Thursday, April 12, 2012

"Thursday! It can't be! It's too gruesome!"

I'm lying in bed as I write this, but not in a luscious, lazy way--in a sick way. I have food poisoning, or I must have gotten hold of some onions (I am highly allergic). I am used to digestive trouble and usually can power through work, but when it gets like this (running to the loo every 10 minutes) I know I am best at home, watching old movies, and trying to keep down my coconut water.

And so I have time to write about one of my favorite movies of all time--a movie that inspired my hubby to fly to Tiffany's 5th Ave. just to buy my wedding ring (surprise of my LIFE!).

Breakfast at Tiffany's----advice I draw from the film.

Sometimes all you need is a Little Black Dress. Minimal makeup—tamed eyebrows, nude lipstick—a sweeping updo, and you have arrived.
I bought my first LBD last year and the first time I slipped it on I transformed--
My Shadow took over (she is a sultry, mysterious siren that is vocal and direct in a bewitching way and very proud of her curves) and even looking at pictures of myself in that dress I go “zooooowie.”

These dresses work wonders. On occasion, if you are lost or bewildered or have the Mean Reds, slipping into one can completely change your outlook, and bring you some eventfulness too.

If Your Party Gets Out of Control, Leave.
I simply love the scene where Holly’s mad apartment soiree becomes frenzied and unruly and she walks out with her gentlemen friend, politely directing the police upstairs to bust up some inconsiderate resident’s hoppin’ shindig. Classic.

Nothing Bad Ever Happens In Tiffany’s.
I can vouch for this personally. I am a Tiffany’s girl through and through and only beautiful, magical things have happened to me inside of their stores. It is its own glittering, tranquil world, and a determinedly secure one at that. If someone were after me—like really trying to whack me over the head with a candlestick or something, I’d duck into Tiffany’s. I know in the movies they always seek refuge in churches and cathedrals, but they are always empty! And then what? I doubt any crook would have the nerve to chase you into Tiffany’s, and if they did they certainly wouldn’t assault you in front of all those kind, helpful, wholesomely attractive sales clerks.
In fact, this criminal may be so overcome with the Tiffany’s magic that they drop their weapon and serenade you with “Moon River” right then and there.

Speaking of “Moon River”…. This Song is A Cure-All.
Listening to Mancini’s masterpiece is a good substitute to a spoonful of Dr. Good, or tequila, or whatever your crisis tonic of choice is. It is so honest, in a see-through way (no diverting and alarming heavy back up instruments or complex lyrics that demand interpretation) and soothing to the heart.
It is good to listen to when you have…

The Mean Reds.

 Are Killer.
They are worse than the blues. The blues are a common, petty ailment in comparison.

“The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of.”

And the only thing that helps the Mean Reds is to go to Tiffany’s. You see this wonderful circle of life here?

It’s Useful Being Top Banana in the Shock Department.
It is just a matter of how…. I am still working on my “shock” game.
Cracker Jack needs to bring back the prize ring in the box. ASAP.

Things That Matter Have Names.
Take Cat for instance. Holly loves him but he is symbolic of her, and how lost she is I her life, so she can’t bear to give him a name. But once she gets her shit together, you know that Cat is going to have his own name, as a symbol of belonging, and also a microcosm of organization.
I firmly believe in naming everything and if I am reluctant to name something I take it as a symptom of an underlying problem (deep, psychological self-diagnosis, I know). So many things in my life have a name, not just pets and places, but objects (my phone, Francis; my car, Jack/Jackie; my stuffed animal rabbit, Carrot Cake, etc.).

“A Girl Can’t Read That Sort of Thing Without Her Lipstick.”

Not being much of a lipstick girl myself, I ponder over this one. I absolutely adore this line.
I understand it completely, do you?

You Can’t Run Away From Your Problems.
“You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.”

Lord Almighty, what a speech, what a scene!!! And it all culminates with that hopelessly romantic (and sexy) kiss in the rain. This movie built that cliché without being cliché itself.

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