NOTE: This conversation runs backwards! For the benefit of regular readers the newest comments are put at the top.
So do tell me more about this music of yours?
Miss Fox
The first package contained an up-to-date Quirrie women's magazine, Woman's Day, a frilly over-the-head apron from eastern Quirinelle, a windie of Kadorian hit songs, and a lovely, soft Quirrie white dress. My two younger daughters, Alicia, who is eight, and Nancy, who is a budding teenager at 13, evinced little interest in the package's contents until they saw the glorious dress, which they both instantly clamored to try on, something quite unusual for little Alicia these days, as she fancies herself a steely-eyed and knowing tomboy who spurns dolls and likes to climb trees and has re-christened herself "Al." The dress was far too large for her, of course, but it fit Nancy perfectly, so it was quite clear to all three of us that it must be Nancy's, as Nancy is smaller than I am. The realization pleased Nancy no end, but it sent Alicia into a sullen black pout which lasted until bedtime, when it abruptly dissolved into a little girl's piteous tears: Alicia felt herself the Neglected Orphan of the World because she did not receive something she would not have desired only a day earlier -- a dress! But it was the neglect felt by an orphan embittered by lively envy that her older sister, by decree of Fate or Fairies, had received something of great value. I cuddled Alicia for a long time and reassured her I would write to my cousin and see whether a real dress might not be found for her too (and for me!). She fell asleep with a smile on her face.
As for Mom, being dressless, I had to content myself with apron, magazine and windie, so the next morning found me decked out like a good Quirrie houseblonde, (imagine!) gaily flipping pancakes, listening to Gwen Miller and her orchestra and reading snatches of a novella in Woman's Day about a childless young couple who adopt a baby. I became so absorbed that I burned the pancakes of course!
After feeding the family, I sat down and read that magazine cover to cover, pettes! It was bursting with feminine archetypes -- mothers, little girls, brides, giggly teenagers, career girls, dignified grandmothers, coeds .... In its plentiful photos and drawings, not one girl or woman appeared to be trying to be anyone -- they just were what they were, and they radiated feminine contentment and satisfaction at being just themselves, just as Dea had meant them to be! With real music playing, with a delicate consciousness of wearing my frilly houseblonde apron, with the images of real women and girls dancing through my head, I found myself quite enraptured, nourished, really, by the rich milk of feminine reality flowing into me. In a strange, giddy trance I began to feel I was the girl in the story, I became the perky little blonde housewife showing off her sparking clean kitchen to her smartly-dress girlfriends, I was the soft young bride-to-be, far-seeing into a rewarding future as wife and mother, contemplating which silverplate pattern she shall select at the bridal registry
In short, darlings, I melted into a deep and soul-satisfying feminine self-absorption, an unfamiliar longing to be pampered, a smoldering desire to tie myself tightly to the hestia, that lasted the whole weekend; I remained on cloud nine for the following week, then the next package arrived.
BRENDA, MD, Professional Brunette with sudden streaks of blonde inexplicably emerging from a very long dormancy.
TO BE CONTINUED
Did you all see that tall, gorgeous goddess with her heavenly blonde hair in those ringlets all the way to her voluptuous hips...and a tear in her enchanting emerald eye? She and Miss Elizabeth seem to be very good friends, don't they? And I was so looking forward to the tale of their last reunion. It's so sad, isn't it, that an easily explained misunderstanding has caused a rupture in such a close relationship and, well...is that a little, itsy, bitsy tear forming in my eye? Oh, dear, I'm beginning to blubber myself! My darling Diana, do you have any idea what has happened to Miss Elizabeth...or...sweetheart...if not....would you happen to have another silk, personally embroidered hankie that I could borrow?
In a way, I know how it feels to be left to one's self. I've been sitting here for nearly an hour, sipping my Martini, crossing and recrossing my legs, checking my make-up (there's nothing more to touch up, my precious pettes, this is as good as I get short of a complete make-over), rocking my foot to the romantic rhythms of Miss Henshaw, listening with rapt attention to all the Aristasian cultural and geographical narratives from Amy, and Valetta, and Miranda, and Miss Barbara...and...well...just everyone...and even trying to come to terms with the determined Deborah's confusion and the wise, but anonymous, sagette's reply, but...well... actually, I'm just itching (that explains the wiggle when I walked over here, darlings) for at least one of the blonde bombshells (or even one of Lulu's toons!) that call the Cocktail Bar their home to give me a pinch and a little of their company and conversation, but...except for the ravishing Rebecca, of course, who's affections so clearly belong to Miss Elizabeth...nothing! Absolutely nothing! Can it be (NO...NO...it can't...the angel of Elektraspace--there is one, isn't there?--would never let it happen--would she?) that the only way I'm going to get myself a blonde bombshell is to order one from the barpette...who is quite a delicious damsel in her own right?
Well, if that is how it's going to be...so be it. Darling?...Barpette? Yes...me...over here...with the teeniest, weeniest threat of a little cry coming on...a Blonde Bombshell please...on the rocks!
On the lookout for Miss Elizabeth, I remain, A dedicated and devoted
(if momentarily dismayed) Sweetipops,
BARBI
By the way, Miss Boop is a fine artist in her own right whoever she may be "modelled on". I met her is a Cocktail Bar in Clairmount, Vintesse where she was singing (have you heard her wonderful recording of The Broken Record?). She was gracious enough to let me buy her a drink after her act, and I found her charming and colourful, with that special glow that toon girls have. I have never spent half an hour with a nicer blonde, and saying that in here is really saying something.
Without meaning to get on my soapbox, I'd just like to say: when are people going to realise that toons are loyal subjects of the same standing as the rest of us. People should not laugh at them just for being what they are or "accidentally" drop heavy objects on them just to see them squash all flat and then boing up again. I know it doesn't hurt them, but it is disrespectful.
Some of the finest girls I have ever known have been toons, and if it were not for antiquated customs we Westerners should have outgrown long ago, I should very likely have married a certain painted blonde from Quirinelle.
All right. Sermon over. I'll have a Fountain of Youth, if you
please, Miss.
LULU
This is all just a silly misunderstanding and I just know if I could speak with her I could make things right. If she happens to come by, would you tell her I was here looking for her, and... if she would just be still for two moments and wait here for me. Here is the number where I can be reached; ring me the moment she steps in the door, pette, please, will you? It's just so important. Thanks, you're a doll.
I have to excuse myself now; I'm starting to blubber and I don't
want to get raccoon eyes in front of all of you. I just miss her so! My love to all,
Here's how the evening went. It was a regular meatloaf Friday
night, when right in the middle of supper, Brunette Mommy cleared her throat
in the way she does when she is about to say something Very Important.
Well, every blonde around the table sat up a bit straighter, beause the
V. Important things Brunette Mommy usually says have to do with lines and,
um, worse, and then when her voice-clearing turned into a big smile, we
all relaxed a little, and she announced that a new movie had come to New
Quirinelle from Trent! Not
New Trent, but Real Trent. Well, the squeals of delight were quite hard
for little blondies to supress, so we didn't, because we knew that when
Brunette Mommy announces the newest release, it's time for blondes to primp
and preen and go out on the town!
Lots of struggles over the itsy bitty bathroom mirror ensued,
made even more piquant for knowing that soon we would be swept into a world
where every girl has an entire room of her own, with a vanity, and walls
made of gigantic mirrors, so that she never needs to push or squeeze or,
most important, share the reflecting glass! We were feeling especially
glamorous, with a visit to Trent in our near future, so even shy little
Rosie decided to wear her short sleeved dress with long evening gloves
and that extra special hat Blonde Mommy bought her in New Trent, with more
feathers than hat to it! We don't know how it happened, but somehow all
five blondes were ready to pile into the wood-paneled station wagon in
enough time to catch the newsreel before the film.
We even arrived in time to have a lively chat before the curtain
went up and the newsreel began. All five blondes wanted to wear their most
fluffy petticoats, so all lined up in the seats, our laps made a funny
wave of skirt and petticoats, and we giggled about that as we settled into
an evening in our very favorite place in town. The theater was built by
a Trentish architect, so with a Trentish film in a Trentish theater, all
seemed perfectly right just then, as we giggled and munched on popcorn
and drank our soda pop.
All of our hearts began beating faster the moment the yards and
yards of velvet curtain rose and the newsreel began. The newsreel was a
tribute to Miss Marilyn Monroe, and I noticed Brunette Mommy was quite
attentive and the rest of us were happy to think that at least Trent doesn't
have a monopoly on glamour. We do have Miss Monroe after all.
Then the movie itself. Pettes, it was a perfect Aristasian movie,
called Evergreen, with art neo set after art neo set, and luscious
scenes and lovely seductive dancing and ultra ultra femininity in the form
of one slightly slouchy, completely enchanting Miss Jessie Matthews, who
dances and sings throughout. Plus, there are hints at personae,
at returns to more traditional times, at all of the wonders of Aphroditism,
including a peep or two at some delicious undergarments! If you are lucky
enough to have your local movie house show this film, go and see it! It's
marvelous.
But don't just take my word for it. Here is what Ariadne said
about it:
Love,
Incidentally the version we know is:
I have often thought about how a whole culture is required for
naughty behavior to be fun. And since the Pit
isn't a whole culture, nobody has much fun. Sure, Pit-crawlers can wildly
pursue one fleshly "pleasure" after another, but are they really having
fun? If the cookies are free for the taking, without a limit to the number
Miss Naughtiness can have, before long, stealing from the cookie jar loses
its charm.
Is that why the girls in New Vintesse have so much fun? Everything
is illegal there! And when they get away with drinking some hootch, dancing
the Charleston, and smoking those loooooooong cigarettes, they really are
living it up, aren't they?
But I'm not jealous. Really, I'm not. Give me a Thursday evening
at home with my sweet family, the little ones in bed and the couple next
door over for a game of dominoes, and I'm having just as much fun as Tootsie.
I am. Honest! I am.
Love,
But I really do think it is Kadoria,
for some of the reasons you mentioned. Vintesse,
well, I don't know much about it, do I? A bit frenetic, action in silent
movies going at too fast a clip, the Charleston, etcetra etcetra. Nice,
but light. And sometimes quite naughty, too. As for Trent, at times its
stylization is a little too much -- almost too-elegant elongated
lettering -- in silver -- and elegant, elongated pettes -- also in silver.
A silver lame province. Posture a little bit slouched, a kind of
low-shouldered, languid look, sometimes subtly sinuous and not as tightly
girdled, either (see Miss Ginger Rogers in, say, Top Hat), not at
all like the forthright, straight-backed Kadorian pettes of the unyielding,
straight-across high shoulders.
You see, I find Kadoria so very unaffected, and still pretty
free of what I like to call Pit-adumbrations,
such as the cold, spindly furniture and the cheapening influences seen
cropping up everywhere, whether in automotive design or in movie cartoons.
And when I read a Kadorie magazine, I am illuminated like a taper -- I
glow and I burn with desire to be there and be them, the
pettes, I mean. Like summer blooms, they all seem to fade in eastern
Quirinelle, the images have lost a bit of their luster for me. Can't help
it -- that's my natural resonance, I think. I was actually quite surprised
when I found myself attracted to Kadoria.
I know that the pettes at the Embassy must be chuckling at my
silly reasons for liking or not liking, but I don't have the wherewithal
to come p with philosophical reasons for liking one or another province,
it's all very emotional.
Oh, and it is Helen Kane who is the model for Betty Boop. Annette
Hanshaw is a close friend of hers and has imitated her to perfection in
her rendering of I Want to be Loved by You.
Returning from my Pit-bound "vacation," I was eagerly looking
forward to the sensual delights of the Cocktail Bar: the scent of the finely
fragrant perfumed air, the taste of the perfect martini, the sound of laughter
from the exhilarating company of the delightful darlings whose company
I have come to love, the sight of the deliciously exposed stocking top
and inner thigh of some devilish darling crossing and recrossing her lovely
legs, and, almost certainly, a playful (and maybe something more?) pinch
from a pretty pette. Well, imagine my surprise when I arrived to discover
the cornucopia of feminine fancy and philosophy that you Aristasian's have
conjured up. I'm ashamed to say that I never expected such a delectable
display of invention and artistry.
In all honesty, when I first discovered Femmeworld and the Cocktail
Bar, I thought that I knew all that there was to know about being a girl,
because, after all, how much was there to know? How could I have been so
mistaken? I have subsequently discovered, just by questioning, mingling,
and having fun with you, that being a girl is a richer experience than
I ever imagined. I owe to you Aristasians, proprietors of the most satisfying,
energetic, creative, and entertaining world in all of the electrical universe,
the discovery of my own erotic sensibility (who would have guessed that
it was there?), and femininity, where I formerly found my sexuality and
femaleness (whatever that was supposed to be). And now...something as simply
titled as "The Girl's Page" is a doorway into a feminine landscape of such
growing depth, complexity, and enlightenment that, maybe it's just the
blonde in me, I can't keep myself from being repeatedly astonished at your
boldness, imagination and accomplishment.
I have only one question...well, maybe more than one, but right
now I have only one question...after a girl has devoted some time to the
philosophy of the feminine at the Academy, wandered into the Inner Sanctum
to appreciate the commentary and enticing erotic displays, and had her
senses titillated by the daring darling in distress with her dress up and
her panties down...where do I go to relax, have a drink, and show off my
new stockings and, if anyone watches closely enough (I have been
practicing, you know!), maybe a little suspender (garter belt?) and inner
thigh of my own...the Cocktail Bar (can Miss Barbara be right...has everyone
left?), or the Coffee Lounge (I recognize a few of the faces here, and
maybe some of the underpinnings, too!), or the Common Room (is anyone ever
there?), or...
Oh, la! Sometimes, being a blonde can be so difficult!
A positively awestruck Sweetipops,
BARBI
Lucky us! I've brought some homemade hootch, 'cause, see, if it's
legal, it's just not as good! And here is a feather boa for you, Miss Fox,
and a long cigarette holder for you, Miss Ramona. And you, little blondie
behind the bar, change out of that silly milk maid ensemble and into this
daring sequined dress. You'll feel better. And I'm sure you'll get more
tips (and pinches!) to boot. Here's a Victrola I brought and some real
records too. Deborah, would you be a dear and wind it for me, while I look
for just the right song to set just the right mood? Here we go. Listen
to those crazy musicians: Miffy Mole, Jaimie Lytell, Red Nichols (she's
really a blonde, with red hair), and Vintesse's Sweetheart, Annette Hanshaw.
I just melt when she sings her little blonde heart out! Oh this one is
my favorite: "I gotta get somebody to love."
I'm just a tree.
I'm like a song no one ever sings
Okay, Tootsie. Its nice to have you here. Ain't we got fun?
REBECCA
Music Playing: Miss Jessie Matthews singing When You've got a little
Springtime in Your Heart
Evergreen
What a keen idea Brunette Mommy had to bring all us blondes to the Cocktail
Bar after that wonderful movie. But I'm getting ahead of myself,
so, stop distracting me, as Coz' Ariadne says.
Yes, it's as light as a good souffle, but one cannot get enough
of Miss Matthews. There is that number, were she and the young man and
her mother's blond girlfriend are backstage, and Miss Matthews rehearses
her little dance number, which I found absolutely
sizzling, Miss
Matthew's dancing, I mean. That little slouch, that
almost lascivious,
sinuous flip of the hips.
And if a blonde says so, imagine the effect on a brunette! I think that
might be why Brunette Mommy thought a little bit of the bubbly (out of
blonde mommy's shoe!) might make the evening complete. But of course it
is strictly cream soda for us little ones. Drat!
MIRANDA
The Sense of Belonging
Oh I feel positively the luckiest girl in all of Culveria because right
now my absolutely favorite song is playing, "Button Up Your Overcoat."
I always like to think of that as a theme song of sorts for Aristasians,
because we do all belong to each other.
Eat an apple every day
(and with those bohemian hours the Embassy pettes keep, that second line
has an even more precise Aristasian meaning!) And here's a verse for Tootsie:
Get to bed by three.
You better take good care of yourself
You belong to me.Keep away from bootlegged hooch
Well, that is one of the most precious things about belonging to a real
culture, isn't it? That we can be so connected with each other, as if by
a golden thread connecting Maid to Maid, that we really do own one
another, so much so that "taking care of yourself" isn't something you
do for yourself, but rather something you do for the people you love. Quite
nice, to my way of thinking.
when you learn it's free
Take good care of yourself
You belong to me.
Love Until Next Time,
AMY Yes, we have always loved this song. The first
little booklet we ever did was called When the Wind is Free precisely
because of the concept of belonging that the song conveys. Did you know
that an American professor of literature once said that the words of this
song constituted one of the finer lyric poems in the English language?
(He probably wasn't thinking of the bootleg hooch verse which may be apocryphal
in any case).
Keep away from bootleg hooch
You know we rather believe Miss Hanshaw makes up some of her own words
to these songs. Do you know I get the Blues when it Rains?. Well
the second time round she sings:
When you're on a spreeI get the blues when it rains
Who else but the delightful Miss H. could have written that? Apart from
you, of course. And you. And that delightful little pette sitting on that
much-too-high-for-her Art-Neo bar stool.
And no - I didn't forget you. Well, who else but one of us
could have written it?
I lose my rouge when it rains
Each little drop puts a shine right on my nose,
Each taxi-cab spalshes mud on my silk hose
Music Playing: Annette Hanshaw singing Button Up your Overcoat
The Forbidden Charms (or charmed forbiddings) of Vintesse
How enchanting to have a Pipsie here to make this place lots more lively
and entertaining. And it's me, Amy de Culver, one of those dull, respectable
Quirrie
girls, who says so!
AMY
Aetherial Homes
You know, a long time ago, Miss Trent mentioned aetherial homes
and I asked what they were -- and she told me -- and said that they are
not assigned by one's mistress, but one must find one's own, perhaps without
seeking it. I am not sure precisely what she said. At about the same time,
Miss Trent recommended I try to get hold of some
racinated
music; she mentioned a number of artists, including Annette Hanshaw (I
think
this was the one she said was the model for Betty Boop, but I may be getting
her confused with another). I found several: Al Bowlly, Hutch and Miss
Jessie Matthews, with whom I instantly fell in love, I mean with Miss Matthews.
No hard edges for that shiny -- I played it incessantly, even transcribed
all the clever lyrics -- one song each night -- and popped them over to
the Embassy. I was riding so very high! I was transported, you see. I even
found a film of hers, Evergreen, and watched it several times and
was delighted by it. So I thought, well, maybe
Trent
is my aetherial home.
Chuckling? How could you think it? No, you are absolutely right.
An aetherial home is not a thing one chooses for philosophical reasons
or any other. It chooses you. That, of course, is what Miss
Trent meant all that time ago when she said that one finds it without seeking
it. We get ourselves all sorted out and make a perfectly rational decision
as to which province is right for us, and then Pop! the right one
hits us and it isn't the one that we expected at all. Just like love. And
of course sometimes it is the one we expected, just as we often
marry the brunette next door (I mean blondes do in general; of course no
one blonde marries more than once except under the most exceptional circumstances).
And sometimes one finds oneself whisked of for an excursion into a province
one had never understood or much liked, and it is like a love affair that
may be brief and dazzling or may become a lifelong romance.
Music Playing, Ruth Etting singing Stars are the Windows of Heaven where
Angels Peep Through
Cocktail Bar...or...Coffee Lounge...or...
An amazed Sweetipops here, my precious pettes! My goodness...and I do mean
goodness...so much has been done in so short a time. Who ever thought that
blondes could create such wonders? What have you wrought in my short absence?
Why, it's a veritable treasure house of feminine delight that you have
created, almost, as it were, from...well...nothing but the elusive electrical
emanations of Elektraspace. I don't know what to say! I am absolutely speechless...
well, almost speechless...
Welvome back Sweetipops, you've been missed. And thank
you so much. We do so appreciate being appreciated! As to where to come,
well just take your choice between here and the Coffee Lounge. The Common
Room is either closed or about to close. It was the meeting-place for femmeworld,
but with our recent remodelling of the Elektra universe, this very Cocktail
Bar has become the main meeting place (the Common Room began its gradual
decline from the day the Bar opened. I fear the pettes are too fond of
their manhattans and Blonde Bombshells to patronise a dry speakeasy), with
the Coffee Lounge specialising in nylons and other pretties (which doesn't
mean, of course, that they can't be glimpsed here).
Toot-Toot-Tootsie, Hello!
Well, see, Sweetiepies, this is how it is. I was just a bit, well, bored
with all of those jinky gin-joints I usually frequent in New Vintesse,
so a friend of mine said, "Tootsie, you need to pop your little flapper
self over to the Cocktail Bar. Very different atmosphere. Quite sophisticated.
Nice decor too. You might like it." So, see, I did, and I am, here I mean.
She was right about the decor, I adore the chrome and pink, but, jeepers,
with so many Quirrie girls, the ambiance of this place could use a little
livening up. I guess that's what I am here to do! Liven you all up. Respectability
has it's place, but in a speak-easy? Ain't this the place for a little
bit of naughty fun?
We're all born for something.
Ain't this better? Anyone for a little black bottom dancing?
If love is really something,
then I was really born
for nothing at all.
Just a little sap.
I wish I was a poodle dog
on somebody's lap.
I gotta get somebody to love.
wish I was a phone bill;
I'd get plenty of rings.
I gotta get somebody to love.
That's all!
Love,
TOOTSIE
Phone bill? Are you sure it's phone bill?
Or has some one got something on her mind after all those deliciously wicked
international calls to the Aristasian Embassy? We don't know the song (yes,
there are a few up-to-date songs
we don't know) but may us blonde textual critics suggest that phone
bell
sounds more likely to us?