Sunday, 8 August 2010

Is it wrong to fall in love with someone who reminds you a little of erm...yourself (but better)

When/If I ever grow up I want to be like Jardine Libaire.
A brilliant article I stumbled upon in the New York Magazine archives, see: NY Mag
Am packing for the South of France, off for 3 days of gluttonous bliss with one of my greatest and oldest friends. Cannot afford fabulous antique linens but am going to write profuse thank yous to her hosting parentals on jazz age-esque huge postcards
If you like Jardine please buy her book @ Amazon
and keep her in the business of writing and saying everything I want to write in the way I would ideally write it:

'When I say I have a call girl fixation, I'm using call girl — inaccurately, creatively — as an umbrella for variations on a theme: golddigger, groupie, the chorus girl of yesteryear, barmaid, barfly, B-movie actress, hip-hop video dancer, lush, good-time girl, the stewardess and secretary and nurse of yore, flapper, floozy, party girl, trophy wife. Any woman between a societal rock and a hard place. Any figure who symbolizes that tantalizing dichotomy of public propriety and private sin.
     My call girl is a construction.
     My call girl is not walking the streets. She exists only in books and films, and the fantasies those breed. She's Henry Miller's dancehall slave and the YSL-dressed housewife in Belle du Jour. She's Holly accepting a fifty for the powder room in Breakfast at Tiffany's; Gloria stealing the wife's mink in Butterfield 8. It's the same character inPretty Baby and Pretty Woman, in Sweet Charity and Taxi Driver: she's the most jaded and most innocent woman in the room. We don't know if we can trust her in Risky Business, because she won't look him in the eye, and she paces, smoking, and tells stories that don't match — until the scene on the train. Sex like that never lies.'
from Embracing the Inner Call Girl

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