Rodney Dangerfield and I

My degree. It just never came in the mail. So I went to university advisement -- as opposed to major advisement, which is the only advisement I've been to, or been advised to go to -- and they informed me that I am four credits short of the units required for a bachelor's degree. Panic. Registering in Fall for four units would cost me $2000. I quickly scanned the university website for the second summer session class schedule. Two courses in advanced composition -- one taught by a dreaded, loathed instructor (by me, anyway), the infamous ponytail man who caused me so much distress in my first semester at DH, but there! The other section presented by the greatly admired Dr. H, who taught last semester's senior seminar. The one who sweetly told me I'd better ask him for a letter of recommendation or he'd be insulted. Ah, sigh. A late night email went out, begging him for late admission. A sincere acceptance followed, including the melodious phrase, you are one of the best students I've had in a class. Oh, tell me more! (This experience is doing nothing for my appreciation of Virginia Woolf's note about the ability to write without praise -- that I read...in her own hand...at the British Library...where I cried...and had to hide my face.)

So I'm in class for the summer. As usual, my classmates are...well, they act and speak as if they are in a sort of academic halfway house. As if they can't quite manage to get by in a real university, and the class is some kind of gateway to real life. Of course, it is a real university. And Dr. H is very forgiving and tolerant of insanely off the mark student comments, which I appreciate, even though I know that my face is scrunched up in cerebral pain at the ignorance and insolence. Even though composition is hard for me. Argument is so...logical. I'm not worried about the class, but I am a little but worried about my writing, so this class is good practice, good reminders, you know.

And don't think I wasn't mad as a hornet when I found out that I had never been advised about those four units. But there comes a time when you just can't waste your breath on things that you can't really change. So it's back to school.

A Strangely Moving Costume

Well, hello. Just in case you were wondering, I graduated.

I really don't think anyone looks good in this getup:

Celebratory mimosas, with lots of family and friends.


Three days later we were on a plane to London, and then a week later we took a train to Paris. Happy Graduation to me, and happy eleventh anniversary to us. I loved Europe, and will share those photos in a future post.

He Kind of Looked Like My Grandpa Lyle

It was just a little while ago that I was writing how much I adore the film Baby Doll. The greatness of this film is undoubtably due to a number of things, like the writing, photography, and, of course, the acting. Karl Malden plays Archie Lee, and the film couldn't have been as good without him. Malden's acting is superb, no matter what role he's playing. He won an Oscar for his performance in A Streetcar Named Desire, and seemed to have a special talent for capturing the tortured and disillusioned American in all of us. Malden died yesterday, and the Los Angeles Times generously gave him a small square near the bottom of the front page which announced his passing. Malden was able to hold his own while acting alongside the likes of Marlon Brando, Charleton Heston, and Montgomery Clift.

I was delighted to see Eli Wallach on a recent episode of Nurse Jackie, and I think Carroll Baker is still alive, and maybe even living in Los Angeles, although the Times seems not to have been able or willing to reach her for comment.