Party Girl Misanthrope

In theory I like being with people. A lot!

A long shot: Sex in the City girlfriends enjoying frequent conversations about men over coffee and then? Tripping off to an exciting and rewarding day at the "career". What about a tasteful dinner with seven or eight good friends at a nice long table, hell, I don't know, preferably with gay men like that one guy on Queer Eye, or really great Portugese guys (a shout-out to my lone commenter!) drinking wine, eating delicious food and delving into each others' private lives because, well, we're "family"! We pry! We're close as hell. We accept one anothers' foibles.

And then there is the sisterly comedy of errors! What a laughfest. If it's not one thing it's another. "She did what?" We must save her! Oh what chaos of miscommunication and love! This would certainly star Diane Keaton as Georgia. Willa? Perhaps Goldie Hawn.

I can almost visualize a sweet summer night with a lawn-full of people, flowers, garden, soft laughter. Hugging. Sounds of summer insects, night breeze. Neighbors and friends shot through a filter who are softer, somehow transformed to understand the subtext and accept One-Eyed Willy.

Later on Shirley Temple finds her parents, the wedding finally goes on, the Hobbits go home and the final scene from the mental hospital window is pastoral, even though Jack Nicholson is dead.

And watching from the shadows, or perhaps sitting on the mossy roof (yes. definitely the roof.) she is waiting for the moment. Elton Johns' Your Song is this scene's soundtrack, and a sense of peace and contentment, not happiness exactly, but comfort in her own skin pervades the atmosphere. She smokes a cigarette, which was discussed at length considering the demographic of the viewing audience. A Jack Daniels bottle beside her conjures up images of youthful debauchery, the yard is littered with plastic cups, scripts, costumes, paraphenalia, and fallen tiki lamps spill keroscene onto the dark earth below.