Decompressing with Doris Day

The semester is finally over and I have finished college. Audible sigh. This year has been the hardest of the four (actually more like five) that I've spent in college and I feel as though, through all of it, I have had either a cold or a migraine. But let's not forget that marathon ear infection last Fall, that was fun. I don't know if I've ever been so tired in all my life. I've been achy and crabby and sleepy and on Sunday morning the prospect of leaving the house left me in tears. You notice there have been no posts and if you extend that sort of inactivity to all other areas of my life you'll understand that the dishes need to be done, the floors cleaned, the car washed, the laundry done, while appointments must be made for oil changes, eye exams, etc. etc. etc. The list of things on the back burner is extensive. All semester long, with every new chore to be done I would just shake my head, raise my hands up and say, "I can't deal with that right now; I'll take care of it after graduation." Well, here it is. It's time to take care of it all, as well as all the new things that are now on the list, like look for a job, consolidate my student loans, consider running away to a graduate program, that kind of thing. I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed just putting it all down. Which brings me to my point: I am overwhelmed and, as with the end of every semester, my way of coping has been to escape into some thematically-arranged marathon film or TV watching. Last Spring it was Bob Newhart, last winter it was German Expressionist Horror which metamorphosed into Conrad Veidt (that one was long lived!), now it is Doris Day.

I think that the fact that it's Doris Day points to the seriousness of my condition. Nothing less than complete collapse could make me engage in such behavior. For weeks now I have watched Doris Day and Rock Hudson/James Garner/Rod Taylor pretend their way through early 1960s bedroom comedies and the effect is highly therapeutic. These films are like comfort food, like macaroni and cheese, for example. They're comforting and familiar and completely bad for you.
So far, I've watched Doris Day play fumbling feminine idiots against Rod Taylor's dominant male superiority in Do Not Disturb and The Glass Bottom Boat, Doris Day play the little wife to James Garner's friendly-but-slapstick-in-love-with-her-ness in Move Over Darling, and Rock Hudson in a variety of completely unbelievable roles: a nogoodnik advertising exec out for corporate blood until he is reformed by Doris' cuteness (Lover Come Back), and a hypochondriac business man with a fertile imagination and a hilarious side kick (Send Me No Flowers).

No matter what you're procrastinating, there's a Doris Day sex comedy just right for the occasion. Coming up in my near future: The Thrill of it All! and Pillow Talk. It's gonna be great!