Why HIMYM Should Not End With The Mother's Death
On Why "How I Met Your Mother" Should Not End With The Mother’s Death
Like most fans of HIMYM, I’m pretty emotional about the upcoming series finale. Obviously, a show I began watching in my 20s about people in their 20s trying to figure out their lives is going to have a pretty strong hold. In 2005, when HIMYM debuted, I was 25 going on 26, I had just finished graduate school and I was anxious to see how the next phase of my life – career, relationship, family – would play itself out. I was a Ted Moseby who wanted to be a Lily, only I didn’t have the same assurance of an older-me narrator to guarantee that it was all going to work out. Nine years later, I’m married, and I have an adorable nine-month-old and a mortgage. I will miss this show and these characters because I feel like they’ve been there with me on the journey.
As a long-time fan, I also have to express my great distress over the pesky Internet rumor that HIMYM will end with us learning that the mother has died and Ted is about to marry Robin.
I am a devoted Robney shipper, but that actually has nothing to do with why I’m so opposed to this ending. I don’t like this ending because it doesn’t fit with all that HIMYM is about and has been about for the past nine seasons.
The thing about searching for “the one” is that you have no idea what you’re looking for until you find it. Until you’ve found “it,” it’s all just supposition and guess work. While this statement might sound as empty as “it is what it is,” you can’t know until you know. And no matter how much you want something, you can’t make yourself get there before you’re there. It happens when it happens. At its heart, HIMYM is a love story, and the most amazing part of all our individual love stories is that we have no idea what moment is going to change our lives forever. Everything else only gains significance in hindsight.
The whole arc of HIMYM – as evidenced most clearly in the title – is leading us to that one moment for Ted. Which moment in these nine years will be the defining one that shapes everything that comes next? We see all of the close calls – dating her roommate, being so near the yellow umbrella, walking into her class – and all the women who might be “it.” But, of all those thousands of moments, it’s meeting the wedding singer.
None of us can know what that moment will be in our own lives until we’re in it. I met my husband at a practice for a local improve comedy group on a Sunday afternoon when I had a terrible hangover and hadn’t washed my hair. We all have, or are waiting for, our life-changing moment, and I think it’s that part of Ted’s journey that touches us and makes the show so appealing.
Until I met my husband, I thought at least six different people were my soul mates and made a lot of questionable decisions – including one possibly ill-advised transoceanic flight – to that end. I have my own Victoria, Stella, etc. (And I won’t even get into the not-quite-soul-mate-level people that I also spent a lot of time with and made yet more questionable decisions because of.) For a good six years, I was sure that I would eventually end up with one particular person. For me, that person is my Robin – the one you’re sure you want and that you can come up with so many reasons that you two should be together.
But, you won’t end up together.
Because he or she isn’t the one. And you can’t know that you’re chasing shadows until you find the real thing.
I think that in the best-told story, Robin remains the one Ted is sure he wants before he finds the one that’s really meant for him.
HIMYM addresses topics and themes that pertain to singledom/life in your 20s and early 30s in a way that is heartfelt, honest and usually very funny. Some examples? When Ted discovers that he’s inadvertently recreated his parents’ relationship. When Ted realizes he has feelings for someone that is married. When Ted has to face the idea that being an architect might not be in the cards.
This isn’t about “getting the girl” in the unrealistic romantic comedy sense of star-crossed lovers in a will they or won’t they pull. This is a story about finding the one. And obviously, especially for those poor kids trapped listening to this story, there’s a lot that comes before finding the one. And nothing about the people you love before finding the one negates how great and wonderful it is once you find it.
Ted can love Robin with his whole heart and still be meant to find a better and more satisfying relationship with the mother. Those two coexist in the real world all the time. We all love people that aren’t the one. But, the person we build a life with still gets to trump all.
The real love story on HIMYM is just beginning, and the better more honest story is in what becomes of Ted after he moves past Robin and opens himself up to the possibility of a better love. (Enter the mother …)
Because how do most of our real life love stories go? Do you spend years pining away for someone only to have the person realize one day, years after you’ve met, that yes, you two are meant to be together and now a great relationship begins?
No. When you meet the one, it works. And it usually works right off the bat. That’s the beauty of the one. And it’s the very same thing you can’t force or make happen or twist and bend into submission. It happens when it happens. Until then, we’re all just waiting and searching and hoping.
HIMYM needs to end exactly the way it told us it was going to end nine years ago – with Ted Moseby meeting the love of his life and the mother of his children. Any other ending – dead mother and Robin reunion included – is disingenuous to the story telling and the truth of the human experience.
Image originally posted to Flickr by Francis Orante under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.
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To Read: Let's Pretend This Never Happened
I was actually at a Blogher conference in New York the firsttime I heard mention of “The Bloggess.”
“I was recently retweeted by The Bloggess,” one attendee said,“and she’s huge.” Then, a reverential hush fell over the room in honor of boththe name mentioned and the accomplishment. The discussion was about connectingwith other bloggers and marketing, but I was much more fascinated by themention of this Bloggess. The name was obviously awesome, and speaking of her had rendered a room full of bloggers speechless – not exactly an easyfeat.
Of course, I wasn’t going to admit to my ignorance at thetime. After all, I was at a blogging conference and, clearly, one of the bignames in the game had just come up. If anything, I was supposed to be with itand knowledgeable of my industry (or so my Twitter feed would have youbelieve), but obviously, I was out of the loop on one very important point.
What I gathered from the crowd, apart from the fact that itwas a very big deal to be mentioned by the Bloggess (not something that I’m atall contesting, Maria Shriver favorited one of my tweets and it made 2012), wasthat the Bloggess was a big fan of “the f-word.” And that was good enough forme.
Getting to the real point here, I loved Let’s Pretend ThisNever Happened by the Bloggess, also known as Jenny Lawson.
I’d love to tell you more about this book, but I also feellike if I call out specifics I’ll be the jerk who says punch lines to otherpeople’s jokes or that person in the Facebook feek who keeps posting about deaths onDownton Abbey/The Walking Dead without any seeming comprehension of what aspoiler is or that most people these days use a little something called DVRrather than watching shows in real time.
This book is simply too funny, and I want you to discoverall of that funniness for yourself. Let’s Pretend This Never Happened is a bookthat is all about voice, and for that reason, you’ll want to read these storiesfor yourself.
Entering Jenny Lawson’s world is a hysterical treat. So, doyourself a favor and don’t be one of the last people to catch on here. (Trustme, it’s not a fun place to be.)
As I believe Jenny Lawson might say now, you’re welcome.
This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.
5 Of My Favorite SNL Characters
I've been watching Saturday Night Live since the fifth grade. (The cool kids were watching it, therefore I had to watch it. I also liked watching L.A. Law. I guess you can say my tv tastes haven't changed that much in 20 years.) Back then, the biggest challenge was staying up late enough to see all of SNL. I considered it a win if I made it to the first musical number.
Collectively, our class liked SNL so much that, inspired by the political humor of the show, we put on a sketch at Christmas based on the trial of Sadaam Hussein. (It was 1990. We were very topical.) Each class performed a skit at the holidays. I don't know why, but it was fun. I played Nancy Reagan in the trial. It wasn't long after the Reagan years, and we had to have a role for every student, so it seemed appropriate. I wore a red jacket and had one line when I took my place in front of the entire upper school, "Just say no to drugs."
I think that kind of characterization isn't bad for 11-year-olds.
A little while later -- I can't remember if it was 6th or 7th grade -- we put on a Christmas skit that included impersonations of all of our favorite SNL characters. The copy guy (Rob Schneider) was there, and I'm pretty sure I played Pat. There was a lot of stuffing involved.
I could regale you with tales of other sketches and plays my friends and I put on throughout the years -- including a rainy day summer camp performance that involved a fake exercise video for tools to increase your bust -- but I'm not sure I could maintain anyone's attention long enough to get through all of those. I think the overall point is this: I've always had a flair for the dramatic (surprise, surprise), and I've always appreciated the funny.
No matter what kind of year SNL is having, I always enjoy watching it. It's hard to be funny for an hour and a half week after week. I don't expect every skit to be gold, and considering the constraints on the writers and performers, I'm amazed at whay they put out each episode In light of that, here are a few of my top characters from throughout the years. (Like I said, it's "a few" because it's not so easy to narrow down decades of sketch comedy.)
5. The Church Lady
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX8jo8wIIaU]The Church Lady began my love affair with Saturday Night Live. (As well as my conviction that I could do impressions, which is not true but did not stop me from saying "Satan"with a head tilt whenever I got the chance.) For the sake of full disclosure, I also like The Master of Disguise, so judge my humor recommendations as you will.
4. Sarah Palin
Tina Fey, and "I can see Russia from my house." Do I really need to say more? As my earlier allusion to fifth grade would suggest, I love some political humor. Most SNL "politicians" crack me up, but if I had to pick a favorite, this would be it. I only regret that we had to get the real Sarah Palin for this sake of this masterful impersonation.
3. Pat
Again going back to where it all began, it seems unfair not to include Pat on my list. Has androgeny ever been so funny? Or disturbing?
2. Get Off The Shed Guy
Is there anything quite like the barely suppressed rage of the suburbs? I vote "no." Wether Will Ferrell is demanding his kids "get off the shed" or adamant that he "drives a Dodge Stratus," I am beyond amused.
1. Penelope
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lX8jo8wIIaU]
I find few things more amusing than one-upping, so can it really can't be a surprise that Kristen Wiig's one-upping Penelope tops my list of SNL characters. I realize Penelope is a total love her or hate her character, but clearly I love her. Not only do I find her hilarious, but she has renewed my conviction that I can -- and I will, dammit -- do impersonations. Who wants to see me twirl my hair while I talk about having invented the Internet, master minded all Google search capabilities and come out with the world's first ever blog?
Mail Call
This is not a post about politics. This is a post about mistaken identity. If you’re going to get all worked up about politics, please save us both the headache and stop reading now.
I love to get the mail.* It’s like a daily dose of presents. I even enjoy catalogs, and I read Clipper magazine. (I’m not sure you can call that reading, but I flip through it and cut out restaurant coupons like I’m going to use them rather that just chucking it in the recycling bin straight away.) Of course, I’m human and don’t like bills, but sadly, there are days I’d take bills to an empty mailbox.
When we have to stop the mail while we’re out of town, and an entire week’s worth of postal goodies arrives at once, you’d think I’d won the lottery.
As long as I can remember, I’ve loved the mail. My sisters and I had to develop a schedule for collecting the mail because we were all equally excited about being the one to get it. Maybe we were strange children, or maybe we just knew how to appreciate the little things in life. I’m going to choose to believe the latter.
Summer camp was awesome because your parents pretty much had to send you letters and packages because they might risk ignoring the fact that you could be homesick or damaging your self-esteem by making you think they didn’t miss you.
I consider myself lucky now because the SO does not care about mail nearly as much as I do. I can check the mail every single day! (He can avoid the long walk down the driveway every single day. This may be the closest we get to a win/win.)
The best part about the mail, for me, is the unexpected. Again, this all comes back to bite me when it’s bill-related, but there’s nothing quite like a letter or package you didn’t know was on its way.
So, the other day when a big envelope arrived via mail for me, I was pretty pumped. Then I opened it up to discover, of all things, a picture of Mitt and Ann Romney.
This raises a lot of questions for me:
- What would I do with a photo of Mitt and Ann Romney? Even if I was a fan, would I frame it? Is it supposed to go in the office? Do I put it on Facebook? How does this photo factor into my life?
- The photo is a candid shot. Why, of all the choices one could make, would you decide to send out a candid photo of Mitt and Ann? Is it supposed to make them seem more relatable? Is it so I can lie and say I snapped the picture myself at a campaign event? The last I checked, Mitt was not so good with the candid moments -- is this a misstep or a way to make up for the “stiff” image?
- A letter** accompanied the photo thanking me for my loyalty to the Republican party. Who did the fact checking here? I am a registered democrat with an Obama sticker in my car (more on that later). I’m not one of those people who is independent or doesn’t sign up anywhere. I’m publicly affiliated, and it’s not with the Republican side. (OK, now that I've read the letter again, I realize I can answer #1. I'm supposed to put the photo in my home or office as a sign that I stand with Mitt and Ann.)
- The letter also said that if I liked the photo, I should consider paying for it. (It was more delicate than that, but I think we all know what I’m talking about, and I know both sides do it.) I understand the psychological principal of reciprocity, and it doesn’t work with me. I don’t pay for return address labels I didn’t ask for either. Also, since said letter attacks the liberal agenda, and if one references #3, I think it would be obvious why I’m not paying for this particular “gift.”
- Mr. Romney addressed me as Laurel Fain Mills. A lot of people know my middle name thanks to stuff like this here web address, but I feel like this narrows down the field of people who could have given the RNC my info into two categories a) my mortgage company or b) someone who likes to mess with me. Since the SO has not taken credit for this one yet, I feel like there could still be a prankster out there. If so, I’d love to know who you are. This was a good one, and I applaud you for it.
Obviously, the amount of time I’ve spent considering this subject is reason enough for why I find the mail so entertaining. I am easily amused, and now I’m easily amused with Romney memorabilia.
I can’t wait to see what’s waiting for me this afternoon.
* I should clarify that I love the mail as it is delivered to my home. I still don’t like going to the post office.
** For people who like random letters. (Download Mitt_romney)
Long Lost Post: An Open Letter To The Makers Of Diet Dr. Pepper
Originally published June 5, 2008:
Dear Liars The Makers of Dr. Pepper,
Usually, I am one of your biggest addicts fans. Initially, I was heart broken when my dentist insisted that for the love of God and the health of my already enamel-deficient teeth suggested I make the switch to diet cola. I thought it meant the end of taste. But, the first time I drank your product, I had to double check that someone hadn't started a party in my mouth and forgotten to send me an invitation. It was that good. In the words of my friend Susan, "Did you strike a deal with the devil for that recipe because that's one amazing soda?"
You say that Diet Dr. Pepper tastes just like regular Dr. Pepper, and it's true. You are one of the few companies I believe believed in. I wish I didn't have to put that last sentence in the past tense.
As a devotee of your product, I, of course, purchase Diet Dr. Pepper throughout the year, and therefore throughout a variety of sweepstakes seasons. I've seen you through many contests and promotional tie-ins. X-Men 2 in the summer of 2003? I was there. Superbowl ticket giveaways? Done that. With a fierce love of Harrison Ford and Shia LaBeouf, I actually looked forward to the Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull promotion this summer.
(On a side note to my main complaint, I do think it's pretty crappy to make "limited edition" cans, and then only have two kinds of cans, but I don't plan on hording ant/wasp attractants collecting this particular memorabilia anyway.)
All Dr. Pepper products associated with the Indiana Jones contest clearly state that "1 in 6 wins." To this claim, I must say, one in six my a$%.
Since your website is kind enough to keep track of how many codes I enter, I know for a fact that I put in nine codes without winning. Nine. "0 in 9" is a far, far cry from "1 in 6." Even if I look at the numbers upside down, it still doesn't add up.
Then, after all of the codes I have entered, it turns out that number 10 is a winner. (Again, still not within the confines of the original and promised six codes.) Yeah! I thought, I'm finally a winner! (The self-worth implications of said thought will have to be evaluated later.) I'm finally a winner, but what do I get? Is it a coupon? Maybe some Dr. Pepper gear? No, it's a screen saver. A screen saver. And it's an ugly screen saver at that. You're thinking that it might be fun to have Harrison Ford on the computer. So am I. Then I realize that my Indiana Jones screen saver is simply the title of the movie against a yellow background. The title of the movie. Against a yellow background. I didn't want a screen saver to begin with (I already have fish), and I certainly didn't want an ugly screen saver at that.
Maybe you think I'm being greedy. Maybe you think I expect to win some glorious trip to the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull and meet Harrison Ford. I do not. All I really want is to win one freaking bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper. One 20 oz. bottle. Is that really so much to ask?
Of course, all this being said, I will still be addicted to in love with your product, so it's not that there's any real danger I will stop purchasing Diet Dr. Pepper or organize a boycott (sad but true, I come to you with only empty threats), but you have lost my trust. And trust is a lot harder to earn than brand loyalty.
Sincerely,
Laurel Mills
Disillusioned Diet Dr. Pepper Drinker*
* I now realize I might overuse the word "disillusioned."
Inappropriate With A Dash Of Bad Timing
I don’t always have the best timing. I tend to fall in love with new restaurants just before they go out of business, arrive at boutiques during the 30-minute window the owner has gone for lunch and discover listings for events two days after they happened.
Usually, my poor timing is just inconvenient. On other occasions, it’s downright awkward.
Last summer, I took in a cat that I found in the woods behind the SO’s house. You might remember her.* She was declawed, skinny and nearly hairless, so I gave her a name that I thought was befitting of the time we would be spending together trying to get her well.
At the time, the SO and I already had two dogs and a cat, and he made it clear we would not be adding to the menageries. (The SO has to draw the hard line on pets with me. Otherwise, we would have a zoo.) A couple of potential new homes for her fell through, and the days she was supposed to stay with me turned into weeks.
In the middle of July, after months of having my house on the market, I decided to rent it out. I placed the Craig’s List ad and expected for it to take some time. Instead, I had three couples ready to sign a lease within 48 hours. Not wanting to waste time, I decided to move out as fast as I could. This amped up moving schedule also meant that I needed to find a new foster home for my rescued kitty ASAP.
A very kind friend helped me find a foster family. All I had to do was run the cat to a particular vet for her second round of shots. (I mention this only so that my vet doesn’t think I was cheating on him. The other vet had a relationship with the animal rescue service.)
I didn’t realize the vet I was seeing required appointments, so I got there only to find out that they couldn’t see me for a few hours. I probably could have called first, but considering my aversion to the phone, I obviously didn’t. Not wanting to stress the cat out with too much travel, I left her with the vet’s office until I could come back for the appointment. Also, I had been keeping one of those plastic collars on the cat to help her hair grow back, but I decided to take it off for our vet visit.
When I came back and they handed me the cat, I saw that she had rubbed off the hair where she would have had eyebrows if cats had eyebrows. (That plastic collar wasn’t cruel after all for anyone who might have judged me.)
“What happened here?” I said.
“That’s pretty bad,” the veterinary assistant said. “Your cat might be a self-mutilator.”
“The cat might be a what?”
“A self-mutilator. It’s a type of anxiety disorder. It’s very rare, but it does happen.”
Thinking of the Xanax in my purse at the time, I knew you couldn’t give a cat an anxiety disorder, but I still felt kind of guilty. “An anxiety disorder?” I said.
“Have you noticed anything strange about her?”
I suppose I had been too distracted by her near-hairless state and love of rubbing up against my face to notice anything else.
“How much does the cat sleep?” she said.
At that moment, I realized that I never saw the cat sleep. I had been taking care of an anxiety-ridden, insomniac cat for four weeks and never noticed? Now my guilt was more akin to shame.
“Not much,” I said.
“Yep, it’s probably the anxiety,” she said. “We’ll just put her on some meds, and it should help out.”
After an examination by the vet, who confirmed the anxiety diagnosis, I took the cat’s prescription and was on my way. My next stop was to meet the cat’s new foster family in the parking lot of a local movie theater.
So, there I was, standing in the parking lot of a strip mall (most likely wearing yoga pants covered in dog hair and a torn t-shirt) with a self-mutilating cat and a bottle of kitty Prozac when the cat’s new foster parents got out of the car. I handed the cat over and told them all about our adventure at the vet.
“Thank you so much for helping me out. I really appreciate it,” I said. “Is there anything else I can tell you?”
“I think we’ve got it,” the woman said, “but what’s her name?”
“This is going to seem really inappropriate,” I said. It had been a big week in pop culture news. “But I’ve been calling her Amy Winehouse.”
"Ah."
(She was in rehab at my house. I thought it was fitting. Then Amy Winehouse died tragically, and even though the foster family was very kind about it, I still felt like an incredibly insensitive person. )
That day, I sent off a self-mutilating, anti-depressant-taking, nearly-hairless cat named Amy Winehouse to a new foster family three days after Amy Winehouse died.
It is a day that will forever be marked by shame.
*Amy Winehouse really is the name that stuck. I just never took to Buscemi. The above exchange actually happened.
Current Signs Of My Internet Addiction*
1. I don't just visit People.com too frequently, I hit refresh when I'm on People.com because I feel that strong a need for the latest info on the Robert Pattinson/Kristen Stewart cheating scandal. Not only do I not know Robert Pattinson or Kristen Stewart, I don't even like the Twilight movies.
2. I begin most of my sentences with, "Well, on Pinterest ..." When I'm not on Pinterest, I'm doing fun things like pasting wallpaper to the side of an old dresser, making concoctions with shredded chicken from the crock pot and removing the den doors. (Yes, I physically took down the doors to the den.) Last night, I washed banana out of my hair after reading about homemade hair masks on, what else, Pinterest.
3. Perhaps of greatest concern, I'm newly obsessed with memes. (At present, my favorites are "drunk" Irish baby and "Just describe your lunch to me!") I Googled how to put text on images in Photoshop. A lot of my evenings involve finding photos of the dogs, putting phrases on them and emailing said photos to the SO who is all of two feet away on the couch. If he doesn't pick up his iPhone in the evening, it's most likely my fault because he's tired of getting a notifcation when I send him Carat and Cassidy memes. I should also mention that I'm not good at this.
I'd say that I should find a hobby, but I think that was my original intention with Pinterest ...
* "Current signs" because it's not like this is a new phenomenon.
Book Review: You Have No Idea
You Have No Idea by Vanessa Williams and Helen Williams is an intriguing and honest look into the world of celebrity, tabloid scandal and family. While chronicling Vanessa Williams’ life, beginning with her discovery of the nude photo scandal that would end her reign as Miss America, and leading up the present, as she ponders an empty nest after years of child-rearing, the book also explores Vanessa and Helen’s feelings about the course their lives have taken and the love they share.
While I enjoyed reading the behind-the-scenes take on Vanessa Williams’ life in the spotlight, it was Helen’s character that I found most fascinating. Raised away from her biological mother and often beaten by her adoptive parents, Helen’s life was not easy. Despite these formidable beginnings, Helen earned a place in college, met and married Vanessa’s father Milton, raised two children and enjoyed a decades long career as a school teacher.
Helen admittedly had trouble expressing affection for her children because of the stark contrast to her own childhood, but her support and love for Vanessa, from scandal to failed marriages, is unwavering. I believe she refers to herself as a force to be reckoned with in the book, and I have no doubt it’s true.
I imagine most people have a Helen somewhere in their family, even if she doesn’t resemble your mother. Her no-nonsense, take-it-on-the-chin approach to life, loss and all of the in between is frank and familiar. Helen is a woman you would want in your corner. (You have to check out her list, and if I was any of the ladies from The View, I’d watch my back.)
If you want to peek into the world of celebrity and family, You Have No Idea is a good read.
* This is a paid review for Blogher, but the opinions expressed are my own.
My 5 Favorite Shows Of The New Season
I’ve found the last few television seasons to be, well, rough. I’m still struggling with the end of Lost (I know it's been 2 years), they put Community on a temporary hiatus (March 15 cannot get here fast enough), they cancelled Ghost Whisperer and Medium, and just when I thought Criminal Minds had been put back together after a lackluster sixth season, Paget Brewster announces that she’s leaving the show – again. While I’m on a roll, How I Met Your Mother killed 2011. 2012, not so much. I need ghosts, time travel or sexual tension – pick your poison – and I need them ASAP.
Luckily, this year, I have a few shows to hold onto. Unfortunately, just by saying this, I’m probably dooming them all to cancellation.
1. Ringer
All that really had to happen was for the CW to put Sarah Michelle Geller back on the air. That they did, in a double your pleasure, double your fun kind of way. As a Buffy fan, I love some Ringer. Then Logan from Veronica Mars showed up. All around awesomeness. I also appreciate that at 18, I modeled all of my outfits around Buffy’s. Now at 32, after years without guidance, I have her back as a style icon. Double the role, double the outfits – even though they are still way out of my price range.
2. Once Upon a Time
Admittedly, this one has to do with another one of my girl crushes. I adore Jennifer Morrison. She is enough to make me question my hair color. (My desire to be blonde can go a little off the rails at times.) I still miss the sexual tension between her and House. Throw in my love of the dark side of fairy tales and an excellent supporting cast, and I can’t help myself on this one. Plus, it seems to be the closest I’m getting to time travel this year.
3. Up All Night
Basically, Maya Rudolph opens her mouth, and I laugh. Christina Applegate and Will Arnett rock, too, but it’s Maya playing a version of her infamous Oprah character that has me tuning in week after week.
4. The New Girl
For some reason that I’m not sure I understand, I know that Zooey Deschanel and “adorkable” have created a divide in the pop culture community. Whether it’s cool, not cool or trying to be cool, I love The New Girl. It’s just funny, and I’m fully prepared to watch the will-they/won’t-they sexual tension between Jess and roommate Nick for years to come.
5. Awake
I may be calling this one early, but I loved the pilot. (This also seems to be the only show I like without a strong female lead. Did you know Netflix actually suggests shows for me with strong female leads? You do now.) There’s crime solving, a very likable lead and Wilder Valderama is playing this role without an accent. Plus, there’s a chance of conspiracy (another fave). So, whether I’ve got a guy talking to ghosts, a hole in the time-space continuum or a big-time cover-up, it seems like a win all the way around.
* For the sake of the SO’s dignity, I should share that refuses to be in the room when Ringer or Once Upon a Time is on.
In Which I Audition For A Reality Show
I don’t know why I get the e-mails that I get. Some of them seem too good to be true – secret shopper opportunities and large Target gift cards included. Others are press releases that have little to do with me (“U.S. Prepares Secret Charges Against Dictator X”). Some are entirely in Arabic.
However, when a little e-mail popped up in my inbox a few months ago asking if my home was cluttered and I needed help, I decided to respond.
I disdain clutter. I am a neat person. We have known some hoarders, so my mother is the anti-hoarder. This is a trait she has passed on to me. For everything that comes in, something goes out, and the only thing I’m sentimental about is cards and letters. If you come over and don’t see something you gave me, save yourself the pain and don’t ask, but know I appreciated the thought.
Unfortunately, someone I care very much about doesn’t worry about clutter as much as I do. When you throw in the fact that we both work from a home that’s less than 1,000 square feet, well, there can be issues.
I wrote a couple of sentences back to the e-mail. The sender wanted pictures. Within five minutes of sending the photos, this e-mail arrived, “We want to talk to you.”
We chatted on the phone, I sent more photos and I got another e-mail reading, “We’d like to send a producer to your house. Does tomorrow work?”
I wasn’t sure whether or not to be thrilled (free stuff for the house!) or ashamed (I’m a reality TV producer’s dream).
Also, I’d done all of this while the SO was out of town for work, so I had to call him and tell him what I’d been up to. You know that phone call, when you tell your SO that you’ve been scheming to have his house made over (TV crew included) while he went away for the weekend? Pretty standard stuff.
“Have you heard of the Style Network, honey?”
“I guess,” he said.
“How do you feel about being on it?”
When the producer came over to do our interview and take a tour of the house, she and I had a 45-minute interview. She and the SO talked for 10 minutes.
Beyond the “how do you feel about the clutter?” questions, there was “Is this the man you want to family with?” “How would you feel about someone else coming in and telling you what to do with your space?” and “Is this a deal breaker for you?”
That’s when I had another realization: I was the source of drama for this television production. They either expected me to argue with the SO about the house or argue with the organizing team about my house. I was their Omarosa.
I could complain, but whom are we kidding? If someone is going to bring drama to a housing renovation, it’s going to be me. I can bring drama to a lunch for the mute. I like to think of it as passion, but I could be wrong.
We took two and a half hours of footage, I sent more photos and there were lots of phone conversations, but unfortunately, we didn’t make the cut. In some ways, it’s nice to know people need more help than I do. In other ways, I really, really wanted free stuff.
Also on the plus side, I appreciate that the SO continues to put up with my shenanigans, and on the negative one, there’s a tape out there somewhere with a whole lot of me bitching about binders and photo equipment.
* This is not one of the photos I sent of my house. I don't do plants.
Whitney, The Misuse Of Poison Lyrics And A Valentine
I was a big fan of Whitney Houston.
When I was 9, I sang “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” on a near-daily basis. I even performed her song in front of six grades during our school’s annual dance contest. (Long story short: We didn’t even get an honorable mention, and I was pissed. My hand motions were so descriptive.)
When I first opened the cassette tape holding “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” and found the mass-produced, signed photo of Whitney at the back of the lyrics booklet, I thought I had Whitney’s actual autograph and carried it around with me for weeks.
(On another note, what do you call that thing that you unfold with all the song lyrics and info about the producers? Does it have a name? I considered it a study guide for learning my favorite songs for mirror performances, but I imagine any musician reading this is hanging his or her head in shame with such a description.)
When The Bodyguard came out, I was still carrying a torch for Kevin Costner. (I know, I know, but I thought Dances With Wolves was a really sensitive film.) I could not wait to see Whitney and Kevin together, and “I Will Always Love You” became my new ideal for romantic love.
Incidentally, at the time, I also thought the movie had a happy ending. When Whitney climbed off the plane to hug Kevin Costner on the tarmac, I thought they were getting back together. I think this is the same kind of wishful thinking/re-writing of history that made me want to be a writer, but I also just might not be that bright. Mulholland Falls is way beyond me, and I’ve also crafted my own ending to Beverly Hills, 90210 that has nothing to do with the finale or the current incarnation of the show. (In my mind, Brandon and Kelly got back together. I live on the precipice of fan fiction.)
At 20, I broke up with someone using Whitney Houston lyrics. The remix of “It’s Not Right But It’s OK,” was pretty popular at the time. Said boyfriend was explaining to me, after arguing that we should get back together, that he was going to continue dating me and another girl when we started back to school in the fall, and something finally clicked.
“It’s not right, but it’s OK,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s not right, but it’s OK.”
Then there was some staring.
“I’d rather be alone that unhappy,” I said. Then I stood up to leave. (I loved melodrama back in the day). “And I’d rather be alone,” I said.
(This same boyfriend once quoted Poison lyrics to me during one of our fights, so it seemed reasonable to me at the time. Plus, I think my choice was far more dignified than, “Instead of making love, we both made our separate ways.” I also stand by the sentiment – no relationship is worth constant misery. I would rather be alone than unhappy.)
In summation, I guess this cheesy, nerdy, completely lacking in rhythm and soul, tone deaf girl wants it known that she’ll miss Whitney Houston. She was a great talent, and she made some wonderful music. I’m also pretty appreciative for that break-up. Senior year of college was a lot more fun without a BF.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to let a certain someone know that I’d like to feel the heat with him* this Valentine’s Day.
*Mom and Dad -- that is not meant to be dirty.
Don't Get Lost In The Music
In my opinion, most every major (and non-major) musical artist has written at least one song that only has one purpose -- talking someone into a one night stand.
(If you think about it, just the act of writing the song shows far more effort than your standard Jaeger bomb and "It's all really about living for the moment" line, so at least it's a step far above the person in the bar hoping they find someone before last call. Still sketchy though? Yes. Supportive of my sister's theory that most people learn to play the guitar to attract the opposite sex? Also yes. However, I'm not sure there's a ton we do as humans that isn't meant to attract the opposite sex. Moving on ...)
Let's look at the evidence:
Elvis Presley: "It's Now or Never"
Bob Seger: "We've Got Tonight" ("Who needs tomorrow?")
Eagle-Eye Cherry: "Save Tonight"
The Dave Matthews Band: "Say Goodbye" ("Tonight we'll be lovers, then go back to being friends.")
Heart: "All I Wanna Do is Make Love to You"
Eve 6: "Here's to the Night"
This list doesn't even come close to the dozens of less-subtly titled songs just called "One Night Stand."
Now, of course, none of these compare to what I consider to be the creepiest song of all time: "Escape (The Pina Colada Song)"
All people seem to remember from that song is, "Yes, I like pina coladas and getting caught in the rain."
No one thinks about, "I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long," "I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean. But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine," or "I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut through all this red tape. At a bar called O'Malley's, where we'll plan our escape."
By "red tape," I assume the dear Rupert Holmes means "talking." I also assume "escape" means "motel room."
This is a song about a man who decides to cheat on his partner, so he goes to the personal ads -- a 1979 personal ad keep in mind, so simply by being Disco-era, it's even ickier -- to meet someone new. Then, lo and behold, while he's waiting for the woman he plans to cheat on his "lady" with, he sees his own partner walk into the bar and realizes that she was planning to cheat on him, too.
Even Wikipedia refers to this song as ending on "an upbeat note."
I think we can all be honest here and admit that if this ever happened in real life, there'd be a lot more denial, anger, shame and possible shoving than heartfelt reconciliation. (Then again, two people like this probably deserve each other, and their other options for mates would most likely involve swinger's clubs and well, people who place 1970's era personal ads.)
This song is not romantic; it's creepy.
So, I must go back to my original message -- don't get lost in the music. Unless you're looking for that one night stand or trying to track down an unfaithful spouse. Then, I guess, you should save tonight with all the pina coladas and walks in the rain that you can.
And for all those girls out there dreaming of prom night, beware of the soundtrack.
Too Soon?
I know it's only January 12, but I might want to call the most accurate headline of the year. (And yes, I double checked the date. Even though the story is mostly focused on Reggie Bush, and not the dude she actually married a few months ago, this is a 2012 publication.)
*I do take issue with the use of "world exclusive." I'm pretty sure most of us didn't need a tabloid to figure this one out.
Karaoke And WASPs
Being tone deaf and all, karaoke has always been a challenge. With no musical ability whatsoever, you're pretty much left with three options:
1. Make sure your song is a group song that involves lots of other girls so you're never close to the microphone. Of course, this comes with the obvious side effect that you are part of a large obnoxious group of girls on stage most likely singing "Love Shack" or "I Will Survive," and your dignity is lost somewhere amongst the red headed slut shots you've been taking all evening.*
2. Only sing once everyone else in the bar is too drunk to realize how bad you really are. If you're me, there's always one table left that cannot -- either due to court mandates or liver problems -- reach this level of inebriation.*
3. Learn a song that involves more speaking than singing.
I once saw a girl perform Eminem's "Lose Yourself" and bring the house down. Admittedly, said house was a smoky bar between a Days Inn and a Waffle House, but I still count it as an accomplishment.
Naturally, I went in search of my speaking v. singing karaoke song. I tried Snow's "Informer," but well, it's really hard, and I don't have that much will power. The obvious fallback? Young MC's "Bust A Move."
Now, while I never did actually learn all the words (and more importantly, timing) to "Bust A Move," I did spend a lot of time studying the song.
Since I cannot embed the actual video, I give you this:
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9wJCmtZMc1g]
Last week, the SO and I were in the car listening to the Glee soundtrack (that he bought me, by the way), when he declared their version of "Bust A Move" as the whitest version ever. (Clearly, if I had ever mastered "Bust A Move," my rendition would have been the whitest ever, but I digress.)
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRpKy4MbMms]
I countered that I believe the whitest version of "Bust A Move" ever was performed on One Tree Hill. Their version is not only on One Tree Hill, but is also off-key and involves five-year olds.
Unfortunately, you'll have to follow the link on this one, but I think the evidence speaks for itself.
Dissension is welcome in the comments.
*Neither of these have ever stopped me from singing karaoke when I wanted to.
My Top 5 Holiday Movies
Seeing as it’s that time of year, and Magic 96.5 (which I do consider magic because they play soft rock) has been playing Christmas music since November 1, I thought I’d share my favorite holiday films. I could do a music list, but it basically comes down to three songs:
1. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”
2. “Same Old Lang Syne,” by Dan Folgerberg
3. “All I Want For Christmas is You”
They’re all I really need, and it doesn't make for much of a blog entry.
To dwell for a minute on the music station thing -- yes, it’s too much. More soft rock please. I was tired of the Christmas music on November 3, and thanks to my radio pre-sets, it’s soft rock, country or Ryan Seacrest most of the time. I try to avoid Rick and Bubba and sports talk like the plague, so these really are my only options. Does this Christmas music thing happen in the rest of the country? We’re talking about 1/6 of the year here. I find it excessive.
But I digress. Let’s get back to the movies.
5. Love Actually
When a movie has an intro about airports that makes you cry, I say you’ve got yourself a winner. Then you throw in British accents, an adorable 10-year-old scheming to get a girl with Liam Neeson, Hugh Grant dancing to the Pointer Sisters and one of the best soundtracks in the world – all centered around Christmas and a school pageant that includes a lobster. I laugh, I cry, I cry and laugh some more. Seeing this movie for the first time in the theater, I loved everything, and then they got to the scene where Emma Thompson is standing in her bedroom just staring as Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now” played, and I was a goner. I’m not sure you could make a more perfect movie with an ensemble cast. (And as I’ve said this week on Twitter, please stop trying Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve. You only let us all down. And if I have to eat these words after New Year's Eve comes out, I will be thrilled to do so.)
4. Elf
So, I almost went with The Bishop’s Wife here. (I prefer the original to its remake as The Preacher’s Wife. Cary Grant as your guardian angel? Talk about a Christmas wish come true.) But, truth be told, you’re more likely to find me watching Elf than The Bishop’s Wife each year, so there you have it. Will Ferrell is funny. He is at his best playing that clueless but well-meaning oaf. Zooey Deschanel is adorable. Trying to convince James Caan that Santa is real? More excellent casting. I cry at the end when they sing to give Santa’s sleigh power. I cry every time. Oh, and I forgot to mention Bob Newhart. How I love me some Bob Newhart.
3. It’s a Wonderful Life
Sure, it’s an expected choice, but it’s a classic for a reason. My favorite scene is the phone scene. I love when Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed have their faces pressed next to each other as they talk to her other suitor on the telephone. For a gal who loves some sexual tension, it’s marvelous. (The feminist in me is willing to overlook the fact that the worst possible outcome for a woman in that time was to end up, God forbid, unmarried and working in a library.) You’ve got the everyman versus corporate greed. For a holiday movie, you go to some dark places, (I mean, the film revolves around a suicide attempt and unfulfilled dreams) but when you come out on the other side, it feels all the more rewarding. While everyone else might be a fan of “Teacher says every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings,” it’s “No man is a failure that has friends” that moves me.
2. Home Alone
There’s nothing I like more than poignancy done right. Give me funny and sad any day of the week, and I will love it. I also think we should all move past the groans and pretenses of cool and just admit that this is a funny movie. I will contend that it holds up. Ordering pizza with a gangster movie in the background, pretending your parents are home by wheeling a cardboard cut-out through the living room and even the after shave scene make me laugh. Then you throw in some heart – an old neighbor who just wants to talk to his son again and a family who really can’t have Christmas if they’re not all together – and I tear up during a Macaulay Culkin film. I refuse to be ashamed.
1. Die Hard
Not a holiday movie you say? Let's not forget "Ho, ho, ho" taped to a dead German assasin. Also, if you can’t agree that Die Hard is one of the best movies ever made, I’m not sure we can be friends. With this one, I get to have my action served up with a nice, healthy does of heart. Evil Alan Rickman is out to destroy Christmas (well, really it’s the Japanese businessmen, but since the movie is set on Christmas Eve, I’m going to interpret it my way) while John McClane fights for the life of his wife and other innocent hostages. The man runs through broken glass barefoot and gives the dad from Family Matters his confidence back. I will sum this up with one word: awesome.
Please share your favorite holiday movies in the comments. (Not to get too political at the end here, but I’m a “Happy Holidays” person. If this season is about anything, I think it’s about inclusion and love, and, yes, we should really be about those things all year long and all. Not everyone celebrates Christmas, is it really that big a deal to make our well wishes all encompassing in December?)
Also, if you’ll be seeing any of these movies at the Alabama Theatre this year, I’m usually the one in the back row because she didn’t arrive early enough to fine a good parking place with a glass of red wine in one hand and a stash of tissues in the other.
Kids These Days -- And Their Kids?
I think this needs to be said: There are too many pregnant teenagers on television.
Is teen pregnancy a reality that should be addressed? Absolutely. Is it unrealistic to pretend that there are no consequences to teen sex? Sure. But, good God, if you pay attention these days, you’d think 1 in 3 teenagers has had a baby. I’m sure there are some great think tanks spreading similar propaganda, but I really want to know when this became entertainment.
No one on Dawson’s Creek had babies. Or Felicity. The original 90210 had some dramatic pregnancy tests, but it’s nothing like you see today. (I also think Brandon dated a girl who had a baby, but they had to break up so she could concentrate on her son, kind of like how he and his ice skater girlfriend had to break up so she could focus on her sport. Note to self: Brandon Walsh’s exes might make for a good “Where are they now?”)
I guess I should have seen the beginning of the trend with One Tree Hill five or six years ago. Two of the main characters were born to teen moms, and another character had a daughter. (If you paid close attention, you’d also notice that half the commercials associated with the show were for pregnancy tests or diapers.) But after awhile, the question became who really watches One Tree Hill? Or the CW network in general? And do we really need Chad Michael Murray in our lives?
(I realize that my aversion to the CW (before Sarah Michelle Geller showed back up) and most reality TV – yes, I watch a lot of reality TV, but it still doesn’t compare to the legions of shows that are out there – is why I don’t know 75% of the celebrities in tabloids these days, but it was probably only a matter of time before I needed to give up my celeb gossip habit. Taylor Momsen, I still have no idea who you are.)
At first, I thought MTV’s Teen Mom was a great cautionary tale. I would pay good money to burn the image of Gary in a bunny suit from my brain, let alone not to be tied to him for life. But, then I started seeing all the stories about teens getting pregnant to become celebrities, and I realized the SO was right about the show having the opposite effect.
I think the real problem is that no one understands the difference between negative and positive attention anymore. It used to be that celebrity had something to do with talent. Now, as Reese Witherspoon pointed out, it’s all about sex tapes and bad behavior.
Want to be famous? You’ll at least need to apply to The Real World and make out with members of both the same and opposite sex before your bags are even unpacked.
My favorite piece of reality show dialogue lately? Kris Jenner (who clearly has issues but also some sort of freaky luck) being upset because her friend told her she’d be “mortified if her daughter had a child out of wedlock and didn’t marry the father.”
I want to back up for just a moment here, Kris. It’s incredibly embarrassing to you that your grown, independent daughter who supports herself has a baby without being married, but you’re totally down with the fact that anyone can watch Kim doing it with Ray J?
Yeah.
And while I realize I’m partly contradicting my own argument by admitting that I saw all of this on Keeping Up With The Kardashians, I’d also like to express my gall at the fact that Kim sided with her mother on this issue and said marriage before kids was more in line with “her values.”
Does she have “desperate desire to get married at any cost” confused with a “value”? Is 72 days of marriage till death do us part? Did Punk’d come back on the air and no one told me about it?
Of course, it’s not just reality TV that’s the problem. I’ve seen more marriage proposals on ABC Family’s The Secret Life of the American Teenager than any other show this year, and half those kids don’t even have their driver’s licenses. How do they even get around to have all the sex that they’re having?
The alternative to having a baby on that show seems to be oral sex, and all the church-going kids do is have the same amount of sex as the rest of their classmates and then tell their pregnant friends they’ll go to hell if they have abortions.
Is this really what the American Broadcasting Company wants to call “family” programming?
I’m not arguing that we should ostracize teenage mothers in any way, but I also think we need to be extremely wary of normalizing teen pregnancy. (Pregnancy pacts anyone?)
I admire girls and women who raise children in far less than ideal circumstances. Hell, I can barely take care of the dogs some days. However, I think those same women would probably be the first ones to tell you how hard early motherhood is, and I don’t think most of them are running around getting breast implants a la Farrah Abraham.
While we’re on the subject, I’d also like to talk about the fact that Bristol Palin made $272,000 last year as an advocate against teen pregnancy. ?!??! Six figures because a less-than-diligent VP vetting team picked your mom from political obscurity, and you had a baby before finishing high school? Really?
I didn’t have a baby as a teenager, and I don’t make nearly that much money. Isn’t it possible that I might be a little more qualified to talk to girls about not getting pregnant as a teen seeing as I successfully avoided teen pregnancy? Bristol Palin has multiple US Weekly covers. I can’t claim that, but I did graduate from college. It’s not that I have to be the poster child for this issue, but what is wrong with our role models?
Again, me = no baby in high school. Bristol Palin = one baby in high school. When it comes to the topic of avoiding teen pregnancy, I think that alone makes me more qualified to discuss the issue.
No one’s asking, but if they were, here’s my plan: Let’s differentiate between positive and negative attention, consider who our real role models should be and, thinking like the crazy liberal that I am, make condoms available to teenagers.
Also, someone needs to investigate how the Kardashians took over tabloid magazines and the E! Network. I’d kill for the good old days of bi-weekly Jessica Simpson covers anytime now – unless she’s guest starring on One Tree Hill or The Secret Life of the American Teenager, of course.*
* Clearly, I wrote this before Jessica Simpson announced her own pregnancy. I'm sure there's a way to tie it all together, but Jessica Simpson is a grown woman, and I'm kind of tired. I'm going to let the coincidence speak for itself for now.
My Odd Local Movie Theater And Why The SO Will Never Take Me Back to Disney World
Not all that long ago, the SO took me on a trip to Disney World. Now, while I understand that “it’s the most magical place on earth” and “no one can wear a frown at Disney World,” I’m not exactly one of those people who appreciates the magic. (I'm pretty sure the latter isn't really a common phrase, but I feel like it could be.)
My own mother once said, “I think I had the only children in the world that never asked to go back to Disney World.”
I visited when I was nine. I told Mickey that he and I had the same birthday. He seemed pleased (at least, he clapped his over-sized white gloves). I went down Space Mountain, and I bought large Lady and the Tramp stuffed animals from our hotel. As far as I could tell, I was done. For life.
Today, for me, Disney World is a trifecta of things I don’t enjoy: lines/large groups of people, heights and loud noises.
Since new technology allows for rides where you actually just move around in a kind of virtual reality while your cart shifts from side to side, you can also add small spaces and motion sickness to the discomforts mentioned above.
Also, seeing how I feel about parades, you can understand why this might not necessarily be my ideal vacation.
I tried to buck up, but as the SO rarely fails to remind me, I didn’t do a very good job. I’m sorry that I don’t see the point to going down the same roller coaster twice from different sides (it’s just the mirror image!) and that I like to nap, but that’s just how I am.
(I will say that Orlando has excellent outlet shopping – Kate Spade, David Yurman and Burberry? Amazing.)
One of my favorite parts of the trip was actually visiting the MGM Studio Theme Park. They had one of those rides that isn’t a ride – if you’ve been to Orlando in the last 20 years, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. You wait in line to be shuffled into a room where you’re lead into another room where nothing really happens. While you’re seated (or standing, depending on the situation), a character of some sort appears and tells a story or is threatened by some other creature you probably don’t recognize and your seat vibrates or pinches you at opportune moments. Then, you exit through the gift shop.
Call me a traditionalist, but being poked by a chair doesn’t count as a ride. In fact, I think it’s illegal in a few states.
At MGM, one of these “rides” is the Twister experience. You wait, you’re shuffled onto a stage and while you’re watching, the area below gets windy, there’s some lightning and fake trees fall over.
If I have to be at an amusement park, I want The Mummy roller coaster, not a decrepit sound stage.
But, getting back to my favorite part of the ride, while you’re waiting to be shuffled from spot to spot, Helen Hunt (khakis pulled up to the waist and pleated in classic mid-‘90s style) and Bill Pullman, stars of Twister, discuss the harrowing experience of making Twister on screens that are meant to entertain you while the previous group of most-likely-disappointed “riders” make their way out and through the gift shop.
I kid you not: At one point, Helen Hunt says something along the lines of, “It was terrifying to experience the fury and power of an F5 tornado first-hand.”
A note to Helen Hunt, maybe you’ve been in Hollywood too long, but having large industrial-size fans pointed in your direction on a movie set does not replicate the experience of an F5 tornado. It's kind of like how Richard Dreyfuss can't claim to have netted a Great White despite the intensity of filming Jaws. While it might have been realistic, it was still pretend. Maybe we need to dial back that adventurer/survivor attitude just a little bit.
If nothing else, I think a real F5 tornado would have messed with those very crisp pleats on your shorts.
So in the kind of related but kind of not category, when they installed the Hurricane Simulator machine at my local movie theater, there was no way I wasn’t trying it. For a mere $2.00, I too could experience the fury of a hurricane and have something to talk to Helen Hunt about the next (or first) time we ran into each other.
I stood in a tube while “the winds” reached 80 mph, and I have this to say: 1) It wasn’t even my worst hair day and 2) An average thunderstorm is more threatening.
I guess the moral(s) of my story is, simulation isn’t the real thing, maybe we should all be a little careful about the experiences we claim to have had and Bill Pullman never should have had an earring.
That is all.
What's On My iPod And Questionable Fashion Choices
To say that I like the musical Les Miserables would be kind of like saying I own a few pairs of Spanx and drink the occasional glass of red wine. In other words – it would be a gross, gross understatement
I saw Les Miserables twice as a kid – once in Birmingham and once at the Fox in Atlanta. My mother listened to the soundtrack non-stop for about four years. (Yes, I am often prone to exaggeration. When I talk about my mother’s listening habits, it is not one of those times.)
I can’t even tell you how often I wore the classic gray t-shirt with the Les Mis orphan on it.
(I also had a Cats shirt that I liked to wear with white Bermuda shorts, but it was old news the moment my Les Mis tee came on the scene.)
I liked to perform most of the score of Les Miserables for my nanny – my favorites being "On My Own" and "A Little Drop Of Rain." Dream role? Clearly Eponine. Oddly enough, my nanny often encouraged me to sing from the porch while she watched her TV shows inside.
“I can still hear you,” she would call from the sofa, even though I often had to remind her when to clap at the end of my numbers.
Now knowing that I’m tone deaf, I bet that two-room distance was not nearly enough, and I feel very loved for not being cut off from my musical re-enactments entirely.
My sister texts me “24601” from time to time just for fun (as well as random Suzanne Sugarbaker quotes, but that’s another story for another day).
So last night, when I got to see Les Miserables on the stage yet again, it was amazing. I laughed. I cried. I stood clapping for an extended period of time like there could be an encore for a play even though that obviously defies all logic, and the cast of Les Mis certainly isn’t Def Leppard.
And for whatever it’s worth, in the bits of theology and wisdom I’ve cobbled together for myself over the last 30 odd years, “To love another person is to see the face of God” still has a spot near the top of the list.
Also, if you think this is bad, just wait for when Wicked gets here in February. I’ve got all sorts of feminist, self-empowerment, “good girl” theories to go along with that one.
Consider yourself warned.
True Devotion
I, too, love Lloyd Dobler. I also consider Say Anything to be one of my favorite romantic comedy/coming of age films. Yes, I think one of the most romantic gestures there is involves kicking glass out of a girl's way. But, I will never claim to be the movie's biggest fan again.
In Which Laurel Proves She's A Grown-Up -- Sort Of
Last weekend was Sidewalk, Birmingham’s big film festival. There are hundreds of films throughout multiple venues as well as talks, parties, etc. To be perfectly honest, I am lucky to make it to four movies during the course of the festival. I have trouble sitting still for that long – unless I’m in a place that has alcoholic beverages, then I can sit for hours – and I have a relatively low threshold for angst, so a lot of relationship films are out for me.
This year, I made it to three movies, which is really pretty good for me. I saw The Innkeepers (very scary) as well as The Greater Good about vaccines and Page One: Inside the New York Times. I don’t think I have to explain what that last one was about, and as a former print journalist, I have lots more thoughts on that one to come.
The SO loves film festivals. In fact, he works at many throughout the Southeast as a jury wrangler (which, as far as I can tell, means that he makes sure the jurors hand in their votes for the winning movies in a timely manner). I’ve traveled with him to film festivals in Atlanta, Memphis and Oxford. All were great fun. That man can watch more movies than anyone I’ve ever met, and all of those cities have great shopping and restaurants for me. He can sit in a theater, and I can hit up IKEA. It’s really a win/win for us.
However, this year’s Sidewalk was particularly special because Christine Elise was on the jury. For those of you who are scratching your heads right now, Christine Elise will always be Emily Valentine in my book. For anyone who is still confused, well then, I don’t know how we’ve made it together this long, but she was on Beverly Hills, 90210, and she was awesome.
Now, the SO does tend to worry a little about me embarrassing myself/him when celebrities are involved.
“You know they’re just people right?”
And really, most of the time, this isn’t a problem. (There was one year that Joshua Jackson was supposed to show up to Sidewalk and WEATHER got in the way, but that was years ago and long before I met the SO.) I continually explain to him that I prefer my fantasies to reality, so if someone I adore turns out to be a jerk, it would just ruin everything. Not to mention the fact that usually I’m not all that familiar with the people on film festival juries because I don’t watch a lot of movies, so it tends to work out.
However, he had concerns about Christine Elise.
“You’re going to be OK, right”
“Of course, what do you think I’m going to do? Ask her about Jason Priestley and Luke Perry for three hours? I’m not 14 anymore.”
“Like I said,” he went on, “you’re going to be OK, right?”
On opening night, as we were standing in the Alabama Theatre, I suddenly noticed that Christine Elise was standing next to the SO.
I went to shake her hand and said, “I hope I’m not intruding, but I’m a huge, huge fan.”
“No, that’s always nice to hear,” she said.
I believe the SO was quite relieved.
Later, at an after party, I had the SO ask if she wouldn’t mind being in a picture with me. She let me take a series to get a good one, and I was a happy gal.
All in all, it was a lovely weekend.
In honor of my “maturity,” here’s the real list of questions/conversation topics I was dying to go over with Christine if I really didn't have any dignity:
1. How many takes did the “I’m going to set the homecoming float on fire” scene take? Were you nervous? Did you know how awesome and “I’m making Beverly Hills, 90210 history” that scene would be? Have you re-watched it and seen Ian Ziering’s facial expression of “shock and fear” when they cut away from you? Two words: not pretty.
2. Did you think it was weird that they called the drug you slipped Brandon at the rave UB40? I mean, how likely is it that the band UB40 would be associated with a drug? If you’re going to go that way, wouldn’t Keith Richards or Aerosmith be a far more logical choice. Or, maybe y’all new UB40 wouldn’t complain. You don’t have to say anymore. I think I get it. (Then I would have attempted a wink, and it would have gone badly because I am genetically incapable of winking. Seriously, neither my mother nor one of my sisters can wink either.)
3. I really enjoyed the school talent show when you, Kelly and Brenda wore Robert Palmer-style dresses but decided to sing “Breaking Up is Hard to Do” in honor of your new found friendship after you went out with both Brandon and Dylan while you were still “the new girl” in school. Was Shannen Doherty a total bitch during that one? I can see her trying to bump y’all out of the way during the performance. Again, if you don’t want to say anything, just blink once for “yes” and twice for “no."
4. Mother Knows Best is one of my favorite Lifetime movies. And your character’s name in that one is Laurel. We have so much in common! How was it working with Lifetime veteran Joanna Kerns? Have you thought about doing more Lifetime movies? I thought Josie Bisset’s Obituary was particularly good. They’ve got some good stuff happening over at that network.
And the silly, silly SO worries.
*As for the photos: 1. In retrospect, I really should have washed my hair that day., 2. I also own the dress Christine Elise is wearing!, 3. That second photo shows our mutual annoyance when the SO refused to take a photo while we were both looking at the camera.