December 1, 1997

The Claudette Colbert Film Festival

Who knew that people were having sex back then?

My main task when I came home from Chicago was to write my term paper for Critical Studies. It was actually due on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, but according to the syllabus, being one day to one week late incurred a half-grade off.

I could live with a half-grade off, if it meant I didn't have to kill myself before Thanksgiving to do the paper.

I decided, with the professor, to write my paper on "Images of Women in Romantic Comedies: Claudette Colbert and Julia Roberts." Well, I could take about 3 minutes of Julia Roberts, so it rapidly became "...and Meg Ryan." Meg's made more romantic comedies anyhow.

I'd only seen It Happened One Night with Claudette, so on Sunday I went out, in torrential rain, in search of CC romantic comedies in the local video stores. Darin was right: always call first. Because I only found one at a store about 10 miles away: Preston Sturges's The Palm Beach Story, the tale of a woman not provided for in the manner which she expects, so she high-tails it off to Palm Beach to get a)a divorce and b)a rich man.

That paragon of family values hailed from 1942, by the way.

Today I called the Cinema/TV Library at school and discovered that they had them all, of course. Argh. And on such a beautiful day, too. I drove over to school and sat down at a carrel to watch Midnight and Bluebeard's Eighth Wife. Both movies co-written by Billy Wilder, by the way. Funny, funny stuff. And much racier than one ever suspects movies were back then, even post-Code. (Gary Cooper's pleading with CC for her to be "nice" to him--goodness.)

Anyhow, I've decided that Claudette Colbert is the woman I want to grow up to be: sassy, sexy, intelligent, and independent. She knows exactly how attractive she is and she's going to work it. You go, girl! I kept lusting after her dresses and hats--when I have a lot of money, I'm going to dress like late-30s Claudette Colbert all the time.

I have tonight to write the paper. Whee ha. 15 pages with wide margins and printed in God's gift to term paper writers: the font New York. A really horrible font, but hugely spaced.

In all the airports we were in over Thanksgiving had the newsmagazine covers bleating about the sextuplets. My favorite: the cover that blared, "We're Trusting In God!"

Uh huh. You trusted in medical science to get you knocked up 7 times over and trusted in people's generosity to afford to raise this many kids--do I see a freak show carnival on the horizon? Where the hell did God come in to it?

Unless you're talking about the God mentioned on the money.

And didn't this woman already have a baby? Why was a fertile woman given fertility drugs?

Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics

1.3 miles. At which point my left leg, which had been bothering me a bit, started bothering me a lot. Unfortunately, I was at this point 1.3 miles from my house and had to walk back. I guess I will leave off it for a few days (like I need any encouragement to do that) and see if the irritation doesn't go away.