Another Harriet Walter Weekend

My only duck-n-cover move for the next X years is: find some friends & never stop laughing, and every once in a while toss in some Shakespeare.

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,
Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.

Women’s march on Washington

We stood. We cheered. We shouted and stomped and (eventually) marched. I got lost when I wandered off in search of a porta-potty, thinking, Oh, I'm not an idiot, I'll find my way back again, but I never did. I was swallowed up by the Women of Washington and that was that. I met up with my group again seven hours later, back at the hotel.

The mood in the air was angry but not bitter—more bright and proud and insistent, more refusing to be denied—loud but notably polite. It was a family-friendly affair with occasional salty language. Kids gotta learn it somewhere.

On the train back to Falls Church I sat between two silver-haired lesbians who talked about how long they had been with their partners (in both cases, 20+ years), and how it had felt to finally get married, how they had never believed it would happen.

At dinner we sat next to two women who had driven down from Vermont with their teenage daughters so those teenage daughters could know that it mattered. So they could see that people cared enough to show up for each other. 

It was a necessary day that burned off any lingering despair, an outraged and heartening start to the thousands and thousands of steps that come next.

Leader of the people

Look at Martin Sheen for a while, I got some marching to do.

Ahem: middle-aged Martin Sheen in a vest holding a stick is my Kryptonite.

Ditto Martin Sheen on a dark street corner in autumnal New Hampshire. If I'm not mistaken, in this important flashback scene with best pal Leo, he is also wearing boat shoes. Boat shoes! May that trivial yet delightful factoid console you as needed.

Watching: Jackie

I saw Jackie last weekend. It's hypnotic and claustrophobic and truly, deeply, wrenchingly sad, as well as completely cracked—but so was she, I suppose, and for the first time I understood why (at one point, you the viewer / voyeur see very much why, and perhaps more than you would ever care to). The lady next to me found it all a little absurd, I could tell, but I loved it to the moon & back and have revised all my previous opinions about Natalie Portman. Anybody willing to go that insanely all in has got to be a goddamn genius, and I will remember that performance for a long, long time.

“I try everything just to see if it is okay”

I try everything just to see if it is okay. I am 54, so everyone is like, ‘Okay, you have to wear this type of clothes. Very boring, just a gray sweater and large pants,’ which I like to wear. But today, I have painter pants, very dirty ones. They are white but with paint on it. I bought them in Brooklyn. I have big, big yellow wool socks. I have very big shoes. It’s freezing here in Paris, and I have a big man’s shirt with very, very big sleeves, like double [the length of] my arms, with a tiny vest and jacket. While I was walking in the street for coffee, two people came to me to say, ‘May I take a pic[ture] because I love your look.’ Maybe we need more people inventing themselves. I’m not ashamed at all to try things.
— Sophie Fontanel

I love this idea of aging more than any other: try everything. 

Source: http://www.vogue.com/13446528/sophie-fonta...

47.

When I was in my early 30s, I dog-sat for this rich couple that lived in Hinsdale. One time I got a call, a couple hours after they left town, from the husband, who asked me to please go outside and look for the diamond from his wife's wedding ring, which she thought she might have lost in the driveway. I did it, even though it seemed stupid. A single diamond in a sea of suburban asphalt! But it was a wedding ring, after all, and I couldn't blame them for caring about their gems. Plus they were serious people, so I did what I was told. I wandered around out there for a while, gazing at the ground, and I even looked in the garage, but I never found anything. I wonder if they did or, if they didn't, if they ever wondered whether I had.

- • ~ • -

On the zodialogical wine scale, according to Laura Jane Drinks Wine, the CAPRICORN is a "Puligny-Montrachet, brut Champagne (substantial, though subdued)." 

Of course. 

- • ~ • -

How do you feel about turning 47? my occasional lover, the identical twin of Mark Ruffalo, asks as he dusts behind the TV. I smile wistfully and toss a handful of diamonds into the air, not even caring where they land: Substantial, though subdued.

Another style shero: Carrie Coon

For the record I agree that "shero" is a ridiculous word, but I read a whole article today on what women are and are not supposed to wear to the DC march next weekend in order to be taken "seriously," so I have no time left for caring about what women can and cannot be. Jesus we love to hand down rules to each other about things that no man in the world would even dream of paying attention to. Wake up, sheeple, wake up! (For the record, I do approve of "sheeple.")

Anyway, check out this picture of Carrie Coon (center), who stars in the upcoming third season of Fargo. I know I bitched about lady shoes just the other day, but everything about this look is truly stellar:

Of course Carrie Coon could wear whatever she goddamn well pleases and still be the best, and anyway pt II, if you are SMART you will already know and love her from The Leftovers, where she plays Nora Durst, the most amazing shero who has ever been or who ever will be. The third (and final) season of that is also upcoming, so you have a lot of work to do.

What a crabby/happy post! The end.

New theme show: Happy Endings

There is no better television show with which to spend long dark winter nights than Happy Endings, and I've seen every episode of season 2 at least 59 times (rounding up). It is fundamentally and simultaneously cozy, chummy, breezy, bright, smart, fast, and a little mean, all adjectives I relate to. I first binged on it when I was stuck in NYC, sick, over Christmas break in 2011, and it was a saving comfort during a time of sloth and sadness. At first I thought Penny was my favorite character, and she still is. Then I thought Jane was my favorite character, and she still is. Ditto Brad, who might really be my favorite character. It took me longer to warm up to Alex and Dave, although the Marilyn Monroe Halloween episode sold me on the former and the "Temple Grandin/It's Pat/You look like a Jonas Brother" tight perm put it in the bag for me and Dave. I appreciate a slow burn. And since Max cuddles with two stuffed bears signed by Mandy Patinkin ("He sat next to us at a game once"), it was a fait accompli.

And guess where it's set? That's right: in theme town. And look at how happy! ABC! is! about! its! clips! Just not happy enough to give it a fourth season, I guess.

Lesson learned: it's okay to go home again. Sometimes home is what you need.