Blue and gray in the blood red clay

War is not glorious--it is a hideous waste. Historians would do well to stop trying to give "meaning" to war. DGF and Ed Ayers are doing their part to strip war of romance. The fan club's collection of Civil War songs supports their efforts. We do not include anthems or marching songs: no "Dixie, " no "Battle Hymn."

Our collection is about death and regret, longing and loss. More than half a million boys and men died in the war, the equivalent of six million souls in terms of today's population of the U.S. Any Southerner who spends time on ancestry dot com sees death dates in the 1860s of great great great grandfathers, uncles, and male cousins many times removed. It is a wonder any of us are here at all.

People are still writing Civil War songs. Here is perhaps the newest, one that silenced an entire mini-van of DGF fans when it came on the radio a few weeks ago. It is by Shawn Mullins, a Georgia man whose work usually takes on subjects like Tinsel Town, dying auto towns, and lost love. He grew up near Catoosa County, and he channels a soldier destroyed by the killing he has done in a battle there. We don't know if he wore Blue or Gray, and we don't care.

Catoosa County

I turned 17 spring of 1861, and I killed 20 men before I turned 21
20 holes in 20 men 20 holes they’s buried in
buried where they lay in the cold red clay of Catoosa County.

I can hear the screaming I can smell black powder burning
Cannon balls flying and Gatling guns a turning
A thousand souls a thousand men a thousand holes they’s buried in
shallow graves in the cold hard clay of Catoosa County.

And the blue and the gray paint the colors of the lie
And the old men find a way to send the young men off to die
If I could I would place a hundred billion dollar bounty
On the hate that makes a war that digs the graves of Catoosa County.

Night falling on the hills and the cold moon comes up shining
And I can hear the whippoorwill and the coyotes go to whining
And all the souls of all the men roll in the holes they’s buried in
Blue and gray in the blood red clay of Catoosa County

And the blue and the gray are the colors of the lies
And it’s true you can pray but even God ain’t saying why
If I could I would place a hundred billion dollar bounty
On the hate that makes the wars that digs the graves of Catoosa County.

The power of song

To commemorate the sesquicentennial of the Civil War, the fan club has been collecting songs about the War and dusting off our fiddles, guitars, mandolins, and upright bass. (No we did not allow one member to contribute instead a washtub bass. We have our standards.)
We focus on music that laments the waste of war, in keeping with DGF's most recent book, The Republic of Death. Drew has urged writers about war to acknowledge the ability of war to provide meaning and sense of agency to ordinary life. In recognizing that power we might begin to over come it, she has said more eloquently.
What better song to start with than Blue-Eyed Boston Boy. It tells a story has surely happened countless ways too many times over, in this war and in others. The author is unknown and the imagery rich: "the Rebels with shot and shell Plowed furrows of death in the toiling ranks..."

He was just a blue eyed Boston boy his voice was low with pain
I'll do your bidding, comrade mine if you will do the same
But if you ride on and I should fall you'll do as much for me
My mother at home is awaiting the news so write to her tenderly
She's waiting at home like a patient saint her pale face filled with woe
Her heart will be broken when I am dead I'll see her face no more
Just then the order came to charge for a moment hand touched hand
They answered aye and on they rode that brave and devoted band
Straight way was the course to the top of the hill and the Rebels with shot and shell
Plowed furrows of death in the toiling ranks and guarded them as they fell
There soon came a horrible dying sound from the heights they could not gain
And those that doom and death had spared rode slowly back again
But among the dead at the top of the hill lay the boy with the golden hair
And the tall dark man who rode by his side lay still beside him there
There was none to write to his blue-eyed girl the words her lover had said
While a mother at home is awaiting her son she'll only find he's dead
While mother at home is awaiting her son she'll only find he's dead

This is the best version, if you ignore the ambient noise and walking around. Looks kind of like the fan club band only different!

No Help for Us

A blog devoted to celebrating the Southern lady cannot ignore The Help, as much as it would like to.

Our problem with The Help is that any time a white lady describes the Jane Crow experience she is aggrandizing herself. She is showing how fine she is to recognize how benighted she once was and now isn't. That sort of self regard is unseemly. The only respectable position on the subject for the white lady is sitting down and being quiet for about, oh, 200 or 300 years. It's time for the non-white ladies to speak.

And the last we will say, in regards to The Help, is that its immense popularity and tsunami of praise (largely from white ladies, we can't help but note) embarrass us to death. And that is all that we have to say.

Beyond Polyester

DGF and I have been fighting off a Southern invader ever since it showed its evil face in the spring. It seems perhaps at last we will prevail--Northern technology once again overcoming sheer cussedness.

Our foe: Poison Ivy. A vine grew up one of the dear maples of Elmwood, so high it nearly disappeared among the branches and new leaves. First, with the hatchet we cut the vine just above shoulder height. Within days the leaves above the cut withered and died. Then, wearing gloves we had bought in a rainbow of colors to protect our hands from Miss Clairol, we applied herbicide. We did not mess around with "organic."

Weekly we painted the leaves, and as the painted ones wilted and curled, new bright greenish yellow baby leaves appeared. But we marched on, and this weekend we found no new poison baby leaves.

Miss Grimke: We can certainly blame global warming for Col. Poison Ivy. Can we also blame BP? For not finding alternative sources, say, forty years ago.

DGF: Of course. But when you get right down to it, we have only ourselves to blame.

Miss Grimke: Perhaps but we can certainly not blame Jimmy Carter.

DGF: He did what he could.

Miss Grimke: Which was not enough.

DGF: We get the leaders we deserve.

Miss Grimke: Do you really believe that?

DGF: Well, look at me.

Miss Grimke: I see you are wearing that petroleum-based fiber, which is great for bushwhacking at Elmwood.

DGF: This is going to be painful on so many levels.

Forget the dead white guy writer

We in the fan club think J.D. Salinger wrote a few good stories(not including Catcher in the Rye, which has not stood the test of time—ask anyone under 20!) and then coasted for the rest of his life. Nice job if you can get it! He could have been as over-rated as John Updike if he’d written more.

We have not been successful in recruiting DGF to trash JDS so we’ll move on to something much more interesting.

Susie Boyt has agreed to join the fan club! We are not sure which is more astonishing—that she agreed or that we were bold enough to ask her! Perhaps now we’ll summon the nerve to invite Geraldine Brooks.

To say Susie Boyt writes about fashion is like saying William Faulkner wrote about farming. She ventures broad and deep through philosophy and psychology. Her ethical and decorating sensibilities are finely tuned. She can make it perfectly clear how a particular dress, worn in a particular way to a particular occasion, can be a deeply moral act.

We have long been fans of hers, reading her columns aloud to one another at meetings. But a recent one of hers, appearing after we’d been made furious by valances, sent us into an ecstasy of identification. You see, Susie Boyt is embarrassed by pelmets (look it up). http://www.ft.com/cms/s/2/976b0a58-cfe0-11de-a36d-00144feabdc0.html

SB is obsessed with Judy Garland and Henry James. She said the most wonderful thing about her HJ obsession in her autobiography: “The question that intrigued me in terms of both love and work was this: how can one be good and live fully in the world without taking on all any of the taint that the word 'worldly' carries.”

We are honoured to have Susie Boyt as a member of the club and to make her an honorary Southern Lady.

Wake up people!

The fan club, frustrated by the hostile tone of public discourse, has decided to throw in the towel and enter the fray.

We are taking as our model the Wide-Awakes, recruiting people to dress in capes and caps, light torches, and march solemnly in formation through the streets of Cambridge at all hours of the night.

Just as the Wide-Awakes provided moral support and inspiration to an embattled and progressive leader, so shall we support dear Drew Gilpin Faust. Join us! Everyone looks good by fire light!

(I can see her face on the banner but wonder about the eagle.)

Ladies who skate

DGF did not pick up on our suggestion to move the Fogg to Allston, but we can’t complain that the skating rink was a bad idea.

Ice skating is an alien activity to southern ladies, but those of us transplanted north find it a delightful way to keep our figures and an excuse to wear cute outfits. I won’t say that we went skating with Drewdie, but I will say that she continues to demonstrate her ability to balance on a fine edge without losing her poise.

Over a few mugs of mulled wine after some mildly strenuous activity involving spinning and gliding, DGF and I dissected some of the finer points of winter footwear.

Miss Grimke: How many pairs of boots should a lady own when she lives up north?

DGF: One.

Miss Grimke: Last week I wore my black Bean duck boots, my two-tone La Canadiennes with the sheepskin lining, my brown Rockport hikers, and my shiny back tight-calved high-heeled dominatrixs. And that was on Tuesday.

DGF: I find that my wellies suffice for all occasions.

Miss Grimke: That’s because the world comes to you, and you have a “car,” as they say.

DGF: I need boots to check on the goats and rearrange the Christmas tree branches protecting the perennials.

Miss Grimke: You also need them to wade through the mess that your “critics” emit.

DGF: I find that a sense of humor makes quick work of that.

Looking ahead

In the first working week of the new decade we are looking forward, only. Looking back gives us a crick in the neck. What does the future hold?
To answer that question, the fan club convened in a warm cozy spot quite unlike the Elmwood garret. We curled up on the persian rug in front of the fire with the ouija board. Fortified with mulled wine, made from an old family recipe, we asked the following questions and received the following answers.

Q: Are over-the-knee boots as warm as they look and will they be worn by a certain southern lady of a certain age?
A: No.

Q: Will anyone have a job in June?
A: A modest fiscal stimulus focused on aid to the states would be a helpful insurance policy against a further weakning in the economy.

Q: Hinc lucem e pocula sacra?
A: Dum spiro spero.

Q: Will Richard Bradley stop whinging about DFG's not being up to the task, as if he weren't some kind of pretentious ignorant name-dropping pipsqueak?
A: No.

Q: Do the people who criticize DGF for not fixing over night a series of horrendous problems she inherented have a lot in common with the idiots who think Potus should have saved the world by now?
A: Yes.

Q: Will southern ladies of a certain age be asked if they are ticklish before they are carefully patted down by ladies of the homeland security?
A: Yes

Q: Is it really stupid that the arch villain in Avatar has a southern accent?
A: Yes

Q: Will Harvard go broke?
A: The top 10 US endowments have outperformed the MSCI global index by 5.2 per cent over the past 20 years. For each $1 invested, there has been an incremental $5 gain.

Q: What about Uggs for southern ladies?
A: No.

Q: When will it start getting warm again?
A: June 29.

The importance of looks

The fan club is so so depressed. Our beloved Gloria Steinem is actually against the Botax. She says ladies need to shoot poison into their heads to look younger. To save ourselves from hyperventilating we called up Drew, knowing her wise eloquence would reassure us.

Miss Grimke: What are your latest thoughts on the importance of looks?

DGF: Funny you should ask. I know I'm overdue a new prescription for my reading glasses.

Miss Grimke: I don't mean looking out. I mean looking in. Have you been rethinking your look?

DGF: Well I have been letting my hair grow out a bit. I was getting tired of going to the hairdresser's so often.

Miss Grimke: Are you sure you don't mean the barber? I happen to know when a lady is looking for change she cuts off her hair. When she has settled into her new sphere, she lets it grow.

DGF: But change is neither immediate nor total. For each moment of exhilarating transformation there are a thousand daily realities, traveling a slower road, far behind our ideals.

Miss Grimke: Did you ever imagine Ms. Steinem would have represented one of those thousands of realities traveling a slower road, far behind our ideals?

DGF: Never never never. And no I do not go to the barber.

Miss Grimke: You know what I think?

DGF: I think Ms. Steinem is overdue for a haircut.

The beer truth

Our dear Dr. Faust is of course heart-broken over the situation in Allston. It’s as if we had started to renovate, pulled down the walls, put up blue plastic tarps to keep out the elements, and then had to stop construction because our bank pulled the plug. I’m sure that has happened to many of us. Allston is just on a much much much larger scale. The blue tarps are flapping. The squirrels are finding their way into the kitchen. It is a sad sad mess. Drewdie is doing her best to shore things up.

We recently took a field trip to Deep Ellum, the hippest bar in Allston if not all of the eastern seaboard to scope out the scene on the ground while kicking back a few pints.

For starters Miss Grimke ordered 2 pretzels & beer cheese, and Drew could not resist the hot damn wings.

It was when we actually looked at the beer selections that the trouble began.

Miss Grimke: What no BL Lime!?

DGF: Look at this. A beer called Ruination. What's up with that?

Miss Grimke: It gets worse. Leather Lips. Flying Dog Doggystyle.

DGF: Duck Duck Gooze is kind of cute.

Miss Grimke: There is something so not right about the whole microbrew naming thing. Or even the whole microbrew thing.

DGF: As a historian, I have to agree with you. You know I'm a fiend for beer, but there's all this faux artsy stuff that's grown up around it, largely among ladies and gentlemen who wouldn't be caught dead in the Fogg.

Miss Grimke: You mean the Gardner.

DGF: Beer peddlers are trying to recover some delightful better past that never really existed, when women and men crafted things of value with their own hands. These beers are actually living a lie. Also they are expensive, so you are paying through the nose for something that is meant to take you back to a better place that never was. They want to keep us from facing the reality that we live in a time when the most important and valuable things are so amorphous they fly around the world at the speed of light.

Miss Grimke: You can't taste Google.

DGF: But you can get high on it.

Miss Grimke: I'll drink to that.

DGF: But what?

We missed Fashion Week. Or did we?

Miss Grimke: Boston has a Fashion Week.
DGF: No way.
Miss Grimke: Way.
DGF: How could I have missed that?!
Miss Grimke: You were busy?
DGF: Yes, that's it.
Miss Grimke: I was looking at people walking down Newbury Street a few years back and I noticed that every single woman, old, young, fat thin, in between, all were wearing jeans, boot-cut jeans. Tops were different, that's all. And some wore heels and some wore clogs or boots and a few wore running shoes or something.
DGF: Amazing.
Miss Grimke: So what do you think I did?
DGF: Do tell.
Miss Grimke: I went straight over to Eddie Bauer and bought me some boot-cut jeans. Whew. That was close. I nearly walked down Newbury Street like some sort of freak.
DGF: I'm glad Cambridge is not so conservative.
Miss Grimke: Lucky you.

The Universe's Crisis of Stupidity

The fan club is after me to chastise Drewdie for writing such a boring essay in the NYT Book Review. The fan club is made up of my close personal friends, but really we cannot teach by scolding. We must teach by example. So I am going to write the essay as Drewdie should have written it. Post wit, to wit, ipso facto, and et cetera, dum spiro spero, following:

As my close personal friend Louie 'Lou-eye' Gates definitely did not say, 'I'll see yo mama outside.'

Don't be stupid! The world economic crisis and the election of Barack Obama does not change the fact that you have to be stupid not to see how important universities, both public and private, are. People go to universities to think and learn, and I don't care how smart you are, you can always benefit from thinking and learning.

So don't be stupid! Ask us to help solve the important problems of the day--from health care delivery to climate change to economic recovery. We are constantly thinking about things and doing research. Even when you ask us to do things impossible to do this side of science fiction, we manage to rise, almost nearly, to the challenge.

Educate the elite? Sure, we'll do that. Give opportunities to the downtrodden? No problemo! Manage our vast amounts of money so that it grows and grows and grows so tall we can climb up to the giant's castle in the clouds and steal the magic hen that lays golden eggs? We did that! A little problem arose when the giant got mad and came after us but we are working on it!

But ladies and gentlemen, listen up! We can do nearly everything but you have to trust us and let us fool around, experiment, get messy! Tolerate ambiguity! Embrace complexity! The most difficult problems are often solved when someone is working on something else entirely!

That's why we need English majors, and history professors, and other entities that don't have measurable ROI. They stir the pot. Even more obviously you can't follow people around with stop-watches and those little coin counters the ladies who sold you popcorn at the drive-in movies wear around their waists if you want the stew to stay rich enough to bubble up solutions to the problems of the present and future.

I am embarrassed that some of the ideas that are, well, stupid--like the market "knows" how much something is worth--came out of universities. I don't think English majors or history majors ever bought that crap, do you? Do you have any idea how many English majors and history majors are on Wall Street? Do you think that is not part of the problem?

Higher education is about not being stupid. You can't put a price on that.

August at home

While Drew has some well-deserved down time at a top secret location known only to yours truly, the fan club has been doing some long-needed updates at Elmwood, our part-time club house.

Is it possible to hate valances with a passion? If so, we do. Just because a house is old doesn't mean the windows have to dress up like Victorian ladies. What is the point of valances? What is the point of draperies, other than as back-up fabric for down-at-their heels Southern ladies? Ah, yes, Elmwood needs draperies to mute the noise from Route 2. We are keeping them on that side of the house. But elsewhere! Nudity comes to the windows of Elmwood!

We hope DGF likes.

Les derrierres sont nous!

Ladies are scrutinized, pardon my French, sometimes like slabs of beef. One arrow points to a dainty hand, another to a creamy or chocolately shoulder, another to her haunch. Such was the lot of the young Brazilian lady who happened to ascend some steps in what could have been the gaze of POTUS et M. Sarkozy. It was only after the MSM had had its way with her that we saw her face and learned of her many accomplishments. Does the MSM have the mentality of a 10-year-old boy?

Yes! Just yesterday we were treated to macro close-ups of the butt of a gentleman swimmer whose bathing costume malfunctioned.

Miss Grimke: What is up with this? Don't we have enough crises and misunderstandings and humilations and and and

DGF: I don’t feel I’ve made a decision about how to best engage in this discussion.

Starry-eyed Distractions

Miss Grimke: I'm loving the belted cardigan and the metalic flats. It's a great look. Don't you think?

DGF: Yes, it's a great look. I practically live in it.

Miss Grimke: You do not.

DGF: How do you know?

Miss Grimke: I saw what you wear at Elmwood. Those fluffy blue slippers.

DGF: Oh, right. Ah, that was so long ago.

Miss Grimke: Those were such innocent times.

DGF: Yes, we were all so innocent then.

Miss Grimke: We had no idea what was in store for us.

DGF: Well, we had an inkling. Only an inkling.

Miss Grimke: Did you see Public Enemies?

DGF: I'd watch anything with Johnny Depp in it. I would not have minded more story about Melvin Purvis, that fine southern gentlemen, though.

Miss Grimke: Who do you think will play you in the movie? Meryl Streep?

DGF: She could play me. She could play anyone. She could play John Dillinger. Maybe we should think outside the box, though.

Miss Grimke: Helen Mirren?

DGF: Oo, oo, now I'm getting excited.

Miss Grimke: Who would play Charlie?

DGF: Johnny Depp, of course.

How to wake up lazy skin

Miss Grimke: Richard Bradley is like that fly Obama whacked. Do you want us to swat him for you?

DGF: Who is Richard Bradley?

Miss Grimke: He blah-blahs about how you won't talk to the press about Harvard's going broke and other things.

DGF: Oh that guy. I'll contribute to history's first draft when I'm good and ready. Too much is at stake on too many fronts and too much is still too raw. Nothing is simple enough for sound bites and being second-guessed by people who consider themselves experts on this and that. The potential consequences of distortions are too dire.

Miss Grimke: Okay, whatever. I read in the FT that you should not use moisturizer because it makes your skin lazy.

DGF: Do tell. Well I don't use moisturizer and my skin is already incredibly lazy. It just sits there and sags.

Miss Grimke: I quit using it for about a week and my skin finally woke up and nagged me about neglecting this blog.

DGF: Well whoop de whoop.

Miss Grimke: You're not in a very good mood are you.

DGF: No comment.

The future brightens

You read it here first: DGF has selected a replacement for her executive vice president, Ed Forst, who has resigned. In one of her many strokes of brilliance she has hired Zoe Warren-Washburne, the tough, smart, talented former first officer on Serenity, the legendary salvage ship. She is just what DGF needs, a tactician who has worked with the best and prevailed through many trials by fire. She also shares DGF’s attitude toward fashion—wear whatever works best for the job and then forget about it. As with DGF, the result is exactly correct and eminently flattering.

From Drew’s official press release: “I am extremely pleased that Zoe Warren-Washburne has agreed to come to Harvard and serve as the University’s second executive vice president. She brings deep experience with a large, complex, and universal organization, a proven track record in managing the functions that will be central to her new role, and an outstanding reputation for her effective leadership style.

“We have important work ahead of us, with new challenges unfolding daily, and Zoe’s leadership and experience will help ensure that our administrative capacity can support our academic ambitions at the level of excellence they deserve, despite our need to address urgent and rare issues.” Faust continued.

Warren-Washburne said, "The decision to leave Serenity was extremely difficult. In my many years as First Officer I formed lasting and deep relationships with the captain and crew, but they understand my desire to work in a new environment with new challenges and to spend quality time with my feet planted on the good ship Earth.

“I am ready and eager to serve my new captain: Drew Gilpin Faust.”

As First Officer Warren-Washburne became known for her intense loyalty—which extended to her refusal to steer her boss wrong. She sizes up complex situations rapidly with uncanny accuracy. She is also an accurate shot. Her weapon of choice is her sawed-off rifle, which she wears holstered off her right hip and leg. She's draws on a variety of back up hand guns as well as a pump action shot gun.

Zoe Warren-Washburne has all the qualities we look for in a Southern lady and a person to serve as First Officer to our dear Captain Drew.

The Fan Club is indebted to erdprods on IMDb for details on Warren-Washburne’s career.

The future looks dim

The Drew Gilpin Faust Fan Club has since last November several times taken note of the resemblance POTUS has to our dear DGF. With much discussion recently about his resemblance to Spock, and after a field trip to see the new Star Trek prequel, we labored to see if a character there might resemble DGF, or if perhaps she might be even more Spocklike than POTUS. After all, like Spock, who spurned the Vulcan elite in order to join Starfleet Academy, Drew left behind her native land to achieve great power within an alien culture.

Alas, we could not see much of Dr. Faust in Mr. Spock. In fact, we came away disheartened to see that in the far distant future, despite so many advances in space travel and intergalactic cooperation, civilization has not advanced far enough to enable the invention of pants for women.

Three women are in the movie. One is shown only in the final stage of giving birth. She is of course pantless. One is sexually accommodating the young Kirk. She is pantless and green. Not that there's anything wrong with being green. The third is Uhura. She is wonderful but she exists only for Kirk to pine after and Spock to kiss. It is implied that she is also brilliant and useful. The poor dear, though, along with the other women on the ship, must traipse about pantless.

I asked Drew to weigh in on the issue of what does the future hold for women if we must go pantless. Here is her reply:

"As we attempt to balance yesterday’s dreams with today’s realities and tomorrow’s needs, we must remember that as we struggle with our own wardrobes, we are nonetheless being looked to for future and intergalactic solutions. I believe we in the present are uniquely prepared to answer the future's summons - through the breakthroughs that result from our research, through our concentration of institutions that are anchored here, and through our shared capacity for collaboration and innovation that helps drive sartorial progress.

"We are in an enviable position because our institutions - including UMass, Tufts, Northeastern, Boston University, MIT, and Harvard, together form an enormous engine, an engine that is fueled by curiosity and a mission to stretch the boundaries of new fabrics and their embellishments, an engine that must continue to do so in order to ensure our continue ability to supply pants to women.

"Our colleges and universities are magnets for funding from outside sources, which enables us to spend considerable dollars right here in the Commonwealth, at high-end boutiques, at the fabulous Natick Collection, and at the off-price stores, at TJ Maxx, at Microcenter, and at Trader Joe's.

"One of the most significant things about our research universities is that they are engines that also produce the fuel – the scientists, physicians, and engineers, and their husbands - that buy the new products that will help renew our economy and power the nation’s ability to continue to provide leg-wear for women. Mayor Menino understands this, and his advocacy, along with that of leaders on Beacon Hill, has helped ensure that Boston and Massachusetts will continue to be the world’s leading pants wearers, even during these challenging times and well into the distant future. "

These are encouraging words from a brilliant woman. I take heart! Perhaps the future will continue to be as progressive for women as the present. It's literally the least we can ask.

Honorary degree

The financial services professionals are wondering if we are having a junk rally. DGF and I meanwhile are suffering through a junk spring. We are back into cashmere and corduroy, bundling up to check on the progress of our polygonum in the petit bois. What bright spots can we find in the gardens of our lives, nevermind Wall Street and Main Street?
Miss Grimke: You should be one of those Southerners made honorary Yankees.
DGF: I'm not sure what to think of that.
Miss Grimke: Many honors are double-edged.
DGF: Not those bestowed by the New York Historical Society.
Miss Grimke: Stephen Colbert and Shepard Fairey could be honorary Yankees.
DGF: Who's an honorary Southerner?
Miss Grimke: Mitt Romney off the top of my head.
DGF: Do you think all Republicans who aren't from the South should be honorary Southerners?
Miss Grimke: No of course not. David Souter wouldn't be a Southerner if you locked him in a closet with Dolly Parton and force-fed him grits. Neither would Bill Buckley.
DGF: At least he'd be warm!

NEWS FLASH: DGF GOES WILD IN RED!

We have never seen her in this color. We have never seen her in anything so colorful (in public). This is a major major breakthrough! Doesn't she look great?! I have to believe her breakthrough color is red because, well, it's crimson.

Speaking of crimson, this picture is from the Crimson, and beneath it the gentleman photographer Adam Sidman lets us know it is for sale. Of course we did not buy it. We do not have money for purchasing photographs in our budget. Drew, I regret to report, has decided that it would be unseemly for her to use her $50,000 book award to fund Champagne for the fan club. So if Mr. Sidman comes after us we'll have to take up a collection or throw ourselves on his mercy.