tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7226974541941713612024-03-05T01:08:13.459-05:00The Pantless WonderUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger245125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-33511651523630161662018-03-12T16:29:00.002-04:002018-03-12T16:29:58.672-04:00Never Judge a Book by its Movie
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<span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">I know movie adaptations are awful. I know that you cannot take hundreds
of pages of innermost thoughts and feelings and melt all that down into two
hours of visual information. I know all of this. But what I don’t know is how
you can take a multimillion dollar special effects laden extravaganza based on
a classic science fiction book such as <i>A Wrinkle in Time </i>and just throw up all over it. Why bother using
the source material if you are going to dumb it down to the masses in such a
way as to render the entire point of the book absolutely meaningless? Oh, I’m
angry. I’m so fucking angry. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">First off, let’s talk casting. Instead of three old biddies
in New England, they subbed in three
multi-ethnic drag queens of various ages. Fun! Instead of an all white family, its racially diverse, which opened
the story to a wider audience. Great! But can someone please for the love of God and all
his angels explain to me why you can make the cast the color of the rainbow,
but you can’t make Calvin’s hair red? SERIOUSLY. My love of redheads started
with that book. Calvin was my first crush and his vivid red hair was definitely
part of my imagination. Would it have been so hard to find a bottle of Manic
Panic? Oprah had metallic eyebrows for fuck’s sake. Reese Witherspoon turned
into a flying artichoke. But Calvin couldn’t have red hair? <span style="margin: 0px;">That’s bullshit</span>.<br />
<br />
Second, when even my kids notice how bad the directing was, you know you have
made some poor choices. The entire movie is a series of close ups and extreme
close ups. I can draw, from memory, the exact dimensions of Storm Reid’s nose.<span style="margin: 0px;"> There were big CGI shots of alien planets, but no sense of scope. Ava Devernay was hyper focused on the spectacle but didn't know how to focus on what made the book special. </span><br />
<br />
Third, the screenwriters obviously didn’t know what to do with the story as it
was told in the book. They took out entire chapters worth of story only to add
in empty set pieces. <span style="margin: 0px;">For</span> me, the book was
always about Meg realizing that she has to love herself and her faults, that
she can’t rely on others for her happiness, and that strength comes from
within. The movie was about being a warrior of light. What does that mean?
Damned if I know. But it sounds good in commercials. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">Fourth, <span style="margin: 0px;">the had the worst
villain name in the history of cinema. </span>The IT. Say it out loud. The big
bad in the book is simply IT. My best guess is that the evil clown is so well
known that the screenwriter felt that calling the darkness that takes over the
world IT would invoke King instead of L’Engle. Fine, I will grudgingly accept
that. What I will not accept is <span style="margin: 0px;">“The IT.” </span>Call
it The Darkness. Call it The Happiest Sadist (a description in the book I
didn’t understand for years.) Call it Camazots after the planet where the final
third of the story takes place. But don’t call it “The IT.” That just sounds
stupid. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Fifth, the average movie go<span style="margin: 0px;">er</span>
is smarter than a pumpkin. Not all of them, but most. So I would really like if
the movie treated the viewers as if we had half a brain<span style="margin: 0px;">.
The book has chemistry, physics, higher mathematics, and Shakespeare. The movie
has a giant action adventure set piece that defied all laws of logic, physics, gravity,
tone, character, and plot. Given
a choice between a scene of dialogue and (gasp) acting, the director chose
overworked CGI every time. The movie also never bothers to explain a tesseract.
It is only the central McGuffin and the freaking title of the movie. I would have happily skipped almost all of Oprah's self-help guru nonsense word salad for a cogent explanation of a tesseract. (This is even more egregious because there was a shot of this scene in the previews!)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><span style="color: black;">Sixth, <span style="margin: 0px;">the Exposition Fairy
called and she wants her wings back</span>. Kids can’t remember what day <span style="margin: 0px;">they have</span> gym on a four-day rotating schedule<span style="margin: 0px;">, but they can remember something that happened to
another kid FOUR years ago and commemorate it with a nasty note?</span> <span style="margin: 0px;">Also, w</span>homever had a six-year old listening to
news radio in the middle of the night while it randomly discussed a
non-celebrity scientist going missing certainly deserves <span style="margin: 0px;">a Razzie for exposition so clunky it clanged. We don’t
need THREE back-to-back scenes telling us that Meg’s dad is missing. We ARE NOT
PUMPKINS. We have brain cells, not seeds. Allows us to use them! </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">Seventh,
the quotations. One character in the book speaks only in quotations. In the movie,
she does and doesn’t depending on the needs of the script and a very lazy
screenwriter. For a few months, I amused myself on Facebook by using <i>Hamilton
</i>lyrics for every update and I could always find a line that fit. So it pissed me off that when they did quote Lin-Manuel Miranda, they used the weakest quote in his arsenal. There are billions of lines of poetry and literature
and plays and quotations in the world. And the screenwriter switched Goethe for
Chris Tucker??? Jesus wept. </span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 16px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">Eighth,
speaking of Jesus, where did all the religious Christian allegory go? Oh right,
we can pray to God (to win a football game), we can thank God (for winning the football game), but we can’t incorporate God into a movie unless it stars Kirk
Cameron. Got it, my bad.</span></span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: calibri;">Ninth,
the problem with Calvin. Not only did they take away his red hair, they took
away his balls. Calvin isn’t set decoration. He isn’t ornamental. He is
integral to the plot. He is the one who explains, who communicates, who
listens. He’s the Giles of this particular band of Scoobies. The Mrs don’t give
all the gifts to Meg. That’s dumb. They had one for each child. And his gift
helps save Mr. Murry. He almost saves Charles Wallace! He doesn’t just stand in
the background and nod at people – he does stuff! And if they couldn’t figure
out what to do with him, then he should have shared the same fate as Sandy and
Dennys. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black;">And finally, we
clearly have a winner in the Battle of the Actors Named Chris. Did anyone go
through space and time looking for Hemsworth? Thor disappeared from Earth and
no one noticed. Pratt? We put him on a starship to nowhere and let him die on
it. Evans? Nope. He isn’t even the hottest Chris in the Marvel universe. Chris
Pine is the only Chris that people will literally do anything for in every
single movie. All Hail King Chris. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
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</span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-34088236879080771242018-03-04T15:47:00.001-05:002018-03-04T15:47:59.525-05:00Rest of the Best
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">I watched the final five candidates for Best Picture
yesterday. As always, if you want an actual review, ask a movie critic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dunkirk </i>– One day,
someone will explain to me the absolute manic devotion of white males of a
certain age to WWII. The war ended 74 years ago! There have been lots of wars
since then (unfortunately) and lots of other stories to tell about lots of
other things. But every goddamn year, we get another goddamned WWII movie. Enough.
Considering how little dialogue was actually in the movie and how little plot,
I wish Nolan had fully committed to his theory of making a movie based entirely
on visuals and music and eliminated dialogue entirely or had subtitles. I also
think he and Tom Hardy should just fuck already because Nolan obviously has a
hard on for Hardy’s eyes. Why else does he once again make a movie that all but
covers up Tom Hardy’s face and filters his voice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Darkest Hour – </i>Gary
Oldman only did this movie because he lured famed makeup artist Kazuhiro <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Tsuji out of retirement. If Oldman wins, and
Tsuji doesn’t, then Oldman should absolutely hand his Oscar over, post haste.
It was absolutely the best makeup I have ever seen in film. Hands down. Oldman
was completely unrecognizable as himself and totally and completely Winston Churchill.
That was the whole point of the movie, really. They could have told any story
from any point in Churchill’s career, and the only thing really holding it up
was the makeup and acting. It certainly wasn’t the lighting. Apparently
overhead lighting was outlawed during the war. Only small desk lamps or whatever
light filtered in through windows. (Please don’t tell me about London turned
off its lights at night to avoid bombing. This wasn’t that. This was “setting a
mood” and it was ridiculous. )</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Call Me By Your Name –
</i>This was the most honest acting I’ve ever seen. It was also as if the
actors didn’t realize they were acting at all. I was constantly surprised by
the line readings and by how they handled every scene. It was very intimate and
disarming. Slightly problematic was the concept of consent and watching sex
scenes between a supposed 17 yr old and a 27 year old, but I liked that the movie
didn’t have a label. No one was gay or straight or bi. They were just who they
were. I also think it did wonders for Italian tourism.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Post – </i>This was
a perfectly respectable movie with perfectly respectable acting in a mediocre script.
Spoiler, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Washington Post</i> wins.
And while I have watched movies with obvious outcomes before (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Titanic</i>, for example), there was no real
sense of suspense. There was also some questionable dialect work. Was Tom Hanks
supposed to be from Boston? Every few scenes, he’d remember to throw on an
accent. This movie is a textbook account of white male Oscar voting. Meryl
Streep? Check. Tom Hanks? Check. Steven Spielberg? Check. A plot that makes
liberals look good and politicians look bad? Check. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Get Out – </i>This movie
did NOT fuck around. You know how in most movies, when the young blood ingenue
starts getting scared, she doesn’t really try to kill her assailant, but mostly
run from him? Not this movie. Chris was out for blood the minute he realized
what was happening. But Jesus, his apartment was the most over decorated room I
have ever seen. I met my husband when we were 24. His apartment had the bare
minimum of cast-off furniture, no art, one massive television, and linens
straight from Target. Every male apartment I have ever been in was about the
same, plus or minus some crappy posters on the wall. Chris had beautifully
framed art, a complete living room set, a complete bedroom set, and everything
was color coordinated in pleasant hues of greys and blacks and blues. Bull.
Shit. Also, who starts a transplant without having both the donor and the
receiver in the room? A terrible surgeon, that’s who.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: calibri;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-71057702217628339302018-03-01T15:55:00.003-05:002018-03-01T15:55:52.290-05:00The Envelope, Please . . . .
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">I love the movies. I don’t go as often as I’d like and
honestly, the number of movies released per year v. the number I actually watch
is depressing, but come Oscar season, I am all in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">For the last few years, I try to see all those movies
nominated for best picture, and if possible, all the ones that cover the acting
categories as well. I am not a member of the Academy of Motion Pictures Art and
Sciences and nobody gives a shit who I think should win and why, but I still
like being knowledgeable about my choices. I have been watching the Oscars
since I was a child and will watch them until I am dead. I love them
unreservedly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">This year, I once again embarked on my quest with Bubbles in
tow. I see most of my movies with my partner-in-crime and we have very similar
tastes. The best part is that we can see all the movies over two days! Two very
long Saturdays, four or five movies per day! Its awesome. This past weekend was
our first day and I was going to write a basic series of reviews, but then I
realized that if you want a thoughtful, reserved review by a critic with a
background in film, then I will direct you to the poorly-named Drew McWeeney
over at Tracking-Board.com. His name may be awful, but his reviews are
terrific. However, if you want to know the weird and odd things I thought about
the movies, then bombs away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: calibri;">Three things – First, I do not speak for Bubbles. The
opinions expressed therein are my own. Second, I still have several movies to
watch. Third, spoilers abound. SPOILERS ABOUND!</span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Movies I Stopped
Watching: </span></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Mudbound (best cinematography
and best supporting actress) – </i>I tried. I really did. I made it 45 minutes
into the movie before I gave up. It was depressing, dark, and dismal and
checked every box of things I dread in movies: overt racism, everyone in the South
is dirty and sweaty, obvious plot “twists”, hateful characters, WW II, and the
constant use of the n- word. I want to be more enlightened and enjoy the film
as a film but the oppressive sense of dread in the first third meant the rest of
the movie was only going to get so very much worse. Pass. (However, from what I
saw, this movie was absolutely deserving of the cinematography award because the
lighting told a story that dialogue could never convey.) </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;">Roman J. Israel, Esq. – (best
actor) </span></i><span style="margin: 0px;">– They should
have just given Denzel the best actor Oscar last year and been done with it. I lasted
24 minutes before I turned this nonsense off. I couldn’t figure out the year,
setting, plot, character motivation, or anything else in this ugly, flat movie.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></i></span></span></div>
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<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Random Movies in Random Categories:
</span></span></b></div>
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<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>The Big Sick (best original screenplay)
– </i>Cute, but the least romantic rom-com I’ve ever seen. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>I, Tonya (best actress and best
supporting actress) – </i>I expected light and airy, I got down and
dirty. Allison Janney is so bad she’s good. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Blade Runner 2049 (best
cinematography) – </i>It’s pretty, but empty. Watch it on mute to get the
visuals. You won’t miss the plot as it barely exists. Honestly, the best thing
about this movie is Ryan Gosling’s coat. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Beauty and the Beast (best
costuming) – </i>Sure, the costumes were gorgeous – when they were first
created for the original animated film. But rending something from 2D to 3D
doesn’t do it for me in terms of calling it the “best of” anything. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Baby Driver (film editing) </i>–
The movie is dumb as hell, but it is well edited. I’ll give it that. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Star Wars: The Last Jedi (music – original score, sound editing, sound mixing,
visual effects) – </i>Does anyone even notice the music in Star Wars movies
unless it is some version of the original pieces made new? Or the
editing/mixing? </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;">Guardians of the Galaxy Vol
II (visual effects) – </span></i><span style="margin: 0px;">If
you like visual effects that scream LOOK AT ME, then sure. But its all just so
much green screened noise. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="margin: 0px;">Kong: Skull Island (visual
effects) – </span></i><span style="margin: 0px;">The punctuation
in these movies is killing me. Anyway, I actually think the F/X here were much
more organic than the other choices. Doesn’t make it a good movie though, not
by a long shot. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Best Pictures:</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>The Phantom Thread – </i>As
soon as the heroine was seen gathering mushrooms, you knew what she was
eventually going to do with them. While I admit that his agreeing to be
poisoned came out of left field<i>, </i>I don’t really understand why he would
agree. Yes, he loved her more when he needed her caregiving, but how many times
were they going to cycle through sick/well/happy/unhappy before they both tired
of the game? I also would have preferred more scenes with Woocock’s sister
(Jesus, what a name!). Her internal monologues were probably fierce. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Lady Bird – </i>Can I have an
entire movie about gay Danny, please? Or the salty nun? Or the depressed
priest? Can I have any movie other than the one I watched? I am all for women winning
the best director award, but not this woman and not for this movie. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>Three Billboards – </i>WTF! Ok,
so I have a lot of problems with this movie. In what universe does a woman FIRE
BOMB a police station and there is zero follow up? Yes, she was given an alibi
by a bystander (and seriously, WHY would he do that since it is so obvious to
everyone in the movie that she is the culprit?), but it isn’t a very good one
and is very easily checked. In fact, during the entire movie, characters just
keep getting away with the most insane stuff. Throw a guy out a window? No
worries. Ok. Set fire to all the billboards? Sure! Its not like anyone does any
actual investigation. A man stood in a burning building and didn't notice the heat! If that's the level of intelligence of the men in blue, then <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: calibri; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">no wonder no one found her daughter’s killer – they
couldn’t find their assholes with both hands and a mirror. </span></span><span style="font-family: calibri;">(P.S. - Dear Hollywood, police stations don't close down at night like the post office. I live in Smalltown USA and even we have two cops on duty 24/7. Sincerely, The Real World.) <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><i>The Shape of Water – </i>Who
fills a bathtub all the way to the very top? You are going to get water
everywhere. Every scene, whether someone just got in or just got out, the damn
bathtub was filled to the very top. Very cinematic, not very practical. Also,
towels do not create airtight seals. You cannot flood a bathroom to the ceiling
by stuffing a few towels into a wooden door. Again, very cinematic, but not
very practical. My biggest problem though, was the one line of dialogue that
completely and utterly telegraphed the ending. Can we at least try to be subtle
about her scars? Nope. Its way better to shoehorn in an explanation that tells
you everything you need to know. Ugh. Show, don’t tell!</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 16px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">I will try to post my reviews of
the rest of the top contenders on Sunday before the show. </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: calibri;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-28688414099509335062018-02-12T16:43:00.000-05:002018-02-12T16:43:56.829-05:00Fosse! Fosse! Fosse!
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">My daughter has
been doing competitive dance for the last few years. The first competition was
quite an eye opener. There are point scores, best in each category, division,
and even judges’ awards. Everywhere you look, there
are girls in enough makeup to make a drag queen jealous and enough
glitter, sparkles, and bling that sunglasses are required indoors. My daughter, who may
wear Chapstick on a good day has become an expert at wearing false eyelashes.
It’s all very overwhelming. It is not, however, Dance Moms. Put that out of
your head. These girls practice one dance, with one costume for months at a
time. They don’t have suitcases that turn into fully-lit makeup mirrors.
Instead, most of them have the family suitcase outfitted with some contraption
made out of PVC pipe to hold all their clothes. They have teachers who love
them and emphasizes substance over style. The parents support one
another. At least that is what it’s like at her dance school. I can’t speak for
others. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;"><span style="margin: 0px;">Last year, the
costumes at competition were very
risqué. Lots and lots of nudes, cut outs, and S&M wear - for tweens. I
watched a child perform an exquisite ballet to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Amazing Grace<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></i>while
wearing a vibrant red costume with nude patches over her genitals. The
under-ten set embraced cut outs to show off their abs, but mostly just showed
off their rib cages. </span><span style="margin: 0px;">This year, the
costumes were very different. Gone were all the straps, leather, and nude
patches that made the dancers look like the world’s tiniest people performing
the world’s oldest profession. This year's overall theme seemed to be stripped instead
of stripper. Instead of elaborate costumes in bright colors, we saw a lot of
sack clothes in muted earth tones. Buns were out, braids were in. There were
still lots of outfits you could consider pajamas, but instead of lingerie, they
were closer to night gowns. One entire category of modern dance looked like the
girls were acting out scenes from a play set during the 1930s Dust Bowl. Who
knew they made so many shades of dirt brown? Flesh tone was also a big hit. I
saw girls practicing in what could best be described as a nude bikini with nude
mesh over top and was curious to see the rest of their costume. Turns out, there
was no “rest” of the costume. That WAS the costume! With prop canes! I’m so bummed I
missed that performance because I was dying to know what song required canes
but not clothing? Our girls, in comparison looked like Mormons. They wore
layers - nude leotards, nude tights, then fishnets, then their costumes. In
terms of dance wear, they were dressed for winter in New Hampshire while the
rest of the teams were on Spring Break in the Bahamas. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">The music was similarly stripped down. There were
so many muzak versions of songs that I wondered if I was trapped in the world’s
loudest elevator. Every song has one instrument and one vocal. Or no vocals and
all instrumental. I spent half my time desperately trying to name that tune because
the venue had no wi-fi so I couldn’t use Spotify to save myself from going
crazy. Did you know that there are slow, instrumental versions of Depeche Mode? I wish I didn't. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">The worst part of competition is not watching
my kid dance and get judged, which is super difficult, but keeping my eyes
averted in the open dressing rooms. I obviously don’t want to see any part of
anyone I didn’t help bring into this world, but its not that easy. I reached
down to get my phone out of my purse, and when I sat back up, I was eye-to-thong
with a dancer from the next company over. I heard the unmistakable
sound of tape ripping and looked up in time to try not to see a teenager taping
her breasts down. With masking tape! She held them up while two others taped
them down and dear God, you know that stung when she had to rip it off later. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">I know that judging is subjective and that its all
relative to how many kids in each category and a host of other factors. So I’m
not even going to touch upon that. What I do find most perplexing are the songs
and themes chosen by the dance instructors. Last year, there was a song about
drowned brides and another about dead babies. This year, we got a song about murder (complete with the
onstage death), dead dolls, a funeral, zombies, and, I kid you not, an anti-Korean
war song with a prop Army coat! There was a relatively brilliant song about depression
where the major emotions all wore bright colored body suits and the rest of the
team all wore black. There was a showstopper about the backstabbing inherent in
a royal court that had the kids literally flinging themselves at each other and
then there was the dance that won the crowd award. Reader, I was NOT happy with that last one.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">The song was <i>Can’t Stop the Feeling. </i>Fucking
Justin Timberlake! Again! The theme was “Night at the Museum” wherein a janitor
starts playing that dreaded song and all the statues come to life. Each dancer
had on a different costume. There was a Wonder Woman, a Blonde Ambition-era
Madonna, Elvis, etc. (There was also a waitress, which I found odd, but I digress.)
But I didn’t understand why the black girl was dressed as Marilyn Monroe. Why
not let the black girl be Tina Turner or Whitney Houston or any number of
famous black women performers? In fact, why make any of the girls into men? Couldn’t
the song celebrate strong women of all colors? Did it need an Elvis or a
Michael Jackson? Does anyone really think Prince is rising from the dead to dance
to Justin Timberlake? Now, its possible that after three days of competition, I
was just tired and cranky and hungry so that I was more annoyed than usual, but
I think my point is fair. (Also, what museum was he IN, anyway?)</span></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Overall, I’m glad the weekend is over. I watched
roughly 24 hours of dancing over the course of 48 hours and my brain was turning
into mush. My butt hurt from sitting, my ears hurt from the music, and my head
was pounding from watching people spin over and over and over again. Thank God
I have six weeks to recover before the next one and I can only applaud those
parents who do this every single weekend and thank both the olds gods and the
new that I am not one of them. </span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: calibri;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-61806002528647002092018-02-05T15:02:00.000-05:002018-02-05T15:02:12.395-05:00I've Got This Feeling Inside My Bones
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">I cannot stand Justin Timberlake. My reasons are far ranging
and many. Last night, I complained about him on Facebook and Etsy requested a
blog post about it. So, in no particular order, the top ten reasons I hate
Justin Timberlake:</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">1 – His voice. He sings at a pitch that only dogs can hear.
When his balls drop and he can sing a register below castrato, let me know and
I’ll give him a listen. Until that time, please tell him that his version of
sexy has been marked return to sender. He can’t bring back what he never had.
Also, <i>Can’t Stop the Feeling </i>is an ear worm of a song, but that doesn’t
make it good.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">2 – Britney. She cheated on him, he cheated on her,
whatever, but it all happened 15 years ago so would he please STOP invoking her
name in interviews. He has been in the spotlight a long time – he knows that
when he mentions her, it becomes the pull quote. You are now a grown ass
man with a family – she is a respected performer with mental health issues.
Take her name outta your mouth! Don’t sing about her, don’t make videos about
her, don’t make fun of her, and don’t talk about her. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">3 – His wedding photos. Yes, I clearly said “his” not
“theirs” because based on the photos they chose to release on the cover of the
most popular entertainment magazine in the country, the wedding was all about
him. Their official photo had her seated on the floor, her dress puddled up
around her, her flowers casually held in one hand – looking all the world like
a bored bridesmaid taking a breather after a long day. What is Justin doing?
Jumping like a tuxedoed monkey on a trampoline. His feet are at her eye level.
If you moved his photo more to the left, and hers more to the right, he would
be perched on her shoulders, hands outstretched, screaming “me me me.” Sit.
DOWN. Stand next to your wife, not above her. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">4 – His acting career. He can’t act. No. Please don’t argue.
Go back and watch any one of movies. He telegraphs every move he is about to
make in advance. You can practically see him practicing the words in his head
before he says them. His eyes are always blank. He is overshadowed by every
other actor in his scenes. He is always Justin Timberlake. It is why he is so
good on SNL and so awful anywhere else – he works so hard at being himself that
he can’t possible figure out how to be anyone else. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">5 – How he treats his wife. I actually have nothing against
Jessica Biel. She has to live with that dumb bastard, so all the power to her,
but I’ve never seen a husband step on a wife so much in interviews. The drill
is simple: when a celebrity husband and wife walk the red carpet, the attention
is supposed to be focused on whichever one has a project to promote. If the
carpet is for her, then he is supposed to be quiet and supportive and vice
versa. Not JT. He makes every carpet about him. She was nominated for her first
ever Golden Globe this year. That’s a big deal to actors. So what did he do? He
released news about new album two days before the award show. Guess what
happened? Every interview became about him and his music instead of her and her
acting. He could have released that information the day AFTER the Globes. It
still would have received plenty of media coverage. But no, he had to take her
spotlight and shine it on himself. He had to put her in his shadow because his
ego can’t stand being in hers. When she has photo calls, he jumps around in the
background making bunny ears with his fingers and all sorts of juvenile
nonsense. That poor woman. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">6 – His thirst. While I obviously cannot stand his music,
others do not agree and he has been nominated for and won several major awards.
And let me tell you, he works for those nominations. He promoted that damn <i>Trolls
</i>movie so far in advance that by the time it came out, the target audience
of toddlers had graduated college. When <i>The Social Network </i>was in
theaters, it received many Best Ensemble awards. He was one of many and his
performance as Sean Parker was basically him just playing an asshole, which is
hardly out of his comfort zone. Yet he strutted through those press screenings
as if he were the male lead. He actively campaigned for award nominations. The
entire movie was about a bunch of dicks arguing over who was the biggest dick
of them all and Justin was basically holding a thumb, but that didn’t stop him
from thinking he had a chance in that particular pissing contest. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">7 – He (allegedly) cheats. A man who cheats on a woman is
dead to me. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">8 – Super Bowl 52. The big game was played in Minnesota,
home to the dearly departed Prince - a legendary performer who has gone on
record stating that he believed artist holograms are demonic. Rumor had it
that Justin was going to play “with” Prince via hologram until that information
leaked and Prince fans went batshit. Instead, he included a video projection of
Prince and sang along. Toe-may-toe. Toe-mah-toe. Prince had more sexy in his
elfin toes than JT has in his whole friggin’ body. Prince knew who he was. He
didn’t change his aesthetic with his albums like SOMONE who performed during
the half-time show. Man of the woods my left butt cheek! Justin Timberlake is
the target audience for glamping. He is only capable of eating artisanal meats
and cruelty-free marshmallows. The fact that his carefully distressed,
quasi-camouflage outfit was head-to-toe couture only makes his lack of irony
even more pronounced. While the crowd seemed to enjoy the performance, the
Twitterverse proved via video clips that the paid performers on the floor were
enthusiastically clapping along while the rest of the stadium remained oddly
quiet.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">9 - His hair. He is a human Chia pet. No amount of
straightener is going to make me forget that he has a glorious head full of
pre-Ralphaelite curls. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: calibri;">10 - Nipplegate - Justin Timberlake ripped off
Janet Jackson’s bodice exposing her breast and pierced nipple for half a second
during the halftime show of the Super Bowl. It was the most DVR’d moment in
history as people rewound it over and over again in order to properly see what
was so indecent. That moment basically led to the rise of YouTube and almost
broke the Internet. But let’s be clear. HE ripped HER clothing. HE exposed HER
breast. HE made the mistake in removing both layers of her clothing when he was
only supposed to remove one. HE did it. Which performer was forced to apologize
for the incident, though? Janet Jackson. Which one was fined for indecency?
Janet Jackson. Which performer had their music blacklisted? Janet Jackson.
Which performer was banned from the Grammy Awards that year? Janet Jackson. But
which performer actually made the mistake? Justin Fucking Timberlake. Which
performer walked away completely unscathed? Justin Fucking Timberlake. Only one
performer saw their career almost come to an end and it was the victim! What
exactly did she do wrong? Hire the wrong seamstress? She didn’t rip it off
herself. That was the ONE time he should have jumped up to say “ me me me.”
That was the ONE time he was supposed to step in front of a woman and speak.
That was the ONE time he needed to act. The ONE time he needed to whet his thirst
for attention by telling every media outlet, talk show host, and magazine that
the mistake was his and his alone. But he didn’t. He said nothing. He did
nothing. Don’t tell me that he supports the Times Up initiative. His actions
toward her and the media circus that surrounded that performance showed exactly
who he was. And as Maya Angelou famously stated, “when someone shows you who
they are, believe them the first time.” </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: calibri;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-39413584681841138172018-01-26T15:18:00.001-05:002018-01-26T15:18:37.541-05:00It's Still Magic Even If You Know How It's Done
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Ursula Le Guin died
this week and many people mourned her. She was a writer of science fiction, the
old school stuff that changed people’s lives. I have to admit that I never read
her books. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">But I thought I’d
take this opportunity to write the eulogy for the author whose works I have
read.</span></span></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">For some people,
the beach is their place of refuge. Their happy place. They post countdowns all
winter long about the first day of summer and then post endless photos of toes
in the sand, kids frolicking in the waves, drinks with little umbrellas in
hand. Bubbles is one of those who loves the beach. Others are more
specific in their locations. Etsy loves Saranac Lake in upstate New York. Rorey
considers Sudbury, Vermont her personal slice of paradise. For my husband,
driving a boat around Lake Wallenpapupack in the Pocono mountains is his idea
of heaven on earth. One October, before the docks were pulled in, he spent
hours racing around the flat glass surface, ears red with cold, going as fast as
the motor would allow. Rain or shine, flat calm or full chop, he just loves
being out on that lake. Some people love being on a mountain skiing, or walking
the streets of Paris, or a million other places that calms their soul. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">I love going to
Anhk-Morpork. I know where the best pubs are, the best curry, and which shops
are the most fashionable. I know that dragons really do make terrible Hogswatch
gifts, so I support the efforts of the Sunshine Sanctuary (and, of course, the
Lady Sybil Free Hospital). I know to fear the Summoning Dark as well as
The Shades and to pray to the goddess Anoia when my cutlery gets stuck in
drawers. It is a city that never sleeps, eats whatever is put in front of it
(even CMOT Dibbler’s sausage-inna-bun which only the very brave or the very
drunk should attempt) , and has a river that you can walk across, but to me,
it’s home. And I can never go there again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">You see, the
Discworld, and all the cities and continents within, such as Ankh-Morpork, were
created by Sir Terry Pratchett. He died on March 12, 2015. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">He left behind the
Discworld – a series of 42 books, all about a flat disc-shaped world, carried
on the back of four elephants (it used to be five, but one fell and when it
landed, it split the continents and its bones turned to gold). The elephants
stand on the back of a giant turtle named A’Tuin. Unseen University is the
greatest academic institution in the land and the Librarian is an orangutan who
always know the exact book you need. Many of the Discworld books fall into
categories. Some are stand-alone stories, some follow the paths of the Lancre
witches, others follow the lowly watchman Sam Vimes through his eventual rise to becoming the Duke of Ankh (but he really hates wearing the ducal tights
and especially the hat with the feather.) Death talks in all caps, rides a
horse named Binky, and could murder a curry. There are books about gods,
monsters, and those who fall in between. There is a huge cast of characters,
one major locations, several minor ones, and all form an interconnected world
where politics, race relations, good and evil, all come together to tell a
story. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">And now its gone.
There are no more stories to tell. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">I started reading
his books about 20 years ago. They fall into the category of fantasy, but they
are far closer to Douglas Adams in tone than J.R.R. Tolkien. I don’t know a
single other soul who reads them, but in England, he was a best-selling author.
He died, much too young, at 66 of early onset Alzheimer’s. His unfinished works
were destroyed by steamroller, per his instructions. His daughter, a writer in
her own right, made it crystal clear that the Discworld was the work of her
father and that she would not be continuing the series. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">So, imagine, that
Saranac Lake is closed or Vermont has been, um, overrun by ice zombies. Imagine
that no boats are allowed on the lake and there are no more visits to the
beach. You will always have pictures and memories, but you will never get to go
there again. Never get to immerse yourself in everything that you love about
it. Every year, I got to go to the Discworld and make new friends, have no
adventures, learn new details about the city and its denizens. Whereas I
started as a tourist, I became a local. I know what happened when Mr. Hong
chose to build the Three Jolly Luck restaurant on the site of a former fish-god
temple and what happened when he opened on the night of a full moon and a lunar
eclipse at the winter solstice. I know how to play Thud, both the troll and the
dwarf side, and I know that Leonard of Quirm is more a prisoner in mind than
body. And I know I’ll never, ever get to visit with him again.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">J.K. Rowling gets much credit
for how she was able to layer the cast and plot of the Harry Potter series. The
vanishing cabinet is first mentioned as a blink and you’ll miss it gag in <i>Chamber of Secrets,</i> but<i> </i>becomes an integral
part of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Half-Blood Prince</i>. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Deathly Hallows</i>, a random collection of characters are
overheard meeting in a desolate wood and even though none of the characters are
main ones, we can easily feel the pain of Ted Tonks, Dean Thomas, and Griphook because
we had met them before. While the chapter mostly is used as an exposition drop
for our main characters to learn what is happening in the wizarding world, it
is also an example of Rowling’s skill. She didn’t just know how to set off
Checkhov’s gun, she knew how to build the firearm from scratch and hand-poured
the bullets.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">Pratchett was the same.
Characters dipped in and out of the books so that the stories never felt
isolated from one another. I actively dislike books where characters have no
family, no friends, no coworkers and exist in a bubble of only the few people
necessary to the plot. Life doesn’t work like that and neither did the Discworld.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: calibri;">The Discworld
reflected our world. There was a Scone of Stone instead of a Stone of Scone,
though both were stolen. There was a book about Australia, one about
rugby, and even one that riffed on Shakespeare. When I am sick, or busy (or
during those very weird few months when I was highly medicated and couldn’t
follow a recipe, let alone a plot) I could disappear into the Discworld and be
at peace. I would open the latest book, read it cover to cover, then flip it
back to front and start all over again, once, twice, thrice until I practically
had it memorized. I still check Amazon hoping that a magical final book will be
revealed, that I’ll get one last visit to my home away from home, so that this
time, I can really soak in all the details. Sir Terry Pratchett will be greatly
missed by his family, obviously, but also by the millions of fans who raced to the
bookstores to purchase his newest novel and lose themselves in the magical
world that he created. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; margin: 0px;">A<span style="font-variant: small-caps; margin: 0px;">t last,</span></span></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; margin: 0px;"> <span style="margin: 0px;">S<span style="font-variant: small-caps; margin: 0px;">ir</span></span> <span style="margin: 0px;">T<span style="font-variant: small-caps; margin: 0px;">erry, we must walk together.</span></span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; margin: 0px;">Terry took Death's arm and
followed him through the doors and on to the black desert under the endless
night.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; line-height: inherit; margin-bottom: 6.0pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 6.0pt; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; margin: 0px;">The End.</span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><sup id="cite_ref-bbcdeathnotice_77-0"></sup></span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_Pratchett#cite_note-bbcdeathnotice-77"><span style="margin: 0px;"><sup><span style="color: #0b0080; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 8.5pt; margin: 0px;">[77]</span></sup></span><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial",sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; margin: 0px;"></span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-8910849478620926862018-01-12T16:49:00.002-05:002018-01-12T18:29:00.823-05:00Do You Hear the People Sing? <span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The first show I ever saw on Broadway was <i>Cats. </i>It
was an excellent starter show for an 80s tween. <span style="margin: 0px;">When
the sirens came on, startling the “cats” onstage, I</span> almost <span style="margin: 0px;">went through the roof. Though, to be honest, </span>it
isn’t that good of a show. You either have to be really high or really young to
really enjoy <span style="margin: 0px;">a show filled with people in actual,
legitimate catsuits. </span>I can’t imagine sitting through it stone cold sober
now, but at 12? It had me at “meow.” </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I know people hate musicals. That the very idea of someone
just randomly bursting into song while everyone around them acts like this is
perfectly natural is too bizarre to be believed. I get it. But I love them
unreservedly. </span><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">From <i>Cats, </i>I graduated to more mature fare. I spent
all of high school in thrall of both <i>Les Miserables </i>and <i>The Phantom
of the Opera.</i> I had an airbrushed jean jacket with the face of the Phantom
on the back that I wore with pride. Not irony. PRIDE. I still think sitting
through three hours of what my husband refers to as “ that show about the
French revolution where everyone dies” is my idea of heaven. I am not such a
snob that I think a touring production is automatically lesser than one in New
York City. I saw a Thenardier in Boston who brought down the house and a Marius
in Philadelphia who broke my heart. There is something about hearing those
striking chords and seeing that giant red flag fly that just destroys me each
and every time. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">(But, after multiple viewing, I have come up with a few
questions about the plot. First, after Valjean agrees to take care of Cosette,
he asks Javert for three days to care of the situation. What on earth is he
expecting to do in that little time? Kill her? Adopt her off to yet someone
else? It probably took him three days just to find Cosette, let alone set up a
new life for the kid. Second, why didn’t Thenardier recognize Valjean in the
sewers? And third, if Marius sings about all his friends being dead and Cosette
sings about living a lonely existence with no one but her father – then who are
all the people at their wedding? And what on earth did Marius tell her to get
her to agree to get married without her father in attendance? Anyway, back to
the blog.) </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">I was lucky, living on Long Island, the theater was LIRR
ride away. Back in the day, you could go to a booth on Times Square and try to
get tickets to any show that day for cheap. Now, it’s a huge storefront and
it’s all very professional, but back then, you felt like you were really in on
a secret. Or at least I did. One day, I was able to get tickets to <i>Miss
Saigon</i>. I called my mom on a pay phone and she actually left work early and
hopped on a train to meet me in the city. Even more shocking, when she found
me, she was happily eating a black and white cookie she had picked up from a
random bakery. I could not have been more shocked if she had stopped for a bump
of coke. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Think back to all the movies you have seen in your life.
Thousands, right? And some have been great, some good, some terrible, but how
many created indelible memories, moments that you will take with you to your
grave? I have had those moments at the theater.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">The moment the gunshot rings out in <i>Miss Saigon.</i></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: large;">The moment the witch takes flight in <i>Wicked.</i></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">The moment in <i>Once </i>when <span style="margin: 0px;">she
<i>doesn’t </i>tell him that she loves him. </span> </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">To me, that’s the power of a musical. It can create a moment
so visceral, so real, that you feel like you are completely alone, but can only
truly be experienced with two thousand complete strangers. I’ve seen show
stopping numbers that made me want to get out of my seat and dance. I haven’t
seen many shows, a few dozen, tops, but the ones I have seen resonate. Not all.
I’ve seen some crappy shows, ones that had unmemorable music or actors, and I
will never see a production of <i>Annie </i>again as long as I shall live, but
the good ones<span style="margin: 0px;"> that are always touring, </span>or
the revivals that keep popping back up again, those shows have legs for a
reason. It’s because they can take you out of your life, your body, even, and
transport you to another world where you can sing about racist puppets,
telekinetic children, suicide, AIDS, murder, religion, or any number of odd
things and it all makes perfect sense. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">(Though some shows age better than others. Go watch <i>West
Side Story</i> and try not to cringe. I listened to <i>Rent </i>recently and
realized that Benny, advocate of fair housing prices and new business is not
exactly a villain and that maybe the people singing about not paying rent in
the most expensive city in the world may be the actual villains instead.)
</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">You don’t even necessarily have to see it in a theater to
love a musical. I know its almost blasphemy to say a movie is better than the
original production (much like saying a book is better than a movie), but let’s
be clear – <i>Grease </i>is the word for a reason. It is a cultural touchstone
– to this day, you can still see Pink Ladies on Halloween. And Sandy’s carnival
ensemble, while completely impractical for anything excluding cat burglary, is
iconic. “Tell me about it, stud.” Come one, just reading that, you know exactly
how long to pause at that comma. And I bet every single person reading this
blog has seen <i>The Sound of Music </i>at least once. You all know who tried
to put Baby in a corner and why the Reverend doesn’t believe in dancing. And if
you say you don’t, then you are my husband, who for some reason, seemed to have
been raised in void of 80s and 90s pop culture. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black;">I have so many more shows to see. <i>Hamilton, </i>obviously.
I mean, I could sell my car for good seats, but then I’m not sure how I’d pay
for my divorce. Both my kids are obsessed with <i>In the Heights</i>, but the
only production I can find this year is playing three states away on a weekend
when we are already triple booked (yet, I’m still trying to figure out how to make
it work.) </span><span style="color: #1f497d; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black;">And while <i>Dear Evan Hansen </i>looks
phenomenal, I’m not sure I can deal with two hours of that particular subject
matter. For now, I’ll see whatever I can that come to Philly and raise my kids
on a steady diet of Lin-Manuel Miranda and Andrew Lloyd Webber and hope for the best. </span> </span></span></span></span></span></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-17408980266698058752018-01-05T18:56:00.000-05:002018-01-05T18:56:58.552-05:00The B is Back
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ve abstained from blogging for a very long time. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">A year and a half, to be exact. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not for a
lack of anything to say – ask my husband, I have not stopped talking. It was
more like no one wanting to hear it. Not personally. Nationally. It’s hard to
knock celebrity award shows when the Hollywood Advent Pervert Calendar is a
living, breathing thing. It’s hard to blog when anything longer than two
paragraphs is now considered a “long form” article because Twitter has
condensed all of our thoughts into a character count. I’m not a mommy blog. I’m
not a political activist, armchair sports analysist, or anyone particular with
anything in particular to say. And after the last two years of politics, first
the endless election cycle then living through year one of the Mad King,
snarking about pop culture seemed as useful as dancing about
architecture. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Who cares what I think about a fictional female Doctor when
actual health care is being turned on its head? Who cares about what books I
read while the constitution is trod upon? How many posts did I think about,
even write about, only to toss when something of actual value happened in the
world? Reading the room meant realizing that the Internet had gone mean and
rabid. The meek we had always hoped would inherit the earth turned into trolls
who tried to destroy it. Being a woman with an opinion meant opening myself to
being called words that even Carlin didn’t use on television. Was it worth it?
Was posting something dumb and goofy that maybe 10 people would read on a good
day a valuable use of my ever-diminishing “free time”? Was I just shouting into
a hurricane, throat hoarse, unable to be heard? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dunno. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">However, what I do know is that I missed it. A lot. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;">I am a
much better writer than speaker. When I talk, I tend toward aphasia. I will
stop mid-sentence, while the word I was about to say pops like a bubble out of
existence. I try to remember the word and I have to get the shape of it, the
sound of it, even the length of it correct before it will pop back into the
sentence where it belongs. I say “um” and “ah” a lot. My vocabulary is limited. But
when I write – well, the words flow much faster and have more meaning. I’m not
saying I’m Shakespeare, but I’m not two monkeys banging on a keyboard either. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;">If you
want to read what I have to say, that’s fantastic. If you don’t, I understand
that too. It’s all good. I won’t take it personally. But I don’t just want to write
it, I want to talk about it. I want comments, questions, I want a discussion. I
want to remember what it felt like to talk about anything other than politics,
climate change, and gross men doing gross things to women. I don't want to bring sexy back (and I'd really rather send Justin Timberlake away), but I want to remember what it feels like to write something on a regular basis that amuses, entertains, or interests people. Maybe I'll find an audience. Maybe a black hole symbolizing a complete lack of interest. Who knows? </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;">Let's find out together. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
</div>
</span><div style="margin: 0px 0px 11px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-86997027507476758502016-09-16T17:21:00.002-04:002016-09-16T17:22:26.191-04:00Death by Dander<div class="MsoNormal">
So I decided to commit murder this week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, admitting it outright on the Internet seems like a
poor way to set up an alibi, but in my defense, I don’t actually think anyone
is really going to die. The victim may be a bit stuffy, and maybe get a bit
wheezy, but in general, a handful of over-the-counter meds and a strong door
lock will probably be all the protection necessary to survive and live a long
and healthy life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whom am I trying to kill? My husband. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why am I trying to kill him? My children asked me too. My
son has spent years asking me in more roundabout ways and then actually spent
quite a bit of time online researching the different ways in which my husband
could be killed. My daughter doubled down and said that if her brother could
kill Daddy, then she wanted to do it too. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How am I trying to kill him? Slowly. Very slowly. One day at
a time, a little bit by little bit so that he barely even notices. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where will the crime take place? At home. Less fuss and muss
and much easier to clean up in the quiet of the night. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is the murder weapon? Cats. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, my friends, I am killing my husband with cats. Two of
them. And yes, getting pets when you have a family member who is allergic may
seem like cruel and unusual punishment – but it’s not like I slipped them in
through the back door when he wasn’t looking. There were multiple conversations
about why we were getting pets, who was going to look after the pets, and what
we were going to name the pets. I was firm that there would be two of them because
I think it is mean to have a singular pet. Everyone should have someone to
cuddle with and pets are no exception. Plus, I have two kids, so one for each. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, the names took the longest time. My husband wanted
Starsky and Hutch. I wanted Statler and Waldorf. My son wanted Luke and Leia
and my daughter wanted Xander and Willow. Multiple Hamilton characters were
paired together. Peanut Butter and Jelly was rejected outright but Chewie and
Han had some legs. For a short period of time, I was convinced Sparks McGee and
Fluffer Nutter were the winning combo. Farty McFartFace was considered, but no
one could come up with comparable joke for the second cat. Finally, one day on
vacation in the Pocono mountains, while riding a boat around Lake Wallenpaupak,
my brother-in-law had enough. “What about Kipp and Epply?” he asked. For those
unfamiliar that would be two out of the three islands on the very lake on which
we rocked. “Humph.” My entire family sat, stunned with the ease at which the
answer had been presented. Winner! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, one hot Saturday, I took Bubbles with me to the local
Petco, where they present shelter animals for adoption. We were going to
preview the selection so that the kids didn’t fall in love with something that
bit or spit or had an extra tail or a gunshot wound. (You laugh, but my mother
has brought home animals that fit those descriptions not once but three times.)
And there, just waiting for us, were the atrociously named Mother Hen and Love
Chicken. Some people really don’t take naming seriously. I dutifully filled out
a questionnaire with such suspicious questions as “How do you discipline a cat?”
and “Where will your cat sleep?” I wrote my best guesses (You don’t and wherever
it wants), paid the nominal fee, and within an hour was the new servant of two cat
masters. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother was prouder of the cat adoptions than she was the
birth of her grandchildren. She has already given me cat beds, cat blankets,
cat food, cat litter, cat magazines, cat books, cat calendars, and cat grooming
supplies. The kids argued over who got to sleep with the cats until they
realized cats are nocturnal and “sleep” was an adjective that does not describe
listening to two kamikaze kittens race around the room knocking everything
over, jumping up and down all night long and essentially behaving like crack
addicts. My husband has already been spotting trying to get the damn things to
sleep on his chest and I have amused myself by getting them bags of Halloween
toys from the dollar store. There really is nothing like watching a cat roll
blood-shot eyeballs around the floor to get into the holiday spirit. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cats seem to appreciate their new home. There was little
to no period of adjustment. From the moment we let them out of the cat carrier,
they have followed us around the house happily. While they aren’t quite lap
cats, they are lap-adjacent. Kipp, the three-month old kitten enjoys the rocket
approach to locomotion and is already being referred to as the Sniper, as he is
able to silently smack right into your ankles like a furry bullet when you
least expect it. He’s a fast little beast and as he is too young for a collar,
enjoys stealth maneuvers. Epply has a bell on her collar, which makes her easy to
hear, but she also is the more vocal of the two and likes to meow or purr for
attention. They also seem to be able to either pick locks or walk through walls
because we keep closing bedroom doors at night and keep finding them inside the
closed rooms come morning. Last night, I awoke to find a cat purring happily
three inches from my face. The marital bedroom was supposed to be cat-free. No
fur. No dander. No middle of the night barfing or coughing up of hairballs. An
allergen-free space where my husband could breathe freely. But no, there was
Eppily taking a bath right between the two of us while her son kept falling off
the windowsills with loud crashes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So yes, technically, getting cats with an allergic husband
is probably not the best way to show my love for him. But it could be worse. I
could have gotten a dog. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-9277167224425843102016-08-05T16:54:00.004-04:002016-08-05T16:54:59.905-04:00Breaking the Curse <div class="MsoNormal">
I just finished reading <i>Harry
Potter and the Cursed Child</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t like it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It actually breaks my heart to say that. I think J.K.
Rowling is a master storyteller. I just think no one needed to tell this
particular story.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I monologue about the current book, let me touch upon
the series as a whole. Mistakes were made; the biggest mistake being the final
chapter of the final book. Albus Severus is a dumb name. Does Ginny not have
any dead family member she could have memorialized (cough Fred cough)? Couldn’t
they have given them middle names that were family-based and allowed them the
freedom to be their own people with original first names? I always felt that
Harry should have understood that. I also think killing Fred was an enormous
mistake. A far better story arc would have been killing Percy, newly returned
to the family. His sacrifice, for the brothers who distrusted him the most,
would have absolved him of all his sins. Instead, he comes back in the nick of
time to watch Fred die in the most unflattering way possible. It is the most
unnecessary death in the series. I’d even sub in Arthur Weasley – at least he
would have died protecting his family and Molly had proven that she was more
than strong enough to carry on without him, even though his loss would have
broken her heart. Her sons, including the newly returned Percy, would have
rallied around her admirably. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, here we are, 17 years later once again and I’m still
not happy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The play reads like fan fiction. There, I said it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
HERE THERE BE SPOILERS.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
BIG.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
HONKING.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
SPOILERS.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The big bad is Voldemort’s daughter? Really? REALLY? What is
this, a Spanish telenova? Did Voldemort seem like he was the type to take
lovers? Even with Bellatrix basically throwing herself on his wand, I’m pretty
sure his phoenix feather was not rising to the occasion. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The problem with having children grow up is that all the
wonders of childhood have to fade away in the face of cold, hard reality. I
like to believe that after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry hid away in 12
Grimmauld Place with Kreacher to come to grips with all that he had survived.
I’ll stipulate that he did eventually become an Auror, but only after trying a
few other paths first. I believe that Hermione would have gotten hired into the
Ministry of Magic version of the mailroom and feverishly worked her way up to
the top. And I agree with the fact that Harry and Ginny would have gotten
married. But Ron and Hermione? Not so much. Sure, they would have dated, but
her insane drive to succeed would have been at odds with his working at Weasley
Wizard Wheezes, helping to fill the Fred-shaped hole in George’s life (which
should be a Percy-shaped hole, but I digress.) I think they would have
eventually broken up, had an awkward patch, and then returned to being good
friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Basically, they would have become adults in a world that was
peaceful and quiet. No bad guys to fight. While Dark Magic still existed, it
would have been the type that Harry could hunt down during work hours and still
be home in time for evening tea. In short, they would grew up to be boring. And
that’s okay. They lived happily ever after. After seven books, eight movies,
and countless pages on Pottermore, I think they earned that much. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But now, I have to live in a world where the delicate
father/son relationship enjoyed by Harry and Dumbledore becomes overbaked,
overdone, and overly dramatic. We had hundreds of pages to mourn Cedric
Diggory. We did not need another story based around a character that was best
memorialized as being “the spare.” He really wasn’t that interesting the first
time around and proves to be even less so as a MacGuffin. All these years, all
the ideas she could have turned into stories and this is the one Rowling chose?
Dumbledore wept. (Oh yes, in this book Dumbledore is so akin to a god that his
name is used as one. Kill me now.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By far the largest disappointment is that this is a play and
not a book. What made the entire series so wonderful were all the details. The
books were rich bowls of cream that needed to be savored because there were so
many small ingredients that added to the story. The play is soy milk. It will
substitute in a pinch, but no one ever really craves it. They just drink it because
it’s the only thing left in the fridge. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Details that are missing include, say, the rest of the
goddamn Potter children! This is Hogwarts! Any fan can name a handful of minor
characters off the top of their heads. Superfans, like my nutter of a daughter,
can name dozens and show you how their minor actions, reactions, and behaviors
added to the overall story in some way. In the play, we get mention of James
and Lily Potter with a few throwaway lines, but little more. And where are all
the cousins? Friends of the family, such as Teddy and Victoire? I realize I
sound ridiculous here, but a man they refer to as Uncle Neville is a professor
at the school and he doesn’t even get a line. NOT ONE LINE! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
May I be super nitpicky for a moment? Why is there still
even a Slytherin house? Every single bad wizard or witch came out of Slytherin.
During the Battle of Hogwarts, the entire house was sent away because they
couldn’t be trusted. Voldemort was the heir of Slytherin! Just sort people in
three houses and be done with it. Get rid of the common room and turn it into a
pool. Or rename it and try to give it a new reputation. But the whole concept
of the (stupidly named) Potter child being put into the (stupidly) still
existing Slythering is, let’s be crystal clear, stupid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, my daughter wanted to know if Albus and Scorpius were
gay. Um, maybe? Or not? There was definitely subtext, but not any plain text,
so I said I wasn’t sure, but for now they are just really good friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hope now that Rowling has gotten the Potter universe out
of her system for good and can move on to make good art that focuses on
different mediums. While her Robert Galbraith books aren’t perfect, I am
looking forward to the next one and <i>Fantastic
Beasts and Where to Find Them</i> looks like a lot of fun. Until then, I hope
that she leaves well enough alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-1173072618400969822016-07-29T14:55:00.001-04:002016-07-29T14:55:47.169-04:00And the Thunder Rolls <div class="MsoNormal">
I just wanted to let you all know that the nominations for
Parent of the Year are no longer necessary and that I am, without dispute, the
hands-down winner of that most dubious award. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whatever dumb shit you did, said, or attempted in the
Olympic marathon that is parenting will pale in comparison to what I did to my
daughter this week. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I sent her to sleep away camp. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh sure, it’s good for her. It teachers her independence and
bravery, forces her to make friends and try new things, and according to a new
article published this week, will actually help her earn higher scores on her
SATs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me set the scene for you. My daughter refuses to open
her bedroom windows. Ever. No matter the temperature, the weather forecast, and
the time of year, she will not yield. If we open the windows while she is
sleeping, she will most assuredly wake up and close them again. The sounds of
nature are blocked at all costs. Not only does she have a fan to create white
noise, but she also plays music all night long on top of it. As an infant in
her crib, the very first thing she learned how to do was to smack her fat
little foot into the music box attached to the slats to make it play. We could
hear through the baby monitor every time she awoke because it was always
followed by music. To this day, she has never slept without some form of music
playing, whether it was a lullaby on repeat or Kidz Bop on her iPod.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sound of the sea against the sand? The lake water
lapping at the dock? Hates it. Rain pattering against the windows? Hates. It. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My daughter is deathly afraid of thunderstorms. She panics
at the first sign of dark clouds and will start to cry at the first roll of
thunder. If we are home, then she can stay relatively calm, but will opt to
sleep under her brother’s bunk bed because she is worried about trees falling
on her head. This is a kid who must see the weather report before any outdoor
activity. In our house, our favorite weather people are spoken about as if they
are our closest friends. “What did Adam [Joseph] say today?” Or, “What did JC
[Severe Weather NJ] post?” I have multiple weather apps on my phone and when a
storm approaches, my phone practically explodes with vibrations, noises, and
alerts as multiple news outlets provide up-to-the moment updates on lightning
strikes, rain levels, etc. We have found that knowing ahead of time helps her
control her fear, because it allows her to control her location. Otherwise, she
becomes the textbook example of a panic attack. Think I am exaggerating, feel
free to ask any of my friends and family who have witnessed her losing her ever
loving mind when a storm approaches. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How does this lead into my Parent of the Year award?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because she spent her first night of camp out in the open
while a thunderstorm raged around her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could not possibly have created a worse set of
circumstances for her if I tried. When we took the tour of camp, and even when
we dropped her off, the tent looked perfectly acceptable. Hot as hell, but I
assumed there was some sort of flap that came up or down to allow air to enter.
Well, I was right, in a way, in that the ENTIRE tent basically is lifted up and
away so that the structure consists of nothing more than a ceiling, four poles,
and a few beds covered in mosquito netting. Just going to sleep in that must
have been an act of courage. The sounds of all those leaves, and animals, and
wind must have been torture for her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, in the middle of the night, when she had probably
finally fallen into some sort of exhausted slumber, the first rumble of thunder
hit. My daughter has superb hearing. Whisper the word “cookie” and she will
come running from three rooms away. Say her name and she appears, like Voldemort,
because she is desperately nosy and must always know what is being said about
her. So trust me when I say that that when God knocked down a pin in his cosmic
bowling game, my kid was wide awake. Out in the open. Surrounded by strangers.
In the middle of a thunderstorm that she was not even aware was coming. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m honestly surprised I didn’t get a call at 4am asking us
to come get her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the second storm moved in 18 hours later, at the end of
what must have been a very long first day, my husband and I watched the radar
like it was our job. Was it going to hit her location? Sadly, the answer was
yes. This time, the girls were all safely ensconced in the dining hall having a
dance party. But they still had to walk back to their tents afterward, the
pathways all mud and puddles, the bugs out in full force, using flashlights and
head lamps to light the way. To go to sleep in a stifling tent, with
absolutely no air flow, with wet feet and pants bottoms, hoping that yet
ANOTHER storm didn’t rear its ugly head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And still no phone call. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See, the problem with the camps is that we can see her and
contact her, but she can’t do the same to us. I can stalk her on camp Facebook
page, which regularly posts pictures, and I can send her a daily e-mail that is
printed out for her to read, but she cannot reply. I have no idea how she is
holding up this week. I found out about the “floating tents” via Facebook. Did
she enjoy getting chased by a counselor in a dragon costume? Or being
blindfolded while she tried to untie a stuffed animal from a pole? Does she
like making dragon snot? It’s all a mystery. I can follow what she is doing,
but have no idea what she is thinking. The only thing I know is that she is
still alive and even that is suspect since I haven’t seen her in any pictures
since Wednesday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She comes home today after another night of rain. Either she
is cured of her fear or she will never go outside again. Regardless of which
way the wind blows (as it were), I’m pretty sure her therapy bills for this
week alone will rival those of her college tuition. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ll take my trophy now, thank you very much. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-6177763127957416782016-07-22T16:52:00.001-04:002016-07-22T16:52:26.158-04:00Adventure of a Lifetime<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m too old for this shit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is what I said to myself as I unlocked my front door at
5am on a Monday morning after staying out all night at a concert. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubbles and Boobs were going to set out on yet another
adventure. We couldn’t acquire tickets to Coldplay, her favorite band when they
played in Philly, a stone’s throw from our homes, but she was able to get us
two tickets for the Meadowlands up in North Jersey. (I refuse to call it Met
Life Stadium. There is no romance in bank-named locations.) Worried about the
traffic in that area, we decided to take the train. Drive 45 minutes to the
train, ride for almost two hours, transfer trains, ride another 20 minutes and
viola – we have arrived. We did, however, find it troubling that no one was on
the trains with us. I mean, this was a sold out concert in a stadium that
easily holds 50,000 people (that is lowballing the 82,000 max capacity due to
certain sections being closed because they were behind the stage.) And the
train from Secaucus to the Meadowlands was empty. Weird, right?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upon exiting, we turn to the conductor and ask, “Coldplay is
tonight, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This man turned to us and says, “No, that was last night and
tomorrow night. Tonight is soccer."<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dead. Silence.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubbles looks at me. I look at her. The conductor looks at
both of us like we are idiots. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really?” I ask, in a dumbfounded, oh shit, voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nah.” He says, cracking himself up. Bastard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turns out, we were just really early and most people don’t
show up ‘til right before the big act hits the stage. Upon arriving at
security, the friendly guard checked our ticket. His face dropped. He looked at
me and said, “This ticket is for last night’s show.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really?” I ask, in a dumbfounded, oh shit, voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He turns to the guard standing next to him. “Check it out.”
She nods, turns to us and says, “This ticket says the 16<sup>th</sup>. You had
tickets for last night’s show.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“REALLY?” Bubbles and I ask in unison.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nah.” They laugh, cracking themselves up. Bastards. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there we were, four hours early, in 100-degree heat, with
the average bottle of water going for $5 and seats five rows from the top. We
were the concert equivalent of the early bird special. We were, in short, old.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We made do by making fun of other people. Yup. I’m like
that. Never fear, body shapes themselves were off limits. I have no right to
make fun of anyone on that score. But clothing choices? Totally up for mockery.
Harem pants. A guy in a monkey outfit. Rompers! (Bubbles was for, I was
against.) Women in super high heels were perplexing to us, as were the men in
jeans and long-sleeves. (Much later in the evening, spied with our exhausted
eyes a woman wearing a full length winter puffy coat. With sandals.)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eventually, we scaled the stairs and made it to our perch.
The show itself was fantastic. Bubbles is a huge fan, I am a casual fan, and
both of us were very pleased with what we saw. I don’t know much about Chris
Martin, but the man is in phenomenal shape. He ran up and down that stadium
floor as if it were inches instead of yards, without every missing a beat in
his songs. Every attendee was given wristbands that acted like coordinated glow
sticks throughout the night. Michael J. Fox showed up to play Johnny B. Goode
on the guitar and it was phenomenal. Overall, a great show. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then we had to get home.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All those people we were worried weren’t on our train
earlier? Yeah, we found them all. And then some. And then some more. Tens of
thousands of people were herded like cattle into a huge pen to try to get on
the train out of the Meadowlands. According to the crowd, we were actually
experiencing the best case scenario in that we weren’t surrounded by tens of
thousands of angry, drunk, freezing cold football fans but instead, mellow
Millennial concert-goers. But it was hot, sticky, smelly, and chaotic. I
reached a new level of friendship with Bubbles as we decided holding hands was
really the only way to ensure we didn’t get separated. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Almost two hours after the concert ended, we finally made it
to Secaucus. Thirty. Hungry. Sweaty. An hour after that, our train to Hamilton
finally arrived. Still thirty. Still hungry. Even sweatier. Two hours after
that, we finally arrived in Hamilton. I downed a bottle of hot water like it
was a gift from God. After another 45 minutes of driving, we arrived in our
town and into the only diner open at that ungodly hour. We snarfed down turkey
clubs, drank copious amounts of liquids, and tried to ignore the episode of Law
& Order screaming at us from the TV. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, as the sun started to rise in the sky, I made my
way into my house, into a hot shower, and into my bed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bubbles, the valiant warrior, actually made it through an
entire day of parenting on two hours of sleep. I slept through til lunch and just
hoped the kids didn’t kill each other while I snored. It was a long night, a
great concert and a phenomenal story. But seriously, I’m way too old to do that
again any time soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-89879619164330006942016-07-15T17:42:00.000-04:002016-07-15T17:42:13.314-04:00The Room Where It Happened<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe that many people underestimate the necessity of
being able to read a room. My mother,
famously, is unable to do so. For example, the day I delivered my second child,
I was in really bad shape. Not good. Dicey, I’d even go so far as to say. My
son was whisked to the baby nursey while I stayed in recovery for a very long
time. To this day, my husband and I do not know the length of time between delivering
my son and actually meeting him for the first time and our best guess is
several hours. I tell this part of the story not for sympathy, but to set the
scene. So, I’m finally, finally being wheeled into a room. Finally, finally, I’m
going to see the tiny little being that I made. My husband was walking
alongside the gurney and my parents are hovering outside the door of the hospital
room. I look like Death has come knocking and may still be lingering to see if
anyone is home. (My MIL had a picture of me taken about an hour later, so trust
me when I say, the only thing missing from my ensemble was a toe tag.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as I am being wheeled past, my mother turns to my
husband, and says, “So, how’s work?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honest to God, that actually happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Internet is the room right now and the tone of it is
hurt, sad, vengeful, and stupid. While my goal is to write a weekly blog that
is entertaining, there aren’t a lot of laughs in the world right now. Every day,
there is another terrorist attack, another shooting, another Trump story. We
are splitting hairs over which lives matter most, who counts as a good guy vs.
a bad guy, and what is actually a weapon. Let me give you a hint about that last
one – if it can kill you, then it is a weapon. If you are using it to kill
someone else, then it is a weapon. Good? Good. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every time a celebrity dies, the world rushes as one to
social media to be the first to say rest in peace. Now we are rushing to offer
our thoughts and prayers. To what end? We are all, in some way, affected by the
tragedies buffeting our nation and our world right now. I have never been to
France, but I’ve been to Virginia Tech. We all bemoan what is happening, but
what the hell are we doing about it? And if your answer is playing Pokemon Go,
then good for you. If your answer is doing anything that involves being loving
and kind and wonderful to the human race, then good for you. You are part of
the solution. But if you are the dipshit coming up with hateful memes and
splitting hairs about which guns, exactly, are the ones doing the shooting,
then you, sir or madam, may go to Hell. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want to talk about my severe case of Hamilaria. Or how my
youngest SIL is trying to kill my husband with a kitten named Yoda. Or how I
have embraced the concept of taking the summer off of errands and activities so
much that my kids have dubbed me “Summer Mommy” and say I am much more fun than
the regular one. I want to be lighthearted and silly, but it would be like
introducing a fart joke into the Scottish play. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, please, for the love of all things holey and stinky, can
we PLEASE go a week without flying a flag at half-mast? I really want to put my
happy pants on again. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-90818989770417110762016-07-07T17:42:00.001-04:002016-07-07T17:42:21.704-04:00I'd Build a Tree Fort In Our Yard<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Once again, the Mega Millions is up to the absurd
amount of half a billion dollars. This is an amount of money no one on earth
actually needs unless they are single-handedly funding a space program or
buying a small island country badly in need of infrastructure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Asking people what they would do if they won such a
large sum is one of my favorite questions. I actually did a Facebook poll once
and someone answered, "Stonehenge." Here I thought I was being
frivolous buying a Burberry purse, but no, he was going to buy one of the wonders
of the world. He won. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">After thinking it over obsessively for several years (whenever
a big jackpot is up for grabs), this is what I think you should do if you win.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">For starters, buy the ticket in one of those tiny
corner stores that still exist in this country. They get a monetary prize for
selling the ticket and I’d much rather see that money go to some hard-working
individual just trying to run a business than a billion-dollar corporation that
sells bucket-sized beverages. The other bonus of a mom and pop joint is that
they don’t tend to have security cameras. The computer system that spits out
the tickets knows the exact date, time, and location that ticket was sold.
Match that to security footage and suddenly, grainy photos of your clueless mug
are being circulated on YouTube before you even had time to check your numbers.
It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Next, call a lawyer and a financial planner. I'm lucky
enough to know a few of each, and my hope is that since we are personal friends
first, and my windfall, through fees, would become their windfall, that honesty
would prevail. The signed ticket itself would have already gone into a secure
safety deposit box in a random bank in a random town. Once you get all the
legal details squared away, then wait. Every lottery system allows for a
certain number of days to pass before you legally have to claim your winnings.
Wait until the last Friday afternoon of that period of time. Much like
celebrities announcing their divorces, the goal would be to bury the news story
amid the mid-afternoon haze of weekend travel updates and weather reports. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Then, decide how you will take the payout. I would
prefer to take the long-term installment plan to both get more money and to
avoid any possibility of spending it all at once. I realize that many prefer
the big buy-out, theorizing that they could manage their own money better, but
if they were such adept money managers, they wouldn't need to win the jackpot in
the first place. As time and history has proven over and over again, money does
not buy class, taste, or intelligence. I like the idea of a big fat check
getting deposited into my account on a yearly basis. It is an excellent life
insurance policy as winnings do not automatically go to next of kin and my kids
would need me alive to keep the money coming. Either way, I would wind up with
more money than God, and really, what does he even need to buy? Even a yearly
payment would allow for Scrooge McDuck-style shenanigans (though why anyone
would want to roll around naked in something as dirty as money is a mystery.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Then what? I say reboot and reset. Pay off all your
debts. House, car, loans, school, bookies, etc. I have heard that it is better
to keep your mortgage as a tax write-off, but that seems like a lot more work
and allows for banks to collect a shit ton of interest, so I’ll skip that and
just own my property outright. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh, and let me be clear. All of this must be done in
absolutely secrecy. Don’t post it, tweet it, or breathe a word about it to
anyone excluding the people who will help you make the financial decisions.
Telling even one person will be the equivalent of just having a few friends
over when your parents are away. Suddenly, you are in the midst of a raging
kegger except instead of reaching for a beer, people will be reaching for your
Benjamins. Lottery winnings are found money. You don’t earn a winning ticket,
which means everyone and their step brother’s half-sister’s cousin
twice-removed on your grandfather’s side will expect a piece of the pie. This
isn’t a credit card commercial. Every friend, casual acquaintance, one-night
stand, and barista at your local coffee shop doesn’t need to know what’s in
your wallet. The free mug or t-shirt you get from being a guest on the morning
news programs or afternoon talk shows will cost you millions in lawyer fees as
you suddenly make yourself a target for every con man in the country. Is
meeting a B-list celebrity in the green room really worth it? Doubtful. This
may be the biggest, most important secret of your life. Keep it! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If you have to go public, do it strategically. Once
again, timing is key. Wait as long as humanly possible. Provide as little
information as allowed by law. You don’t want bells, whistles, or giant checks
that don’t even fit through the door. You don’t need an agent or a manager or
head shots. You need to keep your head down and your mouth shut. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Once you are in possession of more money you will ever
need, sit on it. BUY NOTHING. Say your car dies. Buy the Mitsubishi instead of
the Maybach. Short on bathrooms and storage space? Buy the bigger house, avoid
the biggest mansion. Take small baby steps in spending so that, God forbid, if
you are like 70 percent of lottery winners and blow through all your money in a
few years, at least you’ll have the basic building blocks of your life still
firmly in place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">You don’t need to rent out Disneyworld. Really. You
don’t. Sure, spend the money on first-class airfare, the best hotel, book the
tour guide that gets you to the front of all the lines, eat in the best
restaurants, and buy all the souvenirs. This is true for any vacation; turn the
dial to eleven, but don’t change the channel. I have always wanted to stay in
one of those small, high-end, super classy hotels that go for thousands per
night and have the best rooms, views, and amenities. However, I’m not high end
or super classy and all the money in the world isn’t going to make me so. This
is why I advise living the best version of your own life, and skip trying to
live the life of someone who looks like you, but has a bigger bank account. I
just want to up my threat count, not wake up in someone else’s bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Finally, after a year, when you have taken plenty of
time to really think about what you want out of your life, start spending the
money. Wisely. Slowly. If you can’t say no to friends and family over something
as simple as who will host a holiday, then hire a group of trusted advisors,
create a board of directors, and let them sort through the long line of
charities, entrepreneurs, and charlatans looking for a benefactor, angel
investor, and sucker. You were just given the opportunity to change your life
and those around you – don’t ruin it. I’m not saying don’t enjoy your money,
but I am saying that don’t lose your mind doing so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In short, buy the purse. Just tell everyone it’s a
knock-off. And if you do find yourself in possession of one of wonders of the
world, don’t brag about it on Facebook. You’ll just look like an asshole. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-21384308052809423122016-07-01T15:44:00.000-04:002016-07-01T15:44:00.321-04:00Excuse Me While I Stop and Catch My Breath<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am a very lucky woman. God granted me two healthy and
hardy children. They are emotionally, intellectually, and physically fit. They
are well nourished and socially adept. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Both my husband and I am employed full time in jobs that
allow us to maintain a solidly middle-class lifestyle without destroying our
souls.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our extended families are stable. We live in a safe
neighborhood, with good schools, and are surrounded by a network of friends
that are supportive and wonderful. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We live good lives. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now that I have solidly covered my bases so that the gods do
not strike me down, and you understand that I do realize how incredibly lucky I
am to live my life, I am going to complain about it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I am not quite ahead of the game of life, I am at
least able to keep pace. These last few months, not only have I fallen behind,
I feel like I fell off the board entirely. This last year just kicked my ass.
Instead of walking the line, I was holding onto the edge of it with my
fingertips. There were entire weeks where at least one if not all four family
members were not walking into the house until 8:30 pm, and of course, some
still needed to be fed, or showered, or had leftover work to do. Our calendar
app ruled our movements. My husband and I did not have conversations as much as
we had short, informative meetings every morning where we discussed our
schedules while brushing hair and putting on socks. Our evening entertainment
was seeing who fell asleep first on the couch during whatever mindless
television show we switched on in the background to help us switch off our
brains. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I only have two kids. I only work until 2pm in a
family-friendly company. I am happily married to a husband who is an active
partner in raising our children. So, when I say that I felt like I was
flailing, let me be clear in that I salute every single one of you who have
moved beyond man-to-man coverage and have more kids than free hands. I salute
every single one of you who are still in meeting when the kids are supposed to
be on the various fields. Parents who face the choice of missing a school event
or missing a paycheck, parents who are doing it on their own, and parents
who have so much more to worry about than whether or not the kid will make the
playoffs. While the media often plays up the “Mommy Wars” and tries to pit
those of who “work” vs. those who don’t, I think we are all comrades in the
same trenches. And I spent the last few months fighting for my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think the difference this year is that there was a domino
effect to every choice. If homework wasn’t done on time, then dinner wasn’t
consumed quickly enough, then we were running late to point A, which made us
late to point B, etc. Activities started earlier. Instead of playing and
relaxing in the early afternoon, the kids were already prepping for the next
event while I was already cooking dinner. How anyone can eat a full meal at
4:30 in the afternoon is a mystery that I am well on my way to solving because
the alternative is eating at 9 at night and that way lies madness. The kids
weren’t getting the downtime they needed to reboot, I was running on empty, and
my husband was just running, trying to make it to the baseball game or dance
pick up, or home in time for me to head out to a meeting. At least once, we
high fived from our car windows, as one pulled in while the other rolled out.
We discovered that the kids could be left alone in the house together for the
short periods of time between when I had to be somewhere and he hadn’t quite
made it home yet. We divided and conquered on weekends, usually splitting the
family along gender lines for birthday parties and practices, competitions and
games. We learned how to outsource – hiring a bi-monthly cleaning person,
paying a caterer for my son’s First Communion party, using our Amazon Prime
membership so much I expect the drivers know our address by heart. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last week of school was also the last week of
extracurricular activities. As I was just getting ready to take my first deep
breath of summer, my car broke down. My last social engagement of the year was
a freezer meal workshop where I was so mentally, physically, and emotionally
fried that I spent the entire evening laughing inappropriately, mixing up all
of the ingredients, and so heartily screwing up the meal-making process so much
that I am pretty sure I have been black-listed from Tastefully Simple for life.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I bet you all have similar stories. Yours may include travel, or illness, elder
care or newborns. Mine isn’t going to change anytime soon. As the kids age,
their extracurricular activities will increase as they get more homework, as
they add on practices, as they spend more time with friends. The longer you
work for a company, the more work you tend to take on so that bucket isn’t
emptying anytime soon. I still want to go out with friends, to volunteer, to be
active in my church, school, and community. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what gives? What am I going to do differently this year
that I didn’t do last year? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Breathe. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am going to breathe. I am going to get off the internal
guilt-ridden roller coaster of always putting aside what we want for what we
need. I am going to try to look at the clock less and the sky more. Sure, life
is going to get busier, but I need to enjoy the smaller moments within the
bigger rush so that I actually enjoy my life instead of just survive it. There
are always going to be errands that need to be run. Zombies probably still have
errands (they just do them in slow motion). There will always be a book on the
shelf, a shelf that needs to be rearranged, and arrangements that need to be
made. I’ve already heard from people whose kids are long grown that I will miss
these days of frenetic energy and they aren’t wrong. So for now, let’s all take
a deep breath together and go down this rabbit hole with a smile. You never
know what might be on the other side. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-65680882622659407002016-06-24T07:27:00.000-04:002016-06-24T14:34:19.299-04:00Make it Work!<div class="MsoNormal">
Every now and then, my beloved SIL sends me links that will
amuse me. This one has been sitting in my inbox for a while, and I finally
poked around on the site. It’s a clothing site. My youngest SIL has a fashion
sense I would call “clothing.” She wears them. That’s about the end of it. She doesn’t
look unkempt or fashionable. She doesn’t care either way. She’s got two young
kids, a full time job, and not enough interest or time to care about clothing
other than to ensure all her parts are covered appropriately. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, when she sends me links to clothing, I know she doesn’t
just want me to see an ironic t-shirt or a cute pair of shoes. She wants me to
witness greatness. For example, picture a pair of leggings. Now take a pair
of scissors and carefully cut the material from the knee up to about an inch
below bikini line. Remove. This leaves you with a Daisy Duke-style shorts that
are connected by a suspender to thigh-high tights, but all in the same cheap
material. Sexy, eh? They essentially cut every woman at the exact worst point
in their bodies, emphasizing all the meaty, jiggly, cellulose-ridden bits of
thigh in patterns that are eye-catching only in that one look is all you will
ever need. The official product title is “garter tights suspender leggings” but
they are really nothing more than leg warmers with a pair of attached granny
panties. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The same purveyor of clothing has other items that are
equally baffling. There are velvet leggings with the knees cut out – the perfect
pants for a lyrical interpretation of that 90s tune “Semi-Charmed Life.” There
are also white lace leggings for the white trash wedding of your dreams. Truly,
this website is a gift that keeps on giving. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you want a skin tight, super short dress covered in
oversized pictures of prescription medicine? For the body conscious drug addict
in your life, it is the perfect gift for the bargain price of $12.29. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you want to look like you are molting? Melting? Shedding?
They have dresses that suit all of your needs. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How about a mono-kini? Which, in other words, is just a
one-piece bathing suit cut all the way down to the belly button. Those tan
lines have got to be interesting the next day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you need a floral romper? The description alone is
terrifying. The picture of a woman who looks like she is slowly being eaten
alive by plants is even more so. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you want to wear what looks like a perfectly normal tunic
dress until you turn sideways and realize that the seams have never been closed
and that you are totally nekkid from the waist down? The model in this picture
is styled with thigh-high boots, but no underwear. I don’t understand clothing
that feels the need to air out naughty bits but cover knees and elbows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How about a nude, netted bathing suit with bright yellow
patches covering just your nipples and vagina, that is also, inexplicably cut
like granny panties? Why use so much material to cover so little? It’s a
mystery.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The strangest thing about this website is not that everything
on it is cheap and vulgar; no, the strange thing is that there are actual
lovely items of clothing for sale. It’s almost like perusing a junk shop and
coming across Aladdin’s Lamp. Totally normal track pants are pictured next to
sheer lingerie. A business ready pencil skirt is next to harem pants! From the
clubhouse to da’ club, this site has just about everything and it is so random.
Who is the target audience? What is their key demographic? Where are they
wearing these garments? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also a mystery, the person who is in charge of photography. There
is a picture of a woman with a square waist. The fact that she is wearing an
American flag bandeau top is less perplexing than the fact that she seems to be
made of Lego. The models are almost all cut-off right above the chin. Not the
neck, which would make sense, but ¼ of the way into their faces. My only guess
as to why this particular editorial choice was made would be to cut out the
guns that were being pointed at their heads in order to get them to put on the
clothing. There are a beguiling range of sizes on this site, sizes zero to plus
are all on display, but right next to each other! Totally flat-chested, with no
hips, but legs that go on for days? That model is right next to the one with
triple D’s, no waist, and hasn’t had a thigh gap since she was in diapers. I’d
like to think it is because the website is trying to show that all bodies are
beautiful, but I honestly think it is because the web designers are smoking
whatever the purchasing agents couldn’t finish. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t believe me? Go see for yourself. Share your favorite
fashion choices. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Behold: <a href="http://www.pinkqueen.com/">www.pinkqueen.com</a><o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-6314177730611492962016-06-17T14:34:00.003-04:002016-06-17T14:34:59.694-04:00Pause and Reset<br /><div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once my reading challenge was over, I took a break from
blogging. I felt like I was just another voice shouting into the wind. While
there were many topics I wanted to discuss, rant about, rave about, etc., I
wondered if, in this new toxic world of memes and ten-second judgments, if the
blog was as extinct as the magazine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I realized, “Who cares?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you don’t want to read it, don’t click on it. It’s just
that simple. Why should my voice be silenced? What do the pundits of Fox News
or the reality TV personalities or the hosts of the morning shows have on me?
I’m smart. I’m well read. I’m well educated. I have a healthy sense of reality,
a basic knowledge of politics, and an understanding of the human condition that
is as good as, or better than, the average talking head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Over the past few years, the 24/7 news cycle has become even
shorter. To steal directly from an Internet meme, last week, we were grieving
the loss of a Muslim and were terrified of the LGBT community. This week, we
are grieving the loss of life in the LBGT community and are terrified of
Muslims. Last month, a kid survived his interaction with a gorilla, so we
victimized the parents and lionized the animal. This month, a kid did not
survive his interaction with an alligator, so we victimized the animal and
lionized the parents. (Yes, I know an alligator is a reptile, but the symmetry
wouldn’t have worked as well.) There is no thoughtful conversation, long-form
debate, or reasoned discussion. There is just blame, hatred, racism, and
sexism. One woman is praised for calling out her rapist, another is blamed for
calling out her abusive husband. The pure joy of <i>Hamilton </i>is tempered by the debacle that is Trump. The line between
right and wrong, between good and evil is becoming one just massive gray space and
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m tired of all the anger. I’m tired of the sadness. When
my <i>Game of Thrones </i>discussion sub
group on Facebook is more reasoned and thoughtful in its response to book vs.
show plot points, then you know the rest of the world has lost the thread of
how to hold a conversation. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t want to be a troll. I don’t hate anyone because of
their religion, politics, or sexuality. I choose to like or dislike you based
entirely on how you behave as a human being and assholes come in all shapes and
sizes, colors and creeds. And if you don’t like that, that’s cool with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My goal is to post every Friday. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until then, let’s try not to have a reason to lower the
flags to half mast, shall we?P <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-63882120105760273002016-02-26T17:20:00.001-05:002016-02-26T17:20:09.535-05:00At the Movies<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m going to the movies tonight. All the movies. All
eight best picture nominees for this year. Does this mean that I am seeing the pinnacle
of filmmaking for 2016? Not by a long shot. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First off, I’m pretty sure that people of color, ALL colors,
did some damn fine acting this year. Don’t look for them on the Oscar ballot
though. They aren’t on there. None of them. This is what happens when old white
men who aren’t even required to see the movies, pick the movies. Weird, right? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Second, I’m pretty sure good movies were released all year
long. However, old white men have really short attention spans, so all the
Oscar contenders are released in December. So even though these movies and
performances are supposed to be unforgettable, movie studios release them all
at once, some of them only being released in a handful of theaters in NYC and
LA just to qualify. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Third, don’t be fooled by some movie just seeming to catch
the attention of the critics and sailing away on a flood of nominations. From
the very beginning of the project, some movies are considered Oscar bait.
Actors are given scripts encouraged to take on the role because it will get
them an Oscar. Same for directors. Release dates are set based on being in primes
position for award season. Movie articles are written about a movie’s award
potential before they even started filming to draw attention to them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fourth, the award season is so similar to our current
political process that it wouldn’t surprise me if Trump and Leo wind up on the
same podium one day. This is a long slog where the nominee must appear on every
talk show, press junket, and private screening so Academy voters can meet and
greet their way to the podium. It is all about the hustle. Social media is
scrubbed of all pictures of super models and yachts and replaced with wholesome
pics of family and volunteerism. There are sound bites that are given over and
over again as they work to stay on message promoting themselves and their
movie. There are stories about actors who weren’t willing to spent months on
the circuit, who didn’t want to curry favor – and they lost. You have to want
it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fifth, they ALL want it. Ignore the stories about how they
were sound asleep in their beds, in their tousled jammies, blissfully unaware
that the nominations are being read. That is nonsense. Every actor or actress
who even possibly might have a shot at the big show, is wide awake, fully
dressed, and on speaker phone with their agent, manager, producer, director,
hairdresser, and mom. Every quote about how the actor heard about the
nomination is preselected and prescreened to offer whatever point of view they
are trying to sell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The biggest shell game going is that the Oscar nominations
actually mean something. Think about it. How do you compare art? Different actors
playing different parts in different movies? It isn’t just the difference between
apples and oranges, it is the difference between apples and ducks and polka
dots. Plus, it isn’t as if we are all watching a linear performance that hasn’t
been altered by others. Can you compare actors on the stage? Probably. Stage
presence, acting ability, range, etc., can all be witnessed first-hand. Give them
all the same copy of the Scottish play and see what happens. Can they sing? Can
they dance? You have two or three hours to really watch, analyze, and make your
own decisions. The editing process takes that all away. Rumor has it that many
a performance was saved in the cutting room. Insert the right musical cue here,
cut away from the bad actor there, add in a voice over to fix the line there,
swap scene one with scene 12, maybe trim that part, beef up this part, etc. Ta
da! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, does knowing all this stop me from watching the
Academy awards year after year after year? Nope. Does it stop me from rooting
for some actors and against others? Does noting that my ticket sales mean
nothing, that my opinion means nothing, and that my demographic in particular,
of young white women, is basically ignored entirely during the movie making
process? Still nope. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I know is that this weekend, I am going to put on comfy
clothes and hide in a movie theater for three nights and two days abandoning my
children and husband. I will eat all of my meals from the nearby Dollar Tree
and I may or not wear supporting undergarments. I’m going to the movies. See you
when I get back. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-20746526963066537752015-12-18T16:09:00.002-05:002015-12-18T16:09:40.309-05:00The Force is Strong in My Family<div class="MsoNormal">
I was six when I went to see <i>The Empire Strikes Back. </i>It is the first movie I ever remember
seeing in a theater. I remember being terrified of Darth Vader. When the camera
focuses on those weird walls that look like they are made of teeth and as they open
up, his bald head is revealed as his helmet is being lowered down and back into
position? That is the stuff of nightmares! I remember clinging to my sister in
fear, but loving every minute of it. I had the original <i>Star Wars </i>poster on my wall and probably had the sheets and
comforter to go with them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was ten when the first VCR came out. We were still living
in the old house and I remember my sister coming home with a video rental card.
I don’t know when Star Wars<i> </i>was
available for purchase, or how much they cost, but we had them early. My dad
didn’t watch sports. He has never in his life turned on ESPN or a sporting
event (excluding the Olympics.) I didn’t know football was played on
Thanksgiving until after I went to college. What he watched was Star Wars. He
was a cop, so when he came off shift, he liked to wind down by watching TV. We
never had cable growing up (in fact, my parents still don’t), so he liked to
pop in a movie. That movie was always, always a Star Wars. Each one had a
little number written in tape on the side of the box because he could never
remember the names of the movies or the order in which they were filmed. He
would just say, “put on the first one,” or, “I want to watch number three.”
Together, my father and I have watched those movies hundreds of times. My
mother would quietly sit and do needlepoint while ignoring the TV entirely. In
fact, she once asked me, long after this question was one of those pop culture
references that even babies are born knowing, “Was that big black guy Luke’s
father?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was twenty-five when <i>The
Phantom Menace </i>was released. I will never forget that frisson of excitement
when the Lucasfilm logo came up on the screen, all neon green and black. A
group of people I knew through an ex-boyfriend were going to sleep out in
shifts in the movie parking lot to get tickets. I volunteered to stay out all
night long because I wanted to fully enjoy the experience. However, I didn’t
want to do it alone. So I called a boy I liked, and asked him to stay out all
night with me. Someone had stolen electricity from the building and had rigged
their TV/VCR to play the original series. (Remember, this was only 1999, doing
that was high tech!) There were lightsaber battles. Come morning, the theater
employees walked around with free water and popcorn to feed everyone. But that
boy and I snuggled under blankets, watched the crowd, and had a great night
together. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was 27 when I married that boy. We played John Williams at
our wedding and when he texts me, Chewbacca roars. Every. Single Time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My son was five the first time he watched <i>Star Wars: A New Hope.</i> We had to turn it
off midway through because I thought he was going to give himself a heart
attack. The child didn’t just sit on the edge of his seat, he was literally
standing on the edge of the couch, lunging, parrying, thrusting along with the
action. While his sister was able to remain on her chair, she too, was totally enthralled.
They fell in love at first sight and have never once looked back. She has been
Princess Leia twice (once with the buns, once in the Endor costume. I draw the
line at the gold bikini.) He has been an Ewok, Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, and
Boba Fett. His room is a Star Wars merchandisers dream. He cannot go through a
day without making the “pew pew, pew pew” noises that indicate he is having a
lightsaber battle in his head. He lives, breathes, and dreams Star Wars. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was 40 when we took the kids to the opening of the Lego
exhibit at the Franklin Institute, which was celebrated with a day of Star Wars
characters and events. The first time Darth Vader walked by, my daughter cried.
To see the character in the flesh (as it were), very tall, very broad, very
inhuman is actually rather terrifying. Boba Fett, who is roundly adored in my
house, was so foreboding in person that the kids wouldn’t go near him. The many
Stormtroopers all milling about were freaky as you don’t realize how
authoritarian they really are until they all walk in formation down a hall.
Luckily, one of the Stormtroopers saw how distressed my daughter was becoming,
came over, knelt down so he was on her level, turned off his voice changer, and
explained that he was just a guy who loved Star Wars and loved interacting with
kids. I had no idea there was an entire volunteer organization of cosplayers
who go to events, hospitals, and such – but this guy told us all about it. He
calmed my daughter down, got her to laugh, and got her into the spirit of the
event. I never got his name, rank, or serial number, but I will forever be
indebted to that kid in a costume who helped her overcome her fear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
This weekend, we will all sit together to watch <i>The Force Awakens.</i> I bought tickets
before the commercial advertising that they were on sale had finished airing. I
will take my dad, the man who first introduced me to it, my husband, the boy
who stayed up all night with me all those years ago, and the children who we
made in our own geeky image. Three generations of fans will sit together, in
reclining seats, with 3D glasses, and enjoy what I can fervently hope is a good
movie. May the force be with you. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-66090208498837815932015-11-13T15:47:00.002-05:002015-11-13T15:47:50.986-05:00Transgender Twilight <div class="MsoNormal">
We all know that I cannot stand the <i>Twilight </i>series or the <i>50
Shades </i>series. When new books in both series were released, I obviously
wanted to read them so I can make fun of them. Of course I wasn’t going to pay
for that privilege though. I haven’t paid for any of the other books, why would
I pay for these? Well, you all think you have the best friends, but I clearly
do because one of them sent me the newest <i>Twilight
</i>book called <i>Life And Death: Twilight
Reimagined. </i>The author performed a gender swap. Bella is now Beau and
Edward is now Edythe. Based on the terrible names alone, I was practically
frothing at the bit to see how bad this was going to get.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it a good book? Nope. But is it better than the original.
Absolutely. Though that’s still damning it with faint praise which, let’s be
real, it all it deserves. All of the genders have been swapped except for the
protagonist’s parents. Apparently, letting a man get full custody in the ‘80s
was too absurd for the author to allow – in a book about vampires. I’m not even
being snarky here – the author herself confirms this in the prologue! Why the
AARP-aged vamps continue to go to high school when home school, college, or
none of the above is an option is still not touched upon. I have heard multiple
celebrities say that whatever age they become famous is the mental age they
stay at forever, so I guess the same goes for vampires? It’s the only reason I
can think of for why an 80-year old would want to hang out with a teenager. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The gender swap turns out to be interesting. Beau is much
less a damsel in distress and much more a guy who makes choices. He doesn’t hem
and haw and cry and bitch and moan about them either. He just makes them. He
has actual conversation with Edythe (just typing that ridiculous spelling makes
me giggle), seems to have an actual personality, and is pretty much a
fully-fleshed out character. Plus, he never cries! I hate to admit it, but he’s
actually likable! Edythe, on the other hand, is the typical Manic Pixie Dream
Girl. She exists more as a plot devise than a person. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The rest of the gender swap is silly and the names are flat-out
painful. They don’t serve a purpose, they don’t add to the story and in fact,
they take away from it significantly because the change is so in your face (and
the names are so very stupid) that it keeps pulling you out of the story.
Jessamine sounds like a sugar substitute, not a vampire. <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s get to the nuts and bolts though, shall we? It takes
199 pages for a teenage boy to notice Edythe’s breasts. He never once mentions
getting a hard on or being horny. He loves her in the purest way possible and
it is ridiculous. Although he actually asks her about sex and they discuss it,
it is very roundabout and he seems perfectly happy just getting to hold her
hand. However, the scenes of them discussing how slowly they have to go
physically are interesting because it stops being about him controlling her (as
in the original) but more of the two of them understanding that they don’t want
to hurt each other. It is more a mutual (if unrealistic) decision, than a
command. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are a fan of the originals, I say read it. The author
does make some interesting changes. I wonder, though, if this reimagining came
out first, if the series would have been such a big deal, or if it would have
been slightly popular, but not necessarily a phenomenom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
WARNING: HERE THERE
BE SPOILERS. STOP NOW.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
IF YOU HAVE ANY
INTENTION OF READING THIS BOOK – PLEASE STOP NOW!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
GO BACK! GO BACK!</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
LAST
WARNING!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
SPOILERS!
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS!
SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! SPOILERS! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT
TO KEEP READING?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, the book ends very differently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Beau dies. And it is glorious. God, I hated how Edward was
such a wet blanket about turning Bella into a vampire. Sure, his life is
miserable, but he’s a sparkly vegetarian vampire who has never had sex and has
been going to high school on a repeat loop for almost 100 years. That would
suck for anyone! I also hated how Alice and her visions were handled as she was
able to see whatever served the plot best. She flat out tells Edward that Bella
will be a vamp someday, and he’s still like, but not today! Today I will just
allow her to suffer these incredibly injuries, continue to piss and moan about
our lack of life together, and then eventually dump her – all because I love
her so much. Then we as readers have to suffer through three more books that
make less and less sense until she finally, finally, finally becomes a damn
vampire. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In this version, it is much clearer. The bad vamp bites
Beau, the Cullen family rush in to save him, they realize he has been bitten
and Arche/Alice makes it very clear – either Beau dies as a human or he dies
and becomes a vampire. Edythe bites him. Yes, he still transitions easily, but
has to deal with the fact that he will never see his parents and friends again.
His funeral is devastating to his family and friends – as it should be. Bella
cheated. She never lost anything. She got to live happily ever after with both
parents. This version makes more sense. Plus, it completely rules out the
ridiculous vampire/human baby, all the nonsense about imprinting, most of the
werewolf stuff, and pretty much the next three books entirely. It is a much
tighter, much more fitting ending. As I heartily approve of anything that stops
more books in this series from being published, I am all in favor of this new
ending. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-2077044378685346012015-10-23T17:14:00.004-04:002015-10-23T17:17:45.427-04:00This Isn't Grey, this is Black and White <div class="MsoNormal">
WARNING: This is not for the squeamish. Vulgar language will
be used, repeatedly. Sexual scenarios will be discussed, in detail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Grey – E.L James<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I actually didn’t think it was possible for Christian Grey
to come off as even more of a dick than he did in <i>50 Shades of Grey</i> and its subsequent sequels. As in many things, I
was so very wrong. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take everything wrong with Christian in the first three books
and distill that into one condensed version. He is a megalomaniac stalker who
truly and honestly believes that disagreeing with him in any way is a
punishable offense. Tell him you aren’t hungry when he wants you to be? Then
YOU don’t understand that he absolutely needs you to eat, regardless of whether
you want to eat, and not eating means you aren’t taking his feelings into
account, so obviously, YOU are the asshole. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He truly, honestly, completely believes that taking all
control is a good thing for YOU! I mean, he is taking on all the hard work of
making decisions, and thinking, and stuff. All YOU have to do is look pretty
and cry or come on cue. How hard is that? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the end of the book, when Ana asks him to really beat her
so that she understands how far the BSDM lifestyle goes, he enjoys the hell out
of it. He clearly and repeatedly states that this is the best moment of his
life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i>“I
drop the belt, savoring my sweet euphoric release. I’m punch-drunk, breathless,
and finally replete.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jesus, Mary and the oft-forgotten Joseph – is this shit for
real? There are really women in the world who think this is romance? It isn’t. This
is torture porn. This is a tragedy. If you take his behavior out of the bedroom
and place it in a kitchen, for example, and he beats her (for her own good)
because she added too much oregano to the sauce, then it is clearly domestic
abuse. From his own point of view, in his own words, he enjoys inflicting pain
on her. Not just control. Pain. He
thinks her sobbing her heart out is <i>“beautiful”</i>
and actually says, <i>“This is what happens
when you defy me, baby.”</i> Um no. Not now and not ever will a man raise his
hand to “<i>punish me</i>.” I will never
deserve it. No woman ever does. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From Ana’s point of view in the other books, he is merely a
little boy who has lost his way and needs to be saved by her love. That is so
much psychological bullshit that it even hurts to type. From his point of view,
it is all much clearer. He is a villain. He really is the monster she pretends
he isn’t. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This book makes it very, very clear that she isn’t a person, she is a possession.
He says over and over that he “<i>owns her</i>.”
He is insanely jealous; making sure everyone from the valet to her father knows
that the two of them are together. He is also incredibly insecure so that every
joke, every sentence is analyzed to ensure that she isn’t leaving him, isn’t
arguing with him, and isn’t in any way offensive to him. It’s odious. It’s
insulting. It’s repugnant. He flat out
tells her that he doesn’t want to talk to her, he just wants to fuck her and
she’s like, sure, sounds great. Really? Maybe for a one-night stand, but for a
long-term relationship? Not so much. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I haven’t yet made it clear what I think about this book,
let me provide one last example. Christian hates Ana’s car. Even though she has
been driving it for years and it works perfectly, he has decided that she will
simply no longer drive it. He takes it, sells it, and gives her a car he
prefers. It doesn’t matter what she was driving or what he wants her to drive.
That is beside the point. The point is that this is all done behind her back,
with absolutely no input from her. When, at the end of the book, she breaks up
with him, she returns his car and asks for the money he received from the sale
of hers – and his response is to be furious! <i>“It’s always about fucking money.”</i> As if! No, asshole. You stole
her car and pocketed the cash! You OWE her that money. That money is hers (and
she wouldn’t even be in that position if you hadn’t stolen her goddamn car in
the first place.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Grey </i>is
single-handedly the best guide to what a woman should never suffer through in a
relationship. Ladies, if the man you love hits you, follows you, steals from
you, tells you how to dress, how to think, and even when to eat, then please,
run as far from him as you can, possibly while dialing 911. <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-39520082560907320642015-10-16T15:41:00.002-04:002015-10-16T15:41:17.612-04:00The Final Countdown <div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you read one book a
week, starting at the age of 5, and live to be 80, you will have read a grand
total of 3,900 books, a little over one-tenth of 1 percent of the books
currently in print. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Yellow-Lighted
Bookshop: A Memoir, a History – Lewis Buzbee<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was asked to do a final summary of the list and
while I wasn’t really planning on it, I now think that a retrospective is a
good idea. I started the list in December and ten months later, I have read
almost all of the 60 books. I did devote some time to trying to read the
remaining three, plus I still did read a few others here and there. Not a bad
total overall. I’ve got a ways to go to hit that (almost) 4000 book mark and I
pretty sure I am going to need another job to afford the addition I’ll need to
my home library to store all of those books, but it will be worth it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I did this the most honest way I could – I simply
looked at the list to see which stayed with me and which books I wanted to
throw at people. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I will say that a particular gentleman really hit it
out of the park with book choices. Sure, he gave me seven, so the law of
averages says that he would do better than someone who only gave me one, but
still, I am quite eager to read the ones that didn’t make the list. I also look
forward to our next breakfast to discuss them all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So, in no particular order, I present my top five.
(Also, I didn’t include books I had previously read because that seemed like
cheating. However, in the interest of fairness, I will say that <i>The Post-Birthday World </i>by Lionel
Shriver remains one of my top ten books of all time.) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">House of Sand and Fog – Andre Dubos III<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I keep hoping to run
into someone who has read this so I can really go to town on the characters,
all of whom have stayed with me. Who was right? Who was wrong? When did they go
off the path? Would they have ever seen the other person’s point of view? Was
there ever going to be acceptance? (Should I watch the movie?) Unfortunately,
after reading excerpts from his other books, I don’t think they are quite my
jam, but this one more than makes up for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am Ozzy – Ozzy Osbourne <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear Lord, this is
just a palate cleanser of a book. Instead of just navel gazing and staring
adoringly back at his own life, Ozzy really just lets it all rip in a glorious
display of destruction and damnation. It was an utter delight and I still crack
up every time I think of the line “and then we hung the midget.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Time Traveler’s Wife – Audrey Niffenegger<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a great
section in this book when Clare and Henry get married and because he is a time
traveler, hijinx ensue. She realizes, at one point, that while she has gotten
married, the Henry who stood with her at the altar is not the present-day Henry
to whom she expected to be wed. “And the realization: we’re married. Well, <i>I’m </i>married, anyway.” It is such a great
character moment because it shows the humor, the pathos, the strangeness of
their life, and her ability to just roll with it. I have found myself over the
past few months, coming back to that line over and over again. “Well, <i>I’m </i>married, anyway.” She loves him, he
loves her, and while their life is definitely complicated, they make it easier
by just handling it and moving forward. This truly is one of the most epic love
stories I have ever read and one I never wanted to stop reading. (So, should I
watch the movie?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #141823; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Into
Thin Air – Jon Krakaour<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I still don’t understand why people push themselves
to the extreme, why they walk so close to death that they can hear the sound of
her wings, and why we are so shocked when things go dangerously awry in such
dangerous circumstances. Yet, so many of the people in the book wanted
something so simple – they just wanted to touch the top of the sky. But as
Icarus learned the hard way, trying to get so close to the sun has
consequences. I do think hubris played a major part in the deaths of those
climbers and I think this books shows very clearly how little mistakes can add
up to big ones and that there really is a moment in one’s life where you have
to make a choice. But this was really well written and didn’t make any of the
answers clear cut. People died, yes, and it was a tragedy, absolutely, but
damn, it was a hell of a story. (The author has shit canned the movie pretty
thoroughly. Should I go see it?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What
is the What – Dave Eggers<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every time I read about the refugee crisis I think
about toasters. As the story unfolds, Achak is being robbed of all of his
worldly position in an apartment in Atlanta. Throughout the robbery and the
subsequent trip to the hospital, he tells us the story about his horrific walk
through Sudan to the refugee camps where he lived. He has already been robbed
of his homeland, his family, everything that you could possibly lose – he has
lost – and yet, here he is, watching people steal his toaster. It is
ridiculous. He ate a meal a day in the camps. He was happy to have bread, let
alone worry about whether it was properly toasted. The juxtaposition of the
stories really showed how ridiculous our modern lives are and how cluttered
with technological nonsense. These refugees have nothing. Nothing. And yet we
all have toasters. It’s a weird thing to wrap my head around. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Also in no particular order are the books I wish I
could use as weapons to bludgeon the authors to death. Luckily that list is
much shorter because you guys don’t actively hate me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Me
Before You – JoJo Moyes <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A good friend wrote a three-page rant about this
book that to this day, has remained one of funniest critiques I have ever read
about the hot, rich, older guy with the young, pretty, ingénue and how the
entire premise is not only a load of shit, but legitimately toxic for both
people. (Because I am evil, I’m pretty sure I am buying this very same friend
the sequel for Christmas.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Leaving
Time – Jodi Picoult<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This book was insulting. It offended me. It was so
flat out stupid, so embarrassing, such a fuck-you to readers that I think even
M. Night Shayamalan would think the so-called twist was ridiculous. This book
is Exhibit A to my thesis statement: why ALL authors, regardless of number of
books sold, still need to be edited as if they were first-time authors.
(Exhibit B is Stephen King, but he needs a museum to house all of those works.)
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s it my friends. The end of an era. But fear
not, I still have <i>Grey </i>and <i>Life and Death: Twilight Reimagined </i>to
cover. I also owe a few blogs to my SIL, who has given me more than enough
material for them, and as always, when the mood strikes, I will write. But til
then, I’ve got another 60 books on my to-be-read shelf, free reign at the local
library, and a fair amount of BN gifts cards yet to be spent. I’ve got lots and
lots of reading to do!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-20131184003557113262015-10-09T17:42:00.004-04:002015-10-09T17:43:05.061-04:0060 is the New 40 <div class="MsoNormal">
This is it guys. This was the last book on the list. Next week, the wrap up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#60 – Catch 22 –
Joseph Heller<br />
Recommended by: PR<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was
love at first sight.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think I am smart enough to get this book entirely.
It is a very long joke on the ridiculousness of the military and of the concept
of a Catch-22 situation, in which the only way to get out of duty was to prove
you were insane, but since only a sane man would try it, it was an impossible
scenario. The book goes on to differentiate several similar situations in
which, basically, you are damned if you do and damned if you don’t. The
military bears the brunt of the satire and, I’m sorry, but the joke went on way
too long. I liken it to watching one of those interminable SNL sketches that
would have been funny if they were three minutes, but at ten, have lost all
pretense of humor. My father-in-law recommended this one and I thought it was
fitting to end the list with an American classic and this definitely feels like
something I should have read in school, mostly because it feels like homework.
It was just too much, over and over again. If this book were half the length,
it would have been enjoyable. As it stands though, I just wanted to get through
it. Once again, I found myself doing a bit of research on a book to see if the
satire was supposed to extend to the characterization of women in the book, all
of whom were whores, or “easy”, or shrews, and who are routinely raped, beaten,
and berated by the men. Yeah, I didn’t find that really funny. I’m glad I read
it as I feel like I probably should have already, but I didn’t really enjoy the
experience. Sorry Dad. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-78097272987102160032015-09-27T08:34:00.001-04:002015-09-27T08:34:23.395-04:00Philly Phail <div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a good long time now, we have known that the Pope was
coming to Philadelphia. Over the last few months, we have been told to expect
hordes of people, to stock up on food, to expect to sit in traffic for hours,
to treat this visit like an epic snowstorm, or like ten Super Bowls that are
happening concurrently. Every news article showed all the roads that were
blocked off, the handful of ways that you could actually enter and exit the
city, and explained, in great detail, exactly how exhausting walking over the
local Ben Franklin bridge would be to all who attempted to do so. We have been
told to expect technology to shut down due to overload. I personally spent the
entire week posting random thoughts on Facebook, such as discussing the wisdom
of sending tourists to the most dangerous city in the United States to use as a
giant parking lot because surely, all the criminals would respect the
out-of-state license plates. Right? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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If I stand on my roof, I can see Philly. On a good night, I
can be there in 15 minutes. Yet for months I have been told first, that I
should consider walking, and second, that it would take upward of NINE hours to
do so. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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My partner-in-crime Bubbles and I decided to go see the Pope
at 1 pm. I hadn’t yet showered, dressed, or actually discussed with my
husband that I was going to do so. (In case you were wondering, he was less than pleased.) Yet by 2:30 pm , we were standing in Center City
taking selfies. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Philly created a fear cage and called it the Papal Zone and
shame on them for scaring away millions of pilgrims. We were told to expect to
park at least a mile away from the train station. We were in the first row. The
tickets that were supposed to be sold out in the pre-sale months ago were so undersold
that volunteers actually worked the ticket machine FOR me to get me one. The Ben
Franklin bridge, where the massive zombie hordes were expected to cross over
from Camden to Philly was epically, dismally, ridiculously empty. The city of
Philadelphia itself was no more crowded than the recent wine tasting event in
my hometown* and, I rather think that my local streets were much more difficult
to navigate as there were still plenty of cars around and Philly was a no-drive
zone. (*Astute observation courtesy of Bubbles.) While it did take a while to
go through the second security stop near City Hall, that was more due to comic
understaffing and a total lack of communication than anything else. There were
only ten stations and no one was told that fruit wasn’t allowed or that all
electronics had to be turned on and tested. Once inside the hallowed “safe
zone”, there were free water bottles courtesy of WaWa (which on top of the free
Slushies we had already enjoyed from 7-11 meant that we were well hydrated) and
lots of jumbo TV screens on which to watch the Papal proceedings. Because I’m
lazy, we pretty much crossed the street and decided that was close enough. Why
walk 20 blocks in one direction only to walk back later? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What we didn’t realize is that the circle around City Hall
would be totally enclosed and we would be locked in without a bathroom, food,
or exit for the next three hours. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure there was plenty of police activity closer to the big
man himself. There were lots and lots of cops with really big guns at the train
station and I can prove it because Bubbles took a picture with one. There were
snipers, because I took a picture of them on the adjacent buildings. There were
eight members of the National Guard protecting a completely empty corner that
seemed to have zero target potential, but they were kind enough to give us
accurate directions. There were dozens upon dozens of police from many states
and many types of law enforcement manning the barricades set up along Market
Street, leading people to camp out along Market Street, even though the Pope
was never going to actually drive down Market Street. But on the block that is
City Hall? Not a one. We were standing in the shadow of one of the most
well-known buildings in Philadelphia and the only uniform we saw was a guy in a
Scotland Yard shirt who seemed baffled as to why people kept coming up to talk
to him. (Sure, there were probably plainclothes cops everywhere, but I didn't see an earpiece, a bulge, or body armor on anyone and we had plenty of time to look.) <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did I see the Pope? Hell yes. It took a few hours and Bubble
and I had to suffer through sore feet, hunger, and Jim Gaffigan. (Side note to
whomever booked Jim Gaffigan for this event. You are fired.) We didn’t get the
pleasure of watching Marky Mark (apparently, Philly doesn’t have any famous
Catholics, so we had to borrow one from Boston), but we did get to watch almost
everything else. When the giant TVs switched to live shots of the crowd and we
could actually see the blue and red police escort lights start to bounce off
the buildings – well, let me tell you first hand, it was a truly unbelievable
feeling. I recognize that he is only a man and a humble one at that, but
according to my faith, he is the big kahuna and to be that close, even for a
Cafeteria Catholic like myself, was really quite breathtaking – even if he was
just chilling in the back of a souped up Jeep Wrangler. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting out of Philly was just as easy as getting in –
except this time, every single t-shirt vendor, button seller, and flag waver
seemed to have shut up shop – along with every other storefront in Philly. It
was actually sad that within a short two-block walk from the procession, there was hardly anyone out and about. The few establishments that
were open were all fast-food franchises and even they were empty. I can’t even
imagine the potential lost revenue. Even though there was only one train
station open (out of the usual four) it was less crowded than a Saturday in
December, when the trains are usually packed with families going into the city
to see the lights. The bridge was still empty of all but a few hardy souls and
the requisite Humvee of men in uniform. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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I know this was only day one of a two-day event and I have
heard that tomorrow is expected to be more crowded as the Pope will actually be
doing mass instead of a wave, but I sincerely doubt there will be a huge pick
up in traffic. I will be hosting a Faith and Football party, where I will be
serving Holy Ghost cupcakes, Blood of Christ punch, and Body of Christ ‘nilla
Wafers, so I’m obviously going straight to Hell which will preclude me from
going back to Philly. But I urge those of you who have been told over and over
again to stay far, far away to possibly reconsider. I can’t promise that your
day will be as easy as mine. That it won’t rain. That something awful won’t
happen. That you will get close to the Pope. I can, however, remind you that
this is a once in a lifetime event. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you want to say you were there? Or just
that you watched it on TV? <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-722697454194171361.post-81549801172565796862015-09-25T17:31:00.001-04:002015-09-25T17:31:18.951-04:00I Never Worry, Now That is a Lie<div class="MsoNormal">
After this, I’ve only got one more book left kids. JUST ONE
MORE! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#59 – Scar Tissue –
Anthony Kiedis <br />
Recommended by: BD<o:p></o:p></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What I know about this musician before I read this book
could fit in two sentences. He is the lead singer of the Red Hot Chili Peppers.
He had a small cameo in <i>Point Break</i>.
The end. Of course I loved their album <i>Blood
Sugar Sex Magik</i> and I knew several people who had the famous Cocks in Socks
poster on their walls in college. I probably played that album more than was
healthy, but not anywhere close to the rotation of their contemporaries in
music at that time – Pearl Jam. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Keidis is a weird dude. Very hippie-dippy when it comes to
peace, love, and rock n roll, but also a raging heroin addict. He talks about
the (many) women in his life with reverence and genuine respect, but they all
sound like they were batshit crazy and that the relationships were unhealthy
cycles of agony and ecstasy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are into his music, then I think this is a
great book because it really explains how the Chili Peppers came to create
their sound, their process for writing and recording music, and what they get
out of playing it live. His insider gossip is also relatively high end. I mean,
this is a kid who used Sonny Bono’s address to attend high school in a good
district! He was once babysat by Cher! It was also great in terms of how he
talked about his addiction. He is really honest and open about it all. It is
linear, but he really only focuses on his own personal life. Flea is a constant
thread through the book, but their relationship isn’t really discussed in great
depth. It was navel gazing with a really great soundtrack. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Would I recommend this to someone who wasn’t into sex,
drugs, and rock and roll. No. But I have to admit that I <i>Under the Bridge </i>has been stuck in my head for the last week and I
haven’t really minded. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>#60 – What Alice
Forgot – Liane Moriarty<br />
Recommended by: MK<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My initial reaction was that this was going to be a
relatively light read, but once again, I was surprised. There is a nice heft to
this book, a richness that I really didn’t expect but I fully enjoyed. Alice
hits her head one day at the gym and forgets ten years of her life. When she
comes to, everything is not what she expected it would be and she spends a week
trying to figure out her new life as well as what happened in her old one. It
is well documented that I fear nothing more than missing out on life. Death is
one thing, but the Rip Van Winkle effect is something altogether more
horrifying. To wake up and realize that the pregnancy you were so looking
forward to enjoying has turned into a surly 10-year old, without the
intervening years of love and adoration to make that child bearable? Or to realize
that you husband is a stranger who hates you? That is my nightmare. This is a
perfect book club choice because there is so much to discuss. I spent a good
portion of the book trying to figure out how the author was going to resolve it
and I have to say, I’m not sure I’m satisfied, but I don’t think any other
choice would have been better. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, I could have done without the minor character
subplots that were conducted entirely via written letter. The main plot more
than held up and didn’t contain a single letter, so surely the author could
have come up with a better delivery system than the clunky expositional letter? <o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0