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And so out of the blue the call did come and said, you know, "would you be - would you consider turning this [the starter wife] now into a series?" and so obviously that was a shock. and all the conversations began. and, you know, and now we're here. now we're finishing up our last episode right now.
-Debra Messing
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And So Out Of The Blue The

Debra Messing
And so out of the blue the call did come and said, you know, "would you be - would you consider turning this [the starter wife] now into a series?" and so obviously that was a shock. and all the conversations began. and, you know, and now we're here. now we're finishing up our last episode right now.
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Blue Finishing Lasts

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We walked on the beach, fed blue corn ships to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy and all the other free samples my mom brought home from work. i guess i should explain the blue food. see, gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. they had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. but ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. she baked blue birthday cakes. she mixed blueberry smoothies. she bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop.
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The last episode of dallas was in '1991.' unfortunately, it was a terrible episode to end the show on: it was a sort of 'it's a wonderful life' with larry as the jimmy stewart character. in that episode, i was an ineffectual-schlep kind of brother, who got divorced three or four times and was a las vegas reject.
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Blue is the insides of something mysterious and lonely. i'd look at fish and birds, thinking the sky and water colored them. the first abyss is blue. an artist must go beyond the mercy of satin or water-from a gutty hue to that which is close to royal purple. all seasons and blossoms inbetween. lavender. theatrical and outrageous electric. almost gray. true and false blue. water and oil. the gas jet breathing in oblivion. the unstruck match. the blue of absence. the blue of deep presence. the insides of something perfect.
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Sam fuller and 'shock corridor' can only be conjured as a mantra. 'shock corridor' is a classic work of art - it's unique. it comes from the unique experience of being sam fuller and yes, there's always that element of 'shock corridor' hovering around the picture, but never specifically. in fact, i didn't even screen it because it's in us. it's in me anyway. it's in me. it was a way of conjuring up support just by saying the name, 'shock corridor,' as i was going to shoot. poor sam [fuller]...
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I turn and i look back across the lake. the mist is gone and the ice diminished, the drip of the icicles quick and heavy. the sun is up and the sky is blue empty blue light blue clear blue. i would drink the sky if i could drink it, drink it and celebrate it and let it fill me and become me. i am getting better. empty and clear and light and blue. i am getting better.
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…the lake of shining waters was blue — blue — blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azure of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the water were past all modes and tenses of emotion and had settled down to a tranquillity unbroken by fickle dreams.
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Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came; and if the village had been beautiful at first, it was now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness. the great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare in the earlier months, had now burst into strong life and health; and stretching forth their green arms over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleasant shade from which to look upon the wide prospect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched out beyond.
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Slayer of the winter, art thou here again? o welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! the bitter wind makes not the victory vain. nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky.
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Life has always seemed to me like a plant that lives on its rhizome. its true life is invisible, hidden in the rhizome. the part that appears above ground lasts only a single summer. then it withers away—an ephemeral apparition. when we think of the unending growth and decay of life and civilizations, we cannot escape the impression of absolute nullity. yet i have never lost a sense of something that lives and endures underneath the eternal flux. what we see is the blossom, which passes. the rhizome remains.
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I wish, and i wish that the spring would go faster, nor long summer bide so late; and i could grow on like the foxglove and aster, for some things are ill to wait.
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