Think Before You Style

Since yesterday was Sunday, I, of course, spent most of my afternoon watching Lifetime and drinking copious amounts of diet coke. (Ah, how I do love to live it up on the weekend ...) And, since this pretty much encompasses all of the "activity" that occurred for me in the last few days, it's also what I'm going to write about.

Therefore, I apologize in advance to anyone reading this with testosterone or some sense of dignity when it comes to their entertainment choices.

My favorite movie from this action-packed weekend was "Thy Neighbor's Wife," a revenge romp starring the lovely Kari Wuhrer. (By "movie," I actually mean "heavily edited piece of what was soft core porn that hopefully made more sense before losing key chunks of plot and/or dialogue because pivotal scenes also involved gratuitous nudity.")

In "Thy Neighbor's Wife," Kari Wuhrer becomes the live-in help for Nicole and Scott, a couple with a strained marriage, and their daughter, Darla. For reasons that should be clearer, Kari has a beef with the world that she wants to take out on the family. Mom Nicole is a diabetic, so plenty of cooking with sugar and other homicidal acts ensue.

Now, I could address the poorly scripted seduction scenes in the movie or why a family with an 18-year-old needs a nanny, but what most concerned me about this "film" was the depiction of Nicole and Scott's marriage.

It was easy for Kari Wuhrer to work her feminine wiles on Scott (played by Jeff Trachta, pictured) because of the conflict in Nicole and Scott's marriage. Nicole and Scott spend the parts of the movie when they're not getting it on (remember, this was once porn), arguing about how much time she spends at work and how she never pays attention to her husband. I believe there's even some dialogue in which Scott complains that his wife doesn't respect his feelings or his opinions.

And, while I'm sure these issues arise between many couples in the world, no matter how much Scott poured his heart out about his hurt, I couldn't help but side with his wife.

You see, if I was a successful businesswoman bringing home the bacon, I'm pretty sure I would also have trouble listening to the thoughts and concerns of a man with a semi-mullet. (Hell, even if I didn't work and instead spent my days keeping up with my stories and eating cream cheese frosting from a plastic tub with my fingers, I'd have trouble taking that guy seriously.) How can one be expected to respect someone who honestly believes that haircut is a good choice?

There's the length. And the poufy bangs. And the feathering. (Dear God - the feathering.) Plus, "Thy Neighbor's Wife" was made in 2001. It's not even like the actor can use the excuse that he didn't know any better or "that was just the style."

I remember 2001 well Jeff Trachta, and this hair, indeed, was not "the style" then.

And, while I don't want to seem that I'm doing too much to support an image-obsessed American culture, I suppose I believe that what you do with your head matters. I might wear curlers when I leave the house, but in doing so, I must also accept that people will see me as a "loony" rather than a with-it young professional. By the same token, if I want my partner to take me seriously, there can be nothing that makes one think of a mullet, no matter how fleeting that thought may be, happening above the neck.

I'd like to think that if Scott had considered his hair choices more thoroughly before Kari Wuhrer caused his wife to slip into an irreversible diabetic coma, "Thy Neighbor's Wife" just might have had a happier ending.

Thank God I'm Decent Looking

Recently, my sister lent me the first season of "Lost" on DVD. Since I've always wanted to get into "Lost" but lacked the discipline to stay tuned week after week without the incentive of Hugh Laurie, and the show "really freaks my sister out" so she didn't want the DVDs anymore, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to catch up on all that I've missed.

This past weekend, I started watching the DVDs, and then, almost before I realized what was happening, I had watched all 24 episodes in a span of four days. (Word to the wise: Don't do this. That much "Lost" in such a short period of time without commercials is like watching the longest, most intense movie you've ever seen with no hope of resolution or closure. I'm not sure that I've been the same since.)

And now that I'm done with season one, I'm left with two thoughts:

1. I'm hooked. Who can I trick into giving me the second season of "Lost" on DVD?

2. I have no practical skills whatsoever. (Darn you liberal arts! I knew that you weren't a financially-prudent course of study, but I had no idea I'd be this worthless afterwards. There were times, sure, especially when I was sitting in my sociology classes, that I had fleeting thoughts about your lack of relevance to the outside world, but, like I said, this was a "fleeting" feeling, and I never knew for sure.)

Seriously, unless someone is interested in writing a constitution for our band of stranded islanders or wants someone to recount the entire saga that is "Quantum Leap: Seasons 1-5" for entertainment around the nightly campfire, I bring nothing to the table.

Let's look at who matters on "Lost":
Jack – Doctor.
Locke – Kills boars.
Sayid – Former Iraqi solider/master of terrain and weapons.
Sun – Can find plants to use as medicine.
Jin: Catches fish.
Kate – Climbs trees and handles firearms.
Sawyer – Remembered to scavenge all the stuff from dead people.
Michael – Construction background/can build a boat from bamboo and twine.

(You'll notice that neither "writer" or "barfly" made the list.)

Right off the bat, we can obviously eliminate doctoring (in addition to not going to medical school or taking science after my junior year of high school, I hate the sight of blood and needles), killing boars (yeah, that would happen), anything related to soldiering, identifying plants (if I were the kind to go camping, I'd also be the kind to use the wrong kind of leaf to wipe), fishing, firearms and construction (not even my LEGO structures were sound).

Then, I even have to take tree-climbing off the list because the last time I attempted to get more than six feet off the ground; I broke both of my wrists. And, I doubt that scavenging would work since I'd either feel bad about robbing the dead or would easily have my finds taken from me since my aforementioned previously-broken wrists don't allow me to put up much of a fight.

Because of my fair skin and light eyes, I don't even handle the sun well. In short, if I was stranded on an island and anything "Lord of the Flies"-like happened, I'd be Piggy.

Therefore, I'm ruling out any trans-oceanic travel until I at least learn how to skin a coconut.

Labels: pop culture rantings

Everlasting Love

When I was little, there was no celebrity I adored more than Michael J. Fox.

I was absolutely enamored with Alex P. Keaton, and I never missed "Family Ties." (I'm pretty sure that the only time I voted for a Republican was in the 1988 mock presidential election held at our elementary school when I cast a vote for George Bush, Sr in our cardboard voting booth. Since I don't come from a family of Republicans, I can only assume that this decision was heavily influenced by the conservative viewpoint of one Alex P. Keaton.)

I have seen "Back to the Future" and its sequels more times than I can count (although I still prefer to think that "Back to the Future: Part II" wasn't part of the franchise), and I scoff at the very notion of Jason Bateman as a basketball-playing teenage werewolf when Michael J. Fox so obviously played the original and the best "Teen Wolf." (I also must unfortunately admit that I wished I too could hear dog whistles for a long time after that movie came out.)

My Barbies married Michaels, not Kens.

I even watched "The Frighteners" - and I liked it. I dare another fan of the Fox to make that claim.

So, you can only imagine my absolute joy on a cold day in 1989 when my mother dragged me to the denim haven that was County Seat and Courtney Cox walked in.

At the time, Courtney Cox was playing a psychology student on "Family Ties." And, this psychology student also happened to be Alex P. Keaton's girlfriend. As far as I was concerned, there could be no luckier lady.

With my mom's encouragement, I worked up the nerve to ask Courtney for her autograph, and since we had no paper, I ended up with Courtney's signature on some County Seat stationary. (I can only imagine how ridiculous this autograph would look if I still had it today. For those of you who can't believe I would lose such an important bit of memorabilia, I blame my uncharacteristic nonchalance on how often I move - it certainly wasn't for a lack of caring.)

And, while this was my first real "brush with fame," I think it might be better than all the rest. (I know, it's shocking considering the thrills that were Little Richard, Richard Townsend and Juliette Lewis.)

What can I say? That's just how much I love Michael J. Fox - even to this day. I shudder to think what would be the level of embarrassment, stammering and possible confessing to him some of these very details should I ever meet Michael J. Fox in person and not just someone who played his girlfriend on television about two decades ago.

(P.S. If some of this sounds familiar, I might have mentioned some of this before whenever Michael J. Fox was mentioned in my presence or when Rush Limbaugh attacked my first love, but I thought now was a good time to expand on the true depth of my very first celebrity encounter. Plus, I always have more to say about Michael J. Fox.)

The Perfect Audience

In many ways, I am the perfect audience.

I am more than willing to give up all pretense of plausibility or rationale in the name of being entertained. Aliens want to attack all of the U.S.'s major metropolitan areas? Of course. A serial killer who won't go down despite two rounds in the chest? Terrifying. Chris Klein as someone women are sexually attracted to? I'll give it a shot. (Please, I still think Rupert Everett and I have a chance at lasting happiness.)

Like I said -- I embrace the fourth wall.I will even get caught up in the most formulaic of plots. (Unfortunately, this led to a very uncomfortable moment for my friends when I started crying in the middle of "The Wedding Planner" and repeating the phrase "these two just aren't going to make it" -- in reference to Jennifer Lopez and Matthew McConaughey -- as a mystified theater crowd watched and shook their heads. I'd like to blame my reaction on a break-up, but I know that it just isn't true.)

I want everyone to survive the horror movie. I believe characters who say "I'm sure it's nothing" in reference to their health are right. I am genuinely surprised when my favorite soap characters either reunite or break up during sweeps.

Truth be told, if I'm questioning the logic of a movie, there's big trouble. (For this and many other reasons, the makers of "Basic Instinct 2" should be ashamed.) After all, I saw "Kangaroo Jack." (Actually, at least I watched that one trapped on an airplane. My paying to see "Reign of Fire" on its opening weekend is a whole different story...)

While my all-consuming spectator-ship means I have a much higher tolerance for television and movies than most, it also means that I get way too involved in what I'm watching. I watched years of "Who's the Boss" actually thinking that Angela and Tony were going to finally get together every single episode. (If you want to blame that on my age, trust that I did the same thing with Ross and Rachel on "Friends.")

And, while I thought I at least knew my own limits, I've discovered a whole new level of frustration in "The Office." Why can't Jim and Pam be together? Why? Of course, I know that the tension keeps me tuning in every week, and I know that crowds get bored when couples are happy, but I'm starting to worry that I really can't take it anymore. Jim is just too cute. Pam is just too sweet. She's not engaged anymore. I don't like the girl from the closed office. I need Jim and Pam together, and I need it now. (This might even be worse than my Pacey/Joey obsession. It's that bad.)Seriously, this time it's for my sanity. Let the letter writing campaign begin.

Lost in Translation

Now, it may seem strange to you that anyone willing to admit her love of soap operas, made-for-television movies and Unsolved Mysteries, would still have shows that she doesn't want anyone to know she watches, but it's true. Even I have programming skeletons in my closet.

So, I'm just going to put it out there -- I really like Ghost Whisperer. I'm not sure what it is about the show. On many levels, I still cringe when I remember paging through Seventeen magazine and reading interviews with Jennifer Love Hewitt wherein she insisted everyone close to her called her "Love." I mean, that's simply not acceptable. You don't change your name to a new age name if you weren't born with one. Because, after all, you can't try to be a "Rainbow" or a "Peace." If you're given that name at birth, you live with it, and you own it. If not, you call yourself Jennifer or Emily or whatever else the birth certificate says, just like the rest of the sane world, and you're grateful that your parents are conformists.

And, if for some reason, that "concept name" sneaks its way in via the middle name as in the case of JLH, you push it out with equal force, and deny, deny, deny. You certainly don't ask people to actually call you by said name/unfortunate delusion your parents were suffering from in the wake of a 20-hour labor that made "Love" seem like a good naming choice. (Don't be too hard on them. At least it's not Kal-El Cage.)

(In case anyone is wondering about the Seventeen reference, let's remember that it was 1995, and I loved Party of Five. And, while I didn't want to be Jennifer Love Hewitt, I kind of wanted to be Sarah Reeves because she was the only one that Bailey really loved, and she got to make out with him every week.)

Anyway, I never watched Time of Your Life because I only liked Sarah as an extension of Bailey. And, while I did see both of the I Know What You Did Last Summer films, I was never what you would call a "Love Fan."So, the fact that I like Ghost Whisperer certainly came as a shock to me.

I even avoided watching the show until one post-bad-break-up Friday night when I had no cable and no desire to leave my afghan/ice cream cocoon, and it was a choice between obscure sporting events, the Ghost Whisperer or going to bed before 8 p.m.

Nearly instantly, I was hooked.I think a large part of it is that I'm a crier, and I kind of appreciate the weekly opportunities to let out some emotion while JLH brings closure to a grieving family and helps a soul pass on. Or, it could have to do with the fact that the actor who plays her husband is hot, and it gives a single gal hope to believe that he would marry JLH's character even though she spends countless hours talking to ghosts and playing fetch with a dead dog. (I know it's fiction, but let me dream.)

But, I have to say that as much as I enjoy Ghost Whisperer, the last five minutes tend to make me a little angry.For those of you who haven't seen the show (which I assume to be most people), during the last five minutes of the hour, JLH usually brings the soul of the dead person into a face-to-face situation with the formerly skeptical loved one or friend so that the two can "talk" and get some closure before the spirit feels free to move past this world.

At first glance, you might wonder, "What could be so bothersome about a heart to heart between the dead and the living?"Here it is -- what gets me is that JLH tends to summarize for the dead rather than giving a word-for-word recap. Now, I realize that this is done for the sake of the viewing audience. After all, watching the same speech repeated by two different characters would be pretty boring, and as the audience, we've already gotten the emotional weight of what's being said.

But, still ...If I were getting a message from beyond the grave, I really wouldn't want a medium who editorializes or "puts things in her own words." That seems like the one time you'd want to make sure that nothing is being left our or omitted for the sake of time. After all, it's not like there are going to be a lot of opportunities for clarification or chances to ask questions later.And, if I had traveled across a few metaphysical and spiritual planes to deliver my last words to those close to me, I would hope that someone would be damn sure to get all of it -- WORD FOR WORD.

After a lifetime of dealing with the DMV, utility companies and traffic, isn't it only fair that your clairvoyant of choice repeats your unearthly wisdom rather than condensing it?Is that so much to ask Jennifer Love Hewitt? Is it?

Some Things I'd Like to Forget

Now, this probably doesn't need to be said, but I wasn't exactly a "cool" kid.

I went to private school. I tended to either duck or swat my hands frantically in front of me whenever any sort of ball came my way in gym class or on the playground. I spoke nonsense to myself in my room pretending to be French. And, I really liked to wear a tiara whether it was appropriate or not, as was immortalized in my kindergarten class picture.

"Cool" definitely isn't the right word.And, I also had a period when I really enjoyed conspiracy theories, not realizing that most of these ideas were espoused by the "crazies" of the world. (In fairness to me, my nannies always liked to watch a lot of daytime television, and if you live in the world of daytime television -- Phil Donahue, "All My Children," etc. -- you are much more likely to believe the impossible is probable. Twins with two different fathers? No problem. Men who dress as women and work for phone sex hotlines? Of course. Sisters who are also cousins who are also aunt and niece who also happen to be neighbors? Tell me more.)

After a particularly impressive interview on the local news morning show (that's right, local, I wasn't even smart enough to get most of my ideas from the Today show), I became convinced that Elvis was indeed still alive. I mean, supposedly the sideburns fell off of his corpse before the funeral. If that doesn't say wax dummy substituted for a body while Elvis runs off to live a peaceful life of anonymity, I don't know what does.

I also spent periods thinking that Marilyn Monroe had been murdered, George Reeves (the original Superman) didn't commit suicide, and UFOs were very real and hidden in large warehouses by the government. And, I shouldn't even get started on my JFK assassination theories.

Well, today I was watching Unsolved Mysteries on Lifetime (of course), when one of the segments brought up a conspiracy theory I had forgotten about. It seems that two scientists claimed that a photo taken by an orbiting satellite of Mars clearly showed a human face, and this was a sure sign that the government was hiding proof of human life on the far away planet.

Yep, you heard that right. A picture of the surface of Mars supposedly showed an isolated human face embedded in the planet.

Just the face. Not a body. Not a person. Just a face lying on the surface of the planet.Even if we ignore the fact that the "face" didn't even look like a face, but more like the bunch of rocks I'm sure it actually was, why in the world would there be just a face lying on the surface of Mars? Why?!?! When is the last time you saw a human face lying anywhere? (If you work in a morgue, you cannot answer.) Could any rational human being accept this preposterous supposition?

Unfortunately, that's when I remembered that a young me had swallowed that idea hook, line, and sinker. I probably even went to school and told my friends how there were living creatures on Mars because of the 10 minutes I spent watching Unsolved Mysteries the night before.All of the laughing at the lunchroom table makes a lot more sense now.

Life Crisis

I never thought I'd say this, but I think I may have watched too much Quantum Leap lately.

I know, I know, I didn't think it could happen either, but I believe my love of Dr. Sam Beckett's adventures through time may be affecting my ability to make decisions.You see, if Dr. Beckett really is "putting right what once went wrong" by changing one event in people's lives, that means we all have one pivotal moment in time when we can either succeed or fail miserably.

Now, with some of the episodes, I can see the big moment -- one should not turn tricks because the rent is late, posing naked for a sleazy photographer in the midst of the "Miss Deep South" beauty pageant is bad, if someone is trying to kill you, calling and telling someone about your every move -- even if that person is a "friend" -- usually doesn't work out well, etc.

And, some of these life-changing moments are just based on the fact that Sam has more information than anyone else -- stopping serial killers, saving people from falls off large rock formations in national parks, figuring out that the creepy albino maid has more up her sleeve than just good disinfectant products ...But, it's the simpler ones that get to me -- a well-timed kiss to reunite exes, taking one job over another, telling a young "Stevie" King that he should write scary novels ... What if I don't see these moments?!?!

What if I miss the tiny cue that keeps me from being buried alive in a silo or spending my life surrounded by cats and well-meaning relatives who use me as a cautionary tale of how not to end up a spinster?Of course, the fact that I'm job searching right now (and, oh yeah, have an anxiety disorder) isn't helping either. As sad as it is to say, I may have to stop watching Quantum Leap for awhile.

But, then I remember how much I learn from the show. Just the other day, in the "Private Dancer" episode, Sam taught me how to say "Quantum Leap" in sign language because as a male stripper named "Rod the Bod" he was trying to help a young deaf girl become a professional dancer rather than spending her life as a prostitute. Now, if I ever meet a deaf person, I can quickly discern whether or not he or she is also a sci-fi geek, and, since the only other sign language I know is the first half of the alphabet, we can embrace over our common bond while I repeatedly spell words like "cab" and make horribly interesting statements like "ab bad" (to denote my aversion to crunches) and "gab gab" (to express my interest in celebrity gossip).

Although I could have lived without watching Scott Bakula's attempt at modern dance to bond with the deaf girl, (it was the sweeping hand motions that killed me), I think I took more from the episode than I lost.Which is why, despite my minor protestations, I can never really give up Quantum Leap. It means too much to me. And, I'll just have to hope that my continued devotion to the show gives me greater insight into my life rather than paralyzing my ability to choose for myself.

In light of what fine actors Scott Bakula and Dean Stockwell are, I think this is a risk I'm willing to take.