17 October 1998: Saved by Tearjerkers

I woke up spontaneously at 8 am on Saturday morning, and immediately attacked my 2500-word piece and altered it for publication, skewing it to a straight audience. But as I rewrote it I didn't cut much out, so I copied it and took out a lot of the personal stuff that was detailed, and cut it in half. Still too long, probably, but at least I have the Web.

As I tapped away at the keys, I watched American Movie Classice. Three in a row. In With a Song in My Heart, the story of Jean Froman, Jean brings a shellshocked paratrooper out of it when she remembers him from a show she did back home. The young paratrooper was a devestatingly cute Robert Wagner. I was a teary-eyed mess. I then watched Love is a Many Splendoured Thing, in which Jennifer Jones plays a Eurasian doctor in Hong Kong and falls in love with war correspondent William Holden. It's sappy and I cried intermittently throughout. The funniest thing I notice, though, is that Jennifer Jones keeps saying "I'm proud to be Eurasian!" She says this three times, and I begin to wonder if it's code for gay. I guess being Eurasian in the 1950s was a big fat problem. Her friend, who looks a lot like a drag queen, is "passing" for white and advises her to do the same. She (the other one) later tells Jennifer that her sugar daddy boyfriend has found out, understands, and has given her a stunning bracelet. "Those are real diamonds!"

I then watched A Night to Remember, the better Titanic movie. The one I cry through more. And this one has the good sense to show the Carpathia and the Californian. The blessed cat Diana sits in my lap, very concerned I am crying all morning. I go out and do errands, and then watch two hours of AbFab and have a good hearty laugh for two hours. A very cathartic day.

AbFab quote from Patsy: "I embrace the wonder of life and the newness of living."

After a noncontroverial time at Fairway, which is usually overcrowded, I cleaned out my closet, relieving it of many items from the 80s, early 90s, and today. My apartment starts to resemble an explosion at a thrift shop.

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Copyright (c) 1998, Seth J. Bookey, New York, NY 10021, sethbook@panix.com