Tag Archives: Ingrid Bergman

Displaced Stuffs & A Happy Christmas!

25 Dec

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Playing with all my new toys, and finding homes for them around the house. 

…This is no small feat as my little home is already jam-packed, and in some cases a little displacement has had to take place. This always takes twice as long as it prob’ly does for other people, because changing things around makes me second guess the new options. I know I need to just make a choice and leave them till I get used to it…which won’t be for several days…but I keep getting all impatient and shift and re-shift them endlessly.

…Two and a half hours later, my brain is so “done,” you guys.

…Meanwhile, tomorrow am back to work, then home to strike the decorations on account that rehearsals this week need me to. I need enough time to clean  before the small New Years party Marty has nominated me to hold for all us cast adults. We’ll be too busy working scenes on the night of, and not enough time after to dress and get anywhere else afterwards.

Am uncommonly excited about it 🙂 

…No better way I can think to usher in the next year than with a bunch of family, after spending an evening doing something I love.

The bar is stocked.

Marty is floating food ideas in her head.

…And I can only do so much futzing ‘tween now and then, what with a full work schedule ahead.

Sitting here now with “Bells of St. Mary’s” on, sipping some Ceylon Orange tea, trying to calm my brain a bit as I gawk at Bergman’s face, roughly the size of my own, looking back as me from a new significantly larger TV screen. In fact, I keep getting sucked into it and forgetting that I’m s’posed to be writing something.

…I love you and all…but Bergman close-ups outrank you.

Don’t feel bad.

…They outrank pert near every person who has ever breathed.

And that’s the truth.

Ask anyone.

~D

P.S. Incidentally…in this last hour of Christmas, you should totally watch this:

Genetic Lotto Wins Of Talent & Beauty

1 Oct

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You know how every once in a while you see a print ad or a commercial or are watching a movie and a person is standing before you with just unconscionable beauty, and you think, “My god, that just cannot be real. No actual person can possibly be that ridiculously beautiful?!”

…And you know how then, you really have to acknowledge the fact that, yes, these people actually DO exist, if for nothing else than to fuck with the normal human laws of averages?  Like you HAVE to have the highest heights of esthetic perfection, and you have to have the lowest lows…because that’s just how you have a ruler on which to gauge things.  And most people fall somewhere in the middle.  And that’s better than being at the bottom.  Unless you really think about the dilemma of “relations.”

…Not “sex” mind you, but ACTUAL “relations”…of the blood variety.

For instance: No matter how “pleasant” the fraternal twin sister of Isabella Rossellini might look, tell me it didn’t TOTALLY  blow the big one, with “Ms. Lancome” growing up right beside you.  Not that she isn’t brilliant…a professor for one…a noble profession, yes…but her mother was a fucking gorgeous freak of modeling and acting talent, her father helped reinvent Italian cinema, and her twin sister’s face is plastered on every major magazine from Vogue to Harpers, across like four decades.  So yeahThat didn’t suck.

…Its like that, you see, with my own sister.  (Minus the Doctoral degree.)

She’s but a “half,” (different Mothers, ironically both of Irish descent)…though both of us very clearly take after our Father in looks…and she very clearly, managed to get the fucking genetic Lotto on every level outta the deal.  How can this be? And where is the fairness in that?  When you put our pictures next to one another, you can tell we’re “related”…only she’s in sharp focus, with fine lines and perfect teeth, a beautiful figure (even after two babies), and model print portfolios, with musical talent comin’ outta absolutely every pore.  She prob’ly even shits rainbows. 

My photos look like a person who hasn’t quite finished cooking yet.  They are all sorta bulgy, with extra chins, and not great noses, who has no “good side,” has never…in the HISTORY OF LIFE…taken a good picture, (yet, bless the theatre, I’ve been airbrushed and Photoshop’d with religious fervor to ATTEMPT it); and at the BEST of times, could be said is a “decent character actor,” who can write and sing “a little.”

This topic all comes, by the way, in due part to the latest photo-sitting of the sister I barely know, and her family…newly posted on FB, all of which look like they just came out of a GAP ad.

…I’ve never spoken to her husband in my life, (whom I am told, is a lovely man), nor my niece and nephew, (the former, an absolutely eery carbon copy of her mother)…and only to my sister herself, maybe twice since my own High School graduation.  (We are not close…due to circumstances of our childhood, not any ill will.)  And yet even having NOT been raised in the bedroom beside this beauty queen all my life, I still shake my fist at the fairness factor involved here.  Not that I would take it away…I’d just like to have gotten perhaps a bit more of the “fabulousness cocktail,” that was clearly for the taking, genetically speaking…when it was MY turn.  After all, I DID come first!

…It’d be nice to have a “profile” and not a “potato” (for instance.)  I could use a little less of the “Latina” in the ass department, thank you.  Would it have really fucked fate to have gained another inch in height or relocated a couple pounds into my bra?  And the weight distribution?  Even when I’m small, it still falls in all the wrong places than it should, by just plain common sense and physics.

…Which is all to say: The new family photos are ridiculously adorable, enchanting, and beautiful.  She married a hottie, and BOTH her kids managed to also cash in on the genetic Royalty line.  And I’m proud to say, “These people are my family!”  But at the same time?  It’s gotta be stated:

“Average sisters of the world, of print-art-freak-beauties: I feel your pain, all!  And this one’s for you.”

(toast.)

~D

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