@zeldawilliams: Congrats to all my many wonderful friends and the entire fab crew on nearly wrapping the final season of Teen Wolf 🐺 While I know so many are sad to see y'all finish up such an epic run, I know everyone, myself included, are ready and waiting for all the fun mischief and amazing projects you’re bound to get into next! Here’s to many more comic cons dancing with all of you and celebrating wherever your careers take you!
(And thanks for letting Caitlin come in and get a little weird with you all for a hot second back when 😉)
I left the house before dawn to try to catch the morning light, but the dawn proved to be cloudy and I was unsatisfied with my results. I did make a stop to finally visit F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald’s grave in Rockville, Maryland. They rest in a small cemetery adjacent to an old Catholic church, just off of a busy intersection in the middle of the city. There are no tour buses, souvenir stands, or even signs pointing out the site. There is just a single mention, in the last line of an information plaque for the small church.
I never bothered to read “The Great Gatsby” until later in my life. When I finally did read the book, I loved the writing so much that as soon as I finished the final page, I turned back to the first and read the novel all over again. Discovering his writing was a pure delight, like hearing Charlie Parker, or Mozart for the first time.
Christina Ricci has made a name for herself as an actress
who can tap into complex roles – and her latest project is no exception. In
Amazon’s biographical series Z: The
Beginning of Everything, Ricci plays Zelda Fitzgerald, wife of author F.
Scott Fitzgerald. Zelda was known for her beauty and high spirits, but she also
struggled with mental illness and alcoholism.
Ricci explains a common misconception about Zelda:
“that she was this alcoholic crazy woman who ruined F. Scott Fitzgerald’s
life, and if not for her he would have had a great life.” It’s an idea
that was popularized by writer Ernest Hemingway, but as the actress points out,
“He was a huge misogynist.”
The truth, she says, is much more complicated.
In the 1920s, Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald careered through New York City and Great Neck, Paris and the South of France, leaving in their wake a trail of splintered Champagne glasses and glittering bons mots. Their tragic, slow-motion falls — she to madness and a series of mental institutions, he to alcohol and an indifferent public — seemed inevitable, and drawn from the pages of one of his novels. She was reckless to the point of oddity; he always drank like a professional, collapsing the arc from charming to churlish early on. But theirs was surely one of the most fascinating literary and romantic partnerships, symbiotic to the point of cannibalism.