my wig back on straight ever since. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUFpscEP1EdVdd9MdBHd-o8xZuwueadQIVia-1XcnPNie50IJS3Sh8hJ9ZAv8Rl0c36TS4jLSDGNVUAvhLDiPCsDuPRPeg_m0ql1dQ6BYckosQc6KsysOWOdEnsfYGAE78kJ2OtjXe9cE/s1600/Vintage+Baby+Greeting+Card+Boy+Blue+Background+Elephant+Camel+Deer+Giraffe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiUFpscEP1EdVdd9MdBHd-o8xZuwueadQIVia-1XcnPNie50IJS3Sh8hJ9ZAv8Rl0c36TS4jLSDGNVUAvhLDiPCsDuPRPeg_m0ql1dQ6BYckosQc6KsysOWOdEnsfYGAE78kJ2OtjXe9cE/s640/Vintage+Baby+Greeting+Card+Boy+Blue+Background+Elephant+Camel+Deer+Giraffe.jpg" width="531" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vintage-Baby-Greeting-Card-Boy-Blue-Background-Elephant-Camel-Deer-Giraffe-/361404290217?hash=item54255fd4a9:g:uXYAAOSw~bFWFd~X">Vintage Baby Greeting Card Boy Blue Background</a></td></tr>
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While I promise She Was a Bird is in no danger of becoming a mommy blog (no shade on mommy blogs, I'd just much rather write about vintage typewriters and 1940's decorating than how little sleep I'm getting or what laundry detergent we use on Small Fry's duds [answer: not any and Dreft, respectively]), I hope those readers of you still out there will indulge me in a little rambling on the life altering event itself for posterity. I've been meaning to get to my many woefully blank journals I'd stockpiled for "all that spare time I would have on maternity leave" (ah HAHAHAHA, mister, you're funny), and then remembered there was a perfectly good blog sitting around idle where I could spitball to my heart's content and maybe even be able to reference back to it at some later date. Unlike my long-lost-in-the-attic college jottings or that cache of circa 2007 photos that are in SOME envelope SOMEwhere in this house, I've always been able to find and share words and images I've squirreled away on this blog-- which is my second favorite thing about it (after, of course, hearing from you all from time to time with tantalizing stories of vintage days gone by). So! Get ready for a personal post, or, stick around but wait until next week when I return to our regularly scheduled retro ranting. ;)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MeUporCK-ac1j1p5Ci8urbzr00colYGpwjJps4A4RGamK6eP0qw_V9vOnQThcTE8kGnLJqXImKB7yXmDRBEt4hdEk8FdJT8my7Lv1y0aMrWouAU8QulQONwUFkpg_QLa-K_s1PbstHQX/s1600/Vintage+Birth+Announcement+Card+We%2527ve+a+New+Baby+Boy+Unused.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MeUporCK-ac1j1p5Ci8urbzr00colYGpwjJps4A4RGamK6eP0qw_V9vOnQThcTE8kGnLJqXImKB7yXmDRBEt4hdEk8FdJT8my7Lv1y0aMrWouAU8QulQONwUFkpg_QLa-K_s1PbstHQX/s640/Vintage+Birth+Announcement+Card+We%2527ve+a+New+Baby+Boy+Unused.jpg" width="506" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/504197901/vintage-birth-announcement-card-weve-a?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=vintage&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=baby%20boy%20card%20vintage&ref=sr_gallery_22">Vintage Birth Announcement Card </a></td></tr>
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Where to even start?<br />
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Matthew and I had been together a total of seven years, married two, when we decided to start trying to get pregnant after we got back from our second trip to Paris. There was no way I was missing out on every kind of French food and wine in the world during aforementioned trip, so I kind of marked late July as the "that's when we'll get 'for real' about this family planning stuff'. You'd think from those pamphlets they pass out in high school wellness that it takes BUT ONE TIME, slightly off your guard, even THINKING about the act of conception (or not thinking! Either one!) that you would instantaneously get pregnant, but maybe at thirty, or maybe when you're as massively stressed a person as I feel like I must be at all times, it doesn't necessarily work that way. We got serious about those ovulation tester things after about six months with no child in sight, and around the second month of trying and failing with those "blinky smiley face...ok, no today it's a solid smiley face!!" digital pee sticks, I started legit hating to check my Facebook feed and see another tiny, bald-headed miracle arrive in some <i>else</i>'s life. Wasn't this supposed to just happen?? </div>
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Nine whole months into the ordeal, I was out with my mom at an estate sale in Madison, sorting through some sheet music in the basement, when I spied a vintage, early 1980's PacMan cocktail table out of the corner of my eye. This is not a drill, folks, this was the real deal, and for some reason, it was sitting all on its lonesome in the corner of this cinderblocked basement next to a mansized pile of silk outdoor flowers. The model was the kind you'd see at Pizza Hut back in the self same decade (in fact, this one came out of the one on Dickerson Road we used to go to when I was a kid)-- it was on, it was working perfectly, and it was marked $100. Having spent the princely sum of fifty cents all day on some Ann Landers advice guides, I thought I was getting out easy that weekend, but no dice. The owner's son was a middle aged, stringy guy who looked a lot like Tom Skerritt (bristle mustache and all) and after I'd paid him, I took off my 1990s Hopi Indian symbols blazer and, in my uniform of black dress loafers, black tights, and black dress, and tried in tandem with him to manhandle this monster out the back door and into my mom's Honda Accord...to no avail. We tried it backwards, upside down, sideways...and finally discussed coming back in my dad's truck later in the day before they closed to pick it up. </div>
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When my mom dropped me back at the house, I promptly burst into an uncharacteristic gale of tears... what if turning it upside down had dislodged something in the Pac Man machine and it didn't work anymore? What if we'd scratched up the surface trying to get it into the car? What if the model was some lame version I didn't know about and was a waste of money? What if Matthew gets home and he thinks he has this great cocktail table, and my dad broke it when he loaded it into his truck? Then my hundred dollars was gone, was it dumb to spend $100 on it? Should I have dickered more? What if it wasn't even worth a hundred dollars? And then we're stuck with it! And then it's broken! I called Matthew in Clarksville (his office at his last job was moving to another building, and everyone was pulling overtime that Saturday) and, through my weeping, managed to get the flurry of ideas menacing me across to him. He was a little taken aback, said to calm down and wait until he got home, and he would see what was going on with everything. I proceeded to stomp around the house a little, tears still streaming down my face-- and then thought, hey, you know what, I'm going to take that second pregnancy test from the box. You know, the one I had disconsolately shoved back into the box after its mate read yet another single, not-pregnant line on the Wednesday of the same week? </div>
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And weeeeeelll....bust. My. BUTTONS. After the cursory waiting period, there was a a solid blue cross on the stick.</div>
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I texted Matthew a picture of the stick with the words, "Sooooo....?"</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/270141494/vintage-new-baby-greeting-card-baby-girl">Vintage New Baby Greeting Card</a></td></tr>
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For the next nine months, we anxiously followed the updates on the Ovia Pregnancy app I'd downloaded on my phone ("The baby's as big as a pineapple this week! Look at what his little hand would look like if he could touch the screen!!") and googled "pregnant can eat ok" coupled with every kind of food, drink, and medicine you can think of...I had no morning sickness whatsoever, got icked out by the smell of cooking meat, and craved pancakes and turkey sausage at all hours of the day. When we found out we were having a boy, I was a little thrown. But.....! But....! I had twenty girl names picked out, all ready to go, and no boy names! Who am I going to bequeath this closet full of sequined dresses and fur coats to some day? I got over it seconds after the initial gender panic set in, seeing that tiny hand on the ultrasound, looking like it was waving "hello" at us. As long as he was healthy and happy, I decided everything would be ok. I tested high on the initial glucose test that checks to see if you have gestational diabetes, so I had to go back to my doctor's office after a week of eating a strict, mandated diet of almost disgustingly rich foods (we're talking lumberjack breakfast, people-before-they-understood-what-calories-were lunch, and seriously-I-can't-eat-this-many-starches dinner)...and get my blood drawn four times in four hours. Lord have mercy. Turns out I didn't have gestational diabetes, so good deal! My mother-in-law bought me a fancy black and gold maternity dress at the Green Hills Mall Pea In the Pod location as a present that I took as "the official sponsored outfit of Lisa's pregnancy"-- if you saw me once in it, you pretty much saw me 100 x in it. Matthew surprised me by secretly finagling a visit from our friends Rob and Oznur-- I woke up the morning of my baby shower to the two of them sitting at my breakfast table, having flown all the way from the UK to attend the festivities! My mom threw the shower and all my girlfriends and friends of the family turned up to fete me in style. I had a brief scare when the brand of the hummus I'd insisted on having as a healthy alternative to whatever homemade dip my mom was going to make got recalled for listeria...oh, just one of the worst things you can catch if you're pregnant and in your third trimester. Did I mention this year was also the summer of Zika, THE worst thing you can catch if you're pregnant? I spent a lot of 2016 literally jogging from my car to inside buildings and wearing long sleeves and leggings through the heat. But! Again, I made it through in one piece and only complained as much as I had to. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vintage-Greeting-Card-Baby-Congrats-King-Boy-/201853493638?hash=item2eff67e186:g:WtkAAOSwJQdW-xa6"> Vintage Greeting Card Baby Congrats King Boy</a></td></tr>
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As the new year rolled in, my doctor told me that there was probably no way I was going to go all the way to my due date. I was measuring huge for my height due to extra fluid around the baby, which I continually had to talk myself down from a panic attack about... she also assured me that, after three ultrasounds to determine the height and weight of the baby-to-be, he was a large though healthy as could be baby and the only things I had to worry about were a) how big his head was in terms of delivery [both Matthew and I have enormous heads, soooo] and b) hoping I wasn't in a public place when my (considerable) water broke. The day after his due date was my weekly third trimester appointment, and we scheduled a possible induction for the Monday after, giving the little guy the weekend to show up. I dragged Matthew around three different Goodwills and an indoor flea market that Saturday-- all I wanted to do was lay in the bed and watch old episodes of Project Runway All Stars, but I knew walking was supposed to help the baby arrive. And also hot food-- I put myself through some TRIALS [Nashville hot chicken is not kidding when it calls itself hot chicken] before the Saturday night, two days after my due date, when I sent Matthew to go get Thai food from the Smiling Elephant on the other side of town.</div>
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I was watching a vintage episode of the newly posted Unsolved Mysteries on Amazon Prime, and looking through an East Nashville Buy and Sell Group on Facebook for treasures, when I felt something weird. I called Matthew and said, "I'm going to be super embarrassed if this turned out I've just peed myself or done some other kind of thing that happens to pregnant ladies I don't know about, but I'm pretty sure my water just broke?" Homeboy was in line at the Thai place like, "WHAT! REALLY? OMG!" I texted my mom, called my doctor's after hour line, and then took the latter's advice to go to the hospital, where, sure enough, we were checked in around 7 o'clock (sadly sans Thai food...I thought we'd have more time, Thai food!).</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/285678911/vintage-baby-boy-congratulations-card?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=vintage&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=baby%20boy%20card%20vintage&ref=sr_gallery_18">Vintage baby boy congratulations card </a></td></tr>
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An hour after I was admitted, the nurse put me on pitocin to induce contractions, and Jesus Christ Our Lord, did they ever do just that. I really hadn't been through very much pain other than just feeling uncomfortable from how huge I was towards the end in this pregnancy-- that all changed. There was a monitor behind me to measure how strong the contractions were, and I thought I was doing ok around 15...when one cranked up to an 80 something on the monitor, I asked for an epidural WITH THE QUICKNESS. The only time I was really upset through the whole delivery was the epidural-- after how hard the pitocin-induced labor contractions had been for the hour or so I'd been able to stand them without medicine, I just didn't have any strength left and cried and cried and cried as this poor woman tried to stick a needle in my freakin' spine. Low tide for yours truly. Immediately after, however, I felt four hundred percent better, just exhausted and starving (and unable to eat until after the delivery...woe was me). My water finally BROKE broke a little after the epidural, and it was like a scene in <i>Grey's Anatomy</i> where the nurses aren't trying to alarm you, but something medically crazy just happened. Not to be gross, but it sounded like someone had overturned an aquarium right there on the tile floor, just all of a sudden, and with one loud splash. The nurse, who was wonderful and I think had a South African accent, kept giddily saying "I'm sorry, I've just nehvah... NEH-VAH ... seen anything like that before." Once the epidural went in, the only thing that really hurt was the IV that for some reason they put in through a vein the back of my left hand-- it was at a near constant throbbing, but after the seismic contraction pains, I was like, "You know, this could be much, much worse".</div>
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Thirteen hours into labor, I still hadn't progressed like I was supposed to-- the baby wouldn't move down into my pelvis, probably still a little shell shocked from the swimming pool he'd called home for nine months being <i>tout à coup </i>emptied in one go. He kept wiggling around in my stomach, ducking in and out of the fetal heart rate monitor on the belly band, and causing an alarm to go off on one of the machines I was hooked to. Finally, after talking my poor mom's head off all through the night and none of us, she, me, or Matthew, having gotten more than twenty or so minutes of sleep, during yet another episode of Unsolved Mysteries on my phone, my doctor came in Sunday morning and said it might be a better option for me to go ahead and have the C section. I'd heard recovery times were better with natural births, so I'd been trying to avoid those two words ever since they'd been offered to me as a possibility instead of induction when we set up my just-in-case appointment. At this point though, I felt like the writing was on the wall and that was the way it was going to go-- I told Matthew, after some discussion, that I was ok with going with the C section delivery. He said he was going out to get a Coke-- really, he chased down my doctor in the hallway before she left for church services to say I was ready to go ahead and have this child be born now instead of waiting another three or four hours to see if he would come down on his own.<br />
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So we went into surgery! I was a little scared but the team was so sitcom-level-jovial and I was so out of it from food and sleep deprivation that it seemed to me everything was going to be all right. After no pain whatsoever during the delivery, the little guy made his debut-- shrieking a shriek I am now all too familiar with, lol, as the doctors and nurses sang "Happy Birthday" to him and he was weighed and checked out by the NICU nurses to make sure everything was jake from the waterpark ride he'd been on earlier. It was! And he was! Matthew handed him to me above the surgical field's drape and I started talking to him, the same as I had on all those commutes to Lavergne for work when I was a million years pregnant or those days in the house watching tv before he was born. He looked at me, squalling, and then slowly calmed down and laid his cheek on my chest. I have a video of it or I wouldn't believe it...but I think he recognized me!<br />
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And so little Remy, all eight pounds fifteen ounces of him, became a part of our lives.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/272117622/vintage-baby-boy-congratulations-card?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=vintage&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=baby%20boy%20card%20vintage&ref=sr_gallery_2">Vintage baby boy congratulations card digital download</a></td></tr>
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That was two and a half months ago, though it feels like at least ten years have passed since then.</div>
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It's extraordinary watching our little micronaut grow... just as you get used to one stage of his development, it feels like another one begins immediately. This apparently continues throughout their lives, lol. Considering we didn't even have a goldfish before (but remain extremely responsible people, ne'ertheless!), it's been quite the learning curve, but we've both eagerly anticipated and celebrated even the smallest little changes as he gets bigger and bigger. "He laughed! Did you see, did you see?!" "I think he's starting to try to crawl!!" As much work as it's been, having a kid has also been the most joyous period of my life-- it sounds hackneyed and overprecious, but they really do change everything. And JOY is the best word for it...I've never worked so hard at anything, but I've also never been so happy with anything. Having a partner who really feels the same way has been no surprise to me, knowing Matthew as I have over lo, these many years-- but I am thankful every day to have someone who has my back and truly cares about my feelings through this crazy process. It also doesn't hurt how cute he and Remy look together when they're making each other laugh. But I digress!</div>
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So, there you have it-- my birth story. Can you believe the old girl's a mama now? She can't! :)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Vtg-50s-Hallmark-Boy-Birth-Announcements-12-Cards-Its-a-He-Thanks-to-Me-NEW-/152243170396?hash=item2372666c5c:g:8PgAAOSw4shX2v4F">its a he thanks to me vintage birth announcement mad men abstract adorable</a></td></tr>
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How about you? What in the heck have you been up to in the almost year since I've dusted off the old blog? Any exciting life changes? Any couldn't-believe-it estate sale finds? I'd love to hear from you if you're still out there!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbf6VbRbfXh512ON0NzIflql6lHwbTaRSEn8TI2Cdp_H6lnyuDndBRorVUF6zH_T4PckS0D6cTB6hLz0JOGqMoSl7P4JaH05vtHh8go_04v3vCA0bIbBzWdsC5NuQbRfd7o4wgVQlAAMJ/s1600/16730670_10104696003298635_1856641848044471241_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbf6VbRbfXh512ON0NzIflql6lHwbTaRSEn8TI2Cdp_H6lnyuDndBRorVUF6zH_T4PckS0D6cTB6hLz0JOGqMoSl7P4JaH05vtHh8go_04v3vCA0bIbBzWdsC5NuQbRfd7o4wgVQlAAMJ/s640/16730670_10104696003298635_1856641848044471241_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">With the dumpling in mid-February...he's much larger but just as cute now. :)</span></td></tr>
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That's all for now, but I'll be back! There are so many crazy things I've been wanting to write about, and ain't this just the place for it. Stay tuned!</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-75318135459442338222016-07-29T09:00:00.000-05:002016-07-29T09:00:35.111-05:00Stop the Presses for these Adrian Dresses (1940s Novelty Glamour at the Met)Hi-ya, folks!!<br />
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When's the last time you saw a dress that made your heart skip a beat? I was minding my own business. prowling through the Met Museum's fashion textile collection (like you do), when I came across this knock-your-eye-out novelty print and about lost it. </div>
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Behold:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-q183oeVnWYP532eMih24yPyPKjvERzuLaH0Jw-sjDs3RplL8tIZiqXbnDO74diNG_Q4jWod4AXGw18juqX8DYHhz55giz31g9-zhUp7j5MZ5NMZon6gxEd61r4Mg-zQPuiwWNup1XNeC/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+leopard+drape+black+and+white+stripe+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-q183oeVnWYP532eMih24yPyPKjvERzuLaH0Jw-sjDs3RplL8tIZiqXbnDO74diNG_Q4jWod4AXGw18juqX8DYHhz55giz31g9-zhUp7j5MZ5NMZon6gxEd61r4Mg-zQPuiwWNup1XNeC/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+leopard+drape+black+and+white+stripe+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/177260?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=3&rpp=20&pos=48">source</a></td></tr>
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Where did you come from, you little piece of heaven right here on Earth? Where are you going so I can follow you there? This dress was a gift to the museum from Patricia Pastor, a former designer for Perry Ellis (!!), and Barry Friedman, an art dealer. When I traipsed over to the search bar and typed in their names, the Met yielded up fifty other charitable donations, <a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search#!/search?artist=Adrian,%20Gilbert$Gilbert%20Adrian">including around 20 other Adrian designs</a>! Somebody had an eye for the designer. What did I start doing but googling all the Adrian dresses I could get my hands on.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6P-wIC3nnEy8oEcc3t7JoLJp6N47acyJTFPVYYmqaGXFzeQNFvxvTZ4GC88QHzpEMjSuQdmxRr_BghKfvDACOt3T1Xc_7Frh06_5229CLh-Db0NXQ6nAEzc8iozucD2TG_5nerj47h6Z/s1600/ac2122c1ac9354d08f288b18889463ee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6P-wIC3nnEy8oEcc3t7JoLJp6N47acyJTFPVYYmqaGXFzeQNFvxvTZ4GC88QHzpEMjSuQdmxRr_BghKfvDACOt3T1Xc_7Frh06_5229CLh-Db0NXQ6nAEzc8iozucD2TG_5nerj47h6Z/s640/ac2122c1ac9354d08f288b18889463ee.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The artist at work</i></td></tr>
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Adrian (real name Adrian Greenburg, b. 1903) wasn't unknown to me before I espied the dress of my dreams on the Met website-- he was the preferred costume designer for none other than The Bird's patron saint, Joan Crawford, in the 30's and 40's, at the height of her trendsetting starlet days. It was Adrian who dreamed up accentuating JC's wide, wide shoulders with yet wider shoulderpads, and created the eyepopping designs for 1932's <i>Letty Lynton</i>, including <i>the </i>famous dress from that film, for which a glamour-starved Depression era moviegoing audience lost its ever-loving mind. Department stores were flooded with knockoff "ruffle dresses" for quite a while after, as prom-goers and debutantes across the country struggled to fit the voluminous gown into their beaux's Studebakers. Oh, and the ruby slippers, a little piece of iconic costuming in a minor movie called <i>The Wizard of Oz </i>? ALSO Adrian (he did <i>all </i>the wonderful and memorable clothes in that movie). He married winsome, petite Janet Gaynor (the wronged wife in Murnau's <i>Sunrise</i>) in 1939 and, two years later, quit MGM to run his own boutique. It was on the sales floor of this boutique that he suffered a <a href="https://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=1873&dat=19590914&id=cFcrAAAAIBAJ&sjid=8JwFAAAAIBAJ&pg=4120,2222301&hl=en">heart attack</a> in 1959, cutting short at 56 the life of one America's most inventive apparel designers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="247" src="https://cdn3.whatculture.com/images/2010/12/joan-crawford-lefty-leyton.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="640" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What SHOULDER RUFFLES you have, my dear. The Letty Lynton dress.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://img.wennermedia.com/social/1436798322_ruby-slippers-zoom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="336" src="https://img.wennermedia.com/social/1436798322_ruby-slippers-zoom.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I'd give my eyeteeth for a movie-quality pair of these in a 11...thanks...</i></td></tr>
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I thought of Adrian through the lens of those Crawford designs and similarly sleek dresses he conjured up for other preternaturally beautiful screen stars, including <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/c6/b8/5b/c6b85bd343b5a9d4ceb2b8963f94ff23.jpg">Greta Garbo</a> and <a href="https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/3c/37/fa/3c37fa1184f00ee887001967cb2d06cb.jpg">Marlene Dietrich</a>. This "Adrian type" dress involves a lot of bias cut, slinky, <i>femme fatale </i>type designs that ran more refined than rococo-- what the shopgirl in your 1930's movie would wear <i>after </i>she was plucked from obscurity to be a rich man's mistress and society hostess. However! I was so surprised to see a number of whimsical and downright <i>outré </i>gowns in the Met's holdings, and more so to read that they were the backbone of his apparel collections. While a number of somber and sedate black frocks, always elegantly cut, always sharply executed, are present among the pieces (showcased in an exhibition in 2002 called "<a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2002/adrian/photo-gallery">Adrian: American Glamour</a>"), the real show stoppers are these crazy, GORGEOUS novelty print items.<br />
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Let's take a look, shall we?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3AJMBXhuIUR0NiO_Zq5RaanWNy9G_RP5nRUKyzDNhIbCrnnbdsjpqLEDyhWC67-vuMFjNPqVzsGSL4ca3GEpp3nlZlTqPH6e3yVG-mG_xXmq1sFOPyIM8J-M_1S-42iclYN3HHlWSKHS1/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+pink+and+blackjpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3AJMBXhuIUR0NiO_Zq5RaanWNy9G_RP5nRUKyzDNhIbCrnnbdsjpqLEDyhWC67-vuMFjNPqVzsGSL4ca3GEpp3nlZlTqPH6e3yVG-mG_xXmq1sFOPyIM8J-M_1S-42iclYN3HHlWSKHS1/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+pink+and+blackjpg.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/85036?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=1&rpp=20&pos=5">source</a></td></tr>
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If you're an art nerd like me, you might have immediately been struck, in the closeup of this black, white, and pink print, by the similarity between this print and the work of Salvador Dali. I love the <i>frisson </i>of indignation I felt for a moment thinking the good surrealist had been ripped off by some 1940's admirer of far-out art. Turns out, there's a good reason for you thinking this print designer owes a debt to Dali-- as the design was created by DALI HIMSELF. Could you die? Note the linebacker shoulder pads, accentuating the tiny, tiny waist of this dress, and the drama of the single patch of darkness on the left shoulder across an otherwise white-background textile. What "oomph!" this dress had!</div>
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Looking at this and the rest of the dresses in the collection, only makes me wonder why so many women's 80's and early 90's shirts/dresses/jackets go for the wrong kind of silhouette with this padding. There's nothing particularly butch or even oversized about this dress, save that lovely, clothes-hanger shoulder line. Most times when I try on clothes from the shoulderpad revival era, they're so billowy and just "bulked up" in the shoulders that it feels like I'm wearing a padded bra cup on either shoulder-- and it has that oddly humped look, too! Le sigh. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9lT-7_NtbHK9M7QSW9uR7Q8mdTKMHXZrPNRfH6tCEQnMO-so0nhFNtdZBOsJ0Am0OdWDbopwTEwpRnqnK1axEPApwLnUL3whhBIL5BqG3dJfvFbLzCa11IjFBx3Fb48RU1XoGsrHkgwN/s1600/DP151820.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9lT-7_NtbHK9M7QSW9uR7Q8mdTKMHXZrPNRfH6tCEQnMO-so0nhFNtdZBOsJ0Am0OdWDbopwTEwpRnqnK1axEPApwLnUL3whhBIL5BqG3dJfvFbLzCa11IjFBx3Fb48RU1XoGsrHkgwN/s640/DP151820.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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This next dress is called the "Roan Stallion" dress-- can you figure out why?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpleb1U_E7x2EbKDLZl2Lb_A2PSHQOFEEoDGrQqZsQUy3gTYJtZbOQg8RILRSDJ06hAC37ltjq88_vLtcSbPD_BBvuMRHrd6j3KDbvLAGLgG5TcZQV3tfKk4mLrknPi8kuuY0D2lqNsHi2/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+horse+black+and+red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpleb1U_E7x2EbKDLZl2Lb_A2PSHQOFEEoDGrQqZsQUy3gTYJtZbOQg8RILRSDJ06hAC37ltjq88_vLtcSbPD_BBvuMRHrd6j3KDbvLAGLgG5TcZQV3tfKk4mLrknPi8kuuY0D2lqNsHi2/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+horse+black+and+red.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/83120?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=1&rpp=20&pos=9">source</a></td></tr>
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I loooooove the starkness of the all-black background against the large scale of the horse. The columnar-shape of the dress and again that draped, feminine bodice with shoulderpads in a straight line... this is such a "dress as art" garment. Imagine walking into a crowded New York social event circa 1945 with just a chic chignon and a big gold cuff as accessories...my dream life is so active, you guys.<br />
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Continuing the equine theme:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxnFV9tvaAZ43Z9dAoCFZn1OQKfeJILyAChb3xuqFXGGTBjyjixHTnYojWR6gNv0HCfCdlsYo2nPK1wTylpnlJdU6pKD236c6o2scPQFhgWOjDcl6xu4cZJ-cBKcLDsNsd8I0wrgtCWLX/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+horse+rider+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMxnFV9tvaAZ43Z9dAoCFZn1OQKfeJILyAChb3xuqFXGGTBjyjixHTnYojWR6gNv0HCfCdlsYo2nPK1wTylpnlJdU6pKD236c6o2scPQFhgWOjDcl6xu4cZJ-cBKcLDsNsd8I0wrgtCWLX/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+horse+rider+1.jpg" width="450" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/177259?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=4&rpp=20&pos=61">source</a></td></tr>
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How gallant is the French chevalier on his mount? This is another of the Pastor/Fielding Met gifts. I wondering idly while pawing through these listings if they were the result of years of collecting or one lucky swipe-- I've definitely been in estate sale situations before where someone <i>really</i> liked a thing that it turns out YOU really like, and voilà. an instant collection is born. Imagine a closet in North Hollywood of some rich studio exec's wife who was just the bee's KNEES in 1945 and needed a wardrobe to match...all these dresses packed in tissue in boxes marked in a distinctive "A"...carefully put away the last time they were worn for the next time that became years and years later, and then finally not at all! I can't decide, as an incorrigible hoarder, whether it's better or worse for items like this to be in a museum-- while I appreciate them being protected for generations to come, isn't it a little sad they won't make a splash at any more ladies' luncheons or draw an audible gasp at a pre-theater cocktail party?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaS0-y5dVAvaon1lpaRjJ3fwD0DJaVZCeSgHhsI19i3qbWMOxrCBwhBxn7zTM7rFXWcSKXOF1Zjq6DZJOAJILm4q7Bo0hCJYslc39G7QTJ5z6SF9XLhP1Is4ig8nUqxGaLwNYfqqEktU5D/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+horse+rider+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaS0-y5dVAvaon1lpaRjJ3fwD0DJaVZCeSgHhsI19i3qbWMOxrCBwhBxn7zTM7rFXWcSKXOF1Zjq6DZJOAJILm4q7Bo0hCJYslc39G7QTJ5z6SF9XLhP1Is4ig8nUqxGaLwNYfqqEktU5D/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+horse+rider+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The pink and black motif here reminds me of Schiaparelli (shocking!) :<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MPIT9c0xqnslshAmz4DoqztDx677DzOBfrguJ8nNYi-KYpwAlbe89XMgP7nKARd0Hk4-ydEquxznS9pdCILIJhjtzcfTcgu7KQBry7CMzjG7ztLLLDVKlg8k7bynbbOYcla3XTUJx4v-/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+black+and+pink+figures.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MPIT9c0xqnslshAmz4DoqztDx677DzOBfrguJ8nNYi-KYpwAlbe89XMgP7nKARd0Hk4-ydEquxznS9pdCILIJhjtzcfTcgu7KQBry7CMzjG7ztLLLDVKlg8k7bynbbOYcla3XTUJx4v-/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+black+and+pink+figures.jpg" width="466" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/85033?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=4&rpp=20&pos=65">source</a></td></tr>
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I can't quite tell what this would look like off a mannequin and on a real human form-- it looks like there's a scalloped sort of edge in the back, and that the skirt's draping gathers into a kind of mushroom shape? Which is interesting with the little swag over the right shoulder... and, goody! This one came with an Adrian label for us to ooh and aw over. Go ahead, I don't mind:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyF25d9OHFxHSlj8jTDiCyli8yxqwhEGFbkiFcfim7jPk_2nVdSh7Zax6U3wZ2jra9HvgZWsfTn3xh4DXmW_voGko064CWz4a9nwuxpVsC55zx8rK0jcb3Jony1hfi892s1RbGZTOjj91/s1600/adrian+original+label+1940s+couture+MGM+hollywood+costume+designer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilyF25d9OHFxHSlj8jTDiCyli8yxqwhEGFbkiFcfim7jPk_2nVdSh7Zax6U3wZ2jra9HvgZWsfTn3xh4DXmW_voGko064CWz4a9nwuxpVsC55zx8rK0jcb3Jony1hfi892s1RbGZTOjj91/s640/adrian+original+label+1940s+couture+MGM+hollywood+costume+designer.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /><br />This item looks a little worse for wear for fading or dinginess in the bodice, but it's still a humdinger-- a field of daisies overrun by lambs! Nice work if you can get it, lambs.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEWX8MzBmoZ45e-A_scWsLGjH_DTNSp7XdG7kxC0qlvjY1rpiIfCnBZV39Dxz5AADeKIVD38fwEYiPg5KWR_6HLRtRwKD8Jc6DEQ572OgqtgqhmiEVqBV5aSmH80WqHmyyVIOKFWGwYi0/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+lambs+in+a+field+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEWX8MzBmoZ45e-A_scWsLGjH_DTNSp7XdG7kxC0qlvjY1rpiIfCnBZV39Dxz5AADeKIVD38fwEYiPg5KWR_6HLRtRwKD8Jc6DEQ572OgqtgqhmiEVqBV5aSmH80WqHmyyVIOKFWGwYi0/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+lambs+in+a+field+1.jpg" width="464" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/157347?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=5&rpp=20&pos=81">source</a></td></tr>
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<br />I AM SO DISAPPOINTED ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHS OF THIS DRESS. Look at what it obviously is-- a five foot swag printed with a Prussian uniformed officer...and yet we can't SEE the officer because of the way the item is hanging! I wonder if it was originally pressed in a way that you could get a better look at the main attraction of the dress, or if it looks better in person. Love the idea, hate that I can't see it better. How about that beautiful collar though? The draping and that red highlight is sick-en-ing.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVd6E3HM1gvMAPH0_z6S_TYBJshVurZbmnVmbnCJKUvmmtvueqj7s1souz9nOXQUkpHP_LxMUUuv6QVVODZNhoQWKJRxR5R4X8cqVa0JtvsaeQXtoAdEdjK7XsOmtnjR3MkSDvmGk_Hklu/s1600/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+soldier+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVd6E3HM1gvMAPH0_z6S_TYBJshVurZbmnVmbnCJKUvmmtvueqj7s1souz9nOXQUkpHP_LxMUUuv6QVVODZNhoQWKJRxR5R4X8cqVa0JtvsaeQXtoAdEdjK7XsOmtnjR3MkSDvmGk_Hklu/s640/moma+adrian+dresses+couture+1940s+1950s+abstract+avant+garde+schiaparelli+amazing+soldier+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/85037?who=Adrian%2c+Gilbert%24Gilbert+Adrian&pg=6&rpp=20&pos=105">source</a></td></tr>
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Lastly, if you have around thirteen grand lying around that you're not doing anything with you can snatch up an Adrian of your very own! <a href="https://www.1stdibs.com/fashion/clothing/day-dresses/rare-adrian-egg-i-henhouse-print-silk-dress/id-v_86900/">Check out this "The Egg and I" print from 1st dibs</a>. I don't usually go for barnyard, golf, or hunting themes (three of the very rare exceptions from my buy-everything-and-conquer approach to vintage collecting, haha), but this is a very definite exception I would make. The colors!! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLrfMEOwpUtCWSGtQKdiDQHn7a9acCLXVoTNIHMX6Znb2AjVbVLORUdXfJCDXGnNxAeNru6NfDtJ5nEhKBIHOJcod1RBYyJP6mismdaopOx8eUgigFqGn6iFKJl4o4AYNUJqY5u3QI32o/s1600/adrian+egg+and+i+dress+novelty+1940s+mgm+costumier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="584" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLrfMEOwpUtCWSGtQKdiDQHn7a9acCLXVoTNIHMX6Znb2AjVbVLORUdXfJCDXGnNxAeNru6NfDtJ5nEhKBIHOJcod1RBYyJP6mismdaopOx8eUgigFqGn6iFKJl4o4AYNUJqY5u3QI32o/s640/adrian+egg+and+i+dress+novelty+1940s+mgm+costumier.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<a href="https://www.1stdibs.com/fashion/clothing/day-dresses/rare-adrian-egg-i-henhouse-print-silk-dress/id-v_86900/"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDLrfMEOwpUtCWSGtQKdiDQHn7a9acCLXVoTNIHMX6Znb2AjVbVLORUdXfJCDXGnNxAeNru6NfDtJ5nEhKBIHOJcod1RBYyJP6mismdaopOx8eUgigFqGn6iFKJl4o4AYNUJqY5u3QI32o/s1600/adrian+egg+and+i+dress+novelty+1940s+mgm+costumier.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0golkibz00nJTszXAU7rzYuhZI7sGjZ0Zf992w9gSl3LNOlrOsI5fOLNCLn5iP6O_UzpaO1pMUd9d2l7ujqqFacx7K4c2rCpJs3TkoFaesWb_kSsn9mnY6hAJfx-v1krqUjqxvCgGr8j8/s1600/adrian+2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0golkibz00nJTszXAU7rzYuhZI7sGjZ0Zf992w9gSl3LNOlrOsI5fOLNCLn5iP6O_UzpaO1pMUd9d2l7ujqqFacx7K4c2rCpJs3TkoFaesWb_kSsn9mnY6hAJfx-v1krqUjqxvCgGr8j8/s640/adrian+2.jpg" width="640" /></a>:<br />
Hope I'll be seeing you in some forgotten trunk at an estate sale or flea market some day, Adrian dresses! You are deeply loved by me!<br />
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What do you think? Which dress is your favorite? Are you a novelty print wearer or do you keep your clothes sedate? Seen any designer dresses that have knocked your eye out lately? Let's talk!!<br />
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I gotta get going, but have a WONDERFUL weekend and we'll talk again soon! Til then. :)</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-91868756890253167162016-07-20T09:00:00.000-05:002016-12-09T14:58:06.584-06:00Where Does Love Go (1965) : Charles Boyer Sings!<div>
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Long time no see! How've ya been? I'm peeping back in from the BLAZING, SCORCHED EARTH of Nashville, Tennessee to update you with a celebrity oddity I ran across the other day. Yep, the kind of thing only you and I would enjoy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJPt6_9okyagDG1L1CirGzgYhMgLhkm0aALAegP3Djnh_31ohFQWe5HkZW3L2jm4Moz-Ix5HrkTI7EQRpLhI0mBhwxnWYxU2Gzb_Qwld5REGU2u-KSjgLUwqNLThQdNkTdYONlFhznHHK/s1600/731018.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVJPt6_9okyagDG1L1CirGzgYhMgLhkm0aALAegP3Djnh_31ohFQWe5HkZW3L2jm4Moz-Ix5HrkTI7EQRpLhI0mBhwxnWYxU2Gzb_Qwld5REGU2u-KSjgLUwqNLThQdNkTdYONlFhznHHK/s640/731018.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Confession: I cancelled my Spotify premium subscription the other day in a bid to cut down on some of the superfluous digital services we seem to mindlessly become entwined with (it's so easy to do!). As much as I love commercial-free listening, I figured with all the things out there, there had to be somewhere else I could get my music (legally, semi-legally, whatever) for free. And, in my spendthrift haze, I had completely forgotten that Freegal, a service provided by my local library, totally allows unlimited music streaming from something like 10,000 music labels, including Universal Music Group (which has subsumed SO. MANY. OLD SCHOOL. LABELS). While the user interface is barest of bare bones, hey, it's free! And no commercials. And so....many....weird things.</div>
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Such as? A contender for the prize of "Weirdest Midcentury Spoken Wordish Singing Record by a Celebrity" (the mantle formerly held by Dirk Bogarde alone)... this compilation of Gallic import Charles Boyer speak-singing, in French has flipped my wig to where it is completely on backwards.</div>
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Let's talk!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6USADw-Iaf4qDfamtQb7A4RioMMH4cqbNuCtHNqi6Etij68dbUYVe2txnw1vBYvGp-drx38ZFP6i1mKTS1oMjI8GSZgsjgneEVix5Im3FMMI_dlR_cU208af-WJ44E6yIV7koudms4Ad6/s1600/charles+boyer+sings+record+1960s+french+actor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6USADw-Iaf4qDfamtQb7A4RioMMH4cqbNuCtHNqi6Etij68dbUYVe2txnw1vBYvGp-drx38ZFP6i1mKTS1oMjI8GSZgsjgneEVix5Im3FMMI_dlR_cU208af-WJ44E6yIV7koudms4Ad6/s640/charles+boyer+sings+record+1960s+french+actor.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's funny, but as with a lot of classic Hollywood stars, you don't get the full picture of Charles Boyer's movie impact in a still photograph. His receding hair and average stature, coupled with even but unprepossessing features, are nothing to write home about at first glance-- and yet put him in a movie and you're sure to be swept away by his suave, continental bearing, his smoldering glances, and above all, his dreamily pronounced French accent. Also, ascots. Boy, all the ascots. A heady combination for old school romantic movie-lovers such as ourselves.</div>
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Born in the Pyrénées in 1899, Charles Boyer became famous in America for a line from the trailer of the <i>Pépé le Moko</i> remake, <i>Algiers</i>, that never even made it into the finished film. "Come with me to the Casbah", pronounced trippingly on Boyer's tongue, became the "Come wizz meee to de Cazzbaaah" of a million celebrity impressionists, as famous in its day as "I vant to be a-lone". The sonorous, deep quality of his voice, combined with the rakish French accent, is pretty much irresistible. The year before his catchphrase was born, he played in a romantic weepy that won my heart, opposite Irene Dunne in <i>Love Affair. That </i>film would later be remade as the four-handkerchief classic <i>An Affair to Remember... </i>and if you'd have told me, pre-screening, that the person in the photograph on the left would give Cary Grant of all people a run for his money in a romantic who-played-it-best, I would have been skeptical to say the least. However! Boyer carries with him an urgency verging on pathos in most of his good scenes-- while he may start a movie haughty and remote, arch and distant, it seems as if there's always some turning point along the course of the filmplay where the music swells and you realize he's been torturing himself trying to suppress his love for <strike>you </strike> his onscreen lady love for the better part of the movie. AND THAT, my friends, is what makes a truly indelible heartthrob in the Mr. Darcy mold. I've seen plenty of movies that were just "eh" (see: <i>The Garden of Allah</i>, in spite of its jawdropping Technicolor gorgeousness) in hopes of capturing one of those true heart-string tugging moments that the best of his movies include (see: <i>All This and Heaven, Too</i>). </div>
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Which brings us to why I would be psyched to see his name next to a record in the Freegal holdings!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Initially, I was like "Whoa, TWO records of...wait, these are the exact same songs." Waaah. </i></td></tr>
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Is this record perfect? No, it is not. Is it totally fun? Yes it is. Is it weirdly more listenable than the Dirk Bogarde record (which, itself, has kind of grown on me)? Indeed! INDEED IT IS. My favorite part, bless my little beating francophone <i>coeur</i>, is that Boyer slips into French in half the songs-- "Autumn Leaves" and "La Vie Rose" both feature passages of the original French lyrics, a real treat for French speakers. I love the series of ideas that sprung to mind as I listened and sighed a swoony sigh:<br />
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<li>Do old-time French actors have a specific accent that is dated by its age/time period, in the way that 1940's actors (Jimmy Stewart, Clark Gable, etc) have a very specific way of talking even outside of their individual idiosyncracies? People in 1940's movies, stylized or not, have a very identifiable way of speaking specific to that era, which made me wonder: if a native French speaker listened to Boyer speaking in French, would they get a sense of old-fashionedness from his in-French accent that misses us for not being born francophones?</li>
<li>Imagine going back to some dude's apartment in 1965, and he puts THIS on the hi-fi as a "mood setter"/possible makeout music? I think that's technically the intended audience for this and the Bogarde record, as a swoony-romance-y dim-the-lights music, but I would have fallen into a fit of giggles at the preposterous nature of the whole endeavor I'm pretty sure from Minute One. "Bolero" is obvious enough, but a record of a French actor speaking his way through love songs would just advertise subtlety as NOT being one of your strong suits, sixties' <i>Mad Men</i> era would be lothario.</li>
<li>Also, think of Charles Boyer himself giving a "I'm game" go-ahead for this album, though professing to possessing no great vocal ability. Record company: "Charles, we're going to bring you in here to do a record." Charles Boyer: "And whhhy nawt?" with an insouciant toss of his diminutive shoulders. Go on, get your life, Charles Boyer.</li>
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Give it a listen yourself, and see what you think-- you can catch a lot of these songs on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=41ZJkIcVzr4&list=PLLuyJtvFvI1xLa151wq-tvb0RCNBLMRE_">Youtube </a>or Spotify or even Freegal, if your library subscribes.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.historyforsale.com/charles-boyer-autograph-sentiment-signed/dc43224">source</a></td></tr>
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And if you won't take my word it being good, did you know that no less a shining star than Our Elvis Presley who art in Heaven expressed a deep love of this record around the time of his Las Vegas performances? Read for yourself:</div>
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Whaaaat. You heard it here first! Or possibly second, if you've read those two Elvis books I just grabbed pull quotes from (the latter of which, Peter Guralnick's epic two-volume bio, is essential reading). My favorite part of that passage is that no one else liked the record because of its melancholy nature-- I guess there is a kind of sad undertone to the music, but that's about the only way I like it-- dramatic, romantic, BIG!<br />
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Anyway, it's good to get a chance to check in! I've definitely missed writing and interacting over here, and as always, hope to make good my promise to return to a more regular blogging schedule as time permits. In the in-between-time, I hope you're finding lots of great stuff out at the sales and enjoying the summer months as best you can for all this oppressive heat! Stay cool, and see you again soon! Til then. :)</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-18324649155534217622016-05-17T12:47:00.002-05:002016-05-17T12:47:51.890-05:00Monkey Fur Success (Coat of My Dreams)Salutations, friends!
How's tricks? Not much new here in this life of Riley except for one startling development of a few weeks ago. Would you believe....COULD YOU believe...that I finally have a monkey fur coat of my very own??<br />
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Let's just cut straight to the goods here, there's no time to spare!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOKBgf3BFm2wIZhCzppjyMZ7hGv2yFQeUiKEHsvChU6STQLPMEjImt9-1HcGyctZBIookcHz5Ple2c30EgXKsAxBiLSvB1fPoEhOKU_m5Dy405D91quN6FLxCUij18Rr95zUDL-J2Vbq7/s1600/monkey+fur+coat+1940s+black+and+white+fade+bencha+gold+coast+vintage+retro+front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOKBgf3BFm2wIZhCzppjyMZ7hGv2yFQeUiKEHsvChU6STQLPMEjImt9-1HcGyctZBIookcHz5Ple2c30EgXKsAxBiLSvB1fPoEhOKU_m5Dy405D91quN6FLxCUij18Rr95zUDL-J2Vbq7/s640/monkey+fur+coat+1940s+black+and+white+fade+bencha+gold+coast+vintage+retro+front.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Just as I'd put my oversized foot down about buying more fur coats (and actually passed up a mink or two under $50...who even AM I any more?), an amazing vintage-buying opportunity popped up out of the blue to pick up this 1940's monkey fur coat. Was the coat in question extraordinarily beautiful? Yes, ma'am. Were the terms of the sale extraordinarily, pinch-me-I'm-dreaming reasonable? Oh hayyyull yes they were. And the seller was super nice/prompt, to boot. You'd better believe I jumped on it quicker than you could say Jack Robinson, and now, I have the Marlene Dietrich jacket of my dreams I first mentioned </span><a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2014/03/monkeygorilla-fur-coats-vintage-fur.html" style="text-align: start;">here </a><span style="text-align: start;">almost exactly two years ago (how the time does fly!). My only problem at present is trying to finagle an invitation to somewhere swank enough to show this sucker off (though...at this point, I'm pretty sure I would take any opportunity to give these guy a whirl...as I become the most glamorous girl the Gallatin Road Sonic has ever seen).</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Check it out:</span></div>
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I love the white-on-black, Cruella de Ville ness of the color, and the pelt is so much like human hair it's almost creepy. How it hangs! Look at those boxy shoulders! Chic, chic.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQps0ICZFy4VY5ukSkES3Wiuq6ddu_nlk_r0XIApMIZS8CpJvkFTausqn6i19_9FiFynM1AH9xj1J9Zg-9q8nVyymfwrCmb6Zj1DbEjNq5eyngjUoy9sCFLbkl_10IiLKo_WhdO9c_Rnx/s1600/monkey+fur+coat+1940s+black+and+white+fade+bencha+gold+coast+vintage+retro+side.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQps0ICZFy4VY5ukSkES3Wiuq6ddu_nlk_r0XIApMIZS8CpJvkFTausqn6i19_9FiFynM1AH9xj1J9Zg-9q8nVyymfwrCmb6Zj1DbEjNq5eyngjUoy9sCFLbkl_10IiLKo_WhdO9c_Rnx/s640/monkey+fur+coat+1940s+black+and+white+fade+bencha+gold+coast+vintage+retro+side.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you don't remember from the previous post, monkey fur coats had a few separate rise and falls in popularity, ranging from the Victorian era, to the 1920's, to the 1940's...just about every twenty years there seemed to be a resurgence in interest in the weird, wild texture until colobus monkeys became endangered towards the end of the forties' and a halt was put to their use in fine furs. Today, glad to hear, the little guys are doing fine, but the scarcity of the coats make them super rare. Not to say that they're not still a buzzing about! I saw an all black variety on Cookie Lyons in an episode of <i>Empire </i>the other day and decided my life's work was done...to<br />
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Some monkey fur coat news articles collected from Google News Archives for your perusal:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRP0UrE2No5DgEpm5ZYztDy-IKb0ILhcJOEeeQEJtXE4i_DEQeakqDZMgDCPX_TQDtiwOErfoDNKsA1M3yuBqGe-3ITZ4F6BMTyqM3g7hVRND662x2tDKmz6mKCPwssPLFYQ9igvtO86hN/s1600/Herald-Journal+-+Jul+29%252C+1960++monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRP0UrE2No5DgEpm5ZYztDy-IKb0ILhcJOEeeQEJtXE4i_DEQeakqDZMgDCPX_TQDtiwOErfoDNKsA1M3yuBqGe-3ITZ4F6BMTyqM3g7hVRND662x2tDKmz6mKCPwssPLFYQ9igvtO86hN/s1600/Herald-Journal+-+Jul+29%252C+1960++monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="413" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRP0UrE2No5DgEpm5ZYztDy-IKb0ILhcJOEeeQEJtXE4i_DEQeakqDZMgDCPX_TQDtiwOErfoDNKsA1M3yuBqGe-3ITZ4F6BMTyqM3g7hVRND662x2tDKmz6mKCPwssPLFYQ9igvtO86hN/s640/Herald-Journal+-+Jul+29%252C+1960++monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1960</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJ7ThwDnmNRyd0DbchJL1cez3ZTDsU3jGy6kvPTJTatfqeHtceGdTviKxhNBBrgUMh5wVE4jy_5-p-l_v04od5RAtN2v2vEgb3OOisjWYL9bLqKSMn_v2ria7IfcsfpXGRrkIomy0Ag_5/s1600/Lawrence+Journal-World+-+Apr+17%252C+1933+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJ7ThwDnmNRyd0DbchJL1cez3ZTDsU3jGy6kvPTJTatfqeHtceGdTviKxhNBBrgUMh5wVE4jy_5-p-l_v04od5RAtN2v2vEgb3OOisjWYL9bLqKSMn_v2ria7IfcsfpXGRrkIomy0Ag_5/s1600/Lawrence+Journal-World+-+Apr+17%252C+1933+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1940 (l), 1933</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_LRTl1U94GdDzFmSt0YbRTiB9qrUFYW1xZue3GBvG2m79S-LZO30RfIOeEg2IRm4xPa5PxBQ2JDVXb60udnPO84uAzILVdPiYvYnogt5QdaoZi_tEbotxtT0YBEAHyZEn_vBRLeDQBSy/s1600/The+Evening+Independent+-+Dec+30%252C+1922+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY_LRTl1U94GdDzFmSt0YbRTiB9qrUFYW1xZue3GBvG2m79S-LZO30RfIOeEg2IRm4xPa5PxBQ2JDVXb60udnPO84uAzILVdPiYvYnogt5QdaoZi_tEbotxtT0YBEAHyZEn_vBRLeDQBSy/s1600/The+Evening+Independent+-+Dec+30%252C+1922+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1922</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHFuNgo2lJWi74z5mKmrcM6VIVadhfiaKdqFwdv5hH3lVNr3kQkDVldoV3__YtdEdkrVlUbuOWsVVc407XLCZLA0t5mU-hmm6we7IhTyy6ditID9OoHZWPcHS8ijKqTNwwsa8nJ3yDrM1/s1600/The+Pueblo+Indicator++Feb+6+1915+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHFuNgo2lJWi74z5mKmrcM6VIVadhfiaKdqFwdv5hH3lVNr3kQkDVldoV3__YtdEdkrVlUbuOWsVVc407XLCZLA0t5mU-hmm6we7IhTyy6ditID9OoHZWPcHS8ijKqTNwwsa8nJ3yDrM1/s1600/The+Pueblo+Indicator++Feb+6+1915+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1915</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDz96DFc82AdfMto-gJ8LqCyJ_8k07_CWOkW-sAJTXyybzxGr8Sb1Nk7aT3Kz1znPPDL8SZc_eaPWEByauveVle-EK3H44OmVFuvuvWvg_GSwFZ1kMGoOOQv060GtK2VNSB1ggjPO82Br/s1600/The+Pittsburgh+Press+-+Mar+21%252C+1927+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="470" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitDz96DFc82AdfMto-gJ8LqCyJ_8k07_CWOkW-sAJTXyybzxGr8Sb1Nk7aT3Kz1znPPDL8SZc_eaPWEByauveVle-EK3H44OmVFuvuvWvg_GSwFZ1kMGoOOQv060GtK2VNSB1ggjPO82Br/s640/The+Pittsburgh+Press+-+Mar+21%252C+1927+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1927</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIqaqWOVOPvJbtmu3Zw_5QASqV38_mtBVQBinwdAtNIpItr0PY4Xrh5piBle1f1Bokby70MZ0UdkQlgKLPNHCPZbvFYcxWDBTEA40FjX7ifJB4_HUQnu6QijqkdZfoy7OmnC6BioadP5b/s1600/The+Pittsburgh+Press+-+Jun+8%252C+1922+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikIqaqWOVOPvJbtmu3Zw_5QASqV38_mtBVQBinwdAtNIpItr0PY4Xrh5piBle1f1Bokby70MZ0UdkQlgKLPNHCPZbvFYcxWDBTEA40FjX7ifJB4_HUQnu6QijqkdZfoy7OmnC6BioadP5b/s320/The+Pittsburgh+Press+-+Jun+8%252C+1922+monkey+fur+vintage+colobus+monkey+history+collectible.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1922</td></tr>
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And just for good measure, these gorgeous gals... I want that HAT, Lord, I want that hat.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioiwPoOhjVKtvDnyVdrOVREcj_mHz9IB00P1VY8wmTBpbq8qRPP4uH3oGlLAmG3hF17HazJ1hhHAsHqTNQV6WkU4Ld1QCkZimxI4vDtpbW_0cgzgsvrkRn5vr9y6csQaEp8eYadb_q0Nx_/s1600/monkey+fur+coat+jazz.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioiwPoOhjVKtvDnyVdrOVREcj_mHz9IB00P1VY8wmTBpbq8qRPP4uH3oGlLAmG3hF17HazJ1hhHAsHqTNQV6WkU4Ld1QCkZimxI4vDtpbW_0cgzgsvrkRn5vr9y6csQaEp8eYadb_q0Nx_/s640/monkey+fur+coat+jazz.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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Sorry for the brief update, but I'm telling you, my time is not my own these days!<br />
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What do you think? Have you scored any bucket list items off your must-have vintage dream collection? What's the best offer you've ever gotten as a result of a random blog post/friend of a friend/happenstance? Let's chat!!<br />
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I've got to run, but have a fantastic Tuesday, and we'll be talking again before long! :)Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-91901142198580157172016-03-07T10:49:00.003-06:002016-03-07T10:53:47.792-06:00Calvin Black's Possum Trot Dolls (Outsider Art Americana)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!!</div>
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How are things? Same old, same old here in my camp-- I've been listening to a lot of Bruce Springsteen, going to a lot of estate sales, and eating as many tacos as my conscience will allow...but don't worry, things aren't as dire as they were in the last blog post. I'mma survive, people! I'm looking forward to going to the beach in a week and giving new meaning to chillaxing by my egregious example of self same behavior. But enough about me-- how you? I hope 2016 has been treating your well thus far!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7EdFMRXgeSLu-I-XjcdWLdBjJLHd9mQdj0937LRTCVTSszvVoJFbbfWvC2gdejx_rAkNsx3wfCHeIakCjBgZFu3dQKRS0uNPvTIofOM0kM9uCBEQo3hAL-S2Ct_2XQJ45amYfQGEc725l/s1600/5ebff6239a3f4955f7f1419544a1ca7e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7EdFMRXgeSLu-I-XjcdWLdBjJLHd9mQdj0937LRTCVTSszvVoJFbbfWvC2gdejx_rAkNsx3wfCHeIakCjBgZFu3dQKRS0uNPvTIofOM0kM9uCBEQo3hAL-S2Ct_2XQJ45amYfQGEc725l/s640/5ebff6239a3f4955f7f1419544a1ca7e.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hi-ya, friend!</i></td></tr>
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What brings me back to my own private corner of the internet? I was watching a trailer for a movie on Amazon Prime called <i>Almost There </i>early last week and had completely forgotten, the next day, the title of said movie. I googled "outsider artist movie" and came across <a href="http://flavorwire.com/255015/film-on-the-fringe-10-intriguing-outsider-art-documentaries/2">this helpful list of things I really, really needed to know about</a>, which included an entry on a short film called <i>Possum Trot: The Life and Work of Calvin Black, 1903-1972</i> . In the words of the list author:<br />
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<i>Folk artist and ventriloquist Calvin Black created a makeshift tourist attraction in California’s Mojave Desert in 1954 known as Possum Trot. Black created more than 80 life-size female dolls, which he used to perform with during shows set inside his Bird Cage Theater -- each one with their own personality and voice. You can see the strangely grotesque figures in action in Possum Trot: The Life and Work of Calvin Black, 1903-1972. Their odd, misshapen forms combined with Black’s quavering impersonation and the desert landscape is a truly surreal experience.</i></div>
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"Truly surreal" is an understatement. I came away from this short documentary completely obsessed with the idea of these dolls and the man who fashioned them, whittled away from salvaged wood and his own feverishly febrile imagination, and it inspired me to come tell you all about it over here at She Was a Bird. Folks, let me introduce you to the weird, weird world of Calvin Black, pictured below with some of his creations:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3-ovzEHk1UQaHuZzORb374DZkVXmfVmvroQ16Q1CIAt5VR8Ccg3qoWAVjxqF54pEiyOtIrWBg9u8Zkkv1flDsVlWO3RDVorbB9iD7aLdOc3J9_plJLKsMzn1VtwMtV26v_827OkecVc/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="411" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3-ovzEHk1UQaHuZzORb374DZkVXmfVmvroQ16Q1CIAt5VR8Ccg3qoWAVjxqF54pEiyOtIrWBg9u8Zkkv1flDsVlWO3RDVorbB9iD7aLdOc3J9_plJLKsMzn1VtwMtV26v_827OkecVc/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Does the dollmaker not weirdly resemble the dolls?</i></td></tr>
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Throughout the twenty-eight minute runtime of the documentary, I was sitting with my mouth slightly open. I started watching it in the background of my computer, figuring, like a bunch of the folk documentaries I've been through in recent weeks (as work doldrums threaten to consume my living mind, haha), that it would be as much an aural experience as a visual one. When the tape-recorded, falsetto warblings of Calvin Black in the voice of his dolls started in the first minute or two, I had to stop the movie and back it up to the beginning. Because I would need to see EXACTLY what was going on with this.</div>
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The documentary opens with a helicopter shot of a series of ramshackle buildings, the whistle of a desert wind filling the silence of the isolated California landscape. The silence gives way to a reel to reel recording of Calvin Black doing the voice of "...Helen Marvel of the Bird Cage Theeee-ater, out here on Ghost Town Road, out in Possum Trot, California", and the camera begins to cover the exterior of the buildings in detail. Every outdoor surface is festooned with weirdly stoic wooden figures in varying weatherbeaten stages of still life. Some are rigged to be wind powered, arms akimbo, one pair of legs pedaling a stationery bike. Some are just lashed different parts of the building, hair blowing in their eyes and those eyes unblinkingly painted into close-set recesses on their smooth laquered faces. Handpainted signs litter the property: "We don't know where Ma is but we have Pop on Ice", "Often seen Jim and his Limb". And most importantly, in large letters over the main building: "BIRD CAGE THEATRE: FANTASY DOLL SHOW."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQGZNxVwt8vZxPmYeIi885iyu2IIyBxSAA41pJt45v3DWriebywL_ep__e1PIaaOWs58qSn3waNuVOhkqkRgKIIbNIxIEPhm29qqecjwx-aFJhMiQwUkYUBnGxusQTlbHWzZeJg9sHh8/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+original+site.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLQGZNxVwt8vZxPmYeIi885iyu2IIyBxSAA41pJt45v3DWriebywL_ep__e1PIaaOWs58qSn3waNuVOhkqkRgKIIbNIxIEPhm29qqecjwx-aFJhMiQwUkYUBnGxusQTlbHWzZeJg9sHh8/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+original+site.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgo8sUXZgGkzpKKGP4gVHb8gFoyGXMH_W2vm3FLShJuaAez7enPovmBcH3WHiro_U6l0SFSwt4cu1m_zfGjF4vfZQOAO9qxyb0Nag7TICGeFVksHOkLGZyvwaaJ5X58gaurPstudfaQiU/s1600/possum_trot_ruby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgo8sUXZgGkzpKKGP4gVHb8gFoyGXMH_W2vm3FLShJuaAez7enPovmBcH3WHiro_U6l0SFSwt4cu1m_zfGjF4vfZQOAO9qxyb0Nag7TICGeFVksHOkLGZyvwaaJ5X58gaurPstudfaQiU/s640/possum_trot_ruby.jpg" width="640" /></a>Out from the rabbit's warren of outbuildings emerges Ruby Calvin, a stout woman in a kerchief and a man's pullover, a shaggy black dog in tow. The following dialogue ensues:</div>
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<b>1</b>: Hello!<br />
<b>2</b>: Hello.<br />
<b>1</b>: What is this place? What do you have inside?<br />
<b>2</b>: Uh, have...all kinna stuff. Jewelry and rough rocks and postcards...and things.<br />
<b>1</b>: Who made all these dolls?<br />
<b>2</b>: My husband carved the dolls. Head and body's made out of redwood, and uh, their noses and arms, feet, legs are made out of sugar pine.<br />
<b>1</b>: Do you have more dolls inside?<br />
<b>2</b>: Yeah, have some inside...even have one with teeth carved in his mouth. </blockquote>
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TELL ME MORE, I says, PLEASE DO TELL ME MORE. Over the next half hour, Ruby Black, Calvin's widow, takes us through the buildings, describing the life she led with Calvin and the business she shared with her husband for almost twenty of the thirty four years they were married. After moving to the desert for Calvin's health to a parcel of land they bought from ad in the back of a magazine (!!), the self-taught artist and former carnival worker began carving the dolls shortly after the building was finished.</div>
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The isolation of the desert setting, the palpable absence of showman/dollmaker, the eerie motionlessness of the totem-like dolls in the amateur roadside attraction he created...those are all just parts of the draw here. Look at the actual dolls themselves, in place in their Birdcage Theatre:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVWS_gtn_S_yAv4adrao6VsB5mkqJ763p1DvNTy3GbeNZDMs2agkzD9euX_4r3osij5W3iKUw8VagGYu8LaxXJ3XCRaoARDtb8hKhBBEE1IlgjF4EXMkEZZDrzIpv_kmj2JWvBqItGlA/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+original+site+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUVWS_gtn_S_yAv4adrao6VsB5mkqJ763p1DvNTy3GbeNZDMs2agkzD9euX_4r3osij5W3iKUw8VagGYu8LaxXJ3XCRaoARDtb8hKhBBEE1IlgjF4EXMkEZZDrzIpv_kmj2JWvBqItGlA/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+original+site+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Each of the dolls were lovingly carved by Black from downed telephone poles or highway posts and other scrap materials, featuring "doll gowns by Ruby" (as you can see on the sign above the stage), stitched and sewn by his wife. According to another interview subject who actually saw one of these performances, Calvin would lead tourists into the building and give a short speech before the stage, then play guitar and sing in synchronized routines with the dolls, some of whom had been outfitted with recorded tapes of dialogue and snatches of songs. Think "Showbiz Pizza" but in the most primitive of settings. An "admission" of a twenty-five cents or greater donation, and any other tips for the girls in "kitty boxes" displayed in front of the figures, would go towards buying new clothes and even perfume for the figures, which grew eventually to number over eighty individual dolls. I couldn't help but think of taking some road trip circa 1970 and stumbling across this great big piece of weirdness in the middle of the California desert. At the same time as I probably would have been afraid for my life, it must have been SOMETHING. ELSE. to see this place in its heyday. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QLF6QeAMAk5HU6k0v0wM9RNftTne6afUZQClgTbKK0CudxJ_uQc7kFO7IoRDiNKEa4duRebGP_MmaFvluloU9J-Q0f6E88vCQHVCxUnIktCzNFcZ8rfbEj5UA44_JYeEFY8-YIuAsG-u/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+group+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7QLF6QeAMAk5HU6k0v0wM9RNftTne6afUZQClgTbKK0CudxJ_uQc7kFO7IoRDiNKEa4duRebGP_MmaFvluloU9J-Q0f6E88vCQHVCxUnIktCzNFcZ8rfbEj5UA44_JYeEFY8-YIuAsG-u/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+group+.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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One of the more extraordinary parts of the film features a stop-motion animation of the dolls frolicking around the building at the twenty two minute mark. If you thought these things looked unsettling sitting still, you can imagine my feelings towards them when they take on human motion, swinging their arms and rocking back and forth to the atonal singing and guitar strumming of their predeceased creator. It reminded me of Czech filmmaker <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jan_%C5%A0vankmajer">Jan Švankmajer </a>-- and just in the way this his work can be uneasy watching, it shares the same fascinating singularity. It's WONDERFUL by sheer dint of it unusualness. Where ELSE are you going to see something like this?</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCi8pKcdZBUkBI6Tnewcd6zqNgUYqcjFOqcMHkNlqNDE322CWQZppfGQcNC6lZuPZKNYoll1vbU3GZCorFUYTdAAnM2D_iK9qBiZc-LdIpQqNzPQP-se07_FimeBWWSLOCB_ppzqLR8yE-/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+original+site+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="459" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCi8pKcdZBUkBI6Tnewcd6zqNgUYqcjFOqcMHkNlqNDE322CWQZppfGQcNC6lZuPZKNYoll1vbU3GZCorFUYTdAAnM2D_iK9qBiZc-LdIpQqNzPQP-se07_FimeBWWSLOCB_ppzqLR8yE-/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+original+site+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>All of this, but moving. It is WILD.</i></td></tr>
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Though Calvin initially asked that the dolls be burned upon his death, Ruby kept the figures and the property together as it was at his death until 1985, when she herself was found dead of heart failure at Possum Trot. An eyesore to the community, there was a failed attempt to leave the collection intact before the outfittings of the buildings and dolls were sold to an art dealer in Los Angeles for around $36,000 in today's money. In 2007, the Sherion doll alone (pictured below), sold for $96,000, and are hot pieces of "outsider art" for collectors of the same.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD444Lz6Z6uWNt-RERaUFyoiJ3LXdpfRZopys2eBALamN2GeeURw8clTsZjwWW1JGyXtYTBfA_b2gCc39T-_NKPQ0cnGxSaP8kvRDnQEroR5c5J0XzZNAexwVYvyr6sidah7ZmJp_0Jk/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+gypsy+rose+sherion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="496" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD444Lz6Z6uWNt-RERaUFyoiJ3LXdpfRZopys2eBALamN2GeeURw8clTsZjwWW1JGyXtYTBfA_b2gCc39T-_NKPQ0cnGxSaP8kvRDnQEroR5c5J0XzZNAexwVYvyr6sidah7ZmJp_0Jk/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+gypsy+rose+sherion.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.liveauctioneers.com/item/4307175_calvin-black-1903-1972-sherion-rose-possum-trot">source</a></td></tr>
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Which brings me to a secondary concern, besides what a trip the documentary was-- is the old "it BELONGS in a MUSEUM" chestnut applicable here? And if not in a museum, certainly not in some millionaire's Neutra-style LA house, right? As a frequenter of estate sales myself, I do often ask myself where heartfelt, beloved items "belong" after the person to whom they had such significance passes away...and in this case, the intimately-connected, sense of self-expression of the dolls makes this issue resonate twice as strongly. Robbed of their context, are these pieces not kind of "wrong"? Not wrong in the sense of morally unsupportable, but wrong in the sense of "not correct", inauthentic.? As magical as the dolls seem, outside of their "home" and with their creator long gone, re-invented as collectibles rather than personal totems, they do seem weirdly sad to be orphaned, scattered to the four winds, never to perform again?</div>
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The people initially trying to save Possum Trot put forth the following idea in the 80's, shortly after Ruby's death, but as you can see, none of it came to fruition:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-fbKibqvp_6ax4mb_PJafOuAj2cuMUosOgi9aCWiata1xPO9EqKnwYmzIpXVEhqCpEIjJJ-wGaBbC9dsk907OXVwlPCRUL5lZD1akxBtljrOTgC76nfkx_hS83mhu0G711yhSP7AklJ-/s1600/Preservation+of+Possum+Trot+letter+notes.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP-fbKibqvp_6ax4mb_PJafOuAj2cuMUosOgi9aCWiata1xPO9EqKnwYmzIpXVEhqCpEIjJJ-wGaBbC9dsk907OXVwlPCRUL5lZD1akxBtljrOTgC76nfkx_hS83mhu0G711yhSP7AklJ-/s640/Preservation+of+Possum+Trot+letter+notes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I could see someone posting this documentary or photos of the dolls to Reddit's Creepy thread, but I think there's something so much more interesting at play here than "ooh look, what a weirdo, how weird, bet he's a murrrrrderer or something!!" that I'm sure a first glance would gain the Possum Trot gang. Eerie as the place is (especially at night! See: last few minutes of the film), set aside the idea of some <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1490123/">James Wan</a> creation taking place in the Birdcage Theatre. Instead, think about the earnestness that went into making this one man's wonderland out in the middle of the California desert. No, the figures are not Disney-quality, but they're pretty ingenious for a man with no formal training or education to dream up out of his own imagination, with what he had on hand. And, besides that, the WHY of it, THAT'S the most fascinating part. When you think of all the time and effort and single-mindness of vision that went into executing the theater and its "girls", it's nothing short of amazing. I have always liked, as is the subject of many of these folk documentaries and short films, the idea of art being made in a vacuum, without encouragement, some times in the face of open <i>dis</i>couragement, in spite of lack of resources, in spite of lack of interest-- because you just have to create whatever it is you're moved to create. Think of how there must have been some keening wail of creativity deep down in Calvin Black that drove him not only to make the first doll, but to make almost a hundred more where that came from...to make them a theater to work in and a world to inhabit, to keep working with them. And, as he says in recordings from the documentary, if people come and pay to see it, sure, that's great-- but it's the act of having pulled it off and having it seen and appreciated for which the man worked, far more so than the monetary gain of it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-Cey1PiMq9hHaG6hXl9EoVNyeSYEbg5eaRxozJyXBAGHFVK1eytHtVwbx-lIy1m6nwOAqJPZkosLiisZmeeCXYQgkWo29T05eXHjuCPqRV3VololDzSWDOOcHz5EQUfckdiBlnp9ph9H/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-Cey1PiMq9hHaG6hXl9EoVNyeSYEbg5eaRxozJyXBAGHFVK1eytHtVwbx-lIy1m6nwOAqJPZkosLiisZmeeCXYQgkWo29T05eXHjuCPqRV3VololDzSWDOOcHz5EQUfckdiBlnp9ph9H/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+doll+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The dolls </i>in situ <i>at the Possum Trot site, with Calvin</i></td></tr>
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So, <i>taken</i> from that context of being a single vision, <i>without </i>their creator, put up on an auction block for thousands of dollars...what does that make the dolls now? And what else can you do with them, except appreciate them as art objects, now that their creator and the space they were created in are both long gone? ((sighs)) I don't know. I DO KNOW I would give my eye teeth to see some of these in person. I wonder if I'll get the chance!<br />
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Here are just about as many of the dolls as I could find online. If you've seen any others, bring 'em to my attention, I'm-kind-of-obsessed, thanks-in-advance:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEzeKSrmRed6mDY3GRw7ZfRH-kdYQpCRPxCUfAFO3E7g_IuFI08ILRrIrMYzPTCPuwXiVJtSKv_6Ytt9nk5N2EYRFaOMCKvRx4ntJFrAnbJ8dVV4aX1dOFWoEeAVwJ6LiT5lJGYKFOHo/s1600/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+single+dolls+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEzeKSrmRed6mDY3GRw7ZfRH-kdYQpCRPxCUfAFO3E7g_IuFI08ILRrIrMYzPTCPuwXiVJtSKv_6Ytt9nk5N2EYRFaOMCKvRx4ntJFrAnbJ8dVV4aX1dOFWoEeAVwJ6LiT5lJGYKFOHo/s640/calvin+black+possum+trot+outsider+art+1960s+stage+dolls+roadside+attraction+kitsch+americana+single+dolls+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.adweek.com/news-gallery/advertising-branding/rare-look-bob-greenbergs-collection-outsider-art-168222">Bob Greenberg's collection</a> of Possum Trot dolls, now displayed in a case in the office of his ad agency's waiting room</span></td></tr>
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Watch the whole documentary here and see for yourself:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="375" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/140415077" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe><br />
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<a href="https://vimeo.com/140415077">Possum Trot: The Life and Work of Calvin Black, 1903-1972</a> from <a href="https://vimeo.com/user43390210">lexikon</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.</div>
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I've got to get going, but do tell me-- how'd you like the documentary? What do you think of the dolls? How do you feel about things being scattered to the four winds? </div>
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You'd better believe I have a back log as long as it is tall of vintage stuff to tell you about-- will try to hurry back before too long and give you the scoop! :) Have a great Monday afternoon, and I'll see you again soon! Til then.</div>
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<br />Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-4429785181963438762016-01-18T12:04:00.000-06:002016-01-22T23:08:33.489-06:00David Bowie's Gone and We're Still Here (1947-2016)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!</div>
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Well, it's been a tough 2016 already, friends. </div>
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Last Monday morning around six in the AM, I was feeling a little under the weather and struggling to get my act together enough to get out the door to work at the correct time. As my fingers were forgetting how to lace my boots from sleep deprivation, Matthew came in from making the coffee and sat down on the bed with his serious face, which definitely is atypical for him at any time, much less at this ungodly hour.</div>
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"Listen, I need to tell you something and it's gonna be ok, but I wanted you to know before anybody else did."</div>
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Me internally: <i>What is he even talking about did I sleep walk and knock over the tv or something? Is he mad at me? What is he talking about? </i>Me outloud:"Yeah, fine, what is it, bibi."</div>
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"David Bowie died."</div>
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I replied almost nastily, looking at him like he'd hit me full in the face: "No....he's not....what are you talking about?!?"</div>
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"I mean, it was on Kotaku this morning, so it may...not be true....I don't know I just wanted to tell you before you saw it at work or whatever."<br>
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My hands started shaking as I reached for my phone. "He put out a <i>record</i> on Friday."</div>
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I googled "David Bowie" which immediately suggested "David Bowie dead" and as several reputable news sources came up on the browser, I literally burst into tears.</div>
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Now, something you should know about me-- I do not burst into tears in my own life for almost anything. While I cry to beat the band when Barbara Stanwyck gets her heart broken on screen or Hank Williams sings about dreaming about Mama last night or someone saves a baby on an old episode of <i>Greys Anatomy</i>, I'm not a big crier in terms of my own life. I'm usually too stressed or too focused on how to fix things to cry in real life over my day-to-day even when it's merited. So I think I was fairly as shocked as Matthew was that tears were streaming down my face as I just laid back down in my bed.<br>
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"I'm so sorry, little bean."<br>
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"EVERYTHING IS HORRIBLE. WHY IS EVERYTHING SO HORRIBLE?" I said, almost laughing through my tears about the comically bad run of days I'd had in the last week. My best friend's going through a serious crisis, I'm sick as a dog, my job/commute/workplace is killing me, I need to lose about thirty pounds, when are we going to have a baby, I MUST stop drinking so much, I hate everything....and David Bowie is dead.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinmYBJQKGE55kijpgJOGQC2wbZeQu5dv79pUG9xNgljI__7Ss8cnLHqKTfXXOq2CGJFDtjO0HNH2j0Cn0TqEfq69-mHLymd1i6csadIfX53JrP2Pn2q9ns9c7wPdZ1I_iN39_p3fX0y_w/s1600/David-Bowie-short-film-trailer-2015-billboard-650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinmYBJQKGE55kijpgJOGQC2wbZeQu5dv79pUG9xNgljI__7Ss8cnLHqKTfXXOq2CGJFDtjO0HNH2j0Cn0TqEfq69-mHLymd1i6csadIfX53JrP2Pn2q9ns9c7wPdZ1I_iN39_p3fX0y_w/s640/David-Bowie-short-film-trailer-2015-billboard-650.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>BUT WE STILL NEED YOU. HOW COULD YOU LEAVE US?</i></td></tr>
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As the information fell into place, I realized the album release was Bowie's last, greatest publicity stunt, as cannily planned as any other in his fifty four years in the industry. Who ELSE would hide an eighteen month, reportedly ferocious battle with cancer behind a frenzy of professional activity, from the aforementioned record with accompanying short-film-style music videos to a Broadway play featuring a Bowie penned score. Before doing the real-world equivalent of disappearing behind a magician's cape, he made sure the two singles from what was to be his final record were <i>rife </i>with imagery related to his passing, which of course, his faithful audience, myself included, just took as regular Bowie subject material. I had listened to "Blackstar" in December and "Lazarus" on the 8th with a "Not bad, sir!" feeling of <i>Outside </i>meets <i>Heathen</i>, totally missing lines like "Something happened on the day he died/Spirit rose a metre then stepped aside", "Just like that bluebird, I'll be free/ Ain't that just like me?", "Look up here/I'm in heaven" that would become achingly prescient. I hate how good this last record is, only because it stands as a stark reminder of how much I'm going to miss the man.<br>
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My love affair with David Bowie began in 1998, when, as doofy thirteen year old already having passed through a few years of voracious reading and album consumption regarding the Beatles, I picked up a copy of Viktor Bokris's Andy Warhol biography, hoping to garner some info on his friendship with John Lennon and Yoko Ono. Bowie was mentioned several times, and when I saw a cd single (!!) of "I'm Afraid of Americans" in the music department of Kmart (where my mom had parked me sometime earlier as she ran around looking for household items), I loved the weird, simple line drawing on the cover. "Are you sure you want this? It's $10," my mom tutted, as this was at least twice as expensive as any of the other singles in the bin. "YES," I said, emphatically, not knowing 'd taken the first step on the biggest musical obsession of my life.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZMuD1bNwMqf7fzqqZ2FcUydVCb4PXp4afd_otb6MO0Yl2nmkMUh_qzlrtAuXm-U0uT_Halh9xjFrs4HUrgxTfoIHTJvJVeA-1NWqPh57c2mcEaYCk6eCPCuhOhpZCWSKPKOK0yt7mYU/s1600/david+bowie+i%2527m+afraid+of+americans+single+cd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimZMuD1bNwMqf7fzqqZ2FcUydVCb4PXp4afd_otb6MO0Yl2nmkMUh_qzlrtAuXm-U0uT_Halh9xjFrs4HUrgxTfoIHTJvJVeA-1NWqPh57c2mcEaYCk6eCPCuhOhpZCWSKPKOK0yt7mYU/s640/david+bowie+i%2527m+afraid+of+americans+single+cd.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>You can imagine how my mom probably was into the hanging guy in the tree/possible lynch vicitm on the cover of the album her thirteen year old was asking for her to buy...</i></td></tr>
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A listen or ten later, "Pretty good," I thought. A little more modern of a sound than I was used to, but something about it piqued my interest. The next time I was at Phonoluxe, a record store on Nolensville Road where I'd been slowly collecting Beatles albums over the last year and a half as my allowance allowed, I wandered over to the regular rock n roll bins (separate from the collectors/mint record bins) and flipped through a different section of the B's than I usually perused. Based on covers alone, I picked up <i>Space Oddity </i>and <i>Fame and Fashion: David Bowie's All Time Greatest Hits</i>. At the library, there was a single copy of <i>Stardust: The David Bowie Story </i>by Henry Edwards and Tony Zanetta that I dutifully checked out.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgEQCDjRJY5AhO20Ddpuc7SsAsyRGfeGfl5-kqjXkEdoJ5dSIMnS00_IvW6yzmbZBt2RlNSpXlTChpmvCBON1Y7BI_sMBb1a6iHzlQeib3al2cba3SL9-HRuXcZiiw3Y_NubdlqfsM_8/s1600/david+bowie+best+of+fame+and+fashion+LP+1980s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgEQCDjRJY5AhO20Ddpuc7SsAsyRGfeGfl5-kqjXkEdoJ5dSIMnS00_IvW6yzmbZBt2RlNSpXlTChpmvCBON1Y7BI_sMBb1a6iHzlQeib3al2cba3SL9-HRuXcZiiw3Y_NubdlqfsM_8/s640/david+bowie+best+of+fame+and+fashion+LP+1980s.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It all started here, kids</i></td></tr>
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Aaaaand I was hooked. Hooked, hooked, hooked. The heady combination of book smarts, glamour, good looks, boundary pushing, and GREAT. MUSIC. was like nothing I'd ever heard before. I reread <i>Stardust </i>several times, taking copious notes of records to look for and important acquaintances like Lou Reed and Iggy Pop to research. Photocopied the photo inserts at the Madison branch library on an old, finicky xerox to make legal paper size homemade posters of Bowie in various stages of his career, learning to use to zoom and contrast features on the machine like a pro. I had just recently made friends with a girl the year ahead of me in my related arts class, and gave her a mixtape I think in return for her letting me borrow her copy of <i>The Stand</i>. In the way only pre-internet, too-smart pre-teens would have the time and energy for, Kelsey and I both launched headlong into a shared obsession and a friendship that's been going strong for eighteen years. For the all-important next five years, finishing out middle school and continuing on into high school, we lived and breathed David Bowie. There were so many books to read and movies to see and, all importantly, records to fall into. A millennial resurgence in 70s nostalgia served our analog curating tastes well, as there was lots of stuff on VH1 and late night tv to consume and digest. "David Bowie's the musical guest on this late night rerun of Saturday Night Live, I'm gonna set my VCR!" "Someone with the premium cable channels taped a copy of <i>Ziggy Stardust </i>the movie for me, we have to watch it!" I can remember sitting on the carpet in front of the turntable in the upstairs living room of my parents' suburban house, listening to <i>Lodger </i>and trying to figure out what in seven hells was going on. Who sounds like this? WHAT sounds like this? Flat on my stomach with my heels kicked together in the air, a copy of the liner notes spread out in front of me and a spiral notebook. "Brian Eno?" in ballpoint pen next to a few lines from "Fantastic Voyage". He wasn't just something I listened to, he was a huge part of who I was....and to my hopeful teenage heart, what I could be.<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2j0yoq4kx0nfjN9fvN24JkSN9rA2Vg-iLjMSXdqwplI1w84rPY6KViD40RXrx0VuC11EGTRSTZLr9PBAik43LU1LvfBMEZDCQX0c0P9xgo5n3yyhbxDrr6-nzBn3YSpxNwGR_nt5G0Y/s1600/David_Bowie_and_Cher_1975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="486" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2j0yoq4kx0nfjN9fvN24JkSN9rA2Vg-iLjMSXdqwplI1w84rPY6KViD40RXrx0VuC11EGTRSTZLr9PBAik43LU1LvfBMEZDCQX0c0P9xgo5n3yyhbxDrr6-nzBn3YSpxNwGR_nt5G0Y/s640/David_Bowie_and_Cher_1975.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Two idols, one picture</i></td></tr>
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In the midst of mourning last week, I pulled out as many Bowie records as I could from my collection to re-arrange them in chronological order and just flip through them for old time's sake. Look at this body of work just spread out on my living room floor, an embarrassment of riches:<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev5jyq9X8U9F7TD0oZg4IGYSviVaK8nT0KmopRwbGAvrwusrnV4QbH69kjDXH0bmvEohyphenhyphenoXx9kw8E2WqynRZKoNMQJTnGsbs47Q2LzoKwgJL1z9nDKtKvxzjwABbdqbutVibin4Cdp4s/s1600/david+bowie+record+collection+lisa+shewasabird+complete+discography+LPs+33+vinyl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhev5jyq9X8U9F7TD0oZg4IGYSviVaK8nT0KmopRwbGAvrwusrnV4QbH69kjDXH0bmvEohyphenhyphenoXx9kw8E2WqynRZKoNMQJTnGsbs47Q2LzoKwgJL1z9nDKtKvxzjwABbdqbutVibin4Cdp4s/s640/david+bowie+record+collection+lisa+shewasabird+complete+discography+LPs+33+vinyl.jpg" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The only one missing is </i>Never Let Me Down<i>....that is not uninentional...</i></td></tr>
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And that's not even all of them! And doesn't count books/buttons/whatever else I could scrape up Bowie-related. Since 1998, I've been a Bowie <i>devotee</i>. Years of checking the record bins on <i>every</i> trip to Great Escape or Phonoluxe yielded the pile of albums you see above. And EVERY record reminds me of a different time in my life-- I could tell you when I bought most of them or who this or that song reminds me of. While <i>Ziggy Stardust</i> and <i>Aladdin Sane </i>are two of his best albums, it was really <i>Diamond Dogs</i> that first introduced me to my favorite "form" of Bowie, the soul <i>chanteur</i> receiving transmissions from another planet. Dark, dangerous, gorgeous decadence. <i>Diamond Dogs </i>and the Eno trilogy are records I can listen to front to back, on repeat, forever. They're a major part of the fabric of what I would call "my musical taste". And isn't my life richer for that!<br>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhip-_d7AokDvwDDoI3yu6Baf203jYSqwcC7lAtCvJxHrRpK6I7BjBxW1IgE59u2IP0CkgGdB9_5CxOy22QAUvhUdDf-jz4AavBFuVDqtE362bjh5qoMt0Xu9rYS7RiD7Twg7uxTm0JnQY/s1600/david+bowie+man+who+sold+the+world+poster+four+fold+promotional+1972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhip-_d7AokDvwDDoI3yu6Baf203jYSqwcC7lAtCvJxHrRpK6I7BjBxW1IgE59u2IP0CkgGdB9_5CxOy22QAUvhUdDf-jz4AavBFuVDqtE362bjh5qoMt0Xu9rYS7RiD7Twg7uxTm0JnQY/s640/david+bowie+man+who+sold+the+world+poster+four+fold+promotional+1972.jpg" width="480"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This </i>Man Who Sold the World<i> poster and the </i>Space Oddity<i> album cover poster used to hang on my bedroom wall in high school-- both of them came with copies of the album.</i></td></tr>
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My love of David Bowie sustained me through dozens of other musical interests-- he was a gateway drug to the Velvet Underground, Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, Iggy Pop, Television, William S. Burroughs...probably ones I can't even think of off the top of my head. I wouldn't think about him every day anymore, but any time anyone mentioned him, I thought, "There's my guy." When I was feeling bad, it was nice to pop in <i>Low</i> or <i>Stage </i>and just sit down with an old friend.<br>
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What I can't believe with this whole last week is how I'm actually <i>grieving </i>this loss. I never met the man. I don't know if it's being in a kind of adult crossroads here at 30 after the can't-wait-to-grow-up-ness of my teens and the just-spinning-your-wheels-trying-to-keep-moving feeling my 20's that is working as an emotional accelerant, but something is making this break my heart about a hundred times worse than if it was anybody else. It must have been similar for people in our parents' generation to lose Elvis or John Lennon-- not to co-opt those tragedies, each of them died far younger than David Bowie; but in terms of the impact he made in my life, he was, like Lennon and Elvis to that age group, the soundtrack to my life.<br>
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Earlier this week, trying to explain how upset I was to a friend, I legit started crying again realizing he was "there" for me. Growing up with parents that loved me but didn't always much understand me, here was something and someone I could pin all my hopes for a glittering future to. There are people out there who are <i>like this</i>, I told myself. Look at how big and outrageous and gorgeous and dramatic and grand the world can be. A little less so for loss of him, but I can't put into words well enough how much having that to hold on to meant to me then as it does now. Can you even imagine how it must feel to have had that much of an impact on <i>one </i>person, much less the legions of fans who are going through the same deep sorrow to lesser and greater degrees all over the world? I hope he knew how much he meant to everybody, not just as the "style chameleon" interviewers and journalists like to lean on as shorthand for his career and influence, but as a truly original and immensely talented artist.<br>
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So safe travels, Starman. I'm still too sad, I can't lie, but this tweet helps:<br>
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Anyway! I've been angry (Tarantino) and I've been sad (David Bowie) so far this year, hopefully I'll come back with some good news next time I update this spot! :) Lots of light to all of you, 'til next time.<br>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-19952255301225894332016-01-07T12:47:00.001-06:002016-01-07T20:12:02.543-06:00I Hate Hateful 8 (And Here's A Whole Lot of Why)<div style="text-align: justify;">
HAPpy new year, kiddlings!</div>
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How have ya been, what have ya been up to? It has been a busy holiday season-- I feel like I'm still saying "Oh man, what am I going to get so and so for Christmas" to myself in spite of the fact the 25th has come, been, and gone. Ditto New Years, which Matthew and I spent watching <i>AbFab </i>and swilling champ in the shadow of the Playmobil pyramid I received for xmas (it. is. SO. COOL). Both days seem like they half happened for how out-of-it all these at work/not at work starts and stops, I'm telling you! In spite of my dazed condition, I've been moved to pull up a chair at my own corner of the internet to update you on my very learnèd opinion on the new Quentin Tarantino movie. People of my long-term acquaintance know one of my party tricks in college used to be that you quote any line (ANY LINE, not just the memorable quotes) from the whole of <i>Pulp Fiction </i>to me and I could give you the next five, as if I were Richard Burton reciting passages from Shakespeare. That's how crazy I was/am about his first four-ish movies. I'm veering from my usual positive outlook on the world to respond to a number of people who asked me "But what didn't you like about <i>Hateful 8? </i>I thought it was pretty good!"<br />
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What didn't I HATE about <i>Hateful 8</i> would be an easier question to answer succinctly (the costumes). And I'm here to tell you why.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Such promise! Such unfulfilled promise!</i></td></tr>
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Just take a moment to put yourself in my over-sized loafers and think upon the beforehand knowledge I had regarding the former of the Kurt Russell winter double bill. Written and directed by one of my favorite living directors. Showing in a limited number of theaters in 70 mm (!!) and Panovision, reviving a dead film format last used in 1966. A REVENGE WESTERN featuring aforementioned beloved John Carpenter star and Samuel L. Jackson. I would even excuse the casting of Tim Roth (one of my least favorite actors of all time, an opinion I obviously do not share with QT) and Walter Goggins (am ALWAYS leery of actors known for television roles being put in major motion pictures) because look at that setup. I purposefully put aside my extreme disappointment in Tarantino's post-<i>Kill Bill 1</i> output, because self-same movie may be the best new-at-the-time movie I've seen in a theater and consarn it, maybe he's pulled his act together finally in the ten plus years since he'd put out a movie I would watch more than once. All this dragged me out to Franklin on Christmas Day eve to stand in line with a bunch of other like-minded individuals hoping to score good seats to the 7 pm showing of, as a Stagecoach font on the front of the souvenir booklet reminded us was, "the eighth film written and directed by Quentin Tarantino". Here's a shot I took with popcorn bucket in balanced in the crook of my arm, brimming with bright eyed anticipation for the three plus hours to come.</div>
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Talk. About. A LET DOWN.</div>
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Where do I even start? From a purely technical standpoint, the "glorious 70mm once in a lifetime experience" I was promised was undercut by the fact that the theater did not project the film on a large-enough, Panovision sized screen. I know I don't exactly understand how projection works besides light and film and machine, but I am deeply confused as to why people in other cities saw a full 70 mm format screening (see a jubilant in-theater shot of the correct sized screen <a href="http://www.slashfilm.com/hateful-eight-70mm/">here </a>), and I saw a movie projected on a regular size screen with a generous FIFTH OF THE FIELD OF VISION BLACKED OUT TO ACCOMMODATE THE SCREENING RATIO. It felt like the emperor's clothes... was everyone else really <i>impressed </i>by this mindbogglingly poor decision on behalf of the exhibitors? I was honestly sitting in the theater up until the film actually started going..."So they're going to expand the screen, right? They're not going to just show this whole time like this, right?"</div>
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It was supposed to look like the top paint graphic....it looked like the bottom at THE ONLY 70 MM SHOWING OF IT IN MIDDLE TENNESSEE.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Yeah, not the same thing.</i></td></tr>
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Glorious my eye. I think I would have done better to just go see the movie in wide release and in a less generous ratio that was at least better-to-look-at. Or even in one of those horrible pan-and-scan 90s full format (words I never thought would escape my mouth). F- for presentation.</div>
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Even with that going on, I think I could have forgiven the horrible viewing experience if there was anything up on the screen to view. Tarantino to self: "How about we set a western, a genre known for showcasing the splendor of God's green earth, shot in wide format, special stock film of which much ballyhoo is made, in A SINGLE ROOM, guys? Indoors! Crazy, right? Whaddya think? NO ONE'S EVER DONE IT BEFORE." For a reason, my friend. Sweeping vistas? John Ford-like dollyshots of horses galloping across the open plain? Maybe a mountain? Not for 90% of the movie, I'm afraid. If you like looking up close at what could essentially be a television or very detailed dinner theater set, well, this is the movie set is for you.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"Wait, so the ENTIRE MOVIE is set in this room?" "Well, yeah, more or less. I'd say like 90%." </i>[considers this]<i>"You're the boss, applesauce."</i></td></tr>
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SPEAKING OF, this is the least well written and acted of ALL...A-L-L...the Quentin Tarantino movies. I don't say that lightly. I say that with a heavy heart and a near tear-inducing level of frustration and disappointment. The whole picture felt like Tarantino wrote a very interesting one page treatment with each of the eight characters outlined in two to three sentences, sold the idea to the Weinsteins, sat back for eight months, and then stayed up all night the night before production began, freshman-year-term-paper-style, stretching forty five minutes of action and dialogue into THREE. FREAKING. HOURS. Three hours for a movie lover is no big deal, if it's done well. I was psyched to see some epic, Sergio Leone style narrative spill across the screen in the grand tradition of spaghetti westerns, a genre in which I know QT has mastery-level understanding. Or hey, maybe he would do some Delmer Daves/Raoul Walsh/John Ford OLD SCHOOL Western. Another style he's referenced with great proficiency in past interviews and work. But oh hell no.<br />
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Problems (warning, spoilers ahead):<br />
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<li><u>Provocativeness for the sake of provocativeness</u>: </li>
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<li>Violence towards women: the FIRST time Kurt Russell hit Jennifer Jason Leigh's character in the mouth as hard as he would a man, even in the year 2015, I was shocked. Very effective, made you think twice about the characters, who was good and who was bad, etc, etc. The subsequent ten or fifteen times, I was also shocked, by how unshocking it was, based on sheer, meaningless repetition. How could the writing be so heavyhanded (no pun intended) as to assume this would continue being a "Oh my gosh!" moment for the ensuing million times it happened? I have questions but no answers, kids. Questions such as:</li>
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<li>If Kurt Russell is "principled" enough to hang criminals for their offences to see justice served, how is he not above just clocking a woman in the face a comical number of times? For crimes (ostensibly committed with her brother's gang) that we are never really even made aware of...I know more about what Bruce Dern's character did to deserve to be killed than what she did to be repeatedly beaten while on her <i>way </i>to be hanged.</li>
<li>When Jennifer Jason Leigh's character was down to like no teeth and bathed in (hers, other people's) blood, there was a momentarily surreal shot of her broken mouth cracked wide in a laugh...but it was a thirty seconds of interesting counterbalanced by HOURS of waiting for something like that to happen. And it turned out to be an isolated incident. What was the point of her entire character other than as an impetus as to why the two factions of characters were all in the same place?</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At least SLJ's costume was on point.</i></td></tr>
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<li>Race: QT ALWAYS gets flack for using racial epithets in his movies. And it's (almost) always undeserved. HOWEVER. Let's talk about:</li>
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<li>Samuel L. Jackson's "big speech" about killing Bruce Dern's son. I think I was supposed to be jawdroppingly surprised by what happened to him....uh, except similar sex-as-an-act-of-degrading-someone was all the frank over <i>A Brief History of Seven Killings </i>or even one story arc of the police drama <i>The Shield</i>. How am I supposed to respect/root for his character after this? Yeah, what Bruce Dern did was some racist, horrible, inexcusable stuff-- but what SLJ did to his son wasn't so much "revenge" as it was just horrible and unfunny when I felt like Tarantino might think the overblown, over-the-top-ness of it would elevate the scene waaaay more than it did. The resonance or dawning horror I think I was supposed to feel as that story unfolded was instead just <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3sWTnsemkIs">"is that all there iiiiiiis...? Is that all there issssss...."</a></li>
<li>Apparently the Lincoln letter <a href="http://screenrant.com/hateful-eight-movie-script-ending-differences/">was a later-draft addition to the screenplay</a>-- the leaked version of the script doesn't include a scene I was trying to find from the final cut, where SLJ says something akin to "it's hard for a black man to be taken seriously in America today". Which is a sentiment I 100% respect and 100% feel is relevant to the year 2015/2016...and which I also feel just got airlifted into the script to be like "TOPICAL...amirite?" Show me, don't tell me-- and instruct me or enlighten me if you're going to try to get into big topics. You don't just get to reference a major issue and get points for having "discussed" it. WHICH BRINGS ME TO:</li>
<li>The use of the n-word over, and over, AND OVER, AND OVER, AND OVER. See also: writing problems.</li>
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Here's <a href="https://indiegroundfilms.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/1390849759320.pdf">one page of the original script</a>, which plays exactly like this in the film:</div>
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You can go, "Well, ANY Quentin Tarantino page of dialogue could have ten instances of the n word in around a minute and a half of screen time, right?" True. However, I've never been so acutely aware of him using it as lazy-shock-value/broadly telegraphing "SEE, THEY'RE RACISTS" instead of actually correct/true-to-the-character writing or nuanced dialogue. I know he wants us to think "Oh look, it's one racist talking to the other!" But let's pretend the offensive word wasn't offensive. Replace the n word in that conversation with "greengrocer" and you end up with something like this:</div>
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1: You know that greengrocer over there?</blockquote>
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2: What greengrocer? You mean that greengrocer? The greengrocer sitting at the bar?</blockquote>
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1: Yeah, that greengrocer. The greengrocer sitting at the bar!</blockquote>
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2: I don't associate with greengrocers, even if he IS a greengrocer sitting at the bar.</blockquote>
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1: Well that greengrocer isn't just ANY greengrocer...that greengrocer...that greengrocer OVER THERE....</blockquote>
I know I'm exaggerating, but it was JUST. THAT. RIDICULOUS. Not "excessive" so much as actually foolish-sounding.<br />
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<li><u>Showing and telling and showing and then telling again:</u> Did we need to hear/see/see/hear/hear every FREAKING PLOT POINT ALREADY MADE FOUR TIMES in the movie FOUR ADDITIONAL TIMES. Examples:</li>
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<li>SLJ essentially explains what must have happened to Minnie who runs the place and debunks the Mexican character's story that "they've gone visiting over the mountain" point....by point. I mean, it was like a Sherlock Holmes/ murder mystery deconstruction of all the reasons this probably happened rather than that. "And so, it would follow that if x is true, and x is this, then it's not possible for y to be true. What I think probably occurred is....". Ok. Great. A little annoying, but ok. THEN THEY SPENT 10 MINUTES SHOWING US CHANNING TATUM AND FRIENDS DOING WHAT SLJ SAID THEY DID. [internal screaming] Should I have gone to get more popcorn during one of those parts? Because having both of them in the movie makes no sense.</li>
<li>Flashback with voiceover for the part where SLJ kills Bruce Dern's son as QT never misses an opportunity in this movie to treat the audience as if their substandard intelligence wouldn't pick up on the events unless it was both telegraphed AND shown. "See? It's cinema! You're <i>hearing </i>what happened but then you're also <i>seeing it</i> but then we're also <i>telling you again for emphasis</i> what happened."</li>
<li>Last scene where the "true identities" of each of the gang members are revealed....to what end? For what purpose? Who cares? "I'm Sharky Sharkerson." "WELL! SHARKY SHARKESON! Did you know SHARKY SHARKESON killed eight men in a hold up? Sharky Sharkeson has a $10,000 bounty on his head. And you're him! The old Shark himself!" It was a lobotomy-patient-approach-to-dialogue call back to the n word situation I mentioned above</li>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Just....no. </i></td></tr>
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<li><u>Bad Directing Leading to Bad Acting</u></li>
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<li>Why was Kurt Russell, a very strong, very experienced actor, doing THE BROADEST JOHN WAYNE IMPERSONATION known to man on every single line of his dialogue? I mean, a man who lived through ten plus Disney movies and a slew of mid sixties' and seventies' child actor tv appearances in his adolescence should pretty much be immune to being embarrassed for his onscreen work, but I was embarrassed FOR him. I think Tarantino is to blame, because I'm 98% this was HIS choice for the character rather than Kurt Russell's. So I am also mad at Tarantino for doing this to one of my favorite actors.</li>
<li>Why was Michael Madsen even in the movie? He had like six lines of dialogue-- all very well acted, but was QT just throwing his old friend some "exposure"? Did "The Hateful 7" as a title rankle with him to the point that he needed an additional character with almost no effect on the storyline? Ditto Jennifer Jason Leigh, a FINE dramatic actress, who was mostly just shrieking or cussing or singing that one ballad in the middle (which was actually pretty decent).</li>
<li>Why was Tim Roth pretending to be Christoph Waltz pretending to be whatever was supposed to be going on with his character? Waltz being one the few bright spots of the last two Tarantino pictures, I figured he must have had a scheduling conflict which the filmmaker solved by saying "Hey, Tim Roth, can you come and do two days of work on this new movie of mine? No, I'm excited to have you be here, too. Can you watch these two audition reels of Waltz from my last two movies and just do 'him'? Yeah, no, just however you think he would say it, you say it that way. FANTASTIC." Uhhhh, not so much.</li>
<li>Why was Samuel L Jackson, another great screen presence, given nothing to work with and yet expected to work in pretty much every scene for the whole movie. I can see Tarantino in his Kangol hat behind the camera calling out, "JUST YELL, SAM! Yeah! Just KEEP YELLING!"</li>
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There's so much more. Why was the much-hyped Ennio Morricone original score used to the least effectiveness at every opportunity? I actually wrote out a page long list of other things I hated, but you can call me on my cell phone and ask me about it sometime if you have another hour to kill hearing me weeping bitter tears over what could have been.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF02NCQIax_1JJSf-PvWhnzWRzH5AQqnx9mYaC3GqPyrSn6zOztMaQlP9VKtX-xFO-SgRIfS3smSgfZJltlh_fW2N9BEhyphenhyphen5SHrkv79PCZ94iWaI-Mk6fVzLuqDDaYUniJpZiiC2NQn7c/s1600/hateful-8-piracy-leaked-online-revenant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixF02NCQIax_1JJSf-PvWhnzWRzH5AQqnx9mYaC3GqPyrSn6zOztMaQlP9VKtX-xFO-SgRIfS3smSgfZJltlh_fW2N9BEhyphenhyphen5SHrkv79PCZ94iWaI-Mk6fVzLuqDDaYUniJpZiiC2NQn7c/s640/hateful-8-piracy-leaked-online-revenant.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hateful 8: More like the Unenjoyable One Hundred and Eighty Seven (minutes of my life I won't get back)</i></td></tr>
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Last point I'll make: how you REALLY KNOW this is a bad movie? I'm sitting there trying to make sense of nonsense character motivations/plot points just to give Tarantino the benefit of the doubt. I can't think of another movie where I've been mentally racing through a list of possibilities that never come to anything because it's <i>not</i> a brilliant written movie that I'll eventually discover has been fooling me the whole time (à la the ultimately ineffectual but at least imaginative <i>Shutter Island</i>) but instead, as said, a sham of a screenplay. At various times, I thought:<br />
<ul>
<li>The character who shot SLJ was actually Bruce Dern's son-- the whole forced fellatio monologue was a ruse cooked up by SLJ to force Bruce Dern into drawing his gun so SLJ would be justified in killing him after he's put him through some heavy psychological trauma related to the (spurious) account of his child's death. Bruce Dern is related to both Channing Tatum and JJL, which is why he was there in the first place in cahoots with the gang.</li>
<ul>
<li>Nope, sorry, didn't happen. Just two unrelated, stupid plot lines floating around in this janitor's mop bucket we're calling a narrative.</li>
</ul>
<li>The Mexican character who talks like one of the banditos from <i>Treasure of the Sierra Madre</i> is actually perfectly fluent in English and using this "Oy, gringo" facade as a strategy against the others. At some point, we'll hear him drop character and really mess these guys up in the Queen's own English.</li>
<ul>
<li>Nope, just a Mexican stereotype from the 1940s. Sorry.</li>
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<li>Walt Goggin's character's BROOOOOAD, horrible performance in the whole of the movie has something to do with something HE'S hiding. Maybe he's been in cahoots with the others this whole time and is playing some kind of long con on Samuel L Jackson?</li>
<ul>
<li>Uh, no, he's just not a good movie actor and being egged on by a director I'm beginning to believe is not-a-good-movie-drector.</li>
</ul>
<li>All of this will make sense in the final 15 minutes of this torturously boring three hour experience.</li>
<ul>
<li>Sorry, Charlie. At least that one scene with the under-the-floorboards shoot out was kind of cool....? #notnearlycoolenough</li>
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Well, I have let vent my spleen, people. I really can't tell you how almost on-edge I was part way through the movie knowing it would be another few years before I'll get maybe an even less impressive movie out of what was once one of the most promising working directors in Hollywood.<br />
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The Roy Orbison song that would have better fit my mood over the closing credits, btw:<br />
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How about you? Did you see the movie? Where do you stand in terms of Tarantino fandom? Have you seen any movies that did or didn't live up to your expectations this holiday season? Let's talk!<br />
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I have to get back to the grind, but I will talk to you again about something I am less mad about very soon, haha! Til then.<br />
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-82646428890299444982015-12-08T10:19:00.002-06:002015-12-08T13:40:43.472-06:00Grey Gardens Costumed Viewing Party (Blogger Meetup Success!)<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Whew, what a weekend it was, this weekend past! What did you get into? I spent mine in a flurry of activity as I hosted my second blogger meetup on Saturday night. Watch out, Elsa Maxwell, I'm still vying for the title "hostess with the mostess." Themed parties are even more fun than regular wingdings, so I made good on a promise elicited several months ago between Kimmie, Rae, Eartha and myself to have everyone over for a showing of <i>Grey Gardens</i>. I am always down to watch this movie for the 1,000,001 time, and wouldn't it be fun to see all the girls for a good reason?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3kUFJB9M59B-TmcyG2r8fKZPdPN5mywWHf9mDC2lPnF5U_NyNgi4Do8mMsV3v-PQz77FeGmg5xJH17SQ0-b5-RGpVs1wUtSGVIF9PFQPuibesBDdbtwvlz9AZRQVt0mrDpD6Rqfetew/s1600/grey+gardens+costume+inspiration+little+edie+bouvier+beale+vintage+swimsuit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB3kUFJB9M59B-TmcyG2r8fKZPdPN5mywWHf9mDC2lPnF5U_NyNgi4Do8mMsV3v-PQz77FeGmg5xJH17SQ0-b5-RGpVs1wUtSGVIF9PFQPuibesBDdbtwvlz9AZRQVt0mrDpD6Rqfetew/s640/grey+gardens+costume+inspiration+little+edie+bouvier+beale+vintage+swimsuit.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you haven't seen the Maysles's seminal documentary of East Hampton eccentricity (or the HBO tv movie based on the real life characters, which is ok/not too bad), I strongly urge you to get to the library and grab a copy. Or if you have Hulu, both the original Grey Gardens and its semi-sequel The Beales of Grey Gardens are available through their Criterion collection. The movie is a must-see! It presents an indelible portrait of Big Edie and Little Edie Bouvier Beale, Jackie Kennedy's aunt and first cousin, respectively, who live in relative isolation in a falling-down New England mansion filled with cats, raccoons, and memorabilia from their halcyon days as members of high society. The real star of the show is Little Edie, whose eye-grabbing improvised wardrobe choices are truly some of the strangest/most inspired things you'll see this side of a fashion runway or mental hospital. Edie wears a series of scarves/bathtowels as headwraps and combines swimsuits, upside-down-pinned-together-skirts, turtlenecks, and an iconic brooch into what she deems "the best costume for the day". </div>
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I knew if I was going to do a viewing party, a big part of the hype should be the "come in costume" portion of the invitation. And yours truly did spend the better part of a whole evening a week or two ago throwing together tights with headwraps in an attempt to get as close to Edie as I could. Was my room ever a mess! My first attempt, which involved an actual-sweater-as-headgear in a gesture of true fidelity to the original, ended with me looking like some kind of hijab-wearing chorus girl. Fail. I eventually settled on this much less severe, hugely oversized kerchief, and finally figured out how 1970s girls tie those dadblasted things to look like Rhoda (tie two ends tightly at the back, shift gently to side, keep in place with a bobby pin or two). See below: muuuuch better on the second try.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6_Ac-Z6m8dX5QcUJCSzZBWcRrbCr_oqT6_Cy3a-bHZtfb3NlPGH5k5XX3GsYxg-tkHy_qNTHtyXe5o8jmZ-R1KTz2wGaBG3nttc2ExYBUwlKmNTyipQSDKjcTSGh-3qEH5c_vppd6lg/s1600/Grey+Gardens+costume+Little+Edie+Attempt+one+unsuccessful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6_Ac-Z6m8dX5QcUJCSzZBWcRrbCr_oqT6_Cy3a-bHZtfb3NlPGH5k5XX3GsYxg-tkHy_qNTHtyXe5o8jmZ-R1KTz2wGaBG3nttc2ExYBUwlKmNTyipQSDKjcTSGh-3qEH5c_vppd6lg/s400/Grey+Gardens+costume+Little+Edie+Attempt+one+unsuccessful.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From <i>Sharif he don't like it </i> to a <i>staunch character S-T-A-U-N-C-H</i></td></tr>
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With the headwrap locked down, I added my Esther-Williams style actual main bathing suit, a wrap around skirt I purposefully gathered the bottom of and tied at the hip, a black turtleneck, black tights, and, for the kicker, white sandals for about as-close a <i>Grey Gardens </i>look as I could pull together from my own closet:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6GJ3hV1hcWfLZMSSvRnKRoUE84zBkv0MhHsO_kNv6z6utsTZkYaHThjA_zEa3reaBQn_pDf3FCf6VQj8Ss8zo0vh-ilIGVnJOJQl-N4JUovxCvC-GGQmryI0DZdx84_Sr4YSMglrJyk/s1600/Lisa+Grey+Gardens+costume+little+edie+swimsuit+white+pumps+headwrap+scarf+halloween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6GJ3hV1hcWfLZMSSvRnKRoUE84zBkv0MhHsO_kNv6z6utsTZkYaHThjA_zEa3reaBQn_pDf3FCf6VQj8Ss8zo0vh-ilIGVnJOJQl-N4JUovxCvC-GGQmryI0DZdx84_Sr4YSMglrJyk/s400/Lisa+Grey+Gardens+costume+little+edie+swimsuit+white+pumps+headwrap+scarf+halloween.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cheesecake shot of me which only serves to remind me to eat less cheesecake :p</i></td></tr>
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Next, I sent out invitations via email with this image:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCRdwGhJ7wu01paWJMFWPVux-W3GHtkD81PJ3VOKtiZ8cXQx5CZUVNt1-zV1U76pH2C1cFNIxj21XbGAi268iV_XxC0wEdf7f9cc-kw9YzazH86p4Wbs6-MS0yOBjUC1wCoPk8hISwfI/s1600/grey+gardens+party+invitation+redacted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioCRdwGhJ7wu01paWJMFWPVux-W3GHtkD81PJ3VOKtiZ8cXQx5CZUVNt1-zV1U76pH2C1cFNIxj21XbGAi268iV_XxC0wEdf7f9cc-kw9YzazH86p4Wbs6-MS0yOBjUC1wCoPk8hISwfI/s640/grey+gardens+party+invitation+redacted.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>My favorite Windows-paint created format: ransom note chic.</i></td></tr>
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And started thinking of how I wanted to do the table. The most important party planning to me involves what the table will look like and what we'll actually do at the party. I get excited to try and pull in creative ideas that will make it memorable (and give me a challenge in the meantime of how to pull it off). In this case, I knew I wanted stacks of newspaper, empty cat food cans, and a raccoon of some kind, along with a portrait of Edie and maybe some tiny American flags in homage to her third-act Fourth of July dance. I put in a call to my cat-owner friend Kelsey to save clean cat food cans she would otherwise recycle and put on my thinking cap for what else I could do.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFVvtW0M4abJMRd5ciM16c3AnlNoCFmXJk1vBc4Hluf9JdDLXHXCElJmQuY_EDOW7UFLJvh7SYdc_8FqxDm6r8_1tS8WCY26j4751FuzhtyjQi78C21iA4gBW8VjIAk3E4VN45wUI7L4/s1600/grey+gardens+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqFVvtW0M4abJMRd5ciM16c3AnlNoCFmXJk1vBc4Hluf9JdDLXHXCElJmQuY_EDOW7UFLJvh7SYdc_8FqxDm6r8_1tS8WCY26j4751FuzhtyjQi78C21iA4gBW8VjIAk3E4VN45wUI7L4/s400/grey+gardens+party.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Voilà the finished product! I made a sign like the one of the two Edie had made for herself and her mother (her mom's says "The Great Singer Big Edie Bouvier Beale" and hers, as you see below, omits the "r" on "dancer" but touts her prowess at an old soft shoe or waltz), spread a parcel of ads I got in the mail earlier that week all across the table, printed off a life size raccoon on cardstock at Office Depot, and arranged the cans into a little pyramid about the faux critter's feet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJrL3VCfemOywGt0G13DjhSb3TMZ25hn9F_6DYukYJYddDgnIZyKvK0qQ38zD1QcVEe_UeNR4w5SUeXHYz2GIpZyAsK-UY-ikz1RnQ4ItKXN58jV8V-oDs217ZQYwbGA_JGUi4QXdyBM/s1600/Grey+Gardens+party+table+spread+Little+Edie+raccoons+food+hoarders+inspo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJrL3VCfemOywGt0G13DjhSb3TMZ25hn9F_6DYukYJYddDgnIZyKvK0qQ38zD1QcVEe_UeNR4w5SUeXHYz2GIpZyAsK-UY-ikz1RnQ4ItKXN58jV8V-oDs217ZQYwbGA_JGUi4QXdyBM/s640/Grey+Gardens+party+table+spread+Little+Edie+raccoons+food+hoarders+inspo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As for activities, I was stumped. I knew we were going to watch the movie, but in googling "Grey Gardens party", I couldn't find any suggested activities other than dressing up and watching the movie (both of which I had covered). So I went back to my teaching resource days and found a Bingo generator. The OTHER best part of the movie, besides Edie's clothes, is definitely how memorable a lot of the dialogue is. So I went through and copied down some of my favorite lines in the movie and made them into a series of unique bingo cards-- i<a href="http://www.teach-nology.com/web_tools/materials/bingo/5/">f you use a site like this</a>, you can scramble the order of the spaces so each card is individual. Also, imagine if you haven't seen the movie before and you're reading through this card like, "Uh...is this what I'm in for?" I was really happy with the finished result!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZv5VmNZcpYNkIbl0VL8kLF5vqcdUHriZthsyWwj3ZatRajh5PT1wXpIovFm0jGBfllpJULKefxXlwyoXmhWq-Zvma50zwxRmdnFsBqrdY_J0kkpTJPVhULPO4g3bMbDQIEMw1376rHk/s1600/grey+gardens+party+game+little+edie+quotes+bingo.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRZv5VmNZcpYNkIbl0VL8kLF5vqcdUHriZthsyWwj3ZatRajh5PT1wXpIovFm0jGBfllpJULKefxXlwyoXmhWq-Zvma50zwxRmdnFsBqrdY_J0kkpTJPVhULPO4g3bMbDQIEMw1376rHk/s640/grey+gardens+party+game+little+edie+quotes+bingo.jpg" width="560" /></a></div>
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As before any social event held at my house, the biggest nail-biting part of the party-throwing is not making the devilled eggs and the cake and cleaning the house (which are practically rote at this point for me), but worrying about whether or not anyone will show up! Real talk: about an hour before any party, I'm always stricken with a pang of self-doubt and an internal monologue of "Oh, God, why did I plan a party, what if like two people show up, I should never do anything" before Matthew eventually talks me down from the ledge (or I get cheered up by my outfit, lol). A few people sent their regrets, and 14 people RSVP'd over the mass email chain I'd sent out to lady bloggers of Nashville. "Hm," says I, "I figure that means I should plan for 10 and actually expect about 8." Well, color me surprised/shame on me for being pessimistic, but each and every of those fourteen people showed up! I should have known with the caliber of kiddies I was talking about that they would come out in force!</div>
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I stole an idea from a friend of mine's Halloween party (shout-out, Kate McC!) and passed around a selfie-stick with Matthew's phone on it to ensure lots of (albeit blurry) photos! Cast of characters included:</div>
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Eartha from <a href="http://ranchdressingwithearthakitsch.blogspot.com/">Ranch Dressing With Eartha Kitsch</a> and Rae from <a href="http://raesock.blogspot.com/">Say It Ain't So</a>... Eartha knocked it out of the park in her movie-quality Big Edie costume and Rae was part of the pantsless swimsuit and tights club with yours truly:</div>
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Jamie and Kimmie from <a href="http://www.thatgirlinthewheelchair.com/">That Girl in the Wheelchair</a>, showing off some patriotic pride with a tiny flag-- Kimmie also wins the prize for "most brooches":</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhs0V-YfKpBmKmlkAfKEGsoLQ3q2TayO6TWQ07PdJ85KtxTDKrsq1nxm299TSgI4uhyphenhyphenoZTHK5_FOm3Ab_Krhx8IFP9JD3I8z2cKVWoCo_x57uZRPshUFfSsuZDoajOTfbnKedyZZZVvM/s1600/Jamie+and+Kimmie+Grey+Gardens+Party+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWhs0V-YfKpBmKmlkAfKEGsoLQ3q2TayO6TWQ07PdJ85KtxTDKrsq1nxm299TSgI4uhyphenhyphenoZTHK5_FOm3Ab_Krhx8IFP9JD3I8z2cKVWoCo_x57uZRPshUFfSsuZDoajOTfbnKedyZZZVvM/s400/Jamie+and+Kimmie+Grey+Gardens+Party+2015.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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1) Aubrey from <a href="http://www.adventuresinaubreyland.com/">Adventures in Aubreyland</a>, Amanda from <a href="http://junebugsandgeorgiapeaches.blogspot.com/">Junebugs and Georgia Peaches,</a> Jenna from <a href="http://www.kittycatstevens.com/">Kitty Cat Stevens</a>, and another appearance from Jamie and Kimmie; 2) the aforementioned minus Jenna, Jamie, and Kimmie but PLUS Quincy from <a href="http://qsdaydream.blogspot.com/">Qsdayream</a> (you can't see her polkadot skirt but it was super cute). Check out Aubrey's spot on headwrap and Amanda's magnifying glass (nice touch!). Jenna came from another event, so we can't hold it against her she didn't want to show up to a non-Edie-Beale-themed-party in Edie Beale attire, lol.</div>
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Lauren from <a href="http://lladybird.com/">Lladybird.com</a> and Devon from <a href="http://www.missmake.com/">Miss Make</a>, lookin' fabulous:<br />
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Rory and Sarah from <a href="http://sarahcomo.com/">sarahcomo.com</a> (they should get a shout out for being so color coordinated/ adroit at taking selfie stick selfies):</div>
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And last but not least, Quincy gave Matthew her phone to take a few group shots, and ended up with Bub taking like 10 selfies after he took the desired group photo. He cracks me up.</div>
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Most everyone brought something to eat or drink, but a special shout out to Eartha, who brought this cake with a message. I about died. The quote is (duh) from the movie and perfect:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zwl1k6Qoz3duFct7p2f9eGTms1NHBgz2OjpWVNFXrVo4C0QFnaMa_G5cvFewZqrr6UmWwbDj9mWCzaCLjQiVXsFOBg1RwLXVtgcGPrg0uujuo54q3RgiiollHcdrbIqdoSGkYh3PxO0/s1600/shes+a+lot+of+fun+i+hope+she+doesnt+die+eartha+kitsch+big+edie+grey+gardens+cake+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5zwl1k6Qoz3duFct7p2f9eGTms1NHBgz2OjpWVNFXrVo4C0QFnaMa_G5cvFewZqrr6UmWwbDj9mWCzaCLjQiVXsFOBg1RwLXVtgcGPrg0uujuo54q3RgiiollHcdrbIqdoSGkYh3PxO0/s640/shes+a+lot+of+fun+i+hope+she+doesnt+die+eartha+kitsch+big+edie+grey+gardens+cake+party.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Verdict? We had a ball! At one point, I think every chair in the house was in the living room for the actual screening, but every one of the guests were real troupers and put up with the sea-of-people squeezed into my front room! The first three winners of Grey Gardens Bingo were Kimmie, Sarah, and Amanda, respectively, and there were some honorable mentions passed around along with certificates of achievement (who doesn't like to win?). We finished the movie and watched clips from Documentary Now!, where <a href="http://www.ifc.com/shows/documentary-now/blog/2015/08/fred-armisen-and-bill-hader-revisit-grey-gardens-for-documentary-now">Fred Armisen and Bill Heder do a pretty accurate spoof of the Beale ladies</a> (minus the New England accents! I don't know why they decided not to do them when they're such a big part of the movie!), and then just sat around and caught up. The cheerful, high decibel din of people having a good time is about the best you can ask for from a party, and overall, I thought it was a success! I'm so glad to know so many fun and interesting gals in the Nashville area and happy we could all get together even during this busy holiday season!<br />
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I bid my last guests good night around 11:30 and promptly went to bed, lol. But I still had cake and hummus to eat Sunday, and a clean house to enjoy, which is the SECOND best part about throwing a party. :)<br />
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Thanks to everyone who came out to celebrate! And we need to do it again soon! (hint hint, nudge, cough, *karaoke party Rae* cough).<br />
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How about you? Are you a <i>Grey Gardens </i>fan? What would you wear for an Edie inspired costume? Had any great themed parties to attend lately? Let's talk!<br />
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That's all for today... but shame on me, I'm going to try to be better about updating this space! Have a fantastic week and I'll talk to you soon. Til then!</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-64044101285784051852015-10-28T10:23:00.000-05:002015-10-28T10:23:33.684-05:00Weekend Finds: 1950's Australian Aborigine Tea Towel by John Rodriquez (Say THAT Five Times Fast)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
Good morning!</div>
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Whew, boy, hasn't it been a rainy but productive week over here. I went to the flea market last weekend and while it threatened rain a good part of the time I was there, I did manage to make out like a bandit. My loot? Full length raccoon fur coat , a tv lamp shaped suspiciously like a Billy Haines design from the forties' (<a href="http://www.ebay.com/itm/Yellow-Ceramic-Horse-Head-TV-Lamp-Vintage-Lighting-Animal-Mid-Century-/221827011284?hash=item33a5eb92d4:g:2CoAAOSwDNdVpbj3">this one is its twin</a>, except mine is a pale grey blue instead of yellow), a ceramic desk clock shaped like a rotary phone (!!), and this, my favorite of all of them, a framed tea towel featuring Australian aborigines in full, abstract attire. If you follow me on Instagram, you saw this same-day, but I've been too lazy to take more pictures, so here it is again in its full, slightly blurry glory:</div>
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I had spent a perfectly uneventful hour walking the fairgrounds being disappointed by either the dearth of things I wanted to buy or the prohibitively expensive cost of things I DID want to buy. See: a Victorian mourning/memento mori hair wreath [similar to <a href="http://www.rapunzelsdelight.com/hair_art/images/img3.jpg">this one</a>] that was in a reasonable $10-$50 price range type booth under one of the sheds...when I asked the price, the guy quoted me $350 without batting an eye...which...it is definitely worth in a retail setting...but everything else in his booth COMBINED wasn't $350, probably (I walked off carrying my crushed hopes alond with me). In a Charlie Brown kicking-the-dirt type mood, I was passing by a large spread near one of the building that every month features a boatload of bargain-basement-priced vintage and antique furniture, when I saw this leaning up against the trailer. I stopped talking to my mom midsentence ("Hang on a second...") and wandered over to hover behind a couple that was trying to decide whether or not a large antique window was suitable for converting into a picture frame (I guess it wasn't, Pinterest be damned, as they walked off without it). The colors, patterns, and weird subject matter pulled me inexorably toward my inevitable purchase-- I just had to hope it was somewhere vaguely in my price range.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I mean...seriously....the one second from the right is my favorite.</i></td></tr>
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When I walked up to a lady in a folding chair asking about the price, she just pointed mutely behind me. There was a gaggle of people standing near the concrete retaining wall and I looked back like, "Which one of these people are affiliated with you, please?" She pointed again, I looked again, and looked back again. Finally, she called out the guy's name and a single figure in a white t shirt and ball cap walked towards me, holding the picture against my chest like a sandwich board. </div>
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"How much are you asking on this one?"</div>
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"Gotta have $15 on that."</div>
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YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.</div>
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While this even-less-than-the-$20-I-wanted-to-spend-on-it price should have been good enough, I couldn't resist trying to bargain down to $10...you never know when someone will knock another dollar or two off to meet you in the middle! He demurred, and after a proper period of hem and hawwing to intimate that I wasn't completely willing to pay the $15 out of the gate and am just a cheapskate (which was true, but you have to keep your pride intact), I set the picture against my knees to fish three fives out of my satchel. Success!! The man said as I was handing him his money that the picture had come out of a career Navy officer's estate and that there were more Asian drawings in a pile on one of the tables, but as the plywood-and-glass frame was a little ungainly to carry around the narrow rows, I threw a cursory glance over the table and rejoined my parents.</div>
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<b>Dad</b>: What is it? [<i>looking picture over doubtfully</i>]<br />
<b>Me </b>: [<i>cheerfully</i>] I don't know, but I hope it's haunted!<br />
<b>Dad</b>: Nice frame....<br />
<b>Me</b>: I know I need another picture like I need an actual hole in my head, but look at it! [<i>shrugging</i>] I don't care, I wanted it.<br />
<b>Mom</b>: Knowing you, you'll find the perfect place to put it and it'll look fabulous. Or you'll sell it on Craigslist and make some money. So don't worry about it! [<i>possibly the nicest thing my mom has ever said to me, so I had to memorialize this conversation in blog form</i>]</blockquote>
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When I got home, I (naturally) googled my find in a fit of curiosity as to what exactly I had on my hands (and, obvs, to make sure I hadn't paid too much at $15). The cursive script at the bottom of the textile reads "Australian Aboriginal Boomerang Corraborra" and what I thought was the surname "Rodriguez". Turns out, it's Rodri<b>Q</b>uez, as in John Rodriquez, who ran an eponymous business down under, specializing in abstract, Australian-themed designs. I was able to find <a href="http://collections.museumvictoria.com.au/articles/1707">a number of examples of his work on the Museum Victoria website</a>. The MV owns a large collection of locally produced historic textiles among its holdings, and maybe a hundred digital images there are of items by Rodriquez. </div>
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Like this one!</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzTNcMpz7dXEXMkN6iDod7dnOIIcWOM79wRMZnjwf0GoxOf0Q66loMik6djgtNBtkAyArEO4wWb4__Elm1r9WdeB7TFA55Rk7JTb0guQmzNVkjH2gIBzGbAB7n_ryXVwCY6xulcz6S_U/s1600/Human+Figures+with+Headdresses++Shield+Brown++Grey++No+A0068+circa+1949+1955+Rodriquez+Tea+Towel+vintage+midcentury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPzTNcMpz7dXEXMkN6iDod7dnOIIcWOM79wRMZnjwf0GoxOf0Q66loMik6djgtNBtkAyArEO4wWb4__Elm1r9WdeB7TFA55Rk7JTb0guQmzNVkjH2gIBzGbAB7n_ryXVwCY6xulcz6S_U/s640/Human+Figures+with+Headdresses++Shield+Brown++Grey++No+A0068+circa+1949+1955+Rodriquez+Tea+Towel+vintage+midcentury.jpg" width="542" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Brothers to my group above...a little more subtle, but still great.</i></td></tr>
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From the website's catalog entries:</div>
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<i>John Rodriquez studied art and design at RMIT in the late 1940s and became well known for his screen-printed textile designs in the early 1950s. From 1950 to 1980 he was one of a handful of Australian textile designers who developed a new contemporary style with innovative use of colour. His designs in the early 1950s were mostly of Aboriginal or geometric style. Later he turned to more abstract designs in the Scandinavian style. Later still he made bold use of colour. Rodriquez introduced unique Australian styles which have been imitated often since. He always stressed the importance of innovation. Many homes in Australia and overseas still have his art works in the linen cupboard. </i></blockquote>
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<i>John Rodriquez retired in 1988, handing the Rodriquez company to his son Rimian, who has computerised the screen printing and mostly employs other designers for the products, but still uses a few of his father's most popular designs. Rodriquez passed away in 2000.</i></blockquote>
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And from tea towels to fabric calendars to upholstery fabric to greeting cards, the collection really runs the gamut of items you could buy from the textile house. I bet the Navy man mentioned by the flea market dealer bought this as a souvenir of his travels in Australia and brought it home framed to commemorate his trip. I LOVE. ALL THE WEIRD THINGS. YOU WILL FIND. WHILE ESTATE SALE/THRIFT STORE/ FLEA MARKETING. Sometimes I wonder how people shop for non-essentials at retail department stores when there are all these weird and wacky second hand goods to be had (and usually for a pittance). But, as you can imagine, I'm biased.</div>
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More designs from Rodriquez, including some fashion sketches for a triad of mid century marvelous circle skirts (I'll take one of each, please):</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1897lMUz2QPowySMCja69NKqlx_ThdBhpqJaJ5LnaQbn6Zq0zbvXrYOvOKoTFF6cPE8_Pye09Vsdazv-bYBkuVoHrlGh1FgD5Jq2CPW-HA5oPU3hNytoh2GXNOSQXUzzbuQRjFEKF-gA/s1600/Human+Figures+With+Headdresses++Spears+Blue+on+Cream+circa+1950s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1897lMUz2QPowySMCja69NKqlx_ThdBhpqJaJ5LnaQbn6Zq0zbvXrYOvOKoTFF6cPE8_Pye09Vsdazv-bYBkuVoHrlGh1FgD5Jq2CPW-HA5oPU3hNytoh2GXNOSQXUzzbuQRjFEKF-gA/s640/Human+Figures+With+Headdresses++Spears+Blue+on+Cream+circa+1950s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Place Mat - Human Figures With Headdresses & Spears, Blue on Cream, 1960</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXu9vGEkw3YwwJKyvhMN0X7FTSP6_Gh1TOxMzCe7NYnDT3zhNCXpnWLAvlO3GgPU3ihHbY9L7VWZuwSLcN4uN1Xb19wrv1ZIvf59lFBW5HVtAgVxwEDRpkHP4I1SwOG7zvXQA6A1SR1o/s1600/Man+With+Tools+Blue++Red+No++A0076+circa+1954+John+Rodriquez+Australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLXu9vGEkw3YwwJKyvhMN0X7FTSP6_Gh1TOxMzCe7NYnDT3zhNCXpnWLAvlO3GgPU3ihHbY9L7VWZuwSLcN4uN1Xb19wrv1ZIvf59lFBW5HVtAgVxwEDRpkHP4I1SwOG7zvXQA6A1SR1o/s640/Man+With+Tools+Blue++Red+No++A0076+circa+1954+John+Rodriquez+Australia.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Greeting Card - Man With Tools, Blue & Red, No. A0076, circa 1954</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWhKasMMXXFUqf7gChH337REjLLDKnil8gaH7PkcViEpC3zmvHVgSF_YWLE6bva6YSo2ZMhYX2wxMHguBJeFRqUeUI0YZzmHavn0xpwr3YQqCSaG7hydno8VrP3IcLHb6vAOrtB64xNHY/s1600/Place+Mat++Human+Figures+With+Headdresses+Spears+Maroon++Red+circa+1950s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWhKasMMXXFUqf7gChH337REjLLDKnil8gaH7PkcViEpC3zmvHVgSF_YWLE6bva6YSo2ZMhYX2wxMHguBJeFRqUeUI0YZzmHavn0xpwr3YQqCSaG7hydno8VrP3IcLHb6vAOrtB64xNHY/s640/Place+Mat++Human+Figures+With+Headdresses+Spears+Maroon++Red+circa+1950s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Place Mat - Human Figures With Headdresses & Spears, Maroon & Red, circa 1950s</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2HvVlNwXTOjZi2b9uNMlp1L3_TDQtnM_g_o2Dq5WuUnSFH-6sshzs24A8yv2V2byUr8hZ4_gdxEyfJDzyWpuyXVtTVG11XwFlTKKZkT9aPAsFF6Nf-O9FDxb5rDqV2di87mGmhVUvcs/s1600/Shields+Bark+Painting++Men+Dancing+Blue++Red+circa+1949+1955.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2HvVlNwXTOjZi2b9uNMlp1L3_TDQtnM_g_o2Dq5WuUnSFH-6sshzs24A8yv2V2byUr8hZ4_gdxEyfJDzyWpuyXVtTVG11XwFlTKKZkT9aPAsFF6Nf-O9FDxb5rDqV2di87mGmhVUvcs/s640/Shields+Bark+Painting++Men+Dancing+Blue++Red+circa+1949+1955.jpg" width="534" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Greeting Card - Shields, Bark Painting & Men Dancing, Blue & Red, circa 1949-1955</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHVFXrHdlamYk63kiMOirjDrntOEZGUdUuxyzI0CAQ-B76p8BGYQboOaZl9T_X_ec-R1cpFwmnSWct3aLPLrss2xYo75voM_PYMBYGNgNFwW2e8Urk1eBT7z2oKitQplfQ5CqMTXs2BA/s1600/Fabric+Design+John+Rodriquez+1950s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHVFXrHdlamYk63kiMOirjDrntOEZGUdUuxyzI0CAQ-B76p8BGYQboOaZl9T_X_ec-R1cpFwmnSWct3aLPLrss2xYo75voM_PYMBYGNgNFwW2e8Urk1eBT7z2oKitQplfQ5CqMTXs2BA/s640/Fabric+Design+John+Rodriquez+1950s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Artwork - Fabric Design, John Rodriquez, 1950s</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_dlLp1QuPOZ3N8Oaxp731nrPifye-48P-xkhRl3lk_HzL0-wuuLkbwtwZCZQaWDpED7UFq90-ieg59vfzkCX5gePBnibXjf-PQdTVXxvoiTHarnlKDOFhSVkAitp1zeBo6p0QUV3B2qg/s1600/john+rodriquez+vintage+1950s+midcentury+mcm+atomic+australia+australian+circle+skirt+retro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_dlLp1QuPOZ3N8Oaxp731nrPifye-48P-xkhRl3lk_HzL0-wuuLkbwtwZCZQaWDpED7UFq90-ieg59vfzkCX5gePBnibXjf-PQdTVXxvoiTHarnlKDOFhSVkAitp1zeBo6p0QUV3B2qg/s640/john+rodriquez+vintage+1950s+midcentury+mcm+atomic+australia+australian+circle+skirt+retro.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Aforementioned skirts...are they not perfect?</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg18AzmTZW5d0zfRZf8hvNDZ5IA628L2276Y2XQbD9CqHGqQZj_LHDZCilEcKBhKUPZ1YAgT3Za9ouyepwLz_rguF4MC9mlp4qtGb0HtSWarcP89lwO0vHtYnjJBSn-C9YLWL5rnUAfjc/s1600/john+rodriquez+vintage+1950s+midcentury+mcm+atomic+australia+australian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg18AzmTZW5d0zfRZf8hvNDZ5IA628L2276Y2XQbD9CqHGqQZj_LHDZCilEcKBhKUPZ1YAgT3Za9ouyepwLz_rguF4MC9mlp4qtGb0HtSWarcP89lwO0vHtYnjJBSn-C9YLWL5rnUAfjc/s640/john+rodriquez+vintage+1950s+midcentury+mcm+atomic+australia+australian.jpg" width="540" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Greeting card</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9IrEJZ4Tsro_nZIZMnHcLCH_0aMvWnaUD9qvnkFAJikfymonxIL0jbqC9PZZudMmwnwCWc5Rgr9nu_eGUGxTJL5k-yf3vP4zqB2EmB8cGmEaBysv56MpVFlAfJ-DvTzipnWYL4dCx-0/s1600/372051-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG9IrEJZ4Tsro_nZIZMnHcLCH_0aMvWnaUD9qvnkFAJikfymonxIL0jbqC9PZZudMmwnwCWc5Rgr9nu_eGUGxTJL5k-yf3vP4zqB2EmB8cGmEaBysv56MpVFlAfJ-DvTzipnWYL4dCx-0/s640/372051-medium.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A commemorative fabric from the 1956 Summer Olympics, held in </i><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">Melbourne </i></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX82BGg51mwrwdHeGogBepCDqcH_2kUj2s3asVnCwkCClM_R7g2ivYFfT-ZSpUVXbhYLLuHH85ChkUFH-gyt3E9bklcg1ZoAhRhs_4Ir648OaItOQRtc7rtKiriGujXJ1vU5JbR1J6BPA/s1600/372168-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX82BGg51mwrwdHeGogBepCDqcH_2kUj2s3asVnCwkCClM_R7g2ivYFfT-ZSpUVXbhYLLuHH85ChkUFH-gyt3E9bklcg1ZoAhRhs_4Ir648OaItOQRtc7rtKiriGujXJ1vU5JbR1J6BPA/s640/372168-medium.jpg" width="476" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Greeting Card - Human Figures & Shields, Green & Brown, circa 1949-1955</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13EQ_Yy2fCv5ght-q9qsfmrPNdCOZ1pNHiHojMWyHO0tQF3d5zGSKcmVYBo2eXQQzbwSR9Taa7ZTdF347UTINXzZfWUQ5t_GOIUm2EOv0ywfe7ugBfVMZnYwgapD46Bonj4UsTitRWAo/s1600/372178-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg13EQ_Yy2fCv5ght-q9qsfmrPNdCOZ1pNHiHojMWyHO0tQF3d5zGSKcmVYBo2eXQQzbwSR9Taa7ZTdF347UTINXzZfWUQ5t_GOIUm2EOv0ywfe7ugBfVMZnYwgapD46Bonj4UsTitRWAo/s640/372178-medium.jpg" width="530" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>What I look like in my mind's eye (another greeting card)</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq-Uf86TQfM8IDhWoW0aJJBIQLDa1lSkuqLGCLGq5jfRqjNKmz3c6d_hHs-uwI2n7mkhAecSHsc21eW7O_Z6r5F2gsbR3SOfXmk0zyDOrf8gCgayjNI9oHqEe8Nh3Md9sf_JJR9k0aMQ/s1600/372142-medium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkq-Uf86TQfM8IDhWoW0aJJBIQLDa1lSkuqLGCLGq5jfRqjNKmz3c6d_hHs-uwI2n7mkhAecSHsc21eW7O_Z6r5F2gsbR3SOfXmk0zyDOrf8gCgayjNI9oHqEe8Nh3Md9sf_JJR9k0aMQ/s640/372142-medium.jpg" width="408" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Business card, circa 1970</i></td></tr>
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I pause now to tell you that I've spent the past twenty minutes trying to find more information about Aboriginal dress, hats and ornamentation, as seen in the tea towel's illustration. In spite of my finely honed Googling skills, from years at the library's reference desk, I have not been able to find information on said topic. But I WILL share with your what I have found:<br />
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<ul>
<li>A Youtube video called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9DDHxOqFkAs">"Aborigine hunt huge bats with boomerangs"</a>, which, in spite of my loyalty and love of bats, is possibly one of the most metal/amazingly weird things I have seen on the internet, and that is saying something.</li>
<li>A wikipedia article about <a href="https://www.google.com/url?q=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FKoteka&sa=D&sntz=1&usg=AFQjCNFKri5meypF2xnHgbpYZUursXx6Mg">Kotekas</a>, which I will leave you to discover on your own if you dare click the link (but if you do, please let's discuss).</li>
<li><a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=9EEEAAAAMBAJ&pg=PA45&dq=aboriginal+australia+boomerang+hunt&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CDEQ6AEwAWoVChMIu82pv7blyAIVQxk-Ch36AQBu#v=onepage&q=aboriginal%20australia%20boomerang%20hunt&f=false">This 1939 <i>Life </i>article about Boomerangs </a>becoming a novelty in the US, which contains the following (instructive) statement: "Catching an Australian boomerang is dangerous, may result in a broken head". </li>
</ul>
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Needless to say, I was not a very good factfinder with regards to this particular query, but I thought you might be interested in that information in spite of its lack of relevance to my original research goals. Another job for another day!</div>
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How about you? Found anything great out at the sales or the flea market lately? What kind of things trigger your impulse-buy impulse? Do you have any crazy textiles proudly framed and hung in your house? Where do some of the weirder/far flung items in your house come from? Let's talk!</div>
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That's all for today...have a great Wednesday and I'll talk you soon! :D</div>
Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-37936527931227031992015-10-14T09:46:00.000-05:002015-10-14T12:35:35.882-05:00Kitchen Update: Embrace the (Early) 70sHello, hello!<br />
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I'm not gone again, I just got tangled up in a work-related web of busy-ness which has kept from my own little corner of the internet. <i>Mais, me voilà</i>! Here I am, and the weekend has past with lightning speed. What have you guys been up to? The last week or so in estate sale/Goodwill hunting has made a noticeable difference in my kitchen, and I thought, why don't I show a couple additions made to the living area of yours truly? I love when style changes happen through some opportune chances of luck rather than a massive, online shopping spree-- I don't know if I could have thought of these things out of blue, but once I saw them, I knew they were had-to-haves for the house!<br />
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Let's take a look at what I'm talking about:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7z4CiZdMx0fPLVhvd-WIc0ZtQBtMPXnLmImxTaelWSu8PWdasIdEizqhMt7lLbbVasjWo3aTy7-QWOGjCCUjNztSly99M0CUvWQYIUztFCkE63d9PnXxhuT8qUkYLpvAPTr0etpVe_Q/s1600/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture+hall+shawnee+ceramic+planter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7z4CiZdMx0fPLVhvd-WIc0ZtQBtMPXnLmImxTaelWSu8PWdasIdEizqhMt7lLbbVasjWo3aTy7-QWOGjCCUjNztSly99M0CUvWQYIUztFCkE63d9PnXxhuT8qUkYLpvAPTr0etpVe_Q/s640/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture+hall+shawnee+ceramic+planter.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ta-da!<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=moF4uhM1d3E"> I'm in love with a kitchen, I'm talkin' about, I'm in love with a kitchen, I can't live withouuuut....</a><br />
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This kitchen dining nook/the kitchen in general has always been a problem area with me. Matthew and I decided earlier this year that we were going to count our blessings and stay in the house I grew up in/rent from my parents for at least another year or two, as both of us save money and try to bring another bab into the world. The area has JUST NOW started to become fashionable (houses getting flipped/new high end infill construction, etc, etc), so it just wouldn't make sense for us, with a great house/location provided for us, to spend a lot of our hard earned, buried in the yard savings on the red-hot, super-competitive housing market just as of yet (don't worry, I am still ALWAYS looking at real estate listings, just not as fervently ;) ). So! As I've said in earlier posts, I've been cleaning out and moving out a ton of stuff from deep storage, making hard decisions on what I love vs. what I just like, and ONLY BRINGING HOME THINGS THAT ARE TOO GOOD TO PASS UP in terms of picking. Which would include....this lighting fixture:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSoXoyH6x3E5Hq54ePAWUrMdYUrZPNzZqGj39XAoEOOKhx7dGcptI7MDlLLUftIBYWeXejDWA-oF_w03nF7aaC6eUqpWd60sf6chd_0cD4EK06dPEs_XWSQ9yxnCl_qV70HD92r0QRWE/s1600/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSoXoyH6x3E5Hq54ePAWUrMdYUrZPNzZqGj39XAoEOOKhx7dGcptI7MDlLLUftIBYWeXejDWA-oF_w03nF7aaC6eUqpWd60sf6chd_0cD4EK06dPEs_XWSQ9yxnCl_qV70HD92r0QRWE/s640/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was running around the Charlotte Goodwill, a little giddy over finding <a href="https://instagram.com/p/8TXJ-wsUcC/?taken-by=shewasabird">a crazy-good cardigan</a> in the sweater section (it's a tiger textile thing, <a href="https://instagram.com/p/5c0XsxAe3L/?taken-by=oldmadegood">like this rug</a> I still wish I'd bought when I'd seen it for ~$100), when I saw this light fixture. It was sitting, coiled up in a pile of chains, on top of a banged up filing cabinet in the home goods section. Matthew was trailing me and I handed it to him, drum shade and fifty feet of chain and all. "We're totally getting this." I hemmed and haw'd a little in the checkout line, but finally decided that if it didn't work, I could bring it back with the receipt. The shape I knew was spot on, but I was a little put off by the brown wood tiles, which look SO much better illuminated and in place than they did in my hands at the store. </div>
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When I looked it over back at the homestead, I realized what was going on with this 70's/60's hybrid. The light started out in the late fifties'/early sixties' as a straight barrel-shade atomic light fixture (note the top and the bottom fixtures, and the shape of the shade itself, are very MCM). At some point in its life, the barrel shade became torn. Did the enterprising young homeowner throw the shade away? Heck no, let's get resourceful. Said previous owner added this tile detail by gluing wood tiles in the square design all around the shade, effectively hiding the tear and updating the shade from very-sixties' to very-seventies'. Oh, and does the tile part match the bamboo roman shade over the window? GIRL, YOU KNOW IT DOES.</div>
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I'm pleased as punch. For comparison, what it replaced:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJYYwG9C7F8A7qDI4KguXNQJbmTGeM8qwRmIzSdun8RC5DcbSrOur4MJJsB24wZ8MQZoJzB9dskLy5XtRNe5rRyrbKVYCH2nnm2vgXKOupH9x88FaWezHvNNA0HcaPwDQtZltpLYfb7E/s1600/securedownload+%252815%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtJYYwG9C7F8A7qDI4KguXNQJbmTGeM8qwRmIzSdun8RC5DcbSrOur4MJJsB24wZ8MQZoJzB9dskLy5XtRNe5rRyrbKVYCH2nnm2vgXKOupH9x88FaWezHvNNA0HcaPwDQtZltpLYfb7E/s640/securedownload+%252815%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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This flowery chandelier (also<a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2013/04/my-beautiful-kitchenette-plus-bonus_9.html"> in this post</a>) has hung in my house almost since I've been living there-- it was gift from my mom, who thought it "looked like [me]". It does, but it will look much better and still like me in another room of the house. Here's another before...see where I have replaced the calendar and the Altman <i>3 Women</i> poster with mid 70's textile art from <a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2014/05/weekend-finds-seventies-art-textiles.html">this estate sale</a> (and which looked lovely in the green room but is much better appreciated here in the kitchen).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJsVxVR7htc3NBYfZFMSq2aPZPcHATA17m3oej0Wb6l7toZRn-NTzafOi8dJBBTHRfWYqlrUZw5FQSjkkaaMCdJKBd63ve59Ugjqpe5EQAIMbIIkgFjgURWe4qSsXPRp_qmKniFUKBEh4/s1600/2015-05-12+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJsVxVR7htc3NBYfZFMSq2aPZPcHATA17m3oej0Wb6l7toZRn-NTzafOi8dJBBTHRfWYqlrUZw5FQSjkkaaMCdJKBd63ve59Ugjqpe5EQAIMbIIkgFjgURWe4qSsXPRp_qmKniFUKBEh4/s640/2015-05-12+%25281%2529.jpg" width="358" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2pltXgmdXCsdGU6-MAXG9u5bATylqzm5rMMF_y_wagdRxGxilXs9JtjZPUrGMiZPg4XKu_FNtd8Ojh8FMjOFgEKh3CzADYd-_fIyn5jPNfpMJHIYJJv1xTSf7lhnb8gBTrwx4s_Id_U/s1600/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis2pltXgmdXCsdGU6-MAXG9u5bATylqzm5rMMF_y_wagdRxGxilXs9JtjZPUrGMiZPg4XKu_FNtd8Ojh8FMjOFgEKh3CzADYd-_fIyn5jPNfpMJHIYJJv1xTSf7lhnb8gBTrwx4s_Id_U/s640/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Shout out also to my Curtis Jere leaves wall sculpture, which found a happy home on the door here.</i></td></tr>
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Is it not truly restful to look upon? The more I clean and clear out extra goods from my vintage hoarding piles, the more impressed I am with/the more I get to enjoy the things I choose to keep as "the best of the best".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlR3iqjCBoAxGxk-wDq-MTg7GTfW-yNBqD2t4jO7Nowxg34DJaRfIJLtgXFIT7g_1idE6LbjEixpWxaGMp1NTTq5p1SsYlmK91n9sIcju1PtfulvTSYxjyjUL8UDEAO194-OQvHpOijY/s1600/vintage+souvenir+african+prints+1950s+abstract+atomic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlR3iqjCBoAxGxk-wDq-MTg7GTfW-yNBqD2t4jO7Nowxg34DJaRfIJLtgXFIT7g_1idE6LbjEixpWxaGMp1NTTq5p1SsYlmK91n9sIcju1PtfulvTSYxjyjUL8UDEAO194-OQvHpOijY/s640/vintage+souvenir+african+prints+1950s+abstract+atomic.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A blurry but servicable picture of the souvenirs-of-Africa midcentury pictures I picked up at the flea market a while back. The colors/abstract figures are SO. COOL.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1doTKH8-tHRXmxysnVPuvNJ9MqEHYNDu34LjiAeTbQrFuumG6ZAafYW2YN1btH9QdfGKxCLXtlH2hrwTadH0FFwTLZ_t54F98tceNmguX2qwIP0FwDLjhfhw8oruzB7RNFlaH8Ds1B0I/s1600/scenes+from+a+marriage+ingmar+bergman+vintage+movie+poster+kit+kat+clock+moving+eyes+1950s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1doTKH8-tHRXmxysnVPuvNJ9MqEHYNDu34LjiAeTbQrFuumG6ZAafYW2YN1btH9QdfGKxCLXtlH2hrwTadH0FFwTLZ_t54F98tceNmguX2qwIP0FwDLjhfhw8oruzB7RNFlaH8Ds1B0I/s640/scenes+from+a+marriage+ingmar+bergman+vintage+movie+poster+kit+kat+clock+moving+eyes+1950s.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I kept this movie poster and this kit kat clock, to the left of the kitchen cabinets, just as they were, because I love them. I think it still works! Also, see how it looks like the cat clock is eyeballing Erland Josephson.</i></td></tr>
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But that's not all! I also finally found a curtain to replace the pair of red and white cafe curtains that hang over the kitchen sink.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYI-XsW6EdKJdv6QgPjeAFRG3h_MZ7V97uo9Rbumocq1hieGXnJvY2BAoOjdsgZWyWY-soMT_1BfMG3iwzKcWVDo5qBNe0Fc4PeHHrCshdGloimCzxFatP9Ozdy3ZGC5_n6kj0Us_9x30/s1600/2015-05-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYI-XsW6EdKJdv6QgPjeAFRG3h_MZ7V97uo9Rbumocq1hieGXnJvY2BAoOjdsgZWyWY-soMT_1BfMG3iwzKcWVDo5qBNe0Fc4PeHHrCshdGloimCzxFatP9Ozdy3ZGC5_n6kj0Us_9x30/s640/2015-05-12.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Matthew sent me this picture one day while he was off work and I was at work to show me how clean the kitchen was. He is very cute/industrious.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtHWd1PckxZ49A_nPdCLmVFNPLO7PpWgjca0eYAxqq9eF3kbhrJxWYQ1JKLrjOElnL7v5tJlP5JXh-OgtY6AVhlQO1ZJb9UhU22zdE5000vloFp7vNNKxc6B5CGtsDu31ZOwfE_6RIn4/s1600/vintage+white+kitchen+cabinets+painted+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivtHWd1PckxZ49A_nPdCLmVFNPLO7PpWgjca0eYAxqq9eF3kbhrJxWYQ1JKLrjOElnL7v5tJlP5JXh-OgtY6AVhlQO1ZJb9UhU22zdE5000vloFp7vNNKxc6B5CGtsDu31ZOwfE_6RIn4/s640/vintage+white+kitchen+cabinets+painted+.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Still need to hang a magnetic knife rack for those Henckel knives, one of the best and most useful things in my kitchen. But I'll get around to it! How much do I love that Shawnee pig cookie jar inspite of its purely decorative purpose? <a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=2&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCUQtwIwAWoVChMIjuDJvpTCyAIVA-ZjCh1lZgha&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DgUG2SQK03tU&usg=AFQjCNH5lbsMxlh0pLhmRQKmvZfBFp4Iaw&sig2=lw7itd5G2fhcNThsTt3M5A">How deep is the ocean, how high is the moon</a>.</i></td></tr>
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Not bad, huh? Somehow my tiny kitchen looks so SPACIOUS with this layout/decor!</div>
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These curtains were at an estate sale in West Meade where the homeowner must've really, really, REALLY liked this fabric...as evidenced by the fact that she had wall sized ceiling-to-floor drapes, a couch, kitchen curtains and an accent wall in the kitchen <i>all in the same pattern.</i> I admire someone finding something they like and just really committing to it. "You know what...put it everywhere." "Everywhere?" "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCP7p5VNSVw">E-v-e-r-y-w-h-e-r-e.</a>" I want to get a matching-to-the-other roman shade to go under it so you can't see directly into my kitchen at all hours of the day and night, and maybe hang the curtains closer to the ceiling once I have the aforementioned shade, but are we or are we not cooking with gas here:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD4imimNNyywrr89GGmjjJKaAXBGsk_fAPl4MMyDJhPox7n0SEaV6pvlE-zPV10tD-tRxerwV2Ix0mrO4U11BwtXaMFfR9PjkZa9e0xbgPrwte6MhpG4b0hhjAysXrUtu1n6b7ZUN61B8/s1600/1960s+vintage+material+cafe+curtain+orange+gold+green+kitchen+window+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD4imimNNyywrr89GGmjjJKaAXBGsk_fAPl4MMyDJhPox7n0SEaV6pvlE-zPV10tD-tRxerwV2Ix0mrO4U11BwtXaMFfR9PjkZa9e0xbgPrwte6MhpG4b0hhjAysXrUtu1n6b7ZUN61B8/s640/1960s+vintage+material+cafe+curtain+orange+gold+green+kitchen+window+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>So many tchotchkes. Exactly like I like it.</i></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzUgQc19mRLDcY4WW4Virda1MI_otv_GO1XV-QSzUQ1uVaSkPidxKN28TPXTuXgCZeLSkfD2npkzPXdUn5teD-2JmKMBlxeU1H5leE1JMOAnJffF5NGUAgoraR-LWcb-qlMHy5_R65Js/s1600/1960s+vintage+material+cafe+curtain+orange+gold+green+kitchen+window+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIzUgQc19mRLDcY4WW4Virda1MI_otv_GO1XV-QSzUQ1uVaSkPidxKN28TPXTuXgCZeLSkfD2npkzPXdUn5teD-2JmKMBlxeU1H5leE1JMOAnJffF5NGUAgoraR-LWcb-qlMHy5_R65Js/s640/1960s+vintage+material+cafe+curtain+orange+gold+green+kitchen+window+3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As with the light fixture, I got home fairly holding my breath hoping this would go with the other items in the room, and was so psyched to see that the orange and yellows PRACTICALLY MATCH the colors in the textile on the dining room wall. Kismet! </div>
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While we're in the kitchen anyway, here's my gallery wall of lobby cards, which I recently switched out from <i>Annie Hall</i> to <i>Lolita</i>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj811b8n-o54ghUJM9RGp-UiuF5VSjtCrZns8QIm-GRgESm77vED3Cs8L3MpQEvYWWnPFeeYkLHiG3PR3AtQMWTcIz6PnxzYhNNc9uq_GWmrbEgIow_U-VOMtiwTdoSGCkwc72JMntmMCU/s1600/lolita+1962+lobby+cards+james+mason+gallery+wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj811b8n-o54ghUJM9RGp-UiuF5VSjtCrZns8QIm-GRgESm77vED3Cs8L3MpQEvYWWnPFeeYkLHiG3PR3AtQMWTcIz6PnxzYhNNc9uq_GWmrbEgIow_U-VOMtiwTdoSGCkwc72JMntmMCU/s640/lolita+1962+lobby+cards+james+mason+gallery+wall.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I would tell you which of these was my favorite but THEY'RE ALL MY FAVORITE. I found high resolution scans of the very expensive original set <a href="http://entertainment-memorabilia.bidstart.com/LOLITA-Lobby-card-set-of-8-1962-VF-NM-JAMES-MASON-/9436838/a.html">here</a>, and (shamelessly) printed them out. Cards come in sets of 8 usually, so I grabbed another image for the iconic center card, and there you are. To the left of the set is this potholder hanger, with its woebegone, burnt oven mitt (I would replace it but it makes me laugh every time I see it to think I had bought it at Target earlier in the same day that Matthew caught it on fire):</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GAYJuD3chpd9ODnbdDveGN5VziX2nACL0D6vsjP1A6CcOWvDeVNkq5VbwPYL5qwtkzdqK-PHkb0zLgjh-8VLLkC3rQITbxQ3oV29wU5Dw-g_InNZsCcTr8J4lJ8oOQnS8e6MMJ4to2w/s1600/burned+kitchen+mitt+vintage+red+potholder+holder+retro+matchholder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4GAYJuD3chpd9ODnbdDveGN5VziX2nACL0D6vsjP1A6CcOWvDeVNkq5VbwPYL5qwtkzdqK-PHkb0zLgjh-8VLLkC3rQITbxQ3oV29wU5Dw-g_InNZsCcTr8J4lJ8oOQnS8e6MMJ4to2w/s640/burned+kitchen+mitt+vintage+red+potholder+holder+retro+matchholder.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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My parents/landlords sprang for some stainless steel appliances earlier this year in a fit of bonhomie and kindness that I dare not question, lol. Aren't they fancy! I told my mom at the time, "Get whatever the smallest. POSSIBLE. refrigerator that is still a full size refrigerator and not a dorm size one, because the one in there right now is TOO. BIG." Has anyone else in a 1970's or earlier house noticed that modern refrigerators are 40%-200% too big for their intended spaces in vintage homes? I like having a huge, overstocked freezer as much as the next gal, but the one that was in here previously barely fit under the cabinets. I need to get my act together and clear off the top of the refrigerator for a sleeker look, but I need to clean out cabinet space for that hand mixer and the other assorted odds and ends on top of it first. This ain't no <i>House Beautiful</i>...noticed unstaged coupons affixed by magnets to side of frigo, etc, etc, for evidence of this.</div>
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Above the stove is this vintage map of Opryland from<a href="http://shewasabird.blogspot.com/2013/07/weekend-finds-2-vintage-opryland-theme.html"> this long ago weekend find post</a>. As many oddities and wonders as I have in my house, this is one of the things that gets remarked upon the most-- people (yours truly included) miss this theme park like nobody's business. I love the colors in the map and the down-home theme of these opening day rides.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEMc7q6jNPPthfeCsIaDmPgGGIyH3F_3wneIU5p-LiHy-5lbLz-pyXIODFceNFG6i_TFb2zWXpHqv_obyWbiYWXEkAHDnx_3ZMeum7gmV37qTSfwi4ELy2OlZWNLnzIvvazdrPc7JUDU/s1600/vintage+opryland+1970s+souvenir+map+layout+of+park+nashville+nostalgia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEMc7q6jNPPthfeCsIaDmPgGGIyH3F_3wneIU5p-LiHy-5lbLz-pyXIODFceNFG6i_TFb2zWXpHqv_obyWbiYWXEkAHDnx_3ZMeum7gmV37qTSfwi4ELy2OlZWNLnzIvvazdrPc7JUDU/s640/vintage+opryland+1970s+souvenir+map+layout+of+park+nashville+nostalgia.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I was peacock-proud to have the Littons over the other day as the inagural dining-room dinner guests. Here's what the joint looked like all gussied up for company:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c2jRqUE0TaQdxsm18FKa5aL4C8eEMXWpbPBvtV0RzYQ06VuOCyvJHOpwokbBdYRjNrDN3Nizm66obHgPqAQQlATsQffRx8DOLfmuA4aTZVxfUxMBPk_v_zU7F0XieDOeWQSwxdc5z1A/s1600/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c2jRqUE0TaQdxsm18FKa5aL4C8eEMXWpbPBvtV0RzYQ06VuOCyvJHOpwokbBdYRjNrDN3Nizm66obHgPqAQQlATsQffRx8DOLfmuA4aTZVxfUxMBPk_v_zU7F0XieDOeWQSwxdc5z1A/s640/vintage+black+wrought+iron+retro+kitchen+table+small+kitchen+1970s+wall+art+textile+vibrant+barrel+shade+pendant+light+fixture.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>I need some new dish towels now that there's a solid orange/brown/green/seventies' color scheme going on, but one thing at a time. Instead, admire my salad, haha.</i></td></tr>
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Having such a put-together instead of such a harried-looking kitchen/dining room area is SUCH. A RELIEF. I feel like in previous incarnations it's been so hodge-podge or piecemeal looking and now there's what the TLC people would call a "unifying theme" that really ties everything together. I think if I'd tried to buy, on purpose, a themed set of decor items, I couldn't have had them come together as nicely as it all did simply by luck (and yours truly using their decorating third eye, haha)!<br />
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And just because I haven't had an outfit post on here in a month of Sundays, here I am dressed up for a ladies' brunch last Sunday and representing the 70's with this disco sequined short sleeve top I found at Goodwill the other day. The more I can look like a back up dancer from a variety show in said era, the better. I found these military surplus boots in the same trip as the top, and I am ob.SESSED. Ankle support, steel reinforced toe, and serving <i>Daria </i>style late 90's realness? What more could a girl ask for.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbowv5cmJn4kuYJt_VhNoavyirS0Sl8ohfz_uE_PtwN4NSjhRMhaYx_eHUt2GpXsW-u_9vgjozUWjVrdv2qNL1u5d-ANuAVIf_kRwkuYF-NPCJUfZ9hUAto5FO2k0hHWf440LfdW_Z-gs/s1600/Retro+1970s+1980s+sequin+rainbow+top+disco+personal+style+lisa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbowv5cmJn4kuYJt_VhNoavyirS0Sl8ohfz_uE_PtwN4NSjhRMhaYx_eHUt2GpXsW-u_9vgjozUWjVrdv2qNL1u5d-ANuAVIf_kRwkuYF-NPCJUfZ9hUAto5FO2k0hHWf440LfdW_Z-gs/s640/Retro+1970s+1980s+sequin+rainbow+top+disco+personal+style+lisa.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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How about you? What design challenges have you faced down lately? Found any great things that just <i>happened </i>to start to come together in a felicitous fashion? Which room in your house is your favorite right now? What else could I do to take my kitchen to "that next level"? I'm thinking about adding a pots and pans corkboard where the Opryland poster is, but that's still in the R & D stages, haha. Let's talk!!
That's all for today, but I'll be back again soon with more things I've dragged home from estate sales. Have a great rest of the week! See you next time.Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1978925481748522797.post-65298741478341631912015-10-02T11:49:00.001-05:002015-10-02T11:49:28.426-05:00Weekend Finds: Amateur Art History Detective Edition (Paul Brach painting, 1959)<div style="text-align: justify;">
Good morning!</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">As promised, I'm back on this bleary, dreary Friday morning to share with you a whale of a find from my anniversary travels in Louisville. Weekend before last, we ran up to the northern most part of Kentucky to get out of town for the day and look around at what the bluegrass state had to offer in the way of second hand goods. What else do you think I would do on my vacation but </span><i style="text-align: justify;">exactly</i><span style="text-align: justify;"> what I do when not on vacation? We visited a really cool bar that had a number of vintage pinball and arcade machines, but mostly, we ran around buying things because 1) it's what I like to do best and 2) my husband is very, very nice.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji359LA-XccFQHincO-SH_csEMYzAw-eZXTiIYmiSPMfyusD4ZJjiD264vfqtzQkXgcwZYFaO0c89lm94BkgAGoguvQgjS8zzHTSEe6rb_3nY9zHwWbOCBdM7Zo7f9yvM9e0lRY12jYcY/s1600/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji359LA-XccFQHincO-SH_csEMYzAw-eZXTiIYmiSPMfyusD4ZJjiD264vfqtzQkXgcwZYFaO0c89lm94BkgAGoguvQgjS8zzHTSEe6rb_3nY9zHwWbOCBdM7Zo7f9yvM9e0lRY12jYcY/s640/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+6.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Do me a favor and pretend this wasn't taken at 6:40 this morning just before I had to rush out the door, haha. A blogger's work is never done!</i></td></tr>
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The biggest attraction for me in Kentucky is that the place is LOUSY with places to shop for junk. As you know if you've read this blog more than twice, I'm the Tina-Turner-intro-to-"Proud Mary" of antiques acquisition-- "you see we never ever do nothing...nice, easy...we always do it nice and rough." This girl likes to be plunged into a situation where a critical eye is the only thing between you and untold bargains/treasures/etc. I often get disappointed in curated collections or resale stores because it's just not fun when everything is both retail priced and laid out for you, I like to get knee deep in a cardboard box of clothes someone pulled out of a disused barn, or dig around in an old supermarket turned thrift store full of 80% garbage, and 20% pure gold. So you can imagine how stoked I was to discover a few years ago, <i>grace à</i> a hot tip from <a href="http://www.owlreally.blogspot.com/">Jamie of Owl Really</a>, that the greater Louisville area has a bunch of stores called "Peddler's Marts" that are like indoor flea markets on steroids. Everything from canned food to ATVs to real antiques are under one roof, and ripe for picking! Seriously, if they had them in Tennessee, I might have a worse problem than I currently have in terms of collection management.</div>
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So. I was minding my own business, visiting the second of four peddler's mart locations we visited on Saturday, when I came across the above painting, and stopped in my tracks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLDb-_YQ3rly-ycEIZXcYdIuRiYJyUUuF3g_GenJ71jUO35Hvkpirso7gkmMmTWRmFBbVWUnF4g3XcdlTQmHOLbAKBVa3wtQa_0NvEvSpN1FuC9JVfnF_dIbWu4FgVopVjXP4kaeaRKU/s1600/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLDb-_YQ3rly-ycEIZXcYdIuRiYJyUUuF3g_GenJ71jUO35Hvkpirso7gkmMmTWRmFBbVWUnF4g3XcdlTQmHOLbAKBVa3wtQa_0NvEvSpN1FuC9JVfnF_dIbWu4FgVopVjXP4kaeaRKU/s640/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+3.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It looks more vibrant in person, I love the colors and the brushstrokes.</i></td></tr>
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I have a documented weakness for wall art (to the point that <a href="http://nashville.craigslist.org/search/sss?userid=192277189">I'm trying to unload a lot of surplus framed things on Craiglist right now.</a>..know anybody who needs great additions to a gallery wall?), and was drawn immediately to this oil painting leaned up against a stack of folding chairs in one of the booths. I crouched down and saw that the picture was one, really very good and two, had been treated V-E-R-Y poorly by whomever had it last and wherever it was before it hit the peddler's mart. My best guess is that the piece was either in an attic or a barn, maybe even under someone's house/in an unfinished basement, as it was covered in cobwebs, dirt, and those little cotton ball spider egg things... in three words: sick, sick, and sick. Somehow, this didn't deter me (though I did think at the time, who puts something up for sale like that without even dusting it off after they dig it out of a horrible place?), because again, ain't nobody afraid of rolling up their sleeves (and putting aside their natural aversion to grossitude) for a good deal.</div>
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As I hemmed and hawed, and looked the piece over, I noticed there was both substantial peeling/cracking/paint loss at the very bottom of the painting, and a signature:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPoOVEcCHtsuEEEunPeiLrU_NAeMOxN2V53H_9u_bVSXe8d5WdwnRG3CmbR9fwkhO4wC4RH1KwuQmdY35L5Q8zoDBjFmJEysCErBfxJG8EavJKXQc50P_8xXWnDtR3OMg4zLRS4CIJMI/s1600/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTPoOVEcCHtsuEEEunPeiLrU_NAeMOxN2V53H_9u_bVSXe8d5WdwnRG3CmbR9fwkhO4wC4RH1KwuQmdY35L5Q8zoDBjFmJEysCErBfxJG8EavJKXQc50P_8xXWnDtR3OMg4zLRS4CIJMI/s640/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Hm, well, that's kind of cool. Flipping the frame over, I saw something that REALLY struck me:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRBQV4o7BCJLgejH0KwxTX_fHc1X2W7F8YxUuecQTQNL96ngj0wsjEMdp5PT9TrdE9p4KHnx_HqyneOtHb6rqogV9Xpv5lXQiOLsbEHLZIvP2jvNLkQzaVGN2-tRAfQWIiOHOnZLiQ2Y/s1600/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+gallery+tag.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwRBQV4o7BCJLgejH0KwxTX_fHc1X2W7F8YxUuecQTQNL96ngj0wsjEMdp5PT9TrdE9p4KHnx_HqyneOtHb6rqogV9Xpv5lXQiOLsbEHLZIvP2jvNLkQzaVGN2-tRAfQWIiOHOnZLiQ2Y/s640/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+gallery+tag.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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While it had been oil pencil'd through, and it was in as bad a condition as the rest of the picture, I could make out through the strikethrough that this is a gallery tag from "Leo Castelli". Wait a minute, wait a minute. I don't know a ton about modern art except what interests me, and Andy Warhol being one of those things, I knew that Leo Castelli was a gallery in New York that was the first to show a lot of the exciting things that came out of the art scene in the late fifties' and early sixties'. And this is labelled 1959? Interesting.</div>
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Further tags documented this painting's journey west to <a href="http://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/news/2012/apr/27/Art-Center-school/">The Art Center in La Jolla</a>:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3w0imSi1seqgz5gdg94-oZsXP4W7FVy9vANOWmMQ0M0FadMjDBzzL-4aMGkg2UZvD-DBVkSC6pBIg04YkT6hhFFTYUeZSCCu63F-ABDANVlAUGddMte4f7ABrxLaWmPXwFdc1tYWUITQ/s1600/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+art+center+in+la+jolla+san+diego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3w0imSi1seqgz5gdg94-oZsXP4W7FVy9vANOWmMQ0M0FadMjDBzzL-4aMGkg2UZvD-DBVkSC6pBIg04YkT6hhFFTYUeZSCCu63F-ABDANVlAUGddMte4f7ABrxLaWmPXwFdc1tYWUITQ/s640/paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+art+center+in+la+jolla+san+diego.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And the <a href="http://blogs.getty.edu/pacificstandardtime/explore-the-era/locations/dwan-gallery-2/">Dwan Gallery</a> in Los Angeles:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd1tZ3uFmwYGFNKTfuDi30eTytgmpdANhBsN6uWeCwsFNaMzAl1A3sytUNWLIfRSr9ZyOghPZFMitjNNMrbu0uG06yh5NsarukXyHsx8oLjGaseMc9VxgSfRgxbzQuD1a4H-ROvzYJLE/s1600/dwan+gallery+los+angeles+paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+2+.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLd1tZ3uFmwYGFNKTfuDi30eTytgmpdANhBsN6uWeCwsFNaMzAl1A3sytUNWLIfRSr9ZyOghPZFMitjNNMrbu0uG06yh5NsarukXyHsx8oLjGaseMc9VxgSfRgxbzQuD1a4H-ROvzYJLE/s640/dwan+gallery+los+angeles+paul+brach+abstract+painter+1950s+leo+castelli+cal+arts+dean+painting+2+.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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The deciding factor though, among these tags, was this one:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacTCepOvQQIqGmWqFVeyI6I6EvOb8IJzKKcY8fDWfMpJxaFmEXdeFhyphenhyphen8yOz786E2Poxyq-JgZqwK5gu7zWoBnOoM4M0t5yYGVQIDfVALNhTmRyEpkt6IFQRYmRVP7Pz96CexQ3tnkvUs/s1600/IMG_1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiacTCepOvQQIqGmWqFVeyI6I6EvOb8IJzKKcY8fDWfMpJxaFmEXdeFhyphenhyphen8yOz786E2Poxyq-JgZqwK5gu7zWoBnOoM4M0t5yYGVQIDfVALNhTmRyEpkt6IFQRYmRVP7Pz96CexQ3tnkvUs/s640/IMG_1063.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I think if it had been even $10 more I would have had to pass. As it was, I struggled with "ugh, is it worth $20 if it's all nasty? How do you even clean something like this? But what if it's some really important painter? I'm sure Leo Castelli didn't show <i>just anyone</i>...What if I just get it because I like it? But is it dumb to like it if it's in such poor condition? What if I don't like it when I get home <i>because</i> it's in poor condition and I paid $20 for it?" I'm telling you, people, as often as I fall in love at first sight with some items, just as many items send me into this tailspin of self doubt. My state of consternation is pretty much a given, here. However! My better judgment prevailed and I left the store with this and a large 1940's folding game table printed with a lithograph of flowers under either arm.</div>
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When I got home, I cleaned off the cobwebs as best I could (using no water and gently brushing dirt/dust off as far away from the damaged areas as possible) and started doing some digging on the internet to see what I could find about Paul Brach. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2iY0ghnS7osh0ZB3sE4zTXgmGKe5NK-hJpdJ_sJhZ0cmGP_ZmCITulO7JPUZeN_wp80dk3dwasDkLh-9PDY4aS8RA5xhgw9Kw2f8SIiPhRI8RSys-RDzTXD0um8BQC3bEBBdHhOvClwI/s1600/Paul+Brach+40209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2iY0ghnS7osh0ZB3sE4zTXgmGKe5NK-hJpdJ_sJhZ0cmGP_ZmCITulO7JPUZeN_wp80dk3dwasDkLh-9PDY4aS8RA5xhgw9Kw2f8SIiPhRI8RSys-RDzTXD0um8BQC3bEBBdHhOvClwI/s640/Paul+Brach+40209.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The man himself.</i></td></tr>
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From <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2007/12/04/arts/04brach.html?_r=0">his NYTimes obit in 2007</a>, I learned that Paul Brach was</div>
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..a painter and teacher who became the first dean of the School of Art at the California Institute of the Arts...[who] evolved from Abstract Expressionism in the 1950s to monochromatic Minimalism in the ’60s. [...] Mr. Brach was one of the first artists to exhibit with Leo Castelli, whose gallery he helped plan in the late 1950s.</blockquote>
He was married to artist <a href="http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/arts/miranda/la-et-cam-remembering-miriam-schapiro-unheralded-calarts-pioneer-20150629-column.html">Miriam Schapiro</a>, and ran with an art world crowd that included Joan Mitchell and Michael Goldberg (see his LA Times obit <a href="http://articles.latimes.com/2007/dec/06/local/me-brach6">here</a>). While I'm not familiar with a lot of these names, they come up again and again in Google Books as people who were involved in the arts in California and New York in the 1950's and 1960's. Names I DID recognize included Robert Rauschenberg and Mark Rothko, who were featured in some of the same joint exhibitions as Brach. Guys, those are BIG. NAMES. I continued to comb through the internet for more info.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifH2leSLaaGa81btgLf6oU1Z4i-X79zzEH3Z93-qUJ8bUG0JV2AZy424HF4mgdWHZ7kjZIOn8UskwcF6oiiC2eNaYbQ6RQhfr7tSmRhjxp09bZKRR_nKw-SSLZvURoBNTCnB8ORrvfL4/s1600/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1960.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjifH2leSLaaGa81btgLf6oU1Z4i-X79zzEH3Z93-qUJ8bUG0JV2AZy424HF4mgdWHZ7kjZIOn8UskwcF6oiiC2eNaYbQ6RQhfr7tSmRhjxp09bZKRR_nKw-SSLZvURoBNTCnB8ORrvfL4/s640/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1960.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The Dwan Gallery in 1960</i>.</td></tr>
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From <a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/container/viewer/Paul-Brach-198899">the digitzed Archives of American Art entries </a>below, you can see a little more about Brach and his exhibition at the Dwan Gallery held in April of 1960:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxCPnupis7Zy9JW1XNVh4QSr8ayGJvDGem-LqYfjkw9N2j1lGSRCG1Nv174UVivtktuAhDW3-wGbMAMkqHjOvHk8RmL3jmapmdrLD3ZBBIcpPoJNVmKBQJ4DRJ3sjgk-QlIqfj6V5fCQ/s1600/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1959+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHxCPnupis7Zy9JW1XNVh4QSr8ayGJvDGem-LqYfjkw9N2j1lGSRCG1Nv174UVivtktuAhDW3-wGbMAMkqHjOvHk8RmL3jmapmdrLD3ZBBIcpPoJNVmKBQJ4DRJ3sjgk-QlIqfj6V5fCQ/s640/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1959+7.jpg" width="478" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRppyfcnptnuQWw3-CNc6jfMLZOiptbTJz411l2NMwyDK_MuSesktA57eK_AxEcUHUAH-eU217mj28kJh3baevRw-SPH05jPVFqJiTv_yjLWcdYjGFQAlCeW_tlqcrXI718gY8oWKKjg/s1600/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRppyfcnptnuQWw3-CNc6jfMLZOiptbTJz411l2NMwyDK_MuSesktA57eK_AxEcUHUAH-eU217mj28kJh3baevRw-SPH05jPVFqJiTv_yjLWcdYjGFQAlCeW_tlqcrXI718gY8oWKKjg/s640/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1959.jpg" width="502" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJDn9OtBYcZGg0lVLflz5W2e7yAef0kefjLV5QbLhyphenhyphenKUhRvYUQaX7r6bIIk0bN4824o5rgAXlvTnEwVqxCrL2uOX3tH7Y5FBnp7QT7-a4tEhHouSLJ7r8h6MA5y-iHeMfUKQmPb09OGE/s1600/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1960+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYJDn9OtBYcZGg0lVLflz5W2e7yAef0kefjLV5QbLhyphenhyphenKUhRvYUQaX7r6bIIk0bN4824o5rgAXlvTnEwVqxCrL2uOX3tH7Y5FBnp7QT7-a4tEhHouSLJ7r8h6MA5y-iHeMfUKQmPb09OGE/s640/paul+brach+dwan+gallery+1960+2.jpg" width="492" /></a></div>
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I was initially bummed out at this seemingly false lead, thinking the exhibition didn't include my painting, but wait! The last listing on the typewritten inventory mentions "PAPER 19. though 22. Untitled oils. Each: 250." Using my ever handy inflation calculator, I can tell you that $250 in 1960 has a 2015 value of $2,012.80. Jaw. Dropped. Meaning the most expensive painting on that list was almost $10,000 in today's money! Again, no amateur hour here, but a real working artist's painting. Color me shocked. The Castelli gallery archive materials are listed but not digitized-- I was able to find out from their list of exhibitions that Brach had solo shows there in December of 1959, which would place this picture there.</div>
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<a href="http://www.aaa.si.edu/collections/interviews/oral-history-interview-paul-henry-brach-11865">This interview</a> from 1971 covers Brach's early life, career, and his tenure at Cal Arts as dean of the Art school (edited, shorter version <a href="http://www.eastofborneo.org/articles/from-mary-poppins-to-easy-rider-paul-brach-on-calarts">here</a>). I thought this was interesting:<br />
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<b>PB</b>: In comparison with some of my very good friends like Lichtenstein and Bob Rauschenberg, etc., my success has not been that much<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></blockquote>
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<strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">BS:</strong> But still for an artist growing up in New York, you made it.</blockquote>
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<strong style="background: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 16px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">PB:</strong> Right, I made it. So that leaving New York was not a sour grapes situation. Although, if your friends are selling a quarter of a million dollars a year and buying buildings downtown and taking off to Europe at the drop of a hat to have another show, etc., you begin to feel a little stuck. And you begin to wonder how corrosive a competitive mentality becomes anyway. </blockquote>
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Good for you, Paul Brach, for not letting other's success eat you up-- he was able to be a pivotal figure in his own right as an educator out west, and continued painting right up until he passed eight years ago.</div>
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Biggest unanswered question: how did this thing get to a peddler's mart in Kentucky?! And where was it in the gap between being in Los Angeles in 1960 and being in the back of my car returning to Nashville? If this painting could talk.... </div>
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After satisfying my biographical requirements and sleuthing down the provenance of these gallery tags on the back of the painting, I started looking for comparables. I know you guys must do this from time to time to make sure you didn't get gypped on some impulse buy of a 1940's teapot or vintage earrings-- I usually pull up eBay and heave a sigh of relief when I see that the lowest priced item of a similar make and mark is $10-$40 more than however much I paid for it. Ebay, though, came up with goose eggs. I tried just "paul brach untitled painting 1959" and came up with these two paintings, which sold <a href="http://www.ragoarts.com/auctions/2010/05/15/fine-art/529">through Rago Auctions</a> (YES, THE SAME GUY FROM ANTIQUES ROADSHOW, I was wow'd) the year Brach died. They're the same medium (oil on paper), same colors/series, same size, with no paint loss but with some buckling where the paper has come away from the board, like mine has:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAxRKD2_JDVCBvv4v_nOzCSz13seUpGrTj4pBQNadX7_ofMUGkx0CNO3tINADsnFi9oE0Kip35j5ZU2KtjpGEq3_ZPkg3FRyrMjeJVT1pBarnLd3U8AUr0R1fx9xOZDCzJDRGGbcR7m0/s1600/Paul+Henry+Brach+American+b+1924+Untitled+12+1954+Oil+on+paper+on+board+framed+Signed+and+dated+28+by+22+Provenance+Leo+Castelli+Gallery+New+York+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="620" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhAxRKD2_JDVCBvv4v_nOzCSz13seUpGrTj4pBQNadX7_ofMUGkx0CNO3tINADsnFi9oE0Kip35j5ZU2KtjpGEq3_ZPkg3FRyrMjeJVT1pBarnLd3U8AUr0R1fx9xOZDCzJDRGGbcR7m0/s640/Paul+Henry+Brach+American+b+1924+Untitled+12+1954+Oil+on+paper+on+board+framed+Signed+and+dated+28+by+22+Provenance+Leo+Castelli+Gallery+New+York+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGolVECDGJaWhVLTUnkSNpQ-tcBoASzkABwlanlEnSscoQ8k-TRAIUuhHEHvbmtoIXTCRvdycxqcrnxD-ZG_kLsyjAqyozpvmTfDlxjRYrC4uZlvDTOLdqsaaTTwnEPQ2LRgh-yiO_dXc/s1600/Paul+Henry+Brach+American+b+1924+Untitled+12+1954+Oil+on+paper+on+board+framed+Signed+and+dated+28+by+22+Provenance+Leo+Castelli+Gallery+New+York.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGolVECDGJaWhVLTUnkSNpQ-tcBoASzkABwlanlEnSscoQ8k-TRAIUuhHEHvbmtoIXTCRvdycxqcrnxD-ZG_kLsyjAqyozpvmTfDlxjRYrC4uZlvDTOLdqsaaTTwnEPQ2LRgh-yiO_dXc/s640/Paul+Henry+Brach+American+b+1924+Untitled+12+1954+Oil+on+paper+on+board+framed+Signed+and+dated+28+by+22+Provenance+Leo+Castelli+Gallery+New+York.jpg" width="508" /></a></div>
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And how much did they sell for?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQlQkQ9ep0xm91KKysHUP_3Ky7P5DrqQaw4Mmcq1S9GccAmd4nxPeF1uUkA2cz4Lr1NfEt06it4nqFhRkkE_iPwEbBFNrwc1GlnWLvM4R16XXDdnx2XRMQTwsewPTOn3NqWw-9-E7_Gs/s1600/paul+brach+prices+realized+gallery+modernist+abstract+cal+arts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="542" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAQlQkQ9ep0xm91KKysHUP_3Ky7P5DrqQaw4Mmcq1S9GccAmd4nxPeF1uUkA2cz4Lr1NfEt06it4nqFhRkkE_iPwEbBFNrwc1GlnWLvM4R16XXDdnx2XRMQTwsewPTOn3NqWw-9-E7_Gs/s640/paul+brach+prices+realized+gallery+modernist+abstract+cal+arts.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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ARE YOU FREAKIN' SERIOUS.<br />
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So! Now I've reached the "dead end" part of my story-- what in the hello do you do with a potentially important painting like this?<br />
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I've tried researching professional cleaning and restoration, but looking over some of the prices, I really don't have the resources to spend $1,000 having a painting worth possibly about $1,000 restored, and many sites warn that a bad restoration is worse than no restoration at all. DIY seems pretty out of the question-- while some people have had success using <a href="http://lifehacker.com/clean-old-paintings-with-a-slice-of-bread-1562223162">bread </a>(seriously, like sandwich bread) removing grit and grime from oil, or <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Clean-an-Oil-Painting">even human saliva</a> (I'm not sure if the internet is pranking me or what at this point), I would hate to ruin it by trying some dumb internet solution without any kind of background in it. If it was some fun $20 amateur painting from an estate sale of a collie or a woman in a beehive, I think either of those would be fine, but I don't want to risk messing up something significant by my own "good intentions". How am I to stabilize/keep it in ok condition without going super out of pocket on my $20 investment? I'm thinking about calling around to art schools locally to see if anyone wants to take it on as a class project-- even a semi-professional restoration would be better than these useless hands of mine at this specific task.</div>
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For now, I'm just going to hang it carefully on the wall in the office and bide my time. Maybe a solution will present itself! Until then, isn't that about the craziest thrift store find I could have made on my trip? I love the background on it almost as much as I love the picture itself.</div>
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How about you? Have you found anything bonkers out at the sales lately? Have any experience/know anybody with experience in art restoration? What have you bought for $20 that ended up being worth 10x that?</div>
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Gotta get going, but listen, have a fanTASTIC weekend and I'll talk to you next week! Til then.</div>
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Lisahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16842611749073935723noreply@blogger.com3