Music: My parents loved classical music. It was so impossibly boring. Ridiculously boring. The only respite would come when there were parties, and there were lots of those: It would be "Swing" type music: Mostly instramental, but sometimes sung by people imitating the styles of Frank Sinatra, and I don't know who else, and all the couples would dance in that specific way that only old people do. We were never big fans of bad french music. Our household was very "Anglomania." In France, all things English are considered the very height of chic in certain circles: Especially ones that have conservative Monarchist tendencies. To this day, most all of my musical collection is British. There's really no discussing that the UK puts out the best music, films, and bathing products. (Although, I did recently see "The Big Blue Sea," the latest Terrence Davies film, and I'm afraid to say I could have done without it. Somehow, British Miserablism isn't quite as poignant now as it was in the 80's and 80's, or I've just grown fed up with it. We did see a trailer about a Victorian Doctor "For Ladies," starring, of course, Rupert Everett, looking haggard and very, very far gone from his early days of beauty, where in the practice, very wide spread in the day, of treating "ladies" for all manner of "malaise" with vaginal penetration, sometimes, in certain circumstance I would imagine, performed by the Doctor himself, otherwise by machinery, was rampant: In the film, Our Rupert invents this monstrous looking machine that has a whirling feather duster attached to it and becomes the toast of London: That looked amusing, and I can use a break from depressing films, as the last three i've seen have been so bleak. When I whispered to my friend how impossibly old Rupert Everett looked, she whispered back: "You would look so much younger if you shaved off your beard." I responded: "I don't seek to look younger: Only more extreme." She said: You? Extreme? & I said: "Well I'm not going to look bland, no matter what i do, so I might just as well look extreme." She responded: "I suppose you have a point."
Papers: I let papers pile up so horrifically, that it is the subject of fright outright when I face it. I dread opening my post box as there in, along with every catalog in the history of the world, are always yet more documents that require examination. Something I am loathe to do. AND: I have everything except the obvious--Television, shredder......microwave oven....
Clubs: I belong to a "Gentleman's Club." I hardly ever go but sometimes, I must. Last time I went, I was refused entry as I had on a roll neck pull over and not a shirt and tie: There was an huge scene at the reception where they were insisting that I change into their hideous collection of 100 year old starched shirts and ugly ties. I stormed out and that was the last time I've been. There's a very important black tie affair next week with an after party planned there, where wives are welcome, so I
may go. The worst: the "All Member" black tie affairs. Can anyone imagine getting yourself all done up in evening clothes, and they have very strict protocal for this, to have dinner and drinks with a bunch of conservative old men and their spoiled sons? No women, at all? Visually, it looks like you are alive inside of a Fantin-Latour painting. When I learned the term "Sausage Party" recently, I knew exactly where and why that term had been invented.
Co-workers: It's a mix. A percentage of them are very clearly terrified of me, others are civil, yet remote, and a small group are my "fan club." Recently, someone told me, a member of the latter, "You're the only one who keeps it real. Seriously: You are just normal." I almost started to cry. Being called "normal" was probably the kindest compliment I've ever been paid, and I mean that in all sincerity.
What's the highest compliment you've ever been paid?