You know, I think in the long run, writers are the only ones with any job security. Really...seems robots could do anything else. I mean, hopefully it never gets to that point, but still. Which stinks, because I could never write good fiction. It always feels as if I'm giving someone's secrets away. It seems the only true point of view is limited. But I mean limited. Knowing no one's thoughts at all. Because that's how it is in life, right? I don't know his thoughts-- or hers, or his. It would be my thoughts alone...one endless journal entry. And that's no fun for anyone.
Judy with a very large postcard. Yeah, that's my caption.
Yesterday I watched Ladies of Leisure for the first time. I liked it all, but the beginning was especially marvelous, like when Barbara Stanwyck pulls a fish face. I'm constantly making fish faces. Hopefully everyone knows what that means, because I'm nearly positive I couldn't do it justice by describing it here.
Stany in a dress. Oh boy, I really need to get more info on these pictures, huh?I can hear William outside, probably getting ready to pounce on one of my cats. That's my neighbor's 7-year-old. Also the name of a kid I went to grade school with. Also my kindergarten teacher. Technically, that was her last name. I didn't much like her-- she took her hair off once on April Fool's Day. Also she was mean. Mainly to this kid named Brittany. I walked with Brittany at my kindergarten graduation. I tripped. The the end. I remember having to draw self-portraits with my class then, and mine being the only one with skin-colored skin. All the others' were green or blue or something. I thought that showed a terrible lack of realism in them...probably just meant I had no taste for the abstract at age six.
Jeanette MacDonald, Sally Blane and Joyce Compton in Annabel's Affairs. Can you say "pre-Code"? ;)...But I must have liked it, for I drew a yellow train, which --according to Hattie the gal who sat next to me-- don't exist. Must be something in the name Hattie, for she was quite like Mrs. Dorsett, I suppose..."Chickens...aren't...purple...stupid." Of course, Mrs. Dorsett was right, albeit a tad cruel in her way of showing it. A purple chicken is perfectly absurd, but then again the kid was like four...
Doris Day rehearsing a number in I'll See You in My Dreams. The blackface was part of the number, not a personal preference. Pretty sure.PS. I'm pretty sure the makers of The Simpsons based Nelson's laugh on Ginger Rogers'. You know..."HAa-ha." Who's with me? ;)
Good thing they don't still print neat pictures like this on cigarettes, or I'd be an addict.
