Gosh, I love Rain—especially on a warm summer afternoon. It’s not too cold yet. In fact, it often feels good. I don’t use an umbrella when it rains, I just let myself get wet. I quite like it. I like showing up wherever I’m going a little bit soaked. It’s dramatic. I seem disheveled. It seems like I got caught in the rain unexpectedly, and sometimes I do, but even when I know the rain is going to come, I take no precautions. This is applicable to more than just the rain.
Rain is also very romantic—maybe not inherently, but it is quite easy to romanticize. I tend to romanticize things, most things, but I’m trying to figure out if that’s counterproductive. If everything can be romanticized, that means nothing can be romanticized.
What does it mean to be a romantic? At its very core, to be a romantic is to value beauty.
“Well Nora, I’ve had one motto that I’ve always lived by. Dignity. Always dignity.” I can’t relate. I’d much rather be humiliated than lonely. I know those words aren’t usually presented in opposition, but I think there’s truth to it. Loving someone is humiliating, is it not? You soften under the influence of love, do you not? It almost feels like dying, does it not? But I’m still alive, so I guess I wouldn’t know.
Fred Astaire is so cool. Cool can’t be learned in the same way that love can’t be forced. Last night I was asked how I would define the word cool. The first thing my friend said is that people who are cool are nice. I strongly agree. They’re also attractive. Cool people have an adaptable personality, meaning that they can get along with and be liked by many people, while also maintaining a true sense of self. Coolness is hard to define really, so this is just my opinion. But I’m pretty cool, so I’m a pretty good source.
“Warm and helpful. A real lady.” I like helping people. I think that’s a feminine instinct.
“If you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all.” She says this about movies, which is funny because it’s a movie. If it was the first movie I’d ever seen and I didn’t understand hyperboles, I would have said I’ve seen every movie ever made, despite only ever having seen Singin’ in the Rain. But there are worse outcomes.
“Fear not my lady. I will not molest you. I am but a humble jester, and you, you are too far above me.” I have a very close friend who is very very beautiful. She once told me she doesn’t get catcalled, and she barely gets hit on. It’s like a bell curve: ugly women don’t really get hit on very much for obvious reasons, but attractive women don’t really get hit on because they seem unattainable. Settling is much safer than chasing desire—low risk, low reward.
Get yourself a guy who looks at you the way Don Lockwood looks at Kathy Selden when she pops out of the cake.
I love slapstick—choreographed, physicalized comedy. Why doesn’t anybody do it anymore? It’s much “cooler” to be disaffected, to maintain an ironic distance from everything, especially your feelings. I’m not sure if life reflects art or if art reflects life, but like most decisions, I don’t really think I have to make one. It really does depend on the art, and more importantly, the life. Some lives are not reflected by, nor do they reflect art. Those are the boring ones, the kind of life that I could never let myself live. In fact, I probably couldn’t do it even if I tried. It’s like being dead, only you’re not allowed to be. Well, I guess you’re allowed, but that would be dramatic.
To exaggerate seems forced, but maybe stifling reactions are forced. Maybe what is ostensibly exaggerated is in fact natural. But I guess we’ll never know.
“She’s so refined. I think I’ll kill myself.” Another feminine instinct.