The World As Mare Sees It...
No, really. This is the last one, I think... 2003-06-24

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Diaryland

Whee! Exactly one month to the Bunac Everyone Everywhere Reunion! (Oh, I know that spells B.E.E.R. Clever, non?)

* * *

As the gorgeous one noted, "Mare, my love, this question game is exploding!" And indeed, it is. My 'one more for the road' has turned into 'ok, fine, just one more, and then I've really gotta go." Oh, who am I kidding? You all know your Mare loves to talk about herself. The fact that I keep a diary for all and sundry to see isn't quite enough for me. The Question Game, my friends, must have been invented with me in mind.

This time around, the queries come by way of Stella's Dive. Be afraid. Be very afraid...

1. What was the most cinematic moment of your life? Any genre will do.

Lordy. What, like with a surging soundtrack in the background, and the feeling that there was a spotlight on me and I was in sharp focus while everything else was a darkish blur? God, I live for those moments! I could pick from the few times that I've been able to step from the crowd and wow everyone with my surprisingly intricate footwork, but hell, we all know that I exist just to show off my feeble dance talent. So that doesn't count. You know, I think I'm gonna go with a light romantic romp... oh sure, it doesn't pan out to be a really good Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan ending, but the evening it happened, I thought I was living a bloody dream.
See, what had happened was this: I was living in England at the time, and our local was a little pub under a hotel named Deane's. It's since turned into a lunchtime buffet, which I think is simply the most tragic thing to ever happen, but that's another story. Anyway, because the bunch of us - Americans, Canadians, Aussies - travelled in a fairly large group, and we were foreigners in an English crowd, we tended to stand out. As well, we also recognised our own, so that one night when another bunch of foreigners were in the bar, we quickly pulled them into the fold. A Texan girl who lived in the house with us named Meg, and I, started talking to two rather sweet boys. Actually, to clarify, one of the boys was trying to chat up Meg, and I was lucky enough to find that the other lad had manners. We struck up the kind of conversation that happens between two third wheels, and it was pleasant enough. I distinctly remember laughing a lot throughout our chitchat, but nothing more memorable happened and I put it down to two ships that passed in the night.
It's funny, because we as a group went to Deane's on an almost religiously regular basis, but for some reason, that night was the last time we went for three weeks. Then, the next time we went, I was sitting in a chair next to the jukebox, and someone squeezed in between me and the machine to make a selection. I cast an obviously admiring and semi-lecherous look toward his bottom, which was in close proximity to my face when he bent over the choices. It was, quite frankly, a very nice bottom. I then continued my conversation with my friends, in my typically high volume voice. All of a sudden, Mr. Cute Bottom turns around and exclaims, "Mare-Ingenii! I knew I recognised that voice!" And it was him, Jason, the ship that had passed in the night. We had eyes only for each other, and Iím telling you, my darlings, they were twinkling! Ok? Our eyes actually lit up! Cue the surging music, and the blur of the background, because from that moment on for the rest of the evening, it was all about Jason and I. The fact that he remembered my name totally blew me away! Poppets, can I just tell you how adorable this guy was? Let's talk about Matt Damon for a second here, ok? That's who he resembled. You're Mare knows cute when she sees cute, and Jason, well he was just a Matt-Damon-look-a-like-hottie. He confessed that they had come regularly for the last three weeks, because his friend had hoped to run into Meg, and at that moment, I cursed the time we had stayed away from the wonderful, wonderful, magical Deane's. After last call, he walked me home and we strolled through the park and kicked at random leaves as we walked, and then hung out in the balmy summer night outside my house until 5 in the morning. There wasn't a pause to be found in the conversation. We just talked and talked and talked and... then... for a little while... we didn't do much talking... and it was lovely... Oh shush. It was all very vertical and innocent. Well, kinda innocent. Ok, fine. Not that innocent. But it was vertical. And then he left, with a promise to come by the next night after this show he had tickets to go see. I closed the door behind him, and then, I kid you not, I leaned back against it with a silly, silly, Meg Ryan smile on my face, and just savoured the magic of the evening. I actually hummed on my way to bed, people! Hummed!
Huh. Do you really need me to say it? He didn't come the next night, and I never saw him again. But those few hoursÖ. Gosh, they were nice. AndÖ scene.

2. You are hosting a dinner party. You can invite 4 guests from throughout time and history, without language barrier. However, they must combine to make a great party. Who and why?

Just four? Thatís all Iím allowed? Who has a dinner party for five, anyway? Someone will be the odd one out! Kathryn Hepburn. Sheís old Hollywood, and sheís got brains. Thatís an easy one. J.D. Salinger. Because itís J.D. Salinger! You donít question something like that! However, because heís a bit of a hermit, and the probability of him standing me up is high, Iím allowed a stand-in. John Steinbeck. Ok? One OR the other, so Iím still within the rules. Uh, who else? Oh, God, the pressure, the pressureÖ Iíd invite Dorothy Parker, or Bette Davis, but theyíd just make fun of me the whole time, so theyíre out. God, why is it whenever I need to invite someone sparkling and fascinating to a party, theyíre all in the Hamptonsí or some such thing! Oh, of course! Humphrey Bogart! That would be so cool! Oh, but if Iím going to have Bogie, then Iíd better have Lauren Bacall. So, as much as I hate to admit it, Kathrynís gonna have to go. Lauren fits the Old Hollywood with Brains bill, so there you go. So, whom do I have so far? Betty, (Iím obviously close enough to Lauren that she lets me call her Betty, of course. Youíre Mareís in the know, ok, darlings? Never doubt that, my pretties) and Bogie and Salinger OR Steinbeck, because Johnnyís good for an extra man in a pinch. And now, that fifth dinerÖOh, of course. Ewan. Iíd invite Ewan McGregor, for the simple reason that I just canít be without a date to my own dinner party!
Now, if Jay or John donít show, Iíve still got a contingency plan. Iíll invite one of the guys from the Blue Man Group. That way, itíll be someone old (Betty), someone new (Ewan), someone borrowed, (Bogie, from the cemetery), and someone BlueÖ

3. I lend you my assistant, Igor, who has my secret formula on how to create life. Choose body parts from whomever you please to make the perfect man

Good Lord, Stella! Are you trying to kill me? Right. Perfect man, perfect man. UmÖ Ewanís smile. Matt Damonís voice. Brian Kinneyís (oh, alright, Gale Haroldís) nose. No, maybe Judeís Lawís nose. No, Judeís chin. Galeís nose, but only because Gale doesnít have a chin, and I need something off that man. Ricky Martinís hips and legs. And maybe his chest, too. UmÖ EwanísÖ erÖ sporranÖ

4. You must pick one song that will be playing every time you make whoopee for the rest of your days. Choose wisely.

Donít think me overly hoity here. Overly hoity, or toity, for that matter. But, really, if Iím going to be stuck with one whoopee-making tune for the rest of my whoopee-making life, it should be something thatís older than most, donít you think? Something that has proven itself, and stuck around for the count. Something thatís got a lovely, inspiring build-up, and a crashing crescendo; somethingís thatís complex enough that I wonít get tired of it. My choice? Nessun Dorma, from Pucciniís Turandot; or Ravelís Bolero.

5. You meet a charming and famous artist at a party. He insists on painting you naked and demands an answer immediately. Since you are not up on the world, you have no idea what style he paints in, only that the work will be made public. Do you do it?

I would hem. I would haw. I would torment anyone who would listen so that Iíd get help making my decision. This guy could be abstract or super-realistic and unflattering. Iíve no idea. In then end, the fact that the work will be made public is what will finally tip me over the edge, making me say yes. Itís one thing if the piece sits in is private studio, left open to the criticism of all his silly friends. I couldnít take that. But if itís hanging in a gallery somewhereÖ well then, it would be all about the piece, wouldnít it? And that would be ok. I donít know why. It just would be. Of course, you all know that if it turned out to be ugly as sin, Iíd totally deny posing for it, right?

And that, poppets, is that. Between Stella and Beagle, I got one hell of a workout in the last couple of days.

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