Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Hello, Erin


So, for the second time in a one week period, I am using my coveted and limited time to myself whilst both children are sleeping to watch Hello, Dolly. Dishes in the sink, laundry to be done, and I am sure one or two people out there desperately awaiting me to return their phone calls, and yet here I sit, watching Michael Crawford turn awkward pirouettes in dapper late 1800's apparel and swaying to the melodic crack of Barbara Streisand. Why do I always do this? And what magic did they put in this movie, ridiculous though it is, to make me need it so?
I'll start with this - Gene Kelly. THE Gene Kelly, who in and of himself was a powerhouse of dance and song; athletic and expressive, he makes me totally forget the visual crooning of Fred Astaire. He had a flair for the big, muscular, dramatic numbers that pretty much make up all this musical wonder is about. For those of you going "that little guy dancing next to Michael Crawford was Gene Kelly?" right now, FOR SHAME. He's not in it, he directed it, and you see him all over it too. (Aside: if you are asking yourself who Michael Crawford is right now, clearly I am marketing to the wrong people.)
Many people of my generation still know him to have been a top-notcher in the world of musicals, a great dancer, singer, actor...but what not every realizes is that he also directed Singin' in the Rain and An American in Paris. I'm always impressed by actors who not only starred in, choreographed, and produced their own movies, but throw in directing the whole business too. Like they had some free time so they decided to make a movie. I digress...
The other thing that strikes me is that Barbara Streisand has perpetually looked about 40 (I'll give her 39) for all of eternity. She was a great looking at 60 (people, do you realize she is 70 years old? When did THAT happen?) but also looked about 39 when she was 21. I would not at all be surprised if someone were to tell me that on that balmy evening in 1942, she came out of her mother a full-on woman in her 30s, asking if "a girl could get a knish up in here?" Say what you will about her private life, politics, singing career or life off set - on set she's a natural. The Dolly by which all Dolly's should ever be judged.
Speaking of Barbara, the undercurrent of Jewish culture in 1890s New York in the movie also makes it. Some cultures were just born to be sassy and fabulous. I can't prove it, but I am fairly certain that in the decades leading up to the horrors that were WWII, anti-semitism among the Germanic people and the Jews originated in a terrible envy of comedy, of which that culture is completely devoid. Snappy comebacks weren't the Kaiser's forte, if you know what I mean. Having lived both in Germany, and Hebrew-rich West Bloomfield, MI, I feel I can attest to both these statements on some authority. Apparently they are the chosen people to be the bearers of wit too. And no one does it better than the aforementioned lady.
All this to say, I am blowing another day on this movable feast, and can't seem to motivate myself enough to get up and even get a glass of water for which I have been pining away for. Alas, I am a flawed woman.
But I am dancing cartwheels on the inside.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

"-“The bright side of it is… that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we’re safe from being drowned in the river.”" That about sums up my day, Puddleglum.

Nuns in Athletics




I really enjoy photos of nuns playing sports. If you have any, please feel free to share. I know that this sort of request opens me up to being flooded with nun photos, since so many out there are avid athletic nun photo collectors as well, but I am willing to risk it.

It was inevitable...

Welcome all who search for meaning in a world gone mad. Also, a heartfelt welcome to those who fritter the night away with web surfing and infomercials. You are loved.

At some point, I realized that if the little clouds of thought hovering above my head didn't get published to some public medium, I would most certainly go mad. Call it narcissistic, call it mundane, call it thoroughly entertaining, but it had to be done. I am a captive to my whims.

A blog seemed the obvious answer, and so, here it is. If you are seeking a blog with direction, theme or persons of consequence, please continue surfing, this is not your stop.