THE SUNDAY EVENING ANTI-STUFFED SHIRT & FLYING TRAPEZE CLUB. On Sunday nights, a group of friends gather to plot the overthrow of the known universe (also to watch movies and have snacks). I am proud and frankly thankful to find myself included in this illustrious group. They include among them 3 Oscar winners, 2 Pulitzer Prizes for literature, a Nobel Peace Prize, 5 Tony Awards, 12 Purple Hearts and 6 Hasty Puddings. Only those members who secretly meet every Sunday night at their secret mountain headquarters can call themselves "The Sunday Evening Anti-Stuffed Shirt & Flying Trapeze Club (a reference stolen from the 1938 Katharine Hepburn/Cary Grant film "Holiday"). I would like to take this opportunity to introduce them and let them know that I think they're really keen. First we have my OLDER brother Ern 
-- good lookin' cuss, ain't he? He's always been there for me and offered me much-needed support when a woman done me wrong (I feel the start of a country/western song coming on). Next we have Pax 
-- what a distinguished-lookin' gent! This is one guy who will NEVER lose his horizons! And then, there's the shining light of our little group -- Ms. Henrietta Hudson (of the Coney Island Hudsons) 
-- we will ALWAYS have Paris!!! Hugs to you, my dear! Next we come to the group's action hero -- Miss Jenny Penny (here pictured at her wedding reception). 
I'll bet you THAT waiter will never serve red wine with fish again! Last but not least is our very own Troll Joey 
-- seen here at yet ANOTHER magazine shoot! He'll grind your bones to make his bread and STILL you'll love him!!! Last (and certainly least) is yours truly (seen below) -- 
who treasures the friendship of all these great people and just wanted to take a moment to let them know. Thanks for putting up with me all these years. It might also be appropriate at this point to mention one member of the club who has gone AWOL for much too long -- the well-known (and fantasized about) 
Finkmaster Flash (seen below at left). We miss you, you stupid hippy freak! You don't even phone, you don't even write. . . . . . . . . . .
You know, I saw a Fink-a-like in the parking lot the other day. Minute red pickup, sassy haircut short girl in tow. I was about to scream out "You never call, never write!" and then I realized that it was a stranger with an uncanny resemblance and not our Finksalot.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you chose to use one of the candids from the reception. The staged photos just don't capture the same joie-de-vivre. Plus, the stuffy photographer made me put down the stake and hold some stupid-ass flowers. What-ever.
I hope they were garlic flowers.
ReplyDeleteThanks, I love how I work that Ronald Colman look! But you know me, life is kismet...around the world in 80 ways! I mean DAYS!!!
ReplyDeleteAnd that Ernie, aint he something, To Sir with Love!
this is by far, your bestest postie ever! love the photos! especially that one you took of me in the doorway in paris. that was just before the germans invaded, wasn't it? i must admit, i do have an uncanny way of seeing the silver lining in everything, don't i darling? here i was facing a possible execution for my ties with that victor laszlo, and yet there i stood with a genuine glow about me and a knowing smile. clearly it was your prescence that brought on such a sense of serenity. love ya, doll!
ReplyDeleteWait a minute. Since when am I so nice?!?!?!?
ReplyDeleteOf course that photo shows you smiling in a doorway, Ms. Henri. You're smiling because some Germans are going to invade YOU!!!! You little tart! :)
And yes indeed, Pax. That Ern is something else! Must be all that time he spent manacled to Tony Curtis!!! That little tart! :)
There, I feel much better now. It was getting too warm and fuzzy in here.