A Brief Interview with Writer Lesly Arfin

A young Lesley Arfin (some time in the 90's)

In the 1990’s, before the internet was a thing, first and second generation Riot Grrrls read reviews of zines written by other Riot Grrrls who lived on the other side of the country (or sometimes even in England or Canada), and would sent their $1.25 + 2 stamps price to order these zines, and 9 times out of 10, this (losing) business transaction led to a penpal relationship.  It was amazing.  A lot of the RG rhetoric at the time waxed poetic on the concept of a “girl army”, and while these penpal relationships may not have been a tool of some militant action towards gender equality, it was a very wonderful and amazing network that could not have existed without Riot Grrrl.  I still remember how exciting it was to get the mail everyday (I did a zine with a fairly large readership, called Sweetheart, from around 1993-1997), just how special it felt to have my dad hand me all these wildly decorated envelopes from around the country.  I don’t romanticize my youth much, because it was too rocky to idealize, even through the powerful, distorting lens of nostalgia.  But when I think of all that Riot Grrrl mail, goddamn do I miss those tacky 1990’s and that rocky youth.

Anyway, that is how Long Island NY Lesley Arfin and Playa del Rey CA Robin Crane came to know each other, as penpals connected through zines.  Of course, the friendship faded eventually (they all did, but that was okay – it was sort of part of the whole thing).  

Cut to the mid-2000’s and me perusing one of husband’s issues of Vice Magazine.  I love/hate Vice Mag, but the hate part of that equation is much stronger – I hate their whole Terry Richardson/Richard Kern girl-humiliation aesthetic, all the photos of barely legal models doing private things like pooing or putting on panty hose, purposely humiliating imagery like that, which runs absolutely rampant in that mag.  The thing that I happen to love about Vice, though (or the old Vice anyway, with the original staff), is that the art and writing contributed by the female staff is as disgusting as that of the men.  There’s no expectation for the womens’ work to display any more humanity or tenderness than that of their male counterparts – a gender equality gross out. 

Anyway, I excitedly noticed that Lesley wrote a column for Vice, “Dear Diary.”  Then, in 2007, this column was put into book form, also called Dear Diary, and is a totally fun read, especially for people in our age group.  Since the publication of that book, she's been a contributor and editor of some blogs (see http://lesleyarfin.com/ for a complete picture of her creative career), a staff writer for seasons 1 and 2 of the HBO show Girls, contributed to several blogs, and currently, a writer for season 3 of the MTV show Awkward.

Lesley and I got back in touch recently when I came across an old photo of her  that I wanted her to see.  She agreed to be interviewed, so I emailed her some questions, and voila.  One thing I learned though is that it is a little flat to interview through email -- in the future, and/or if I were more tech-savvy, I think an ideal method of interviewing would be through Instant-Messaging, so, live and learn, but I find Lesley important to the current (counter)cultural landscape and am glad she submitted to being email interviewed, and here it is (I'm calling myself SR for "Sweetheart Redux" and her answers are indicated by "LA", her initials, natch):

SR: There was a ton of controversy surrounding your racial comments (about black people) when you and the other writers of Girls were being questioned about the lack or black actors or even extras in a show that takes place in the racially diverse NYC.  Can you explain your philosophy about the dialectic of race?  In one interview, you said that you loved the power of the word “nigger” and you couched this comment in a discussion of how powerful words are in general, but obviously you knew you were making a controversial statement when you said that.  I feel it was a deliberate decision of yours to answer that way, but can you explain your aim with such a response?  What was your goal with stirring up all this controversy, instead of taking steps to prove that you are not racist in all these debates that came your way?  And in retrospect, are you glad with how you handled things? LA:  [no response]

SR:  Tell me about the show you’re writing for, season 3 of Awkward.

LA:  It's a teen show about an awesomely awkward girl that airs on MTV. If you want to know more you can search it through Wikipedia.  

(editor's note:  so I wikipedia'ed it.  Here is the paragraph about the show's plot:  "The series is based around social outcast Jenna Hamilton who, after receiving a "carefrontation" letter, has a legitimate accident, though it appears as if she tried to commit suicide. By making changes and embracing her misfortune, she becomes well-known to her peers through her blog. After losing her virginity to the popular Matty McKibben, Jenna continues a secret relationship with him due to his embarrassment of her. Jenna later begins to develop a relationship with Matty's best friend, Jake Rosati. Jenna ends her relationship with Matty to be with Jake, and both eventually agree to not tell Jake about it. Jake falls in love with Jenna oblivious to her lingering feelings toward Matty and his best friend's feeling towards his girlfriend. Towards the end of the second season resident mean girl and Jenna's nemesis, Sadie, exposes the relationship to Jake who then breaks up with Jenna. Matty goes to Jenna's house to comfort her and they end up kissing. Jake, realizing he had made a mistake breaking up with Jenna, also goes to her house and witnesses the kiss. What then follows is a public fist fight between Matty and Jake later at school and their eventual make up and a decision to force Jenna to choose between them.")


SR:  In your book Dear Diary, you often speak directly to your family (your dad, in particular, as I recall) – did the publication of the book, or the fact of your parents reading it, change your family dynamic at all, and if so, what’s it like now? 

LA:  I don't know how, if at all, my book changed my family dynamic. My parents have and always will be incredibly supportive of me and my endeavors.  

SR:   Is it hard to maintain sobriety?  How important is it to your life?

LA:  It is hard and it is the most important thing in my life. 

SR:  Favorite:  movie/book/actor/director/actress/food

LA:  Movie: Poltergeist

       Book: The Secret History

       Actor: Leonardo DiCaprio

       Director: Nicole Holofcener

       Actress: Cate Blanchett

       Food: Bread 

SR:  Do you have celebrity crush and if so, who?  And why!

LA:  Leonardo DiCaprio because he is so hunky and talented and I love him in every movie he's ever made.  

SR:  Do you still identify as a feminist, and if so, explain your particular take on feminism?

LA:  Yes I'm a feminist. My particular take on it is less talk more rock.  

SR:  If you could be anything in the world including something magical like a wizard from Gryffendor house, what would it be? 

LA:  That's so broad! I guess I'd be a magical Bodega cat.  

SR:  Who is your hero?

LA:  Joan Rivers/I don't really have one. 

SR:  Does your Judaism have any bearing on your life or identity? 

LA:  Yes of course. I am Jewish. I can't imagine being any other way and wouldn't want to be.  

the end.

Lesley in a parallel universe as a bodega cat

Yesteryou Chapter 17

Good morning.  If you're new to this blog, it just occurred to me that it is unfortunate that, if you were to want to follow the adventurous/oversentimental tale of Yesteryou, a novella I wrote, the first chapter you'd be seeing (mixed in w/ my musings, photos of my crafts, film reviews, etc) right now is chapter 17.  So just a note on that:  I'm serializing the chapters (like I did last year with my novel Planes of Sunday) so if you wanted to start at the beginning, you just have to click in the lower right hand corner of "older posts" til you got to chapter 1, and then voila.  or perhaps you could also type "yesteryou" in the search bar to bring up all the chapters.  Anyway, it's minorly inconvenient but I don't think it's so bad.  in the olden days people would wait with  baited breath for issues of periodicals to come out that'd contain the next installment of a story by oh I don't know charles dickens or mark twain (i think these are historical facts but they might just sound true), so when I decided to serialize Yesteryou, it was based on that concept, but it's a little more confusing than just having a periodical come out in real-time and to be like "oh boy, it's chapter 17!"  W/ a blog, it just sort of seems backwards.  

Anyway though have a great weekend if I don't sign in again before then.

oxo robin

17.

So nervous she was afraid of throwing up, Molly knocked on the girl's red apartment door, telling Richard "Okay, just remember not to hold me accountable for how awful these people might be.  The girl with the pot-- I don't even know her name.  She seems really cool, but--"

The red door opened and inside was revealed the favorite home Molly’d ever seen before or since this night.  The walls were covered with thin, velour rugs depicting picturesque nature scenes.  Lined up in front of the rugs of the short hallway that led from the living room to the bed and bathrooms, a row of feminine mannequins stood frozen in languorous 1950's hostess poses.  Each statue wore a vintage apron over their otherwise nude plastic bodies, and each apron was made from a fabric printed with a design that incorporated the animal depicted on the rug the mannequin stood in front of.  There was one wearing an apron with little brown bears poised on their hind legs and dancing in pairs, and the rug behind this bear-apron mannequin was of a Kodiak bear frozen mid-growl.  Also, there were sheets stapled at their corners to the ceilings, creating billows like ship sails along the ceiling’s surface, making the rooms feel like giant mattresses under a canopy bed or like a dwelling under the surreal shelter of a homemade parachute.  She fell a little in love with the girl, absorbing the girl's careful arrangement of these objects, and so did Richard.  When the girl made a quick visual survey of the apartment, her glance landed on them and she ambled over to them.  "Oh no," she smiled, "I told you there'd be fireworks, but they've already happened.  Sorry about that!  Is this your dad?" 

“Yes, I am.  It's nice to meet you.  Those earrings are beautiful, by the way, they really compliment the green of your eyes."  He couldn't help but compliment women's looks when he felt warmly towards them; he knew he ran the risk of making them feel objectified, though, and consequently he delivered his compliments as though willingly putting himself in danger.

Feeling embarrassed for him, though he was handsome enough to pull off such flirtation (it's just that there was something fragile about him) the girl ignored his compliment and continued, "You said you're from L.A., right?"  Molly nodded.  "Funny, the woman who brought all these fireworks is from L.A.  That's kind of a striking coincidence, huh?  Here, let me go get you the pot.  Could you give me some money for it, after all?  I ended up spending a lot on booze.  Just give me whatever you think is fair." 

Semi-literate review of Stone's Savages (2012)

Despite his well-documented personality flaws, I have been quite partial to Oliver Stone films since I was a pre-teen.  I found The Doors (1991) to be absolutely thrilling to watch, there’s so much exciting partying in that movie and frenetic artistic and self-destructive energy, I thought (whenever I watched it, which was A LOT):  “I want to be like Jim Morrison when I grow up!”  That’s sort of a joke, but truly, I thought his character was very well-developed, and the occasional ‘trippy’ camera work wasn’t overdone and it was just an engrossing, thrilling film. 

As a side note, I was too young to see any of the movies that I’m writing about, but that’s beside the point.  In my underdeveloped way, I was able to appreciate them. 

Less fun to watch but also a really engrossing film, where you’ll feel strong, strong empathy for the protagonist, even though he’s been turned into a self-defeating, powerless asshole because of the war, is Born on the Fourth of July, made 2 years earlier.  I can’t stand Tom Cruise as the cult-leading, ex-wife controlling closet case that he is, of course, but when people criticize his acting, I have to disagree, because he was amazing in this movie (and Vanilla Sky).

Some Oliver Stone movies were definitely too boring to me, since I was pretty young at the time they were out:  Wall Street (1987), JFK (1991), Nixon (1995) – total yawn-fests.  I think one of those movies (JFK) is literally 7 hours long, right?  And then there were the movies that came out when I was all growed up, World Trade Center and Alexander, but they both looked horrible. 

But oh man, Platoon (1986), Talk Radio (1988) and Natural Born Killers (1994), are all terrifying and riveting movies that I would strongly recommend to anyone who has been desensitized to violence and appreciates good dialogue (Talk Radio is actually not that violent, per se – it is very talk-y – I think it’s from a one-man play by Eric Bogosian but it was a little unclear on IMDB, but all the talk has an edge to it so while there’s not much physical violence, it is definitely unsettling to watch).  Platoon and Natural Born Killers are two of the grossest non-horror movies I’ve seen.

Then there’s his new(-ish) movie, Savages (2012), and there’s something sort of pointless about this film.  It’s about a love triangle of successful pot growers and their girlfriend whose lives all get thrown way off balance and violently ruined when the major Mexican drug cartel wants to force them to become business partners.  I like the love triangle part:  it’s this hippie girl who comes from money (Blake Lively), being willingly shared by a messed up veteran and a hippie who grow this amazing strain of pot; the three of them live in a semi-utopia for awhile.  The tenderness between these 3 feels authentic, and Lively’s character, O., who is the film’s narrator, is surprisingly likable, and her sometimes-eloquence never sounds forced.  

The rest of the movies is sort of horseshit though.  I don’t know if you go in for violence, like realistic portrayals of people’s brains being blown out when you least expect it etcetra, but even if that’s your bag, I still feel that you won’t care for the parts of this movie where there’s a bunch of well-done and shocking violence, because this part of the film is really weak, plot-wise.  Perhaps there really are cartel bosses like the one Selma Hayek plays, but the whole character felt very unreal.  And the real bad guy of the movie, Lado, played by Benecio del Toro, it’s like …. He’s evil as can be, but somehow, who cares?  It’s just sort of a pointless movie.  Spoiler Alert – there is a fake-out ending that I really liked that made me cry real tears and redeemed the movie for me, but then it’s revealed to just be a possible outcome, and not the actual one, and the real true end of the movie left me generally indifferent. 

Yesteryou Chapter 16

16.

  "Hi, it's me, the girl from the carnival, did I wake you?" 
"Nope.  Hi.  How are you?”

              “Okay I guess.  Sounds like you found your way back home.”

              “Ha, yeah, it was a total surprise, too.  I was just walking around, actually I’d started trying to visit some of the sites from the Rocky movies, and I found my apartment building on accident.  I just moved there and I totally forgot the street name and the number, but from now on my landmark is going to be an Ethiopian grocery store on the corner that’s always closed and smells like cum for some reason.  Wanna come over and pick up your pot.”

              “Um, I don’t know.  When I was walking back to the hotel I'm staying at it occurred to me we might as well just meet up sometime tomorrow in the regular daytime.  I’m a little delirious from lack of sleep.  What time is it, anyway?"

"About 3 am.  Hey, you can go back to sleep if you want, and I can just call you later, but I'm having a little impromptu party right now, if you want to come and hang out.  Someone's supposed to be bringing fireworks the likes of which nobody's ever seen, apparently -- that should be fun.  What do you think?"

craft corner

Pirate Girl Purse $26 slightly negotiable plus shipping

King Frankie and Philosophy

My son is the most amazing being I've ever witnessed.  He is so curious, and preternaturally kind and sensitive, and funny, too.  Just this morning when I was holding him against me, chest to chest, as we took the elevator up to day care, he kept pointing (a new skill) at the little flower on my locket, and looking up at me inquisitively.  Then I opened the locket for him, and he just about lost his mind in happiness and amazement to see the two tiny photos inside my locket:  one of him, and one of me with my husband.  this moment, him discovering himself inside my locket -- it just stands outside of any temporal boundary as being something too precious, like to precious to exist terrestrially, you know?

The past few years, I'd taken to calling myself a secular humanist, mostly because I've been going through a hardcore Vonnegut obsession since at least 2006, and that's what he considered himself.

before that, i was just an athiest who took comfort in the thought of everyone rotting in the ground or getting burning into ashes to scatter on the wind after we die.

before that, when i was a huge pot head, i was a big believer in reincarnation, based on some "epiphany" i had.

i'd long flirted with existentialism, though.  Through all the little en-vogue french books I read as an undergrad, however, I am still awful at defining existentialism, and am going to have to just use the merriam-webster definition here: 

"a chiefly 20th century philosophical movement embracing diverse doctrines but centering on analysis of individual existence in an unfathomable universe and the plight of the individual who must assume ultimate responsibility for acts of free will without any certain knowledge of what is right or wrong or good or bad."

What I liked about this philosophy was the concept thatlife is an unknowable and wily adventure and so you just have to chug along,trying to have (sometimes 'amoral' fun, except that yay, amorality doesn't really exist in the framework of existentialism), knowing that there's no universal judge of fairness watching over us.  But I had a hard time truly believing in any of this, because I have this naive attachment to the concept of fairness.  

Except I don't anymore.  Now i have proof, PROOF, of an "unfathomable universe."  because now i know that my miraculous little boy has inherited Marfan Syndrome, that same rare and alienating syndrome that led to the major open heart surgery I had in my twenties, and the major and more urgent one my dad had to have in his twenties as well.  I knew there was a 50 % chance of me passing this on to my son, but the genetic tests took months to complete, so I just had all this time to wish as strongly as possible that he'd escaped my fucked up genes.  but nope.  

So now I think I can truly embrace existentialism, because my poor, amazing little boy has a life of physical problems to endure, and all i can think to say is c'est la vie.

Nico and David Johansen

Craft Corner

Yellow and Gray Crocheted Scarf $12 + Shipping

6.5 inches wide by 66.5 inches long, crocheted from soft acrylic yarn, in a 1950's-era color scheme of soft gray and canary yellow. Made in a smoke and pet free environment.

Yesteryou Chapter 15

15.

            Pulling into the parking lot of the South Philadelphia Sheraton, a person is usually struck by the unlikely combination of the landscapes comprising the neighborhood.  The hotel sits close to a 4-lane highway that parallels the Delaware River, across which you can see the murky land of New Jersey.  There is an empty derelict button factory across the highway, spooky to pass by on foot because it is full of howling ghosts.  But right next door to this abandoned building is Penn's Landing, a festive combination of fairgrounds, shops and restaurants intended for tourists.  People seldom walked on the sidewalks in this stretch of the city -- the parking structures fed directly into the shops and fairgrounds, but if one were to stroll alongside the highway, one would come to an area of gas stations and discount stores with their signs written in Spanish, eventually bleeding into a recently gentrified neighborhood, to the east, and to the west, a little park nobody but homeless men and women sat in, a larger-than-life sized bronze statue of a group of bedraggled Irish immigrants prominent in the park's center.

            The view from the window of the hotel suite they shared was, they agreed, different from anything you'd see in L.A.  Both men were incredibly tired, but Molly felt restless. Because Richard was wary of seeming too authoritarian, he didn't tell her how uncomfortable it made him to imagine her walking around by herself or going to the event occurring at the Landing, so she put her shoes back on and went out, and all he said was, “Be careful, honey.” 

The event was a carnival, a beautiful and melancholy sensory overload; she wished she were walking through all the brightly colored lights and youthful shouts with a boyfriend, and she also sorely wanted to find someone safe-looking to buy weed from.

She found this person sitting alone on a bench near the portable restrooms, smoking a joint and whistling an old song Molly'd always loved about being lonesome enough to cry. 

"Hey, hi.  Are you selling any of that?"  Molly gestured at the joint with a nod. 

"Uh, yeah, I could be, I guess.  You're not from around here, are you?" 

"Nope, why?  Do I stick out like a sore thumb?"

"No.  It just seems like I'd know you already if you were from here.  Plus, I forget my address right now, I'm so bombed I can hardly make my hands open and close.  If you were from around here, I could just describe my neighborhood to you and you'd probably know how to find me.  See, all the pot is at home but I'm not going home for awhile.  I'm meeting up with people here in a little while.  I'm not much or a drug dealer, huh?  My boyfriend and I just broke up and he  grows pot, and he owes me a lot of money, but he said all he could do right now is give me some of his weed, if I wanted it " -- while Molly listened, she watched the young woman's lips, which were painted into the shape called "bee-sting" lips," the way silent film actresses used to have their makeup painted on -- "and really, I didn't want it, but I had to take something from him, you know?"

"Oh.  Yeah.  So, I don't know what it's like here, like the price for pot.  Where I'm from it's usually $40 an eighth.  Is that, uh....?"

"Sure, sounds good to me.  I mean, I could give it to you free, really.  But you just have to wait for me to get home, it'll be a few hours.  Here, give me your phone number."

I was a Child but I Already Knew

I was a Child but I Already Knew

A child already knows

That something is hidden there, some elemental horribleness under the surface.

What monstrous selfishness or horror does he intuit, even when his skin is still so smooth it glows and surprises like the miniscule iridescent facets of an opal?

Opals are said to be bad luck when they are not your birth stone.

It is an old wives’ tale.

 Wives are people too.  So are their men.

Men and women are

powerless against disaster.

Women sneak pills

And men get yoked and tugged at like sickly, sloped-backed nags at jobs where the finished product is

Something immediately disposable or else

Something so permanent it is like a new planet, in a star system of trash, in a galaxy of the pop-tops from old beer cans and pages and pages of manuscripts dotted with emoticons.

The smiley face.

The frowny face.

I think maybe it is the frown a child already senses, primordially,

The sad, powerless giving-up of a frown.  Or else, the brave lie of a smile.

My Crafts

I had a really bad experience on Etsy (see below rant), and so I don't want to have my shop on there anymore, though I've had it on there for a few years at least.  I do have a little site that's just my own crafts, too (http://www.wearetheleopards.net/), but I don't think anyone sees it unless they're clicking on the link from here, because I don't really know how to advertise or otherwise drum up interest.  It's sort of a bummer to me, though, or I guess it's just the downside of making crafts --  because I make these really pretty scarves and hats and purses and coasters and jewelry.  It's my hobby (as it is many girls that look and act like me, I suppose), but then I just put them in boxes and sometimes I look through them all and feel proud that I made something so pretty, but also ridiculous that it's all stashed away in boxes.  

Anyway, I think that from now on, I will occasionally list some of my things on here, and close down my Etsy shop.  If nothing else, it sort of pleases me aesthetically to see the occasional purse posted here, in between the rants and Evil Dead II clips.  And, I dunno, inquire if you're interested in purchasing anything I post.

 LITTLE TROUBLE GIRL PURSE $22 PLUS SHIPPING, SLIGHTLY NEGOTIABLE

THIS IS THE LITTLE DESCRIPTION I POSTED ON ETSY ABT THIS SWEET BABY OF A PURSE:
The body of this purse is crocheted from a yarn w/ the following blend: 22% wool, 50% acrylic, 28% nylon -- it is fuzzy and comforting to the touch. A stunning panoply of color: eggshell, hot pink, halloween orange, beige, green. lovely. the purse body measures 10 inches wide by 10 inches long. features folk-art aesthetic imperfections such as visible tan hand stitching in the lining in the inside of the purse, which is a beautiful fabric pattern, a motif of pink flowers and fern-like leaves printed on a bed of midnight blue (cotton fabric). there is also a patchwork aesthetic to the purse lining, as the primary fabric cover is interrupted with an odd-shaped patch of black cotton fabric (see photos). the handles are made from thick braids of a sturdy black acrylic yarn. created with care and attention to detail in a smoke and pet free environment. xoxoxo 

I Danced Myself Right out the Womb

Here are 2 of my favorite scenes of women dancing in films:  the decapitated woman in Evil Dead II, and the anonymous/menacing girls in Inland Empire.  I'm not quite a pro at the computers, however, so I was only able to imbed the Evil Dead masterpiece, and for the Inland Empire scene, you have to click on the link under the stunning still of a terrified Laura Dern and get redirected to YouTube.  There was a third girl dancing scene I wanted to share, and I used to be able to find it on YouTube, but I couldn't when I was looking last night; it's Greta Gerwig dancing by herself to Paul McCartney's dopey masterpiece Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey in the film Greenberg.  I really enjoy that film, but that is definitely the best scene in it.  ah, c'est la vie.  enjoy these ones:

Evil Dead II

Inland Empire

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=djh1UprzoLk

Yesteryou Chapter 14

14.

"So tell me more about your childhood," Richard beseeched Beth on their first date.

"Hmmm.  I don't think I will," she teased.

"What?  Come on, that's not fair.  I just bought you a sundae."

"No, it's just that -- it was no good, you know?  I had toast for every meal, and every man who ever set foot in our house was horny and poor.  Mom always slapped us too hard -- I had an imprint of her hand on my check for a week, once -- but she was too stupid to stay mad at for long.  Gloomy stuff like that.  It's so boring, though, really.  I can't stand when people talk about their dysfunctional families, like it's enough to make them interesting, just because they suffered a little.  Everyone suffers, even if you have a happy, smart family, you end up suffering wondering if you're happy and smart enough.  That's just life."

"Well, what do you like people to talk about, if not their childhood, their family?  I agree with you, by the way, about the dysfunctional family thing.  People usually get this very boastful tone when they talk about having a bad childhood.  Is that what you mean, Beth?"  Such intense, eager attention, such eagerness to understand her and all his adept paraphrasing and his steady gaze, it made her feel shy, and she just shrugged in response.  Her hand lay on the table, and he suddenly picked it up and put it to his lips.  "You're so beautiful," he told her, “and your hand feels like a little bird when I hold it in mine,” and for at least a half hour afterwards, she felt wholly, purely happy, with a happiness unquestioning as a sleepy kitten.  Richard thought about this first date.

As if reading his thoughts, Molly, just waking up, asked, "Do you think mom has ever been happy, dad?  I can't imagine it."

"Oh, Molly.  How could you say that?" interjected George.  "You're not remembering things right.  Remember Fridays, when your mom got off work?  We almost always went to the 99 Cents Store before I dropped you guys off at home or took you with me to the bookstore, and remember?  She gets so excited at dollar stores, just how cheap it all is.  She just loved going there with you and being able to buy you cheap little necklaces and potato chips and things like that and making you at least temporarily happy with her."

"No way, she didn't even notice I was there." 

"Well, I know why you think that's the case, Molly, but you just have to believe me, she thinks and talks about you all the time.  You're her love."  Molly was about to say something in response, but then there was a sudden pressure drop, and she hated to fly, she was scared of dying in a plane crash ever since she saw a biographical film about Buddy Holly, so for a second she closed her eyes and held her breath until it felt like the cabin pressure was normal again.  George, Richard and Molly were sitting next to each other, in a plane, flying to Philadelphia.  Richard had bought three one-way tickets, imagining himself leading an expedition through this city he'd never been to before that would last three or four days, and end in finding Beth.  In a way, he liked how unrealistic this plan was, yet he secretly expected it to be successful, and felt grateful to the other two for being so quick to believe, as he had, that the Liberty Bell postcard had been a wordless request for rescue from Beth.

The plane landed at the Philadelphia International Airport a little after midnight.