RIP Doris Day

"She had a pink couch. A long, bright pink couch 

with white satin pillows. Cathy told me about it. 

It sounds so Doris Day, doesn't it? Bright pink, lipstick pink."

Tribute

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Reynold Brown [Public domain]

Whether God-given or Clairol-tinted, all Hollywood blondes are not created equal.

Take the bombshell blitz of the ’50s and ’60s. Marilyn Monroe was the alpha goddess, while Grace Kelly was the class act. Bringing up the shapely rear were vampy Kim Novak, campy Jayne Mansfield and trampy Mamie Van Doren.

But existing on a more approachable perch was the Doris Day. Her brand of beauty came sprinkled with freckles. She was one of us and we loved her for it. And we’ll remember her all the more for it, too, now that the versatile singer, actress, TV star, animal activist and radiant icon of sunny, funny femininity has died early Monday at age 97 at her home in Carmel, California.

USA TODAY

Hubert de Givenchy, RIP

Onscreen, the actress usually played the frothy, flighty heroine who suited her busty blond looks and guileless blue eyes. 

At first glance it was tempting to typecast her as someone who giggled and wriggled a lot. 

It took Julia less than five minutes to revise her opinion. 

Lily was a sharp, witty, ambitious woman who exploited her looks rather than being exploited by them. 

She was also very much at home in the traditional parlor of the Knightsbridge house, 

looking very cool, very British, 

and very wifely in a simple blue Givenchy. 

Genuine Lies

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By Ylenia - originally posted to Flickr as Givenchy, CC BY 2.0,

https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12311214

“His are the only clothes in which I am myself. 

He is far more than a couturier; he is a creator of personality.”

YAHOO!

RIP Alan Rickman

Alan Rickman, Harry Potter and Die Hard actor, dies aged 69

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"What I do is…" She poured bubbling wine into his glass. "First, I'll take a big glass of wine up to

my bedroom, then I'll light candles. I'll put on something soft and comfortable, something that makes me feel relaxed. Feel… female. Then I get into bed with all the pillows arranged just so, because I'm about to take a journey just for myself. And when I'm ready… When I'm just sinking in… I watch my DVD of Truly, Madly, Deeply."

"You watch porn?"

"It's not porn." Laughing, she gave his arm a quick slap. "It's an amazing love story. Juliet Stevenson is devastated when the man she loves, Alan Rickman, dies. She's overwhelmed with grief. Oh, it's painful to watch." Eyes radiating emotion, she laid a hand just under her throat. "I cry buckets. Then he comes back as a ghost. He loves her so much. It rips your heart out, and it makes you laugh."

"Rips out your heart and makes you laugh?"

"Yes. Men never get that. I'm not going to tell you the whole thing, just that it's wrenching and

charming and sad and affirming. It's unspeakably romantic."

"And that's what you do, secretly, in your bed at night, when you're alone."

"It is. Hundreds of times. I've had to replace the DVD twice."

Obviously baffled, he studied her as he drank champagne. "A dead guy's romantic?"

"Hello? Alan Rickman"

Bed of Roses