Person 1: "Hey, you know what I haven't seen in a long time?"
Person 2: "What?"
P1: "A Streetcar Named Desire. Man, Marlon Brando was so great in that."
P2: "Yeah...we could get a bunch of those Tennessee Ernie Williams movies, make a night of it."
P1: (cracking up) "You mean, watching filmed versions of great plays, or whompin' up a mess of biscuits?"
P2: "Wha--???" (realization dawning, laughing and turning red) "OH, crap. You know what I meant. Tennessee Williams! Glass Menagerie! Cat on a Hot Tin Roof! The Night of the Iguana!"
P1: "Nope, too late, you said it. You just combined the greatest Southern playwright of all time with the guy who used to sell Martha White flour during commericals on Hee-Haw" (ed.: I think it was actually the 'Grand Ole Opry' show), "into one great, mutant entertainer. I'm running this one into the ground."
P2: "Please don't tell anyone I said that."
P1: "I'm so sorry, but I'm gonna."
ed.: As it turns out, this was maybe not such an embarrassing gaffe after all, judging by photographic evidence:Tennessee Williams
Tennessee Ernie Ford
I mean, really--they both had a penchant for bowties, hair pomade and mustaches...if not for Williams' intense, brooding air and Ford's sincere, crooked good ol' boy smile, they might be long-lost...well, cousins or something.
The good news is, that because of that conversation, Alex and I wound up renting "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," which we hadn't seen in a couple of years, at least, and Great Jumping Cats, is that ever a great film. I mean, it's almost the straight (no pun intended--and even though it was altered and censored, much to Williams' displeasure, to downplay the suggested homosexual tendencies of Brick, Newman's character, that aspect seems to come through pretty clearly to me in the dialogue that WAS left in the film) play, with much of the dialogue as it was written by T.W., and the raw material is pretty much unparalleled. But Paul Newman and Liz Taylor...oh, boy. SO pretty, both of them. If you haven't seen it in a while--OR--horror of horrors, NEVER--do yourself a solid and run and get it, Netflix it, whatever, immediately. Really. "Goodness gracious, it's pea-pickin' good, y'all!" (Apologies to all non-Southerners for THAT bizarre reference.)
And yet another reason that I love having Alex with whom to live and share things like this:
At about the mid-point of the film, at a particular point when the whip-smart, 90-mile-an-hour dialogue is just filling your brain with super-impressed appreciation, as if you're looking at a beautiful painting or hearing breathtaking music, we both begin speaking at exactly the same time. Now, you'll have to imagine these sentences tumbling from our respective mouths simultaneously, but here is what was was said, by each of us:
Belinda: "One of the main things I love about Tennessee Williams' writing, is that there is not one unneccessary word spoken, EVER."
Alex: "This dialogue is fantastic, isn't it? I mean, there is nothing superfluous in it. Nothing!"
And then we just stared at each other for the barest of instances, squeezed hands, and kept watching our movie. It wasn't one of those, "JINX! You owe me a Coke!" situations (though we often express the same thoughts, we hardly ever use identical vocabulary), but it was one of those little things that warms the cockles of my heart about this man I wound up with through Divine arrangement. Besides having a sense of humor, God also wants you to ultimately be happy a good bit of the time, I think.
One more, and then I'll shut up. But I kind of owe him after griping about his driving-me-psychotic kitchen (lack of) skilz. We had to stop by Walgreen's today, because I had a beef with them over $5.45 that they owed me for some generic Nyquil equivalent that was on sale in their circular for $.99 each, but for which they charged me $3.49 plus tax each when I bought them on Tuesday. And since now I am this crazed, coupon-mad, circular-scrutinizing FREAK, I could not help but notice that aside from some Garnier Fructis shampoo and conditioner that they had on sale AND I had coupons for, that they had their crack--um, Cadbury chocolate on sale. Like, big-time. As in, the 4.5 oz. bars were already 2/$3, and THEN they had a coupon for half off again, so each bar was like $.75. YE-AHHH, Baby! Have I mentioned my hormonal fluxes of late? Anyway, there was a limit of six, so I came back to the car where Alex and Bella were waiting, with my $5.45 triumphantly clutched in my fist, PLUS the shampoo and conditioner that promises to make my hair glisten and shine like, umm...fruit? Yeah, I'm not sure how that works, either. AND THE BIG SCORE, my assortment of six big ol' heavy Cadbury bars: Caramellos, Roasted Almond, Dairy Milk, and Classic Dark. Heaven, I tell you. The smugness aura around me must have been stifling.
And then? And then, my previously coupon-phobic husband (seriously, in the past, I have sent him into stores with a list AND coupons, and found the coupons later, because, apparently, there were OTHER MEN WATCHING when he checked out and they might have revoked his man-card on the spot if he'd pulled out a $2-off razor blades coupon at checkout) looked at me, with pure love shining out of his eyes and a heavenly glow all around him, and said, "Limit 6 per customer? So, I can just go in now, and get you 6 more? They have the circulars with the coupons in the store, right?"
I swear, at that point, the ethereal light beaming from all around him was so intense that I had to look away momentarily, like in those Bible stories in which angels appear unto mortals. Besides, I didn't want him to see the tears of joy, lest he'd think I was MAKING A BIG DEAL OF THIS IN MY MIND, which of course I wasn't. *ahem*
So, yeah. I got to watch "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" and put up a month's supply of quality chocolate both in the same day. I feel like the luckiest est est est est woman an an an an an in the world orld orld orld orld orld. (Oh, great, now I want to see "Pride of the Yankees" again.)
Now, if someone could please remove the figurative claw (although really, at this point, from the feel of it, it could be a literal claw) from my uterus? I'd be in pretty high cotton.