Louise Brooks Explained, I Think

For those of you who have not yet clued into the fact that the Card's wife and I are women, I will assure you that we are not Orthodox Shakespearean bloggers posing as women, we are indeed merely plain old women blogging. Well, more accurately, as one blogger recently described us, "middle-aged, but still youthful, Michigan Catholic housewives who read The New Criterion" and blog.

So, those of you readers out there who share your life with a plain old woman rather than a man posing as a women, there's something you understand about us : We obsess. And then we obsess some more. And then when you think we are finally done obsessing, what do we go and do? We obsess even more. Tiresome, I know. But many of life's important questions can be solved from our endless obsessing.

The Card's wife and I are now willing to admit what we've been obsessing about since, oh, since about last August: Louise Brooks. Yes, Lousie Brooks. To our feeble and obsessive minds we could not understand the attraction our nice, married RCBfA and all of their sympathetic PBfA --well, honestly, we understood that one as Protestants do have lower standards and, are very proud of those lower standards-- had for a mentally-unbalanced floozie who had to be buried in, as Edmund Black Adder would describe, a Y-shaped coffin. How could this be? More than that, there was one particular RCBfA's Lousie Brook's-thingy that really had us dumbfounded; Basil Seal's. Now, here in Basil is a blogger who professes to be dressed like no other blogger. A blogger who enjoys an understanding as well as quality of life that few bloggers can. Why, he even blogs in silk pajamas, smoking jacket, ascot, and velvet slippers while Mr. P makes due with off the rack cotton pajamas from Brooks Brothers and rag wool socks from L.L.Bean. Yet, it seemed to the Card's wife and my obsessive minds that it was Basil Seal who seemed to be most captivated by Lousie Brook's 'art'.

Father P. M will be glad to learn that last night I learned the secret to Basil Seal and Louise Brooks' 'art' and there is nothing sinister going on. At least not yet. The secret is found in the British --no surprise there--bedtime book; Mary Poppins by P.L. Travers that I am reading to Roger Kimball's future daughter-in-law. Chapter four, Miss Lark's Andrew, describes Basil almost perfectly:

...He was a dog - one of those small, silky, fluffy dogs that look like a fur necklet, until they begin to bark. But of course, when they do that you know they're dogs. No fur necklet ever made a noise like that.

Now, Andrew led such a luxurious life that you might have thought he was the Shah of Persia in disguise. He slept on a silk pillow in Miss Lark's room; he went by car to the Hairdresser's twice a week to be shampooed; he had cream for every meal and sometimes oysters, and he possessed four overcoats with checks and stripes in different colors. Andrew's ordinary days were filled with the kind of things most people have only on birthdays...

But there was no doubt about it that the life Andrew led bored him to distraction. He would have given half his fortune, if he had one for a nice piece of raw, red meat, instead of the usual breast of chicken or scrambled eggs with asparagus.

For in his secret, innermost heart, Andrew longed to be a common dog...

It was this desire of his to be a common dog that made Andrew choose common dogs [us] for his friends. And whenever he got the chance, he would run down to the front gate and sit there watching for them, so that he could exchange a few common remarks [or post Louise Brooks' 'art']...

Andrew's most special friend was more than common, he was a Byword. He was half Airedale and half a Retriever and the worst half of both. Whenever there was a fight in the road he was sure to be in the thick of it; he was always getting into trouble with the Postman or the Policeman, and there was nothing he loved better than sniffing about the drains or garbage tins. He was in fact the talk of the whole street, and more than one person had been heard to say thankfully that they were glad he was not their dog.

But Andrew loved him and was continually on the watch for him. Sometimes they had only time to exchange a quick sniff in the Park, but on luckier occasions -though these were very rare-they would have long talks at the gate [or post Louise Brooks' 'art]. From his friend, Andrew heard all the town gossip, and you could see by the rude way in which the other dog laughed as he told it, that it wasn't very complimentary...

This answer to Basil and Louise Brook's has given the Card's wife and I much relief but it has caused even more distress. You see, the airlines here, to keep from going under advertised flights in the paper from here to St. Louis for $49 RT. The Card's wife and I are never ones to miss a bargain, plus never ones to miss meeting a well-dressed man. She called me up and said, "Hey, let's go have lunch with Basil." So we are. This Tuesday. But learning that it is our commoness that Basil enjoys best, we have been thrown into complete wardrobe confusion. This is serious. Almost catastrophic if you must know. I was planning on a delightful raspberry tweed with hints of black, a black silk-ribbed turtleneck, black heels and purse. The Card's wife was planing on a a gorgeous lavender cashmere twin set and charcoal grey woolen trousers, black heels, and purse. But those are no-nos.

We are meeting at Walmart at 4pm to solve this dilemma. We are confident we will be able to find something suitable there. Fear not, we will wear our planned outfits on the planes, as we do still have our standards, and do quick changes in the Ladies Lounge before and after meeting Basil. We must not disappoint Basil by "shocking his monkey". Whatever that means...

Mrs. P

Comments

[mandingo]

I could never figure out the fuss about Brooks as I can't figure out what the fuss is about Betty Page. Both feminist icons, surely overrated - but why?

Men are strange creatures. When I was in grammar school in the 1970s all the boys (except me) had posters of bathing suit clad Farrah Fawcet Majors - I did not find her appealing, plus I was like 11.

Father M:
If you are reading, I found something on FreeRepublic.com that moved me:

"Christ is Risen, and you, o death, are annihilated!"

[Wg Cdr Sir Basil Seal, KG GCB GBE MC JP]

Quite insightful my dear Mrs. P...But if you will again look at the Louise Brooks 'art' you will notice that she is not wearing Wal-Mart, she is wearing nothing...Something which is not sold at Wal-Mart I do believe...Although you have caught me slumming from time-to-time, my slums do not include Wal-Mart...Please have your dressmaker run up something nice as we will have luncheon with the Arch Bishop, and he, I am sure, does not shop at Wal-Mart...I can see now that this visit will indeed 'shock my monkey'...By the way, my driver has instructions to forbid any polyester from entering the car, you've been warned...

[Mrs. Peperium]

Mandingo, you did not get banned--hooray!

Wng Cdr, the Card's wife and I will stick to Plan A as far as outfits. We had no luck at Walmart as they lack dressing rooms. Who knew?

I am looking forward to meeting your Archbish as he is one of us. How good is he with a blunderbuss? Will we get to learn?

For our sake's and our virtue's sake. please keep your monkey at home...or hand it off to your driver. Until Tuesday at 10:18 am, your time...

[mandingo]

Mrs. P:

Was I to be banned?

Banned by you (I hope not) or Typeface? I know I like to have a laugh at times (ala Benjamin Hill) but it's all in good fun and I know this is a family site. You know I like to post - when it is appropriate to the conversation links to pictures of Honey Rider and Mrs. Peel.

I read this other Typeface blog and they cruse a lot on that one and TF never bans them.
http://www.babalublog.com/

But they curse, like for a good cause.

What about Talbots for clothes, or is that too stuffy?

[Fr. M.]

Mandingo,
That statement reminds me of the Melkite Catholic Easter chant:

Christ is Risen from the dead,
from death He conquored death
and to those in the grave
He granted life.

[mandingo]

http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/10157b.htm

Melkite Catholic

[Fr. P.M.]

Mrs. P.,
Lunch with Archbishop "Sugar" Ray Burke? Better bring your Mantillas!

Basil,
Whilst the good Archbishop does not shop at Wal-Mart he could jack up that Cappa Magna with some fur-- Ermine or... even miniver. Hmmm. Anyone got any spare rabbit fur?

[Fr. M.]

Sorry, Mandingo, I misspelled "Melchite."

[Misspent]

What about those who still think that you are actually a figment of Mr. P's imagination?

[Wg Cdr Sir Basil Seal, KG GCB GBE MC JP]

Who are you calling a 'figment'?

[Jeffrey Smith]

It's odd. I read all of the obsessing and checked the post on Man About Mayfair and I still don't have the slightest idea who Louise Brooks is. Judging by the picture, I'm better off. Please don't tell me.

[Mrs. Peperium]

Good morning everyone.

Mandingo, my parents' hometown is the home of Talbot's. It was originally a dress shop in a grey clapboard building with, large white-paned windows, and a fire engine red door. My mother and grandmother used to be outfitted by Mr. and Mrs. Talbot -- who were a very gracious couple. Then, years later when I was one of Boston's best-dressed art director's, Talbot's was briefly one of my accounts. The late '80's to mid-nineties was a dreadful time for finding things there as they had sold Talbot's to the Japanese and the buyers the Japanese employed did not 'get' Talbot's. Talbot's has since rejoined the active lists and that is where my raspberry tweed originated from. Raspberry tweed just screams Talbot's from the pre-Japanese days.

Misspent, my mystique suffered a mortal blow when Fiendish and Mr. Cusack came out to Connecticut and had dinner at the beach with not only me, Mr. P, and the children, but, my mother, my best friend, her husband and child. There are very few things they could not tell you about me or my family.

So realizing the jig is up with me and my much-protected mystique, it's time to blow Basil's wide open. I want to see just how much padding his the shoulders of his jackets require. Or being from Detroit, I'm quite keen to see if the man employs white walls... Surely his automobile must be British-made but is it really British? Is there anything you would like to learn about the fellow that first brought you to my attention? The Card's wife is a marvel at getting information from people.

Father M., I would be very pleased, as well as honored, to meet the Archbishop. But surely Basil much be jesting. The Archbishop is much too busy to meet two middle aged, but still youthful, Michigan Catholic housewives that read The New Criterion who have flown into his city for lunch. We will have scarves with us just in case we are required to cover our heads. I would like to see a church or two if there is time.

Mr. Smith, welcome. For those of you not aware, Mr. Smith blogs over at The Roving Medieavelist. As for not knowing Louise Brooks, you haven't missed much. She was a silent screen star with much promise as the silent screen was a perfect venue for the drama queen --strike a pose, pout, bat eyelashes, and all that. However, she was very self-destructive and hard to work with. She was in arguments with the Studio Heads all the time. When she flitted off to Paris on a jaunt with whatever boy she was toying with, the Studio Heads closed the door, locked, and bolted it behind her permenantly. As Louise's looks held out for another decade or two, she made the rounds of European films (with much lower standards as far as pink bits, and European men, with much lower standards too. Then she came back here and like that Hilter -babe, Leni R,. took up with decades-younger men who suffered from silent screen fixations. The Hitler-babe took up with young guys with Arian-fixations eventhough Leni was a brunette with brown eyes. Louise's life was kind of like Sunset Boulevard but with no money or even pet monkey. She became a total degenerate and died in upper state NY saying she was a victim of the Studio's obsessive puritanicalism --is that a word?

[mandingo]

"...she made the rounds of European films (with much lower standards as far as pink bits, and European men, with much lower standards too. Then she came back here and like that Hilter -babe, Leni R,. took up with decades-younger men...She became a total degenerate..."

Poor Louise Brooks, I hope God has forgiven her - Europe will do that to a person, yet there are folk here in the blue states, who went to see Algore's film, that think that everything from Europe, especially France, is somehow better or more progressive than us Americans. I have a saying:

Just because it's in black in white it don't mean it's art - the same as, just because it's foreign doesn't mean that it's good somehow.

I remember when I was in "art" school in the mid 80's and the "Louise Brooks" was the "in" hairstyle for certain girls...sadly I know one of them who was on her way - real fast, to become a fallen woman. She also faked that she was from a wasp preppy family, when in fact she was from a working class one in Long Island-not that there is anything wrong with that.