shush now’s Neighborhood

Marjorie Lawrence - Australian opera soprano

I have just spent the evening watching an old movie about the Australian opera singer Marjorie Lawrence. Marjorie was born on a farm in 1907 and somehow managed to go from distant Australia to France to study and then onto New York to rise in the operatic ranks. Being an Australian girl she was very physical and she was the first soprano to perform the immolation scene in Götterdämmerung by riding her horse into the flames as Wagner had intended. Good old Marjorie also performed the Dance of the seven veils in Richard Strauss's Salome^[1] "more convincingly" than most other sopranos!

Not long after she married she contracted polio and was left confined to a wheelchair.  She managed to resume her career and sang for some time afterwards. She even travelled overseas to entertain the troops after WWII and I think even during the Vietnam War. Marjorie died in 1979.

The movie starred Eleanor Parker as Marjorie. Dear Eleanor I believe was nominated for an Academy Award. I can only think that it was either in the category of "most overacting actress" or "worst lip synching by an actress in a muscial". Hey Brittany Spears wasn't born yet! [In case you missed it in other parts of the world, little Brit is in Australia and audiences are walking out because she is lip synching her way through the concerts and badly at that!]

Anyway, the movie was the usual Hollywood bad retelling of a great story. Marjorie was disappointed with the result saying that it did not represent her life at all. Bad movie, as it may have been, the subject, Marjorie Lawrence, really interests me. I want to know more about her now.

I went online and was able to track down a 2nd edition copy of her autobiography "Interrupted Melody" which is what the movie was called also.  The blurb says it is a little damaged, but heck it was published in 1949! It claims to have been signed by the author also, so I am a little chuffed. I don't usually buy second hand books as I love the feel and smell of new books, and I worry about introducing book worm into my own library, but in this case there was no choice, To get a copy reproduced through a library would be more expensive.

So, I hope all goes well, and hopefully the book will arrive in a week or so. I hope Marjorie told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth....more than what can be said for the movie!

back in the olden days of b&w TVs, Friday night was fight night.  thus,

Yo, Adrian! It's me, Rocky.

Rocky was a labor of love, the little movie that did, a personal tale that became a multimillion dollar enterprise. it is also the movie that has spanned the most sequels (Rocky II, III, IV, V, VI aka "Rocky Balboa"). what's the name for this? a hexology?

the taglines for the movie are interesting, if a bit confusing.

You have a ringside seat for the bloodiest bicentennial in history! *

A Philadelphia fighter who never made the big time...He showed he could take on a challenge...and won something bigger than a championship bout.

Meet the "Italian Stallion": a small-time guy with big-time guts who yearns to be a hero...just once!**

He's a has-been battler with one dream left...and one last chance.

His whole life was a million-to-one shot.

* Rocky was released in 1976.  references to the American Revolution of 1776 Bicentennial are everywhere.

** a small-time guy with big-time guts.   I'm a 12-year-old at heart. I won't tell you what I thought it read.

Silvester Stallone gets mucho credit for writing the movie (in a 3½-day bender as legend has it) and more so for refusing to sell it to several studios that were interested in the story but wanted to cast their own choices (including Robert Redford. Robert fracking Redford. damn), but Stallone stood firm on his demand to himself play the role of Rocky Balboa.

no doubt Stallone was Rocky, but much of the movie's success was due to the fine supporting cast. Mickey, Adrian, Paulie. Apollo Creed

(damn. for the second day in a row I can't embed from YT.  is not just me, teh SO had the same problem)

here be the links to watch:

Trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m8DlBN_LLiA

Cut me Mick  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpYosdIQ9JA&feature=related

Gonna fly now (theme from Rocky)  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioE_O7Lm0I4  

and because is not something I expected to find while searching for Rocky pictures:

Rocky usb

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Originally published at Calobee Doodles. You can comment here or there.

Went to New York to see Teh Kid.

Pre-booked, pre-paid,  shuttle.

Arriving at dawn, I grabbed a latte, and got onto the shuttle at 7:30 am at JFK.
Should have known it was a bad idea when we sat for twenty minutes and my fellow sufferers started counting the air fresheners.
Like the young forest of them (15!!) on the rear view mirror.
And a couple hanging on every seatbelt holder.
And another forest in the back with the luggage.
And little clusters under the seats.
We had plenty of time, and kept finding them.

I had the only passenger seat with a window that would open, which may explain why the ensuing migraine was not fatal.

The driver then proceeded to circle airport to try to fill his van, returning to Terminal 5 THREE times.
Because when you are in a stuffy, chemical-filled, crowded van driving fast in circles improves everything.
He then left the airport, running two stop signs and one red light before I stopped keeping track.
He managed to drop off two different sets of people more than a block from their addresses ("Because the street is one-way.")

I got to my hotel at 10:30.
That's three hours later.
The hotel (HOTEL AZURE, folks), bless them, put me in a room right away.
Probably they were afraid I'd pass out or puke in the lobby, both possibilities.

But that is only the trip in.

Coming home, to get on my 9am flight they gave me a 5:45am pick-up.
Kay.
So I got up at 5am, in the dark, had coffee, hugged kid who also got up and came down in the elevator with me.
So I was standing on sidewalk outside of dorm at 5:40.
You know, early, in the dark.
Because I am just that anal about being on time.

I got to watch the men's shelter up the block open its doors.
And see the bagels arrive for the shop next door.
And watch the film crews fiddle with their trailers ("Another Guy" with Mia Farrow, according to my new BEST FRIEND, the security desk guy.)
No shuttle.

So at 6am, I call them.
It's a mile away, they tell me.
Kay.
The sun is coming up, that's nice.
The security guy checks that I am okay for the second time.
This is nice, since this is daughter's dorm.
He has a cigarette outside and we bond.

At 6:20 I call again.
The van is four miles away, I am told.
Then I am put on hold.
They play juggle the call for a while, and I get another guy.
And again am put on hold.
He then tells me THE VAN IS ON ITS WAY TO THE AIRPORT.
They have no other van.
Sucks to be me. 

Shuttle person on phone claims they came by and I wasn't there.
Security guy, my new best chum, points out that when that really happens, the van drivers come and talk to him.
Shuttle guy also says van driver called me repeatedly.
Well, the cell number they have is Teh Kid's number and is up in her room with her.
Well, she was just awake, and it is a small room.
We both woke up when Tom called.
I can haz skeptical about call, considering the previous Driver Fib concerning my absence.
Hmmmm.

Shuttle guy has nothing to suggest.
I do not write down call information number he offers, since I have a phone in one hand, no pen out, and am digging for my card to get cab fare from the lobby ATM.
He says I will get an email in a couple of days.
I have emailed them
I have heard nothing.
It has been a couple of days.
Hmmmmmm

Am now trying to figure out how to pry my pre-payment out of them.
I am suspecting Firengi First Law of Acquisition applies here.
 
I did get a swell New York taxi driver, and made my flight, though not by a whole lot.
The taxi ride involved no suspense, no waiting around on the curb, and no scenic tour of city.
Just zip off to the airport.
I could have slept another hour and caught a cab.
I know what I am doing next time.

Originally published at sixhours.net. You can comment here or there.

Here are some of my favorites:

Sexsmith. It's playful. It's fun. If a font could be sexy, this one would be sexy. I use Sexsmith over at Calobee Doodles and it's one of those I keep coming back to... I have to force myself not to over-use it!

Rosewood Std Fill. This font was designed to be used as a (you guessed it) fill for its fancy cousin, Rosewood Std, but I think it stands quite well on its own.

Didot. One of my regular design practices involves combining a simple serif with a simple sans-serif, and this is my simple serif font of choice.

Little Days. Another of my Calobee Doodles favorites. Whimsical and a little loopy, just like me!

Respect the font, people. What are your favorites?

Originally published at sixhours.net. You can comment here or there.

Babies come with luggage, not baggage...
Then: Our living room had a fairly straightforward arrangement. Chairs, a TV, a lamp, a bookshelf or two--simple, functional, nothing fancy.
Now: It looks like a Toys R Us exploded. There's a sippy cup in the middle of the floor, and I'm pretty sure it's been there for three days. There's this behemoth of a thing we call the Pack n' Play sitting in one corner, although the name is misleading... it implies that baby might play in it. It should actually be called Baby's Favorite Torture Device, because that's what you'd think we were doing when we put her in it.

Handling someone else's excrement is...
Then: Not happening.
Now: Any diaper that doesn't require a new outfit or a bath on the part of either changee or changer is a good diaper, no matter how stinky.

The soft spot is...
Then: Eurghh. *shudder*
Now: I admit, I'm still squicked out by the soft spot. If you're not familiar, it's that part of the baby's skull that hasn't yet fused, leaving an opening covered by skin. If you happen to press on it (I wish you wouldn't) it's like pressing into warm Silly Putty... if that Silly Putty were made of your baby's brains.

On the pacifier...
Then: Hadn't said the word "binky" more than a handful of times in my life. Probably didn't know what "binky" meant. Didn't care.
Now: I say it a handful of times each day, usually preceded by "Where is the damn..." or "What the hell happened to the...." Binkies, like cat toys, have this nasty habit of disappearing to hold secret binky meetings under the furniture.

Laundry--I'm...
Then: Always drowning in it, but there's hope!
Now: Always drowning in it, and there's no hope in sight.  Considering nudism.

On sleep (or a lack thereof)...
Then: 6 a.m. is an ungodly hour. No self-respecting lover of sleep should be subjected to it.
Now: "It's 6:15 a.m.? She let us sleep in! Wait, is she alive? Yes? WOOHOO!"

Alarm clocks are...
Then: A necessity if I want to get to work before 8.
Now: Still necessary, but we got a new one. This particular model totally ignores all user programming, is loud, insistent, and I've yet to find the snooze button.

When someone tells you that having a kid will change your life... take heed. Listen to them and listen well. Now, where is that damn binky...

Hennes & Mauritz makes these collaborations with designers every now and then. They've had collections done by Viktor & Rolf, Karl Lagerfeld and Stella McCartney among others. The collections are always completely sold out within minutes of the stores opening. I've only managed to buy a dress from the Cavalli collection by accident when I wandered in about an hour after the launch and the last girl standing came out from the fitting room with said dress in hand declaring it was the wrong size for her. I asked her if I could have it and I could. And I'm woman enough to admit that yes, I am still in love with something as silly as a Roberto Cavalli for H&M panther dress. And that's as much of the designer collections I've ever seen "live". 

Meow