‘Breakfast’ cures the mean reds
I lie slumbering in my bed at 7:45 in the morning. Smooth jazz replaces country twang. Endless martinis take the place of amber bottles of Miller Lite. The patrons of this soiree are familiar with Dolce and Gabbana, Chanel, Valentino, and Ralph Lauren. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a firework. At a second glance, I realize it’s a woman who looks like she has robbed Tiffany’s. She is wearing every piece of jewelry imaginable.
What could possibly be wrong with this situation? I have an eight o’clock class!
I thrust myself out of bed and scramble through a shower, slipping and cracking my head on the floor from a puddle from the leaky shower curtain. I dress in an outfit that is most definitely not my best. I arrive at class only to look inside my bag and discover that I have brought the wrong notebook.
The day continues with other steady tugs to pull me down. I fumble over the valves of my trumpet. I pop four Tylenol as the anticipated headache from the morning fall escalates. I think it is safe to say that I have a case of “the mean reds,” a term only Holly Golightly can define.
“You know those days when you’ve got the mean reds…the blues are because you’re getting fat or maybe it’s been raining too long. You’re sad, that’s all. But the mean reds are horrible. You’re afraid and you sweat like hell, but you don’t know what you’re afraid of. Something bad is going to happen, only you don’t know what it is.’’
With a self-diagnosis of the mean reds, I decide to cure myself and turn on one of the greatest American films, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Within the opening credits, I embody the lifestyle of Holly Golightly as she treks across New York City in search of an identity and a home.
The character of Holly Golightly, played by Audrey Hepburn, is unparalleled by any other character of the literary world. She possesses a care-free attitude while still being socially aware. She chirps her way through conversation with other socialites during the party scene. Her laughter is infectious as she giggles at the quirky things around her.
She lacks any sort of serious feelings towards anyone or anything, with one exception. She values her version of medicine, a trip to Tiffany’s. This is where she goes to adore not only the jewelry but a life that she thought was so far out of reach. I am tempted to go on but I fear I might spoil a wonderful dessert of a cinematic experience. Just take my word for it – you need to see this movie.
So I sit on my couch with the mean reds still nibbling away. I call up one of my fondest memories of my pilgrimage to a Tiffany’s in Vancouver this summer. I looked upon the displays that grace the windows Tiffany’s. There I was, at six in the morning, coffee in one hand and a danish in the other. I close my eyes and take in the aroma. I felt a warm breath on my shoulder and I swore Holly was there with me.
“Miss Golightly,” I said, whispering my favorite lines, “I’d buy some furniture and give the cat a name.”
Reliving that memory, I feel the mean reds melt away completely.