THE QUESTION OF THE DAY

Gentle Readers, I simply must know: Does love exist?

Or is it something poets and greeting card companies invented?

Do we merely experience a chemical reaction when we are attracted to someone and we mistake it for love?

Love (maybe),

Dumped First Wife

FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE

Saturday night at home with a movie Gentle Readers?

For your viewing pleasure, I recommend Whip It, Drew Barrymore's directorial debut starring Ellen Page. It came out on video just a few days ago. If you hurry to your local video store, you might find a copy, or if you want to see it in the future, I highly recommend Netflix. I love going to the mail box and finding a DVD there, all ready and waiting for me and I don't have to change out of my jammies to get it. I even have fun organizing my queue. You might even want to make this a part of your permanent DVD collection. Just click on the link to find it on amazon.com.

But, ah, I digress.

Whip It is intelligent and enjoyable. I never thought I would care about roller derby, but Drew and Ellen made me care. I almost want to lace up my old skates, but we won't go quite that far. Well done, Drew. And Ellen Page, you absolutely glow in Smart People, Juno, and now Whip It. Anything you are in, I want to see.

Love,

Dumped First Wife

FAREWELL J.D.

And so, Gentle Readers, we bid farewell to J.D. Salinger, the man who finally proved he would stop at absolutely nothing in his quest to escape his fans.

Allegedly, he ate a rather strange diet and drank his own urine. He also died at home of natural causes, which can mean all sorts and varieties of deaths in my active imagination.

Jerry goes to kiss his considerably younger wife. "You ain't kissin' on me no more Pee Mouth," she hollers. And so it's only natural that she strangles him.

By the way,that was her nickname for him - Pee Mouth - affectionate at one time but not so much after the many years of frigid New Hampshire winters spent in hiding with the One and Only, the Great and Powerful.

The man who was said to be obsessed with a hatred of phoniness and desired getting at the absolute truth . . . hmmmm . . . he doesn't seem to have been so genuine and sincere. Jerome "Jerry" Salinger took a dump on a number of women during his life. If you scroll up a bit on my Message Center you'll find a portal to Amazon.com, one of my favorite cyber places in or out of this world. You can order Salinger's books there. And then if you must satisfy your curiosity about the man who created the Glass family, read Joyce Maynard's "At Home In The World" and Margaret Salinger's "Dream Catcher." I recommend the books. They are interesting and well written and probably more genuine than the man.

It's been many years since I last read "The Catcher in the Rye." My favorite younger man told me recently that he thinks it's his favorite book. I'll have to reread it and see what I think. Will the star dust have faded or will I still think it's good? I certainly never considered it my favorite, but it has legions of fans. It made the Top 100 list of greatest novels of the last century, coming in at #64, according to the males-only board of Modern Library.

Salinger also supposedly wrote a number of novels, which he locked up in a safe at home, after he stopped writing for public consumption. If those novels are released, how can they ever live up to his rep?

So, Salinger, maybe you reveled in the attention you attracted by hiding in plain sight. Maybe your writing wasn't so hot anymore and you knew it and you kept your star shining by refusing to release your work. You let people speculate about you when you could have allowed your readers to get at the truth of you. You could have shed light on your writing and your process. You could have taught, but maybe you were so weird you were afraid nobody would have you. Or maybe you thought you were too good for the rest of the world. Easier to dazzle naive young women with your fame and with fake promises. Keep a woman at your beck and call. Engage a town in hiding you. Your own little world revolved around you.

The citizens of Cornish, N.H. admitted they got sick of all those people coming to town looking for Salinger so it was only natural that somebody finally came after him with a shot gun?

Love,

Dumped First Wife

HOPE SPRINGS

Gentle Readers,

I just finished watching a charming little 2003 movie called "Hope Springs."

It was on the Independent Film Channel - a favorite of mine - and I DVRed it. My DVR is one of my closest personal friends.

Anyway, in addition to Heather Graham, Minnie Driver, and an especially amusing Mary Steenburgen, "Hope Springs" stars Colin Firth. I believe I may have mentioned in another post that I am rather fond of Colin Firth.

Mr. Firth did not disappoint in this film. He is humorous and simply, simply delightful and absolutely delicious.

After being dumped by his fiancee (yes, women are dumpers too), the character Colin -hmmm, the name seems familiar, oh yes, Colin is played by Colin Firth - finds love with another woman in a small town where everybody knows everybody else's business.

Thus, I recommend "Hope Springs."

Colin Firth, I did not write the following lines, but I dedicate them to you:

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile--the Winds--
To a Heart in port--
Done with the Compass--
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden--
Ah, the Sea!
Might I but moor--Tonight--
In Thee!

This poem was written by one of my favorite poets, and I bet you'll never guess who it is, writing about wild nights and rowing in Eden. Guess, guess, guess.
Have you give up?

Answer, please:

Emily Dickinson.

Yes, the little spinster of Amherst. But oh, how I hate that word spinster, so let's call her the Artist of Amherst. She knew what she was writing about. Sometimes people can describe without experiencing because they are true poets -- the Namers and Sayers of our world who can take human emotions and experiences and give words to them that we can't do ourselves.

I can say Colin Firth, I'd like to get it on with you, but it just doesn't have the ring of Wild Nights--Wild Nights!

Emily Dickinson shut herself away from the world, became a virtual recluse, so she could create her art.

And so I thank you Ms. Dickinson. You definitely tasted a liquor never brewed.

Love,

Dumped First Wife

I learned today that sometimes people inflict physical pain on themselves to escape the emotional pain they're undergoing. A good thing to know. A comfort to know. If you have done such a thing, stop, get help, but know you are not alone.