I gotta feeling this girl had some good GOOD nights.Posted: July 4, 2012
Friends, Americans, Countrymen, welcome to For Shame! Ruins Your Childhood: PART DEUX!
A quick preface: This is my first official blog post as the newest addition to the For Shame! historic and scandalous enterprise. I only pray to God & country that I can measure up to my marvelous colleagues. It was an honor to receive an invitation to join the team. What the fuck am I saying. When I found out I basically red, white, and BLUE myself. On that note…
JM Barrie, playwright of the beloved Peter Pan, may have touched the lives of millions of children, but he also may have actually touched children. There is no HARD evidence (get it?) to prove this. I will say that the name of Barrie’s imaginative realm Neverland was used by a certain suspected pedophile for his magical fortress of fondling and nap times.
I’m sorry, was that coming on too strong for you? Maybe you should toss some bourbon in your tea and man the fuck up because
THIS POST HAS JUST BEEN BOSTON TEA PARTY-ED.
That’s all there is to say about Mr. Barrie (except this) and since it is July 4th I’m pretty sure talking extensively about a Brit is considered blasphemy and my forefathers would look down upon me and shout FOR SHAME.
HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!!!!!!!!!!! So 236 years ago (and you are looking FOINE for your age) your mother dearest (aka MILF) was pushing you out of the womb with a Declaration of Independence. The labor was more or less painful than yours truly pushing this debut blog post out. The pressure!! Whatever. Like declaring independence was hard.
But you know what was hard? Childhood. You know what made childhood easier?
Wonder Balls Children’s books. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, ima let you finish, but you know what was the best children’s book of all time? GOODNIGHT MOON.
Margaret, or “Brownie” to her friends––who were generally cool and rich because she was a babe––grew up in a bit of an unhappy home. Mom and Pop were not happy bunny parents knitting on rocking chairs, but poor Brownie just wanted to be a little happy bunny baby eating porridge with bunny parents that read her bed time stories.
I just need to take a second and say that Brownie a) was considered a creative genius by her contemporaries and b) was so prolific that she had to write under various different pen names, including Golden MacDonald, Juniper Sage, Kaintuck Brown and Timothy Hay, to keep from flooding the market. Amurica’s got talent.
So like the smart Brownie she was, she headed off to college to earn a BA in English. In college she was briefly engaged. You know, shit happens in college. One-night stands, frat-house-basement blowies, marriage proposals.
After that brief engagement turned out to be brief, she dated some unknown “good quiet man from Virginia” for a while. Brownie kept it classy and didn’t want the whole world to know who SHE was saying goodnight to in the bedroom. But with that description I think I have a pretty good idea of who Brownie was boning.
Since that relationship was a little overdone (brownie? baking? whatever) she quickly moved on to William Gaston, a fucking nobody because he WAS NOT the Gaston that no one’s slick as, quick as, fucks like, etc. Ditched that wannabe-French-ass-shit.
Brownie even jumped en el sack-o with THE PRINCE OF SPAIN (the now King Juan Carlos), and I’m sure our little American pastry was having some buenas noches, ifyaknowhatimean.
But I think the real scandal sets in when Brownie sneaks under the covers with Michael Strange, aka Blanche Oelrichs. HOLD UP. You may be asking: Michael or Blanche? Man or woman? That is such a good question to ask of your blog. Now let the blog ask one of you: Does it even matter?
Okay, yes, it does, because it was 1940 and lesbianism was SCANDALOUS and STEAMY. Blanche was a woman who wrote under the pseudonym Michael Strange, and was a poet/playwright/actress/”the most beautiful woman in America”. Other than Lady Liberty. Or Eleanor Roosevelt. Obvs.
Get the low-down on this ho(-down?). Blanche (can I just call her Blondie? Like the white version of a Brownie? okay thanks) first married Leonard Moorhead Thomas, the son of a prominent Philadelphia banker. Then had an affair with the actor John Barrymore, divorced Leonard, and married John. Then she divorced John. Then she married prominent NY attorney Harrison Tweed. And THEN she had an affair with Margaret Wise Brown. (Divorcing Harrison, of course, after the fact).
PHEW I feel like I just shotgunned an ice-cold can of American adultery! FROTHY.
Brownie and Blondie were just friends at first. They read one another’s shit and gave thoughtful constructive criticism while flashing a bit of cleave on the side. Did I mention that Blondie was 20 years Brownie’s senior? It would be suspect if all of America’s greatest couples weren’t separated by a decade (or two and a half).
The delectable couple moved in together in an apartment in NYC. Just two forward-thinking writer babes fornicating in the Big Apple. NO BIGGIE. But Blondie died in 1950, leaving Brownie all alone in such a big world with so many things to say goodnight to––what’s a girl to do!?!?
BONE A ROCKEFELLER, THAT’S WHAT’S UP. Brownie meets James Stillman ‘Pebble’ Rockefeller Jr. at some swanky party, and shortly after the two become engaged. Now isn’t that sweet as apple pie.
But things take a tragic turn, children. After an emergency surgery to remove an ovarian cyst, things all seemed yankee-friggin-doodle dandy for Brownie. She goes to the doctor for a check-up, does a can-can kick to demonstrate just how dandy she feels, and then dislodges a blood clot in her leg, which then travels to her heart. She dies at age 42.
That’s a bit of a downer. So instead of lingering on death and other entirely un-American thoughts, let us CELEBRATE the life of a fire-cracker of a gal who treated men and women equally and liberally, and had no problem with pursuing happiness in whatever form (American, Spanish, fake-French) it took. AND LOOK AT THIS CUTE PICTURE OF HER WITH A DOG.