Don't Call Me Liz.

One of Old Hollywood's most gorgeous women passed away today.
Dame Elizabeth Taylor will be remembered by the world for her serious lavender eyes, her puerile voice and her tumultuous love life.
I will always remember her as the girl who drove Monty Clift to murder in A Place in the Sun (1951), and the wife who almost drove Paul Newman to madness in Cat On a Hot Tin Roof (1958).
Yes, her personal life was fraught with intrigue, booze and scandal, (she was, afterall, the first celebrity to openly check into the Betty Ford Clinic), but her love of animals, her sense of style and the over 50 films in which she starred throughout her carreer, will carry her legacy on through Hollywood history.







I would also highly recommend C. David Heymann's Liz: An Inimate Biography of Elizabeth Taylor.

"I'm always late, it's part of my charm!"

Howard Hughes.

I finished my latest read, Howard Hughes: The Untold Story. Again my love for old Hollywood stars and their biographies is justified. Such a page-turner! I think the best part is that Howard Hughes was involved with just about every woman in Hollywood at that time. So reading this book was something like reading mini biographies of Ava Gardner, Katharine Hepburn, Ginger Rogers, and Jean Peters (to name just a few).

I love her.

Girl got lyrics.
"You're intimidating as all hell, but I ain't scared of you.."

READS 2010.

While we're on the subject of recaps, I thought I'd throw back to all the volumes I've vanquished in the past 12 months. Here's looking at you, kids.








On my To-Read list:

Ulysses by James Joyce (I began this tome about a month ago, but abandoned it. I'll try again soon.)
Autobiography of a Face by Lucy Grealy
Paul Newman: A Life by Shawn Levy
Winter's Bone by Daniel Woodrell
She's Come Undone by Wally Lamb

TEN.

Now that the year has come to a close,

I think a little recap may be in order.

JANUARY

Heather and I went on the road trip of our lives.

(see the whole adventure here.)

Who knew CA to NM could be so treacherous?

FEBRUARY

Homemade Valentines for everyone.

Even artichokes have hearts!

MARCH

Madness.

Visit from Uncle Marty and some long-lost cousins.

APRIL

Encore ABQ visit.

Teaching the girls to raise the roof and say "partytime!"

MAY

My first visit to The White Buffalo Resort.

Hopefully not my last. Cornhole, anyone?

JUNE

Returning to ABQ once more for combination family

reunion and James' welcome home bash!

JULY

Beachtime.

Leah visits, we turn 23 and gorge ourselves on seafood.

AUGUST

Yosemite EXPRESS.

Justin and I escape for a mere two days of camping bliss.

SEPTEMBER

Falling in love with Paris.

Je t'aime.

OCTOBER

Nuit Blanche.

Getting used to this whole French thing.

NOVEMBER

French-American Thanksgiving.

Eating like an American just feels so right.

DECEMBER

Au Revoir les enfants!

A close to the fastest months of my life.

BONUS DECEMEBER

HAPPY NEW YEAR, 2011!

Final verdict: I think I liked 2010.

Kids.

[Friendly donkey. Saint German des Angles, France.]


What's wrong with feeling young and restless.

Taking 2 hour naps on someone else's front lawn
and not wanting to settle down until you
don't feel so wild anymore
or wanting to speak a different language for a while
because then maybe things would start to make a little more sense.

What's wrong with telling lies just to be nice--
"I love that sweater on you."
And learning that people are just people
all over--everywhere
and that they all expect nothing less
and want nothing more
than to be loved.

How about walking everywhere
because driving is so 2005
and then knowing that your feet are going to hurt after
all that walking.

What's wrong with never finding the one song
that says just what you're feeling
so writing your own, but never showing anyone
and maybe singing it to yourself
after everyone has gone to bed.

What's wrong with just feeling free:
Calling someone and hanging up
Throwing water balloons at a stranger
Driving a little too fast
Eating two pieces of cake.

Because, after all, aren't we all just kids?

France, Adventure No. 34

INVALIDES, 21h00.
Dimanche, 17 Octobre.

A lot of men ride the trains at night.

It was the first time I had felt really alone, there in the station with my red overcoat buttoned up to the top and my shoulder bag mounted firmly on the bench beside me.

There was one who paced the gum-spotted platform, peering at me every so often through his unkempt facade with these sad eyes that belong only to those who know what it's like to perhaps sleep on a sidewalk or to eat someone's cast-off Egg McMuffin for breakfast. But his ratty beard and feral appearance were the least of my worries.

A young man, 26 or so, had already invited himself to take a seat beside me; an action that prompted me to grip my book tighter and pour over it more intently. But not because it was nighttime and I was alone, but because this particular fellow wreaked of wine-coolers--or anyway, that tell-tale odor of having been drinking steadily since 5. He leaned in too close and in his blurry French, asked me where I was going, where I was living, and, incidentally, "Est-ce que vous voulez dormir chez moi ce soir?" I politely declined and shoved him on his way.

Almost immediately, another, older, and on the verge of a drunken stupor, sat down in his place and promptly began to sing about liberty or something. I never really got a good look at him, but I do recall with perfect clarity the filthy tennis shoes he wore, which had obviously seen too many winters; their Nike symbol faded to a depressing brownish-blue. He kept up his song for a good 10 minutes and drank at intervals from an over-sized soda can--clearly the source of his musical courage.

As we boarded the 21h25, I found myself hunting for the most deserted seat to take, where no one might seek me out to ask about my life or my American accent. I suppose I also hoped to avoid further encounters involving invitations to sleepovers or unsolicited drunken serenades.

I sat down at the furthermost window seat and attempted to decipher some of the graffiti etched into the thick glass window that the winter air had made icy. Letting my mind toy with the idea that loneliness isn't necessarily a bad thing, and that sometimes it's just what a girl needs, I unbuttoned my coat, reopened my book, and read all the way home.