5.08 The Party's Over episode addition. The following Sunday (between noon and four).
One Good Parody Deserves Another... Parody. Of much lesser quality.
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14 November 2004
My Dearest Sister,
As you see, I am continuing to honor my promise to write to you once each week. At first, when I made this promise, I did not think it would be difficult to be faithful to. Three months is after all only twelve weeks. I thought that I could easily compose twelve letters of interest even to your level of satisfaction, Sister. But, as my stay has been most kindly granted an extension, I know that my weekly letters have, in all probability, been decreasing in level of interest to such an extent as must be considered 'plunging'.
This was perhaps due in part to my diet. Or the fact that I rarely am allowed out of the house and have already catalogued for you the entire inventory of antiquities in the building where I reside, complete with provenances (forgive me, I am not certain of the correct plural for this usage).
Rejoice, Dearest Sister, the interest level of my letters will now rise and approach titillating, I assure you most vigorously! For, I have degraded myself insomuch that I now sneak out at certain prescribed times. And so, here I am in the wide, though provincial, world that is Stars' Hollow! I am out to observe and eat too. I have no specific tasks to accomplish on behalf of my benefactress (though she assumes I am currently sanding the large collection of cedar shoe trees of worthy vintage she recently procured).
I have come instead to a small restaurant in this town to sit and eat fries and to take on the task of writing you a letter which I modestly hope will be of upmost interest to you, My Dearest Sister. I have endeavored to take scrupulous notes for your edification and to exercise my vocabulary as well, and have referred often to the Korean to English dictionary and thesaurus too, which sit at my elbow even now.
Please do not mourn my disobedience in the stealthy venture I have undertaken, Dear Sister (or tell our parents, or that particular friend of yours either who is so well versed in the ways of blackmail to achieve her ends—I still ponder longingly on the chocolates I gave her weekly for a year after she caught me listening to a Bobby Darin album against our parents' express wishes.)
Despite all the sinful acts in my life (I now take on an extra hour of prayer nightly to recompense), I think I can guarantee that you will be grateful for my efforts in this letter writing matter. And, as sure as 'You break it, you buy it!' are words to live by, I will do my faithful best for your entertainment.
Besides it's good to practice writing in English and overlistening in it too, don't you agree?
But first of all, by way of general cultural information (which I gather most eagerly), I must confirm the general notion held world-wide that Americans eat disgustingly large portions of food that are unhealthful in the extreme. I add this caveat, however: Lots of them taste good! (The foods, not the Americans! Ha! Ha!) Also, I have learned on a recent national holiday, Americans honor their war dead by staying home from school and shopping.
Today, however, I am enjoying a specialty of this establishment called 'chilli fries'. These are fries (as we have seen at the McDonalds in Seoul) with the addition of a spicy meat and bean stew-like topping with cheese and onions 'on the side' too. Delicious I say, though my breath is definitely left the poorer friend for it.
But now, Dearest Sister, I will keep you in suspense no further. I must will tell you of this day. It is dramatic in epic style. Full of star-crossed lovers, anger and adultery, and potential mothers-in- law too, of course! For what would Epic Drama be without these?
I will begin my tale with the hero. Of sorts. He is in fact not very heroic at all. He is instead terrifying and grouchy and seems to do nothing but yell like a lion at everyone he cares about (perhaps poor Aesop should remove his thorn! Ha! Ha!) But we will make do with him. He is the proprietor of this diner (their word for small restaurant)—which I am hoping to frequent often now (I am thinking of myself as a sultry expatriate wearing leather in café society!)
But I diverge from my path. His name is Luke, this proprietor and Our Hero. He owns this diner and frequently does the cooking as well apparently. Many of the townspeople converge at some point during the day here to meet, share news, and talk behind one another's backs. The tourists come through this town as well as it is considered quite historic and picturesque. They like to buy small plastic things.
The daughter of my patroness, Lane Kim, works as waitress here. At first I had expected her to have a tattooed and shaven head by the whispered accounts I'd heard of her (as I've told you before), but she has turned out to be a kind and clever girl, and very wise too. She does not however favor the Rat Pack much or Bobby Darin either, which is something I find quite inexplicable.
Today is Sunday so the diner is quite busy. Many people come here from church. My kind patroness, having resurrected Mrs. Cho's faith yesterday, has gone to her Crochet for Christ! charitable group today. Hence my reprieve.
At twelve thirty-three pm, Mr. Doose (you remember my telling you of his loss in the recent town election? My benefactress is still quite sad about this.)... Anyway, Mr. Doose came in to sit at the counter to have oatmeal, coffee, and an oatbran muffin (I find this admirably courageous!)
Our hero Luke and Mr. Doose (whom I now designate 'Character Actor') argued briefly at this point. I recount the essentials of this for you here.
Luke: Taylor (Mr. Doose's Christian name), I am getting sick and tired of hearing that damn song over and over. It's like frickin'(an exepletive, Dearest Sister) water torture!
Mr. D.: Ice Cream trucks play music, Luke!
(In America, to save on exercise, oversized ice cream desserts are driven around in refrigerated trucks and sold out small windows. This allows Americans greater time to watch television.)
Luke: I know they play music, Taylor! They just don't have to circle the town square (I do not understand circling a square either, Sister) five times every hour on the hour playing the one same frickin' (see note above) song over and over and frickin' over! Besides, it's fall!
Mr D: The tourists like it, Luke. It's quaint.
Luke: Just another word for steaming pile of crap.
Mr. D.: What?
Luke: It's annoying, Taylor! Get a new song!
Mr D: What is wrong with The Purple People Eater, I ask you?!
(I googled this song at the library myself just last week, Sister, so great was my own annoyance with its repetitiveness. There is a great deal wrong with this song, I assure you.)
Luke: Taylor, do you really need to ask that question?
This fascinating tete a tete was then interrupted by the entrance (at two minutes past one) of our Leading Lady and Ingenue. Their names are Lorelai and Rory Gilmore. Rory is Lorelai's daughter. I have seen them often in town, and though Rory attends prestigious Yale University she seems to be there but rarely.
They are both very beautiful, Dear Sister. Lorelai wears excessive amounts of make-up and tight, revealing clothes that are also sometimes shiny. She is a very glamorous American indeed! And looks just like a television star and not a real woman at all. I cannot decide if her daughter Rory (who is also very pretty, though less shiny) is ladylike and meek, or merely perpetually petulant (I have been studying alliteration in English Composition class, Sister. How was that?) At any rate, the poor thing is clearly awaiting spinal surgery.
Today, the Misses Gilmore looked very glum, I am saddened to tell you . After seating themselves at a corner table, Lorelai suggested to her daughter that a great deal of fried food might perhaps improve her spirits (I admire her nationalism in this). Alas, Rory slumped even further into the table and mumbled (to the best of my hearing) 'Whatever you want'.
Then Our Hero walked over to these ladies presumably to take their orders for fried food. It is then that I believe I saw a very fleeting smile cross his lips. I am wary to assure you of this, however, as it was gone before I saw it. Like a ghost.
Here I should include a small item of exposition, Dearest Sister: Apparently Our Hero and Leading Lady have been carrying on a romantic affair for awhile now which frequently involves noisy relations of a carnal nature in the rooms above the diner (It is sometimes quite surprising what you will hear ladies discuss in the church cloakroom). My benefactress, who offers the way of salvation to this lady each year on Thanksgiving over Tofurkey (which is, sadly, just what you think it is) assures me that this affair is much more scandalous than even Ingrid Berman's absconding to Italy!
I think this lady Lorelai is very racy indeed!
They all talked then, these three, of food and the ladies' desire for coffee. And though the proprietor sells coffee (and must profit highly from it too), he mysteriously discouraged them from ordering it. It is in this context that the following perplexing, though humorous, exchange took place.
Lorelai: But Luke, we need the coffee!
(This was said, Dear Sister, with impressive passion)
Luke: No you don't!
Lorelai: We do! I, for one was up very late last night. Very actively up, I might add...
Luke: Oh, Geez.
Rory: Do not make me hum with my fingers in my ears!
(I am unable to understand the point of this last proclamation. She wouldn't be able to hear anything if she did this.)
Luke: Fine. That's you. What about Rory? Why does she need coffee? She is still young.
Lorelai: Because she's had a very bad weekend and because, if you must know, was bedazzled by My Mother!
(I find this statement a cause for great alarm, Dear Sister! Only yesterday I was able to furtively watch eleven and a half minutes of television during which I saw a most amazing program about a device called a Bedazzler which is very reasonably priced. It is used to secure reflective discs onto items to make them ugly. I don't pretend to understand the point.)
Luke: She was what?
(He is right to be worried. If I understood this device correctly, it would be painful in the extreme to bedazzle a young girl. I wonder if I should inform the authorities about Rory's cruel treatment at the hands of her grandmother?)
Lorelai: Seriously, Luke, Liberace was dim by comparison, such was the wattage thrust upon my only child.
Luke: You know, nevermind. I don't know why I bother. I am getting the coffee.
Lorelai: Hey, maybe that sleeping with you thing is finally starting to pay off a little.
(I believe this last statement was intended to be dirty!)
Rory: Mom!
Luke: Getting coffee now. And getting away from you.
Rory: You scared off Luke!
Lorelai: He'll come back.
(This lady is very confident of her lover. Apparently she provides him with complimentary dairy products. Though I am uncertain why it is that Rory believes he is unhappy about this...)
Rory: Not after getting the milk for free, he might not...
Lorelai: Ha. Ha.
(I must confess here, Dear Sister, that I am quite exhausted in my attempts to write down the entirety of what these people say. The ladies in particular talk with great rapidity. I feel, in view of this, that I must abandon my previous script-like format and focus only on what is being said. I think speakership will become clear within context. I will, of course, continue my insightful interpretation.)
"So, go ahead, Mom."
"Go ahead... What?"
"Go ahead and tell Luke that Dean and I broke up."
(Ah! Here is something 'juicy' indeed! Apparently Rory and her boyfriend Dean have ended their relationship, which, you may remember from two letters ago, caused the break up of his child- marriage. Americans have very little regard for such promises as are made at a wedding. I will be quite celebrated with this news in the cloakroom on Sunday!)
"Rory, I wasn't going to do that."
"Yes, you were."
(The following, I believe, is an argument between the mother and daughter about the former's ability to hold a secret. Apparently she is often unsuccessful at this. Hence her repository of witty slang-like jargon on the subject.)
"I wasn't! I can keep mum."
"Whatever."
"You won't see me crack like an egg!"
"Here we go..."
"Or, sing like a bird!"
"Or?"
"Eat the cheese!"
"Just get it over with. Be a rat. Tell him. I don't care anymore."
"But..."
"Go!"
"All right! All right! I'm going... Just hold off on the bamboo reeds..."
(I declare, Sister, it was all I could do to prevent chilli spurting out my nose, so amused was I by this! But, in an impressive attempt to remain unobserved, I managed self-control. It was then that our Leading Lady got up from her table and crossed to have private words with her lover, Our Hero, who was standing at the counter occupied with his order notebook.)
"Uh, Luke... hey."
"Hey."
"Listen.. Um, Dean just broke up with Rory."
"What? Again! Is that kid completely screwed up?!"
"Keep it down."
"Why would he do that?"
(Why indeed, Sister! For the young lady is from a very wealthy, although cruel bedazzling family, and the young man is only a poor grocer's assistant.)
"He seems to think he isn't good enough for her."
(Alas, an old, old story.)
"Oh."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"No, Luke, something. So, what?"
"Nothing... Just... your parents are real good at... putting that out there, aren't they?"
"Luke..."
(I am wondering now if the grandparents attempted to bedazzle Luke as well, such is the look of apprehension on his face at this, Sister.)
"It's all right, Lorelai."
"You thought the same thing about him."
"Yes, I did."
"Though probably for reasons other than class. Despite the Princess symbolism. And anyway, my mother made it very clear that it's too late for me. So, let's focus on Rory now."
(I am puzzled here, yet again, Sister, by the great ignorance Americans possess on issues of class. I wonder why is it, for instance, that they persist in the delusion that belonging to the upper class is only a condition of financial wealth. It is, I suppose, because they have also been deluded into the fantasy that each and every one of them might also one day be wealthy. Were it not so sad, it would be funny. But, on with our drama!)
"Strawberries or chocolate chips?"
"Um, I'm thinking both."
"I'm on it."
"Luke?"
"Yes?"
"You know I'm the one not good enough, right?"
"Sure."
"I mean I do give the milk away for free. Or at least partly in exchange for coffee anyway..."
(This is precisely what I was speaking of before, Sister! The privilege of class. Apparently this lady Lorelai has the means to give away dairy products to poor diner owners, and offer her sexual favors in exchange for coffee! And society at large does not bat an eye! The upper classes are a different breed, I tell you. Now, wait until you read the following bit of scintillation, Sister! It is stage-like enough to be on television and not real life at all!)
"Will I ever understand you?"
"No, but you love me anyway!... uh... Oops! Luke... I didn't mean to..."
"I know. It's fine, Lorelai."
"I... just... Okay, going back to my seat now! Because that thing that I just said? Just way too soon to be in this movie, right? I mean we've hardly finished the popcorn and haven't even gotten to the Red Vines yet... Okay, that was stupid! This is what happens when I try to talk before consuming sufficient amounts of carbs..."
"Right."
"Luke, wait!"
"I was going to make Rory's pancakes."
But, Luke, do you?
"What?"
"Because I do you. I mean I'm pretty sure I do. No, I'm sure. I do. I know I love you... in fact."
"Seriously? You're bringing this up here and now?! Rory's broken hearted over there. And Ceasar's already burned three orders of waffles... And it's Sunday. You know what Sunday means..."
"Right. The rush. I know, I know. Sorry! No carbs, remember? Just forget it. Walking back to my table now..."
"Lorelai!"
"What?"
"Me too. I... do too. And, in fact."
"Well... that's good, Luke."
"Yeah, good... Well... Glad we got that over..."
"Okay."
"That came out wrong."
"It's okay, Luke. I get it."
"Could we talk more about this tonight?"
"Certainly."
"Gonna go make pancakes now."
"Gonna go back to Rory now."
"You do that."
(Hahahahahaha! Do you see, Sister? Better even than TV! The funniest part was when Lorelai tripped over a chair on her way back to the table. Fortunately, her daughter was able to catch her despite her hunchback. But then... Then, the plot-thickened, My Sister. Thickened well and stewey indeed, for who should walk in now at one twenty-seven looking all lightning and thunder, but the grandmother! As soon as I realized who she was, I clutched on to my purse lest I should have to run away. And though I caught no sight of the Bedazzler anywhere on her person, I remained alert anyway, for her purse was very large.)
"Lorelai! Rory! At last I found you! Don't know why I didn't look here first."
"Mom? What are you doing here?"
"Well a sunny Good Afternoon to you too, Lorelai. May I sit down?"
"I repeat; Mom, what are you doing here?"
(I can tell you, Sister, I would not be so bold with this woman, given her reputation for violence!)
"I wanted to speak to Rory. You've clearly both been screening my calls so as not to talk to me, so I had no alternative but to come here."
"Cornered us in our natural habitat, hunh?"
"Well, if you must put it that way, then yes."
"What do you want, Mom?"
"Could we go someplace private?"
(I was relieved when Lorelai ignored this request. It is best to have witnesses about in such situations.)
"Grandma, I don't really want to talk..."
"Mom, she doesn't want to..."
"I heard her, Lorelai. But this must be addressed. The other night, Rory seemed... not herself... when she left the party. I was concerned.."
"Not myself?! That's very funny, Grandma."
"Rory..."
"No, Mom. That's it! This conversation is over."
(And with admirable spunk this frail young thing uncurled her back and arose to her considerable height and stood up straight! I nearly wept with pride for her, Sister. It cannot be easy to stand up to one who has bedazzled you.)
"Sit down, young lady!. We haven't even started this conversation yet."
"No, Grandma, I won't. I just said that I am not having this conversation with you! But, you know what? On second thought, since you are here I have to say, 'Wasn't myself,' Grandma? Isn't that what you just said? 'Wasn't myself?!' Well, that's rich. Yes, indeedy, it is. Because you're right. You are. I wasn't myself. Clearly I was nothing more than Emily's Bedazzled Rory.
(Inwardly I cheered; You shall overcome, Rory!)
"Lorelai, what is your daughter saying?"
"I'm not sure... Rory?"
"And I'm not just Stars' Hollow Rory either, Mom! Pancakes will not fix this for me. Not anymore."
(It must be hard rebel against one's culture too)
"Honey, where is all this coming from?"
"I–I don't know! I don't know! I'm not sure I even know who Rory is anymore!"
"Rory, that's not true."
"Yes, it is! I care about Dean. I do. I wanted it to work. I still may, b-but he doesn't know who Joseph Mitchell even is!"
(Imbecile.)
"Who?"
"Exactly!"
"Rory..."
"And I don't want to wear diamonds, Grandma!"
(I suppose diamonds must always appear in epic class drama. It is a mystery to me how they fit in exactly here though.)
"Well, I beg your pardon for trying to offer you an opportunity to..."
"And Mom, I have to work this out for myself! I am going back to Yale to write and study and read books. Because that's what I do know about me. And what I want. What I've always wanted."
(Ah, the Intelligentsia. A whole other category. Don't need money for that.)
"O-okay, kid. No diamonds. No pancakes. Books. Yale. Got it. Do you want to sit back down now, honey? I mean, judging by the deathly silence in here, the opening of Diner Theater needs another out of town run."
"No, I don't want to sit down. In fact, I'm going now. Tell Luke sorry about the pancakes."
"It's all right, Rory, I heard."
"I think everyone in this establishment heard your daughter, Lorelai."
"Oh Luke, I'm sorry!"
"Don't worry about it, Rory."
"I'm leaving now."
"Okay."
"And, Luke?"
"Yes, Rory?"
"When my mom tells you she loves you, you say it back with the real words and out loud too! Do you understand me?! I don't care how busy Sundays are, dammit!"
"O-okay... What? Now?"
"This evening will suffice. Now this conversation is over! Sorry I interrupted everyone's lunch!"
And all watched in awe then as our former Ingenue, now Heroine, strode proudly from the establishment.
It was very quiet in the diner then, Dearest Sister. Everyone staring so at Lorelai, her mother, and Luke too. All three of whom seemed at considerable losses as to which course to pursue next.
"All right, people, show's over. Resume talking and stuffing your faces now!"
This elegant comment was made by Our Hero, of course. His patrons complied immediately due to his intimidating presence (which I alluded to earlier.) But you know me well enough, Sister, to know that this show was not over for me at all. I continued to slyly observe the two remaining ladies...
"Well, Lorelai, I hope you're happy."
"As it happens, Mom, I am in a way."
"After that scandalous, ungrateful public scene she just caused? Why, you're proud of her, aren't you?!"
"Yes, I think I might be, Mom."
"Well, that's wonderful, Lorelai. I am at a complete loss..."
"I know you are, Mom. And I'm sorry about that. You'll probably shop the lovely Lillian Vernon catalogue before you understand me. Or maybe Rory either. And I really am sorry about that."
And thus we now find our dramatics at an end, Dearest Sister.
I wish I could report otherwise, as it has all been most edifying and entertaining too. But the Bedazzling Character Actress made her exit then in what can only be called, in American terms, 'a huff'. It is too bad.. I feel an excellent potential match could have been made as I saw Character Actor Mr. Doose looking at her with great interest. (I doubt he knows of the bedazzling) though this might make my patroness a bit green.
But that's another story. Must save some titillation for my next letter!
Our Leading Lady left presently as well. Presumably to seek out her daughter, but perhaps only to shop for clothes. I cannot say which.
I do know that they all three must be very hungry by now.
And now that I have written out this fine pageantry for you, Dearest of Sisters (they all long gone, it is three fifteen now), I hope you will offer a kind gesture in return, and send immediately to me my Ralph Lauren jeans and purple cowgirl sweater I leant you six months ago (Please note the post office box number below, my new mailing address for receiving personal mail.)
I have only forty-five minutes of leisure now to mail this letter, buy secret lip gloss, and sand shoe tress, so I must hurry. Tonight I will pray for the Gilmore family in hope that they may find harmony and true familial love with one another, but I am afraid that this may only happen in heaven itself.
Meanwhile, I must say, they provide great earthly entertainment for us all!
From ... Somewhere Beyond the Sea,
Your Most Devoted and Loving Sister, Kyon
P.S. Bobby Darin forever!