Cancer 8° (June 28)

 

Daily emails from Broadway world aren’t really where my head is at. I will learn next week that Nick Cordeiro died. Now I’m in a kind of limbo, really. I wrote this to a friend:

The story of Sally and Yale is vaguely familiar. I do think we drove by Fred’s more than once. I don’t think it was the time you went inside. Don’t worry about the photos but if you do come across them again def send. You taught me to water ski and I was surprised that I could do it. I think I only ever water skied once more in my life than the times with you. I remember Dick B. being pissed off because he couldn’t get up (probably because I did as he was weirdly competitive with me, which I never understood, since he could play every sport and I couldn’t play any). Segue to driving at night. I think the night the cop pulled us over was the same night we had decided that if you didn’t marry Fred then we would get married and you’d teach the kids sports and I would give them art and drama lessons LOL. You dodged that one!

S’s son E: He was a first year at Oxford when there was this huge rape/sex scandal involving the Rugby team. All of the last year players were kicked out of university. As a first year E was better, bigger, stronger and exhibited leadership skills more than the older remaining players so he was made captain. He is brilliant, speaks several languages,  is getting PhD in Psychology and plays many sports super well. Tall, redhaired and handsome and treats Lynne and me like Uncle and Auntie. It is really hysterical when he and I hang out alone and people think this giant is my actual son. Very sensitive and loving young soul is he.

So the year i moved back to Paris with L after college graduation is when we met S (Dutch J had studied with us in Grenoble junior year, two years before). S and English J and L (who were already a couple then and a year younger than us)—you can Google as he is quite famous as is Jackie by extension—and Jo and a bunch of others and we formed a tight knit social group. There was this one girl called A who was half Scottish and half German and was besties with S, with whom she spoke German (with a Scottish accent) and J. A was very troubled always and late 80s sent us a postcard where she said she had moved to Berlin and “here is my new address”…which she never filled in. I guess she forgot then mailed the postcard. We never heard from her again and later learned from S that she had died from alcoholism basically. Between late eighties and early nineties we only kept in loosest contact with S by email and then I bumped into her at a fashion show in NYC like in 1993 or something and we were immediately glued back together.

When we left Paris in 1986 (that summer J and S came to visit us) we had one last party. A scavenger hunt around the Marais in Paris, ending up at the Cafe Costes which was right near our apartment. A and J (sounds very Little Women now) didn’t get to the cafe. As L and I were walking to our apartment we could hear this wailing. It was A screaming “where’s J?” over and over and over. We followed the voice and as we reached inconsolable her, Jo rounded another corner being also drawn by the wails. We three tried to calm Amy, ultimately successfully, and we all hugged and promised we would never lose touch. Ah, but A didn’t fill in her address and she was the link to Jo. Fast forward to meeting up with S from whom we learn A M has died. We meanwhile had stayed close with English Jackie and L through whom we met P (a woman) and her husband M () with whom we become even closer friends (two of their kids are our godchildren). We connect J and L back with S and it’s now mid to late nineties and we all meet in London and Paris sometimes Milan (L is working for the designer DVN and I get myself fashion-writing jobs so I can be there too).

L and I do astrology as a hobby. After days working in these cities we do “charts” for friends, fashion people, some of whom work at magazines, one of whom becomes a top editor for a new magazine called Teen People. We have already written horoscope columns and features. We have created the names Stella Starsky and Quinn Cox (a quincunx is a 150° “aspect” in astrology because I am also working for The New York Times and I don’t want them to know I’m writing horoscopes. Teen People becomes a huge hit and adults are secretly reading it, especially our His-And-Her 24-sign horoscope column. A publisher with his own imprint at William Morrow contacts us through the magazine to ask if we can write a book for adults based on our notion that males and females of the same sign are different from each other. He is actually B and L’s friend Rob whom he met through a mutual friend Laurie who had passed away (and who looked exactly like Amy, like exactly), becoming close in the process of her death. Rob does not know he is contacting B and L when he tracks down S and Q. He secretly reads Teen People. He asks us to write a proposal, we think he’s joking, a year goes by. He says I’m still waiting. We are like oh you were serious. We write the proposal we get a book deal for Sextrology, we put a down payment on a small house in Cape Cod with the advance and go there to write it.

I’m sick at home, like out of it for two weeks, riding the couch. Lynne comes home with the first Harry Potter book for me to cheer me up. I read it in an day. Next day turn on the TV and Rosie O’Donnell is on and she has this redhead lady who, hey Lynne, come here, the lady that wrote the book) we were more connected to A through S then J, really. This lady with red hair and bangs sort of shyly looking at her lap and talking to Rosie, who gifts her a computer because she thinks she’s poor and heard the story of her writing in cafes on the dole as a single mother yadi yadi yadi (actually her sister’s boyfriend owned a restaurant and she sat there and wrote after, YES to answer your question, fleeing Portugal with daughter, and her abusive husband. I think it’s cool that the author of the book I’m holding is on TV and there is something familiar-ish about her. We go to bed that night and, still sick, I’m in the spare room reading and I get this flash. So I yell Lynne I think I know who she is. She says who. And I wail “where’s J over and over”. She runs in and we lock wide-eyed expressions.

The following blocks of text are exceprts from my first year of  Blagues, nos. 470-475. I am reading through all of my Blagues, five per day, and posting some samples here. Now, in my sixth year of writing this Blague, by the time I get to my seventh, I will have journeyed through all the daily Blagues of my first five years. If that’s confusing I apologize. Year seven, I’ll only have to read through year six, once a day.  (For thirty days this paragraph will include this parentheses to say: I realized that in the summer of 2016 I actually didn’t post for some time, such that for the expanse of two months, I will continue to number the past Blagues, as above, five at a time, but there will be nothing to post from that period.)

(Crickets)

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Cosmic Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree point of the Sabian Symbol may at times be one degree higher than the one listed here. The Blague portrays the starting degree of for this day ( 0°,  for instance), as I typically post in the morning, while the Sabian number corresponds to the end point (1°) of that same 0°-1° period. There are 360  degrees spread over 365/6 days per year—so they nearly, but not exactly, correlate.

Typos happen. I don’t have a proofreader. And I like to just write, post and go!
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