Weblog 107
February 24, 2008~ 12:05am
Despite my impish sarcasm at times, and the levity I'm able to lasso in my daily life and project right here onto my blog, there is a darkly romantic side of myself that's hard-coded back to when I first picked up my sister's softback book of "Jane Eyre". "Jane......Jane.....".... that ragged voice of Mr. Rochester still whispers in the wind: a voice above the trees, speaking hauntingly into the night.
I think the world itself is my own 'Lowood School', and despite its harshness and its cruelties, there is a 'Jane' deep down inside who tries for integrity-- with a steel-rod spirit that gets her through, while longing always, just as fervently, for a kindredness: for feeling altogether at home in someone's heart. She is a somber little creature. And much too earnest.
I remember the first time I saw the old black and white film with Orson Welles as Mr. Rochester and Joan Fontaine, cast in the role of Jane: I was literally swept up into a frenzy of romantic indentification with those characters and predicaments- and especially in the wonder of finding what is missing, and making it yours. (If there is a romantic bone in my body, it happened when I was twelve and read this book, and saw the movie.) Has there ever been a lover depicted more intensely than Welles in that role?
I'm thinking perhaps Olivier as Heathcliff, but you know, I never quite bought his brooding power with the same conviction with which I was able to embrace that of Orson Welles in the Charlotte Bronte film- there was too much 'acting' he never threw off completely-- but Welles is desperation and fervor to the core. He was, and still is- whenever I watch- as captivating as the first time.
Later there was a George C. Scott/Susannah York version made for television, and it was excellent. It caught much of the magic of the original version-- and Scott was an actor who always held me in thrall when onscreen-
a truly wonderful version, but like all first loves with their power to imprint, that 'Jane Eyre' never claimed me in the way the 1944 adaptation did. It was the first and finest.
Though I know I have a strong practical side which is soundly intact, I cannot help but admit to a part of me that looks heart-stricken at a vision of Thornfield Hall brooding in the distance- and inside, and in front of a roaring hearth, there sits the lost man of dreams- the prototype.
It's the same romantic bent that's brought disappointment a time or two in life in coming upon hearts that needed mending-- merely to be shaken awake to realize.. there is only one Rochester.. and he dwells in a realm of fiction-
and to leave it at that.
February 24, 2008~ 7:00am
I've long been a fan of all things Erté~ so i was delighted to happen upon the Erté Alphabet/Numeral page. Check out this wonderful number 4...click on it to go straight to the page.
I'd never seen these before, and was simply enchanted. If you love his Art Deco style- the long, lean and graceful ladies in fanciful, furred 'Hollywood', circa 1920-30's- you will adore Erté sculptures. Most often in cast bronze and studded with intricate, detailed trim, they have long been my favorite: it's a real feat to combine heft and solidity with such airy grace. Have fun!
February 25, 2008~ 5:00am
I awake to find I've missed yet another year of the Oscars (of course that's true, since I've gotten rid of cable) but I read about it, and do feel sorry I missed this one since Jon Stewart was the MC. I see the Coen Brothers pulled it off- those dark darlings- and I'm pleased about that. (I knew they were geniuses since the incomparable 'Miller's Crossing'.)
And not so surprising, but well-deserved, Daniel Day-Lewis- the last really Olympian actor, got his laurels as well for Best Actor. I do feel badly that Julie Christie did not take it for 'Away From Her', but I'm sure the French actress Marion Cotillard was shimmering in "La Vie En Rose" playing Edith Piaf, but lord knows because it's in French- I'll probably never watch it. I'm very challenged that way. If I have to read while I'm watching- it ruins the experience for me. Perhaps if there is an English version, I'll get to see it eventually. All in all, sounds like it was a great year for the Academy Awards.
February 27, 2008~ 6:00pm
Saddened today at the passing of the Yoi Boy- and the Yale Boy.....and two more dissimilar men I cannot think of, but BOTH had voices that were instantly recognizable- (and if you did not know that about me...I am a voice person, through and through. Thus......my unending love of the divine Richard Burton. {{{{{{sigh}}}}}}) His was the apogee of all male voices- ever and ever, amen.)
Certainly to the people of Pittsburgh, Myron Cope WAS football. An announcer since the early 70's, he coined the phrase, "immaculate reception", "the steel curtain", and yes......."Yoi!", as the ever-excitable Myron called off the plays onfield in the THICKEST Pittsburgh accent possible. LOL! And oh.......we loved him. Myron was 'Mr. Excitement' himself.
If you have a hankering just to remember what that little guy could generate with his weird pipes, visit this page, to hear true 'Copeisms'. Yes, Myron is also responsible for
which all true fans wave fanatically to get the team (and eachother) pumped up for the games. Myron was the champeen Pep-Rally-Master, and just a sweet guy to boot. He donated all the proceeds from the sale of Terrible Towels to Allegheny School- a residential home for autistic and physically and/or mentally challenged youngsters, and raised over two million dollars. Myron, you'll be missed. I think most of all I'll miss your self-deprecating humor. (When asked how he came to be an announcer after successfully writing sport columns early in his career, Myron said the fella who hired him told him, "Well, obnoxious voices seem to be in." LOL!!!)
No sooner had it begun to sink in that Myron was gone, when I got home from work I learned that old golden-throat, William F. Buckley Jr. had passed away in his study while working: 82 years old and still hard at it. Politics aside (before I grew into the independent Democrat/free thinker that I've become) I had the BIGGEST CRUSH on Buckley back in the sixties when he hosted 'FIRING LINE' on public television. I loved to watch those wonderful eyes flash, delighted by his many tics and quirks, and I always waited for the one word that would finally stump his opponent. LOL!!! That man had a true caress of a voice-- and a twinkle that wouldn't quit. I believe the phrase, "sharp as a tack" must have been coined with Buckley in mind, and if it's possible to fall for intellect alone, he had me- that's for darn sure.
Buckley and his pen. Buckley and his baiting in that purring intonation of his...twinkling, twinkling....and moving forehead skin like a carpet he couldn't quite get adjusted ...his ever-present pen like a Linus blanket, always clasped in the right hand- moving, moving- clearing his throat, flashing those eyes and having the just the best time of it on camera. I just adored watching him. (And YES! I actually saw the original near-fisticuffs with Gore Vidal in 1968. LOL! (I adore Vidal as well for the same reasons...great voice, HUGE intellect)--and they were ready to knock eachother's blocks off. For your reading/listening pleasure, you can take a trip back to that greatly heated debate right here, where both fellas lose a bit of their dignity.
Yes, he was a stuffed shirt....but a brilliant one. My favorite- (probably only favorite) conservative. Bye, Bill. I'm gonna miss ya....and for some reason I think you and Myron are gonna take to one another... you both loved to laugh and woo the audience, and I think Myron might have a word or two..... stumps even you.....YOI!
***
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Despite my impish sarcasm at times, and the levity I'm able to lasso in my daily life and project right here onto my blog, there is a darkly romantic side of myself that's hard-coded back to when I first picked up my sister's softback book of "Jane Eyre". "Jane......Jane.....".... that ragged voice of Mr. Rochester still whispers in the wind: a voice above the trees, speaking hauntingly into the night.
I think the world itself is my own 'Lowood School', and despite its harshness and its cruelties, there is a 'Jane' deep down inside who tries for integrity-- with a steel-rod spirit that gets her through, while longing always, just as fervently, for a kindredness: for feeling altogether at home in someone's heart. She is a somber little creature. And much too earnest.
I remember the first time I saw the old black and white film with Orson Welles as Mr. Rochester and Joan Fontaine, cast in the role of Jane: I was literally swept up into a frenzy of romantic indentification with those characters and predicaments- and especially in the wonder of finding what is missing, and making it yours. (If there is a romantic bone in my body, it happened when I was twelve and read this book, and saw the movie.) Has there ever been a lover depicted more intensely than Welles in that role?
I'm thinking perhaps Olivier as Heathcliff, but you know, I never quite bought his brooding power with the same conviction with which I was able to embrace that of Orson Welles in the Charlotte Bronte film- there was too much 'acting' he never threw off completely-- but Welles is desperation and fervor to the core. He was, and still is- whenever I watch- as captivating as the first time.
Later there was a George C. Scott/Susannah York version made for television, and it was excellent. It caught much of the magic of the original version-- and Scott was an actor who always held me in thrall when onscreen-
a truly wonderful version, but like all first loves with their power to imprint, that 'Jane Eyre' never claimed me in the way the 1944 adaptation did. It was the first and finest.
Though I know I have a strong practical side which is soundly intact, I cannot help but admit to a part of me that looks heart-stricken at a vision of Thornfield Hall brooding in the distance- and inside, and in front of a roaring hearth, there sits the lost man of dreams- the prototype.
It's the same romantic bent that's brought disappointment a time or two in life in coming upon hearts that needed mending-- merely to be shaken awake to realize.. there is only one Rochester.. and he dwells in a realm of fiction-
February 24, 2008~ 7:00am
I've long been a fan of all things Erté~ so i was delighted to happen upon the Erté Alphabet/Numeral page. Check out this wonderful number 4...click on it to go straight to the page.
I'd never seen these before, and was simply enchanted. If you love his Art Deco style- the long, lean and graceful ladies in fanciful, furred 'Hollywood', circa 1920-30's- you will adore Erté sculptures. Most often in cast bronze and studded with intricate, detailed trim, they have long been my favorite: it's a real feat to combine heft and solidity with such airy grace. Have fun!
February 25, 2008~ 5:00am
I awake to find I've missed yet another year of the Oscars (of course that's true, since I've gotten rid of cable) but I read about it, and do feel sorry I missed this one since Jon Stewart was the MC. I see the Coen Brothers pulled it off- those dark darlings- and I'm pleased about that. (I knew they were geniuses since the incomparable 'Miller's Crossing'.)
And not so surprising, but well-deserved, Daniel Day-Lewis- the last really Olympian actor, got his laurels as well for Best Actor. I do feel badly that Julie Christie did not take it for 'Away From Her', but I'm sure the French actress Marion Cotillard was shimmering in "La Vie En Rose" playing Edith Piaf, but lord knows because it's in French- I'll probably never watch it. I'm very challenged that way. If I have to read while I'm watching- it ruins the experience for me. Perhaps if there is an English version, I'll get to see it eventually. All in all, sounds like it was a great year for the Academy Awards.
February 27, 2008~ 6:00pm
Saddened today at the passing of the Yoi Boy- and the Yale Boy.....and two more dissimilar men I cannot think of, but BOTH had voices that were instantly recognizable- (and if you did not know that about me...I am a voice person, through and through. Thus......my unending love of the divine Richard Burton. {{{{{{sigh}}}}}}) His was the apogee of all male voices- ever and ever, amen.)
Certainly to the people of Pittsburgh, Myron Cope WAS football. An announcer since the early 70's, he coined the phrase, "immaculate reception", "the steel curtain", and yes......."Yoi!", as the ever-excitable Myron called off the plays onfield in the THICKEST Pittsburgh accent possible. LOL! And oh.......we loved him. Myron was 'Mr. Excitement' himself.
If you have a hankering just to remember what that little guy could generate with his weird pipes, visit this page, to hear true 'Copeisms'. Yes, Myron is also responsible for
which all true fans wave fanatically to get the team (and eachother) pumped up for the games. Myron was the champeen Pep-Rally-Master, and just a sweet guy to boot. He donated all the proceeds from the sale of Terrible Towels to Allegheny School- a residential home for autistic and physically and/or mentally challenged youngsters, and raised over two million dollars. Myron, you'll be missed. I think most of all I'll miss your self-deprecating humor. (When asked how he came to be an announcer after successfully writing sport columns early in his career, Myron said the fella who hired him told him, "Well, obnoxious voices seem to be in." LOL!!!)
No sooner had it begun to sink in that Myron was gone, when I got home from work I learned that old golden-throat, William F. Buckley Jr. had passed away in his study while working: 82 years old and still hard at it. Politics aside (before I grew into the independent Democrat/free thinker that I've become) I had the BIGGEST CRUSH on Buckley back in the sixties when he hosted 'FIRING LINE' on public television. I loved to watch those wonderful eyes flash, delighted by his many tics and quirks, and I always waited for the one word that would finally stump his opponent. LOL!!! That man had a true caress of a voice-- and a twinkle that wouldn't quit. I believe the phrase, "sharp as a tack" must have been coined with Buckley in mind, and if it's possible to fall for intellect alone, he had me- that's for darn sure.
Buckley and his pen. Buckley and his baiting in that purring intonation of his...twinkling, twinkling....and moving forehead skin like a carpet he couldn't quite get adjusted ...his ever-present pen like a Linus blanket, always clasped in the right hand- moving, moving- clearing his throat, flashing those eyes and having the just the best time of it on camera. I just adored watching him. (And YES! I actually saw the original near-fisticuffs with Gore Vidal in 1968. LOL! (I adore Vidal as well for the same reasons...great voice, HUGE intellect)--and they were ready to knock eachother's blocks off. For your reading/listening pleasure, you can take a trip back to that greatly heated debate right here, where both fellas lose a bit of their dignity.
Yes, he was a stuffed shirt....but a brilliant one. My favorite- (probably only favorite) conservative. Bye, Bill. I'm gonna miss ya....and for some reason I think you and Myron are gonna take to one another... you both loved to laugh and woo the audience, and I think Myron might have a word or two..... stumps even you.....YOI!
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