Squatting: What All The Cool Kids Are Doing
There are many titles that I’ve strived for and continue to strive for in life, as well as titles I hope to achieve one day: good daughter, excellent student, editor, best-selling author, good partner, hot chick, best friend, good mom. The list goes on.
Squatter was never on that list, but that’s exactly what I became this past weekend in, of all places, Oxford, Mississippi.
The SO and I were traveling for a film festival. He needed to lead a meeting, so he left me with the primary responsibility of checking in to the hotel. (He might call this his first mistake.)
The guy behind the desk gave me the map of the hotel and directions as to how to drive around and park in front of our room. I took the keys and was off.
When I pulled up in front of our row of rooms, I saw what I thought was the first door. There was a maid in the room, but since we were checking in before noon, long before the regular check-in time of 3:00, I assumed she wasn’t expecting our arrival.
“Do you mind if I just sit here while you finish up?” I said.
“Not a problem,” she said.
I unpacked our bags and sat down at the desk in the room. Once the housekeeper was done, I texted the SO with the room number and plopped down on the bed with my laptop and started working.
Awhile later, my phone rang, “Why aren’t you answering the door?” the SO said.
“Because you aren’t knocking,” I said.
“I’ve been knocking for five minutes,” he said.
“Hold on,” I said. “I’m going to the door.”
I went to the door, opened it and there was no SO.
Then, I looked down the corridor and saw the SO standing in front of the room next door. I turned around to look at the door to the room I was in and saw A120.
We were supposed to be in A119.
“I’m in the wrong room,” I said.
“You’re in the wrong room,” the SO said, emotionally somewhere between hang-my-head in confusion and bewilderment that this is my girlfriend and an extreme fit of laughter.
We quickly gathered up all of our things.
“Once this door locks,” he said, “remember that we can’t get back in. Make sure you get everything. Because our keys don’t go to this room.”
We made a beeline for our actual room, and I knew lots and lots of jokes were coming.
Sadly, at one point while I was in the wrong room, a hotel employee even came in, was surprised that I was there, said her sheet from management must be wrong, and it still didn’t occur to me that I might be in the wrong place.
For a good solid hour, I was a squatter, and while my part of me is embarrassed, the other part of me has to admit that getting away with even the smallest of illicit acts is the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in months.
As the SO now says, who needs Priceline anymore?; I just take the rooms I want.
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.
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.
What I Have Learned Watching TV With The SO
The man in my life is into zombies. From what I can gather, this is somewhat normal. At my Halloween party two years ago, at least half the men showed up dressed as zombies. Zombies seem to have snuck into our lives over the last few years. (And please don’t get me started on what it’s been like since The Walking Dead premiered. I think it’s a fine show, but six episodes and then you take off for a year? Can we really call that a season? Really?)
Then again, I watch Lifetime and shows where women talk to dead people, so I’m sort of in a glass house here. While I don’t mind the zombies, I can’t say that I love them. The flesh-eating thing just doesn't really grab me.
Anyway, based on my recent viewings of these kinds of post-catastrophe shows/movies, there are a few tips and tricks I’ve picked up for surviving/dealing with aliens, zombies and danger at every turn.
1. There are absolutely no rules about who lives and who dies. Don’t even try to figure it out. If you’re popular and young, it actually seems like you’re more likely to be a goner. Also, your death will be incredibly unpleasant. If you have any sort of pre-existing anxiety issues, be sure to raid the local pharmacy for Xanax as soon as the looting begins.
2. One member of your vagabond group of survivors is psychotic, plans to sacrifice you to save him or herself or will betray you. It is never the uglies or dirtiest member of your group, despite their appearance and cryptic comments. Trust is going to be hard.
3. It is not a good idea to capture a zombie/alien/freak so that you can study the creature and try to figure out how to overcome its kind, yadda, yadda, yadda. One member of the team will die, and it’s usually the one who had the idea to study the creature in the first place, or the person best equipped to figure out anything science-y.
4. Any captured creature will also most likely possess some kind of mind control abilities, so, well, you’re just kind of f*&%ed there, and seeing as you’re already f&%$ed, why invite more trouble?
5. If you are in need of medical attention and find a doctor, don’t ask, “What kind of doctor are you?” If you don’t know already, or the information hasn’t been volunteered, the answer is always “vet.” Ignorance is bliss here, especially seeing as you won’t have any other options.
6. Hope the catastrophe/supernatural takeover happens while you’re wearing good shoes. Long journeys and lots of walking are, for some reason, crucial to your survival. I’d vote for finding the loon in the neighborhood with a panic room or bomb shelter and waiting it out, but apparently I’d be in the minority there.
7. Having sex to escape your feelings about the end of the world is never a good idea. You’ll either end up with a jerk who is also “helping out” all of the other ladies in your motley crue or with the most inconvenient pregnancy ever. (Please see #6 and #5 as it will be much harder for you to walk while pregnant, and your baby will inevitably be delivered by a vet.)
What happened to the good old days when shows were set in bars and coffee shops? There was so much less to worry about then, unless you were Norm and had that nagging Vera to deal with.
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.
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.
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.
Kids These Days And Some Women's History
In my 9th grade history class, I ended up on a group project with some other girls that was to be a mural entitled “A Century of Women: 1890-1990,” or something like that.
Now, since we weren’t actually painting on a wall – the whole thing was down on a long roll of butcher block paper – and I can’t draw to save my life, I’m not sure why this was our chosen medium of expression (or why we called it a “mural” instead of a “painting”), but there you have it. I can be pretty sure that the women’s history part was my idea since studying is something I was good at.
I had the early years, 1890-1920, and what stuck with me the most after all of that research is how the invention of the washing machine, and later the vacuum, blender, and every other appliance a man should never buy a woman on a romantic holiday, affected women’s lives. While everyone claimed that these products would make women's lives easier, it was the exact opposite that occurred. Instead of being free from the kitchen and laundry for other pursuits, women were just expected to get more done in a day.
Even then, it seemed like a raw deal.
Twenty years later or so, I feel the same way about technology. Only, whereas my industrious forebearers kept house and tended to families, I use the Internet and Netflix to watch every episode of every random television series I’ve ever liked and play way too much spider solitaire. I haven’t created more free time, but I have created more wasted time.
And even though it might seem frivolous, I do think children of this generation are completely missing out on the struggle it used to take to watch your favorite show. Without DVR or TV on DVD or the beloved live-streaming Netflix, you actually had to be home when your show was on. And, if heaven forbid you weren’t home, you had to trust a crazy contraption called the VCR to record if for you. That was a 50/50 shot at best. How many times did you rush home only to find that you had snow on tape instead of The Cosby Show?
I’m going to guess it happened more than once.
To this day, the only episode of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer I haven’t seen has to do with a drive from D.C. to Birmingham and an ill-timed VCR. (I plan to correct this shortly thanks to Netflix, but it was still rough. It was the one where Buffy and Spike finally did it for God’s sake. It left my friend Margaret and I with nothing to discuss for most of that Thanksgiving break.)
Perhaps sadder yet (on many levels, this is a dork story if there ever was one), around the time I was 14, I decided to make it my mission to watch every episode of Quantum Leap. (Again, I know I was weird.) Quantum Leap played in reruns twice a day between 10:00 and 12:00 p.m. So, not only did I have to record the shows, but I had to find the time to watch them somewhere between soccer practice, homework and dinner with the fam.
The episodes were also played in order, so if you missed one, you had to wait for the next go-round for a chance to see it again.
Oh, the struggles of my youth.
I remember when I was only one episode away from completing my goal, when I learned that that one episode was actually called “Trilogy,” so what I thought was one episode was really three.
(I know, it’s hard to believe one adolescent could endure so much.)
"Trilogy" played the week I had soccer camp, so being summer, I could watch it when it was on. I had gotten through the first two episodes just fine. I was finally down to the third episode, and last episode of my saga, which also happened to be a murder trial when, I kid you not, this happened:
Scott Bakula was standing in the courtroom, “I’ll tell you who the murderer is here!”
And my power went out -- one minute from knowing the outcome of a salacious plot line and five minutes from achieving a dream.
The next day at soccer camp was a long one.
Of course, I eventually saw all the episodes of Quantum Leap (and learned that sometimes the worst thing is for a wish to come true – oh, life without new episodes of the greatest time-traveling show the world has ever known can be rough), but it took time and patience.
These days, I don’t need either of those. Can’t recall where you’ve seen an actor before? Imdb.com. Forgot it was Modern Family night? DVR. Don’t like to talk to pizza delivery guys? Order online.
Not only are kids not learning about the potential disappointment of missing a favorite show, they live in a world where everything rests at your fingertips 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Yes, it’s my love/hate relationship with the Internet on display for the world yet again. But, it really does make me wonder where we’ll go from here, and whether or not, like the generations before us, we’re still trading “convenience” for stress, worry and longer and longer work days.
Throwback Thursday: The Old Guard
Last night's Lifetime DVD selection starred the lovely Richard Crenna.
You see, I actually started out the evening watching "Evidence of Love" with Barbara Hershey, but Barbara's frightening fashion choices in the film, from her crude, nearly shaved pube-like hairdo to the large overly round, bug-eye glasses, were so overwhelming and lasting that I didn't want to go to sleep with that being the last image in my brain.
There are 2 reasons for this:
1. I didn't want the nightmares.
2. As Lifetime has strategically led me to believe, someone could break into my home and strangle me at any moment. And, I might not be able to count on a psychic waitress to warn me of said serial killer's attention. Therefore, I didn't want Barbara Hershey's 80s-era Midwest androgeny to be the last thing I saw of this world.
Also, in case you were wondering, "Evidence of Love" revolves around a gruesome murder committed with an axe. And, yes, Barbara's hair scared me more than the hideously painful death by axe thing. So, I popped in Richard Crenna as a hardened cop who, through struggle and hardship, learns a lot about himself so that we, as his audience, can learn a little about ourselves.
For those of you who don't recognize the name, you might remember Richard Crenna from his stint on "Judging Amy" or for "Rambo: First Blood" or even "Hot Shots: Part Deux." My personal favorite is "And the Sea Will Tell." (I don't want to spoil anything, but let me say this - boy, does that sea have a lot to offer about love, deception, and the price of trust ...)
Seriously, I love Richard Crenna, even though I do find it unforunate that he made movies with titles like "First, You Cry," "The Rape of Richard Beck" and "A Pyromaniac's Love Story."
Richard Crenna is a member of what many of us know to be the "Old Guard" of Lifetime. He's no flash in the pan. He won't do 1 "based on a true story" deal for the money or a desperate need to be in the limelight. He's in it. For the long haul. You'll see him again and again. He's with Meredith Baxter-Birney, Brian Denehy, Kate Jackson, Lindsay Wagner ... You know their faces even if it takes a second on their names.
They're always there. They've been wronged, but they keep on ticking. Meredith Baxter-Birney has been left by more men than I can count, and she's even killed a couple of them, but she'll still turn up on the tube sometimes, and she'll still have hair that yellowy blond color you've come to know and expect like the turning of the seasons or the fertility of K Fed.
Brian Denehy is kind of like your really creepy uncle. Sometimes he's defending the wronged. Sometimes he's attacking women in his dental office. He's not always a good guy and not always a bad guy ... It's a little like life, isn't it kids?
Joanna Kerns, God love her, she pretended to find Alan Thicke attractive for years and still had to make the movie "See Jane Run" (which is, of course, about an amnesiac who must not only overcome her own physical and psychological handicaps, but also save her daughter from her husband's abuse).
Their TV movies are cautionary tales in the truest sense. They remind you of every lurking danger, every unfulfilled dream, every psycho who might have commandeered your child's robot to spy on you in the shower ... For that, Old Guard of Lifetime, I salute you.
When You're Not Out In The Club
Weekend before last, I went up North to hang out with my friend Jane* and meet her new four-month old baby. Our friend Rita joined us, and we had a great time together. On the Saturday afternoon of our weekend, we decided (or really the one of us who is actually a mom decided) to hire a babysitter so that we could go see Bridesmaids (loved it, wish I could be Kristen Wiig, must move on now).
When we got back from the movie, Rita and I decided that it was wine time. This set us off on a slew of questions:
Was the babysitter 21? The answer: yes.
Should we offer the babysitter a glass of wine? I mean, we’re Southern, so it feels rude not to ask, but she is the babysitter and has to drive. We went with “no” on that one.
Is the babysitter going to judge us for drinking at five? Does she think we’re the lush friends of our suburban mom friend? The answer to that one is probably a sad yes.
I could have sworn that yesterday I was babysitting to supplement my income (and due to the Great Recession, “yesterday” is probably closer than you’d think), and suddenly I was on the other side of the babysitter scenario. I do not know when this happened. (In my head, I’m 17. Seriously. I just wish my face would stop giving me away.)
The next day, the babysitter came back so that Jane could drive Rita and I to the train station and the airport, respectively. While I was trying to hide just how much wine S and I actually drank the night before, we struck up another conversation with the babysitter.
“So, did you go out last night?” Rita said.
“Not really,” the babysitter said, “I was pretty tired.”
I decided to ask my own questions about where she liked to go and what there was to do around town.
And then it happened. I should have seen it coming, but it was a little like a freight train – not really welcome, but unstoppable. Within five minutes of what should have been a very innocuous conversation, I started to relive my “glory days” that were, if you know me well, not really so glorious. (I thank the magazine writer who put a piece in something I read about how she spent most of her early ‘20s in a bar bathroom stall crying about some dude or other before getting her act together. It gave me far more hope than any older adult or mental health professional at the time.)
Before I knew it, Rita and I were on a little bit of a roll. These are the kinds of phrases that came out of my mouth:
“I actually had a fake id that said I was 30 for awhile. It came complete with a social security card. Can you believe that?”
“Hey Rita, remember when I used to have a beer or two while I wrote my summer school papers? Did I really think Latin American economic policy and Bud Lite were a good mix?”
“What was that guy’s name we met in Adams Morgan over Spring Break? Didn’t somebody make out with him?”
And my favorite, which I believe I threw in there as I was walking out the door (a parting gift if you will):
“Don’t worry about having a gay ex-boyfriend or two. It happens to all of us.”
?!?!?!
In a way, my hope is that the babysitter got bored and stopped listening to us pretty quickly. Otherwise, I have a sinking suspicion she went home that night hopeful not to turn into the older crazy lady that was disposing of wine bottles and reminiscing about her borderline-indecent going out wardrobe from college.
*Names have been changed.
Truth And Fiction
Sorry for the short post today. Other than the big news coming about my Bissell SpotBot, it's been a less-than-creative week.
When I was working on my Master’s degree, I signed up for a fiction workshop one semester. Actually, I am no good at making things up. It’s the very reason I write creative nonfiction.
I cannot lie, I cannot cover for anyone and if you want to commit or have committed a crime, do not tell me about it.
Naturally, all of my fiction was based on my life, which is why it was so incredibly upsetting to go through a workshop and have the primary comment be, “This premise just isn’t believable. Something like this would never happen.”
(In case you’re wondering, the story in question was about a married couple with squatters in their back yard. At the time, my great aunt and uncle were trying to deal with some vagrants that had taken up behind their house – in Southside.)
So, whether or not anyone believes me when I write essay and memoir, at least I’ve gone ahead and called it truth to try and avoid that particular criticism.
For God’s sake, I have an anxiety disorder and occasionally still suffer from night terrors, and I was born on Elm Street.
The only time I almost got in a bar fight I was at a place called "The Trailer Park."
And, as I’ve said so many times before, I’ll never write a joke as good as this: My senior year of college, I took “Social Inequality” with Ivanka Trump.
She defended Reagan-omics, shock of shocks.
Sister Wives '70s Style
Today, I am grateful for two things:
1. I am not Daryl Hannah or Peter Gallagher, so I don’t have the movie Summer Lovers on my resume or imdb profile.
2. I did not come of age in the ‘70s or early ‘80s, so the subconscious soundtrack to my youth does not feature music from this time frame. (As always, Dan Folgerberg, you are excluded from any and all criticism.)
I was going to put that I was just glad that I didn’t come of age in the ‘70s until I learned that Summer Lovers was actually made in 1982. Based on the quality of the film, I did not see that one coming. (It also messed with my title, but I left it anyway.)
For those who haven’t had the opportunity to see it, and I wouldn’t recommend that, Summer Lovers is the tale of a couple abroad that learns to expand their horizons and defy convention, or some kind of early ‘80s new age crap of a similar vein. I just think of it as Sister Wives 1.0.
Why did I watch this movie? Because occasionally Netflix live-streaming and I have an unhealthy relationship, and after awhile, Summer Lovers is too much of a train wreck to look away from.
In the movie, Michael (Peter Gallagher) and Cathy (Daryl Hannah) go to Greece the summer after they graduate college, and inspired by the lack of inhibitions around them, strike out on a new path that involves living together with a French woman named Lina.
The movie thrives on two main principles:
1. Michael has to have an affair with a French woman that he meets because his “whole life has been planned out for him.” Really? We’re going to continue to trot this one out. Really? All I could hear in my head was James Van Der Beek saying “I don’t want your life” in Varsity Blues, and I actually preferred his acting to Peter Gallagher’s. (That’s right, I just made Varsity Blues a superior film.) Why can’t we just be honest and say that Michael has an affair with a French woman because he’s young, he’s a man and he can? The psychological subtext is weak, to say the least, and even though his girlfriend Cathy can’t see through it, I think the rest of us do.
2. Cathy can only enjoy self-discovery and liberation from Puritanical American values by not only accepting Michael’s love of Lina and overcoming her jealousy, but also falling in love with Lina, too. Or, as the rest of us call it, low self-esteem.
For anyone who thinks I watched this movie for the “sexy” scenes, let me assure you that there are none. (I think it’s a big mistake to make a movie with “lovers” in the title and not have good sexy scenes. I also think this movie would have really benefited from some better love scenes, and I think it’s rare to find that gem of a film that would be improved by taking more cues from porn.)
There is lots of nudity, but it’s all early-‘80s-at-the-beach nudity. It’s not pleasant. Also, having been to Greece, I can assure you that the beaches are not teeming with naked, attractive young people. Most everyone who takes advantage of the “optional” part of “clothing optional” is eligible for AARP membership or could really benefit from a few less gyros.
Now, you would think this movie might explore themes like what happens to a relationship of this sort or even what happens when summer ends. (Vicky, Christina, Barcelona is a good movie after all.) Summer Lovers doesn’t.
Spoiler Alert: Instead, you get this – once Lina the free-spirited European realizes that she might be developing feelings for Michael and Cathy, she runs away with someone who looks like he escaped from the set of Xanadu. She’s afraid of getting close to people. Saddened, Michael and Cathy decide to end their trip to Greece three weeks early. They are just about to board a plane off the island, when Lina arrives on a moped after doing some soul-searching. The very fact that she would ride a moped shows that Lina has broken through her own barriers since she swore the horrible scooters off after spraining her wrist during a particularly arduous moped outing for the threesome. (During this part of the movie, I mainly thought about how that sprained wrist must have been a real bummer for Michael.) Lina wants Michael and Cathy back, and the movie actually ends with a still shot of the three of them frolicking on the beach.
Clearly, I’m not speechless, but I’m having trouble here. Someone wrote this, someone else decided to throw money at it, and then someone convinced Daryl Hannah and Peter Gallagher it would be good for their careers. I find that both impressive and sad. (It’s similar to the feeling I get when I read some published authors and then count my rejection letters or watch Julia Stiles.)
My favorite scene was when Cathy’s mother paid the couple a surprise visit with her friend, only to find Lina living with Cathy and Michael. Later, the three of them then show up for dinner with Mom and gal pal.
In the end, I took two very important lessons from this film:
1. It’s hard on a couple when your girlfriend breaks up with you.
2. Your mistress should not join you for dinner with your mom. It’s just bad manners and makes everyone feel uncomfortable. Mistresses should stay home for family functions.
Also, "I’m so Excited," "Just Can’t Get Enough" and Chicago’s "Hard to Say I’m Sorry" – all featured on the soundtrack – are now ruined for me. If there was any music that I wouldn’t have minded from this era, thanks to Summer Lovers, it’s now dead to me anyway.
In the future, I think I need to take more caution with my Netflix recommendations. Clearly, the video service and I don't always see eye to eye, and considering my love of Lifetime, I could watch every bad movie in film history before this is over if I'm not careful.
My Trinity And Good Intentions (With Video)
I fully believe the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
Of course, I’ve also always hoped the adage wasn’t referring to a literal hell. I just figured it was pretty obvious that we all get more than we bargain for when we try a little too hard ... [Read more]
In Which Laurel Discovers the Most Indecent Halloween Costume of Them All
I love Halloween. I could pretend that it goes back to a childhood love of free candy (and I really do like free candy), but it these days it's a little more than that.
Nowadays, what I primarily love about Halloween is spending a ridiculously long amount of time carving elaborate pumpkins (I've convinced myself it's a skill) and dressing up in outfits that would be considered "slutty" on any other occasion.
I'm 30, so time is running out on the latter, and I have to get out as much of that last urge as I can (be it annually) before the girls hit my waist. I already decided to get rid of all of my free alcohol-themed baby tees (nothing says "class" like "Stoli" emblazoned across your chest in rhinestones) and a particularly demure black tee that said "Hottie" in silver capital letters across the front at a garage sale last year. (I had fun in college -- and very little fashion discernment it seems.)
I tend to start thinking about my costume around Labor Day and then make a few returns and/or excahnges at Party City before the final reveal that last weekend of October. In recent years, I've gone as "naughty" Dorothy, Elvira and Silk Spectre II from The Watchmen. (Can you tell at which point I began dating a comic book lover?)
This year, I quickly honed in on Lilah from Jonah Hex (it reminds me of a modern saloon girl) and the Black Widow from Iron Man 2 (I love me some ScarJo). Both seemed like fun, and once I started with superheroes, I figured, "Why not keep going?"
However, there was something about the Lady Gaga costumes that kept calling to me.
I don't have particularly strong feelings about Lady Gaga, so all I can figure is that I really, really wanted the Lady Gaga wig to add to my collection. (Yes, I have a wig collection, and wearing wigs -- of the outrageous variety -- makes me very happy. Did I once throw a party whose only theme was "wigs"? Yes.)
Neither Lilah or the Black Widow would require a wig seeing as I already have long brown hair, and lessons-learned-from-the-recession Laurel is trying really, really hard not to buy things she doesn't need. Even though the Lilah wig is only $16.99, but bygones ...
I e-mailed the Lady Gaga costume photos to a friend (to see if it was too slutty), and her comment was something along the lines of, "Uh ... yeah ... that would be pretty daring."
Assuming the costume was just a blue leotard with a big collar and some cut-outs on the sides that would be lined with mesh, I still had hope. "What if I got those nearly opaque cheerleader tights that are kind of shiny and can almost seem like leggings?" I wrote back.
"Maybe," she said.
So, today, despite all of the reasonable warnings, on my third trip to Party City since September 1, I decided to try on the Gaga costume. The result, ladies and gentlemen, was not pretty. Be warned.
What I had assumed would be leotard/possibly Legg Avenue-esque concoction was actually more like a dicky with external shoulder pads and a butt flap attached -- you know, for modesty. There wasn't even fabric on the back -- nothing ran from the top of the bum to the neck. And those cut-outs? They weren't cut out of the suit. They never existed as part of the costume to begin with.
While I normally would not be willing put such a photo on the Internet (because God knows I've never posted unflattering photos of myself before), inspired by my friend Jen West and her amazing, bikini-clad documentation of her recent diet and fitness plan, as well as feeling that this post really does need a visual, I give you the most terrible and most indecent outfit I have ever put on my body.
The final blow? $49.99 for less than half a yard of fabric probably imported from China for $.35.
Parents of the world, beware: your child does not need to dress as Lady Gaga. Unless you want her to end up in soft-core porn or are willing to make the costume yourself. And women out there over the age of 21, just don't do this to yourself. Really. There are other, far more positive ways to gain men's attention.
For the first time, I actually think being a pop star probably isn't all it's cracked up to be. Especially if you have a particularly aggressive stylist.
And next year, I might go back to that sheet/ghost costume.
Four Movies That Make Me (And Only Me) Cry
I've said it too many times -- love that fourth wall. So, without further ado, the list:
4. Hotel for Dogs
It's a kid's movie. Emma Roberts stars. Dreamworks and Nickelodeon produce. What could go wrong, right? Well, throw in homeless dogs and kids in foster care, and apparently, I just can't cope. About an hour into the movie, I became convinced that all of the dogs would end up at the pound, where they would most assuredly be euthanized, and Emma Roberts and her little brother would never find a forever family or see their dog again. This thought spiral led to intense waterworks.
"You know there's still half an hour left in the movie, right?" the SO said. "Everything is going to work out. This is Hotel for Dogs, Laurel."
"It may work out in the movie," I said, "but that doesn't mean it would work out in real life."
A real life hotel for dogs?!?! Feel free to be just as bewildered as the SO. I guess in the absence of a good reason for crying during the actual movie, which was, of course, going to turn out fine, I decided to blame my tears on the tragedy of real homeless dogs and children in the foster care system. It's a legitimate reason to cry, but the truth is that those little four-legged critters running from the law (and the very presence of Don Cheadle) just got to me.
3. Frequency
Now, this movie is genuinely touching. A recently-separated-from-his-wife son finds a way to connect with his dead father through an antique radio in the back room of the family home he inherited. There are firemen, baseball games and '60s nostalgia. It's a lovely and magical combination. A lot of people probably teared up.
Most people probably did not cry so hard that they had to remain in the theater past the credits to compose themselves.
I have a special place in my heart for Dennis Quaid, and I do love James Caviezel. (Confession: I didn't see Passion of the Christ because of the controversy or the violence or the fact that I'm not Catholic, etc., etc. I didn't watch the movie because I had issues with the idea of being sexually attracted to Jesus. There, I said it -- it's kind of nice to have that one off my chest.) But, it was something about a family getting to be that wasn't that, well, kept me in the theater trying to get it together long past the last scene.
You know it's bad when strangers seek you out in the dark. "Are you going to be OK, princess?" a very kind gay couple asked me on their way out.
2. Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events
I love kids books and I love kids movies. (Holes is another favorite, and I did get choked up on that one, too, but I'm trying to maintain my forward momentum.) I particularly love the way that the Lemony Snicket books are written, and I recognize that they are a bit darker than your standard children's fare.
In fact, I don't even think I'd be embarrassed to have cried so much during this one if I hadn't been with actual children at the time.
You see, I took my nine- and seven-year-old cousins to see Lemony Snicket while they were out of school for Christmas vacation. They thought Jim Carrey was funny. I held their hands when the snake got away. We were having a good time. Then, right at the end, came that montage about "sanctuary" and what it means, and I was a mess.
"I'm ready Laurel," Cousin #1 said as soon as the film ended.
"In just a minute."
"Can't we go yet?" Cousin #2 said, much more emphatically.
So, we left the theater in a throng of children and their parents -- my cousins happy as larks and dry to the bone while I trailed behind them puffy-eyed and sniffling.
1. Road Trip
I know what you're thinking -- Stiffler and Tom Green made a movie that brought anyone to tears for a reason other than pure embarrassment for their careers/parents? Unfortunately, the answer to that question is yes. (But, no, it was not a prostate joke that caused the crying.)
Just after my sophomore year of college, I found out that my boyfriend of a few years was cheating on me. (We were young and at different schools, and it was bound to happen, but the end of first love is the end of first love. To say that I was a little vulnerable would be like saying Alabama's gubernatorial candidates are kind of conservative.) To keep me from staring at photos or the ceiling and asking "why, why, why," my cousin decided to get me out of the house for awhile.
"Staring at Russell Crowe makes everyone feel better," she said when we got to the theater.
We were supposed to see Gladiator that day, and Gladiator probably would have been a good distraction. At least I didn't have to deal with an evil emperor and fight strangers to the death, right? Maybe I could have found a little perspective there.
"We're sold out for Gladiator," the guy behind the ticket counter said.
"What about the 3:45 showing?"
"We're all sold out for both," he said.
"How about a comedy then?" my cousin said, turning around. "Some laughter will do you good."
Her logic was spot on. The only trouble was that the entire premise for Road Trip is that the main character, who goes to a different school from his girlfriend, cheats on her, makes a tape of it and then accidentally mails said tape to the girlfriend. The whole road trip that gives the movie its name is a desperate attempt to get to the girlfriend's college before the sex tape does.
Let's just say that I didn't cheer up that day.
Also, a large number of teenage boys probably thinks that they saw that film with someone with severe emotional and/or psychological issues sitting in the theater.
I'm Going to Learn How to Fly
I get a lot of questions about my middle name.
“What was that you said?”
“Fain.”
“Fain?”
“Yes, it’s just like ‘rain’ but with an ‘f’ instead of an ‘r.’”
“Fain? F-A-I-N. Really?”
“Yep, Fain.”
“That’s interesting. [Beat.] What’s a Fain?”
When I’m not in a hurry, I explain that it’s a family name.When I am rather rushed, I hope the topic will pass and we can move on to thelast four digits of my social security number or my city of birth because thisconversation usually occurs when I’m trying to talk to someone about my gasbill or credit card statement, and it hardly seems like the time to discuss myfamily heritage and naming traditions.
After my sister’s wedding a few weeks ago, I noticed that oneof her friends asked “So, how many last names do you have now?”
It’s true that all of the Mills girls have last names as theirmiddle names. I have my maternalgrandmother’s maiden name, my middle sister has my paternal grandmother’smaiden name and my baby sister ended up with my mother’s aunt’s married name.(My mother’s own maiden name is Stubbs, and I thank her for leaving that one ofout of the naming equation.) If all goes well, we’ll each have three, and onlythree, last names before all is said and done (knock on wood).
I use Fain often in my own life because Mills tends to be a lot(a lot) more common in the U.S. population than other surnames, and even though“Laurel” is a little on the unusual side, I decided many moons ago that I wouldrather be laurelfain via e-mail than LaurelMills27 or LMills4206. After thatfateful choice, it just kind of stuck. (My guy friends especially seem to enjoycalling out “Laurel Fain” to get my attention.)
Also, with there being the other writing Laurel Mills, I figureFain is a good distinguishing factor to throw in there somewhere.
Nothing bothers me about my middle name – other than having toanswer lots of questions – and I’ve come to accept it just fine. I say “accept”because probably unlike the Sarah Elizabeths, Jennifer Claires and ChristineAnnes of the world, I spent the first five years of my life thinking I had avery different middle name.
Maybe it was a hearing thing, maybe it had something to do withpronunciation or maybe it was the simple fact that I couldn’t read or writeyet, but until I was five, I thought that my middle name was “Fame.”
Now, “Fame” was a middle name I could get behind. Not only didit seem to destine me for greatness, but having grown up during the time of acertain very popular Debbie Allen –led TV show, I felt like my name allowed meto personally share in the show’s success.
There was no song I loved more than the movie and TV show’stheme. “Fame! I’m going to live forever! I’m going to learn how to fly!”
My little tone-deaf self sang it again, and again, and again.As far as I was concerned, it was the greatest song ever, and I had the greatestname ever.
So, you can probably also imagine my disappointment when my momasked me why I was so enamored with the theme song from a show I don’t think Iever got to watch. “Because it’s my name,” I said, sure, confident and proud.
“What’s your middle name?” she said.
“Fame,” I said. “I’m Laurel Fame Mills.” (I really thought sheshould have already known the answer to that one.)
“Oh honey,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re middle nameisn’t ‘Fame.’ It’s ‘Fain.’ From your grandmother.”
Once the initial shock wore off, crestfallen, I found myselfasking the same question I’ve heard so often in the 25 years since, “Fain?!?!What’s a Fain?”
What I Did With My Holiday Weekend
Be prepared. It may be hard to respect me after reading this list. (If you had any respect for me to begin with.)
1. Bought Swim Goggles
Since I was going to spend most of the July 4th weekend in the pool, it only seemed logical for the SO and I to pick up some pool toys. We bought floats (or really one float because I had a deflated one back at my house). I got an air pump because I don't like to blow up floats (and blowing up floats seems beyond the extent of the SO's love for me). Then, we grabbed some goggles because after awhile that chlorine really irritates my eyes, and if I can't see underwater, I run into walls. The choices are few and far between.
Unfortunately, this purchase only reminded me of the same lesson I learned in a much more painful setting almost 20 years ago -- no woman, adolescent or grown, looks good in a pair of swim goggles. I don't know how anyone held back the laughter.
2. Ate Enough to Feed a Small Village in China
On Sunday, I treated myself to a turkey burger, baked beans and cole slaw. Not so bad, you say? I finished off the meal with a bacon-wrapped stuffed hot dog. If my arteries and societal pressure weren't involved, I'd eat a bacon-wrapped stuffed hot dog every day.
On Monday, I stopped off at Wings Plus 6 and polished off five honey mustard wings, five mild wings (because who knows how spicy wings might have affected my digestive system at that point), french fries and a slice of key lime pie.
I didn't count the beers.
3. Made Bad Choices
On Sunday night, I purchased Hot Tub Time Machine from Videos on Demand. (John Cusack stars and produces. Doesn't that make you wonder?) I didn't really laugh, but I have been thinking about the pivotal choices that affect each and every one of our lives and how those choices can shape our futures -- because of the movie's plot line, not John Cusack's production credit.
Or not. However, I have had "Let's Get it Started" stuck in my head for a week.
My Beef With Robert Redford
A few weeks ago, someone mentioned a new movie with Robert Redford that was coming out.
"Idon't think I'll see that. I just haven't been able to forgive him forThe Way We Were," I said. "I've given it a few years, but it's stilljust too hard for me."
"Uh-huh," she said, giving me the "you'rean odd over-sharer" eye, "well, I'm able to separate actors from thecharacters they portray."
"That must be nice for you," I said enthusiastically. Then, I changed the subject.
I have trouble letting things go (surprise, surprise), and I've been known to hold the occasional grudge. I try to forgive, but I don't always forget.
When you combine this little shortcoming of mine with the fact that I am the perfect audience, trouble can ensue. (The Waitress incident is only a small example.) In fact, there are two actors I can seemingly never forgive -- and not in that Tom Cruise way of "why did I waste two hours of my life on Vanilla Sky" kind of way. I can't forgive what they did on screen.
I don't hold grudges for the actual personal lives of stars - a la Tiger Woods, Jesse James and Brad Pitt -- but when it comes to the characters they play, it's a whole different story. My head may know actors and characters are two separate entities, but my heart just hasn't gotten the message. That being said, here's my problem list:
1. We'll begin with the aforementioned Robert Redford. I adored Sneakers, The Natural and A River Runs Through It. His directorial debut, Ordinary People, was one of my absolute favorites, and then I saw The Way We Were. I watched RR/Hubbell cheat on Katie, I saw him give up on her when things got too hard, and I heard him ask about the daughter he wouldn't raise before running off to the blond he'd replaced his wife with.
The worst line for me in the whole movie? When Hubbell is talking to his best friend J.J. on the sailboat near the end of the film. Hubbell has already slept with Carol Ann, and J.J. admits that Carol Ann has left him and California. Then J.J. says that it doesn't really matter because Carol Ann "was no Katie."
I cried like a baby.
After the first time I saw The Way We Were, my boss asked me what was wrong the following Monday. She said that I didn't seem like my usual self. "Did something happen over the weekend? Is it your family? Are you feeling all right?"
"It's none of that," I said.
She continued to look at me with concern.
"I watched The Way We Were last night."
"Oh," she said, and she nodded.
"Men just leave, don't they?" I said. "It gets hard and they go. It's easier for them to go, isn't it? Why is it so much easier for them to leave?"
I was 22 and a little dramatic, but a movie from 1973 had reduced me to tears in front of a woman 40 years my senior. In short, The Way We Were broke me.
Her response? "It is easier for men to leave," and we talked for 30 minutes about RR, Barbra and romantic relationships.
I can barely watch the film these days. If I do, I start crying duringthe opening credits because I know what's coming, and I can hardlystand it. And no matter what Robert Redford does, I see Hubbell standing in the middle of a home movie theater telling Katie he'll only stay until the baby is born, and I just hate him. It's beyond irrational, but I haven't been able to shake it in eight years. He just should have stayed with her -- despite all the McCarthyism and whatnot.
2. Jeff Daniels also makes my list. Jeff Daniels, I don't care that you are the lovable patriarch in Arachnophobia. Pleasantville, Dumb and Dumber and The Butcher's Wife mean nothing to me. (That last one for different reasons, but still.) For me, you will always be Flap from Terms of Endearment.
And Flap went into his wife/Debra Winger's hospital room as she was dying and told her he wouldn't raise their three children. Flap said he was going to go off with his terrible mistress Janice and abandon their children while the woman he married and bore his kids died of cancer.
Again, my disdain is completely irrational, but it is what it is.
On the other hand, there are two other actors who I can apparently accept in any situation or role.
1. I adore Ted Levine. It does not bother me at all that he hunted Jodie Foster down with night vision goggles in Silence of the Lambs. I don't even care that he uttered one of the creepiest movie lines ever -- "It puts the lotion on its skin or it gets the hose again." When he's Captain Leland Stottlemeyer on Monk, he's Capt. Stottlemeyer, and I love him. I love that he fights for Adrian, their often-strained relationship and that, in the end, you know they're best friends. Trying to sew a suit of human skin never even occurs to me when I watch him go a-crime-solving.
I could probably watch the movie and the series back-to-back on USA and not bat an eye.
2. I also like David Boreanaz. When he was Angel, I only wanted him to be with Buffy. But, when I see him now, I don't see Angel. I see Seeley Booth. And Seeley Booth can love Temperance Brennan without my thinking he's cheating on Sarah Michelle Geller. It's all good.
Clearly, there are a lot of X factors here: acting ability, story line, character development, my sanity ...
but, in the long run, there's no telling who will end up on either list.
Hollywood take note, and choose your roles wisely: Laurel Mills is watching.
Bad Jokes*
While I appreciate a good joke as much as the next person, I've never been much of an actual joke-teller. Most of my humor is anecdotal, in case no one noticed, and when it comes to jokes, I tend to forget the punch lines, so the whole enterprise becomes pretty anti-climactic pretty quickly.
I've also never really been into potty humor -- and my mother will back me up on the fact that even as a child, farts and burps did not make me giggle; I just seemed uncomfortable and ready to move on. Physical comedy irks me, too. I don't laugh when people trip or get hit in the face with hams. For both of these reasons, I've never enjoyed a Ben Stiller movie.
I could pretend that my sense of humor is sophisticated, but that would be a lie. You have no idea how much I enjoyed the movie Corky Romano. Chris Kattan dressed as a girl scout? Too much!
Basically, this is all a really long intro into what are, despite these general biases, my two favorite clean jokes:
Joke #1 (which I'm pretty sure came from a Laffy Taffy wrapper): What did the grape say when the elephant stepped on it?
Nothing. It just let out a little wine.
Grape? Wine? Seriously, there are tears in my eyes.
Joke #2 (courtesy of a former teacher): What is the last thing to go through a fly's head when it hits the windshield?
Its butt.
After that, I think we can all agree I will never again get to pretend that my sense of humor is anywhere close to sophisticated -- or even adolescent. Hannah Montana fans can probably do better.
*My career path is not one of them. Or so I'm told.