Dylan continues the conversation . . . .
Tag: entertainment
WOAW’s What to Watch- Scandal Update! [Spoiler Alert]
I know I’ve been bombarding you with television and movie stuff, but that seems to be what happens with me when the news is bad. I turn to movies and television. Also, the Knicks are on tonight, and my brain is fried, and I wanted to do a quick, easy post, and I really need to dish about Scandal.
I LOVE THIS SHOW (I’ve said this before, I know, actually twice). So much is going on and it’s all over the place. I think a list of characters may help me organize my thoughts.
1. Jake Ballard (Scott Foley)
Any Felicity fans out there? Or are you all too young to remember the Felicity-Noel-Ben love triangle? Felicity was on from 1998 until 2002, and Scott Foley played Noel. Also, I note that Scott Foley was Jennifer Garner’s first husband. Let’s discuss how well Noel is aging. Seriously! I may switch all these years later over to Team Noel from Team Ben. He looks great playing Jake the some-sort-of-military-guy-who’s-bff’s-with-Fitz. Sometimes I wonder if Jen Affleck wonders What if? with regard to Noel when Ben’s giving her grief about going to the Farmer’s Market with the kids. But I digress . . .
To illustrate the Scott Foley Fountain of Youth, here are some pics:
Personally, I don’t see much of a difference from 2002.
So Item Number One for Scandal Discussion: Felicity. Noel’s adorableness. Along those same lines, what about the Olivia/Noel bawm-chika-bawm-bawm love scene? Why does Scandal use porn music for the sex scenes? So sub-topic for discussion under Item Number One: Porn music in television.
2. Olivia Pope (Kerry Washington)
WHAT is GOING ON with that dude breaking into Olivia’s home just after she sleeps with Noel and discovers the morning after that Noel is spying on her? You know . . . right before he (accidentally) slammed her to the floor and gave her a concussion? I DON’T GET IT. Is Noel the Mole? Does Noel really like Liv? What kind of red wine does she drink and how does she manage to keep it off of her mostly white wardrobe? Oh, and I love her wine glasses.
Funny, I as I draft this post I’m thinking, “I wonder if I can Google Image Olivia’s wine glass,” and lo and behold, it pops right up.
One final note on Liv. At the end there, when Fitz was doing his weird hug thing on the hospital bed, she looked frightened and not at all into it. I guess if I had some unknown dude ransacking my apartment, just slept with Noel who I found out was spying on me, physically fought with him and he cracked my head open putting me in a hospital bed where my ex-lover who happens to be the President awkwardly shows up and hugs me, maybe I’d have the same look. Dunno. Chances are I never will. Which is fine by me, by the way.
Item Number Two for Scandal Discussion: What the heck is happening?
3. Mellie (Bellamy Young)
I am easily becoming Mellie’s Number One fan. I LOVED when she told off Fitz about the kids. I’d definitely vote for her over Fitz any day. I don’t have much more to say about her other than she’s awesomesauce. Item Number Three for Scandal Discussion: Mellie’s future and thoughts on whether or not she’s the Mole. Yep, I said it. Discuss. Here’s a pic:
4. Fitz (Tony Goldwyn)
Fitz is being so weird. He’s the worst President in the history of the world and although I thought I loved him with Liv, nothing would make me happier than for her to call it quits with him. Since he figured out his election was rigged and then murdered the Supreme Court Justice, he’s been a total drag. Really, Fitz. Get over it! All he does now is drink scotch and look miserable.
In the most recent episode, I thought I saw a glimmer of the old Fitz, but I don’t know. Item Number Four for Scandal Discussion: What’s up with Fitz? Fitz: Friend or Foe? Olivia and Fitz: A Disaster or a Dream?
5. Huck (Guillermo Diaz)
Huck’s “family” was murdered by that crazy lady who tried to assasinate Fitz (I forget what happened there- did we catch the person behind that? I’m so confused), and he was waterboarded, and then he was smelly for an episode. Now he was BEATEN and PUSHED into some weird empty box in a storage unit and now he’s all PTSD hovering in the corner of Liv’s office. And the guy that Cyrus previously hired to take out James (but Cyrus called it off last minute thank god), is somehow involved (did you notice the hat on the storage unit video footage?). Also, I point out that the killer dude (whose name is apparently, “Charlie”) kind of looks like a Paul Rudd, who I love. See:
So, Item Number Five for Scandal Discussion: Does my love for Paul Rudd mean that I love Charlie the Killer? Is Huck going to recover? Does anyone want to discuss Huck’s “family” issues?
Alright, everyone. This post turned out to be longer than I expected, and the Knicks are in halftime (losing to the Celtics). I’m going to end it here. If there are any, any Scandal fans out there, I need to hear your thoughts.
Thanks for reading, and have a nice night! (Note: Since I’ve edited this, the Knicks are now tied).
Sources: Noel then pic: http://cf.foreveryoungadult.com/_uploads/images/21124/felicity__span.jpg; Noel now pic: http://cartermatt.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/scandal-jake.jpg; Olivia wine glass pic: http://scandalmoments.files.wordpress.com/2012/11/popcornxwine.png; Mellie pic: http://blog.zap2it.com/frominsidethebox/scandal-mellie-fitz.jpg; Charlie the Killer pic: http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20130328063457/scandal/images/5/52/Charlie-spies-like-us.jpg; Paul Rudd pic: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/a2/Paul_Rudd_LF.JPG/220px-Paul_Rudd_LF.JPG
The Bechdel Test
My friend and writing partner, Angela, knows lots of stuff in general, but especially about writing. In our writing partnership, I consider her the brains of the operation, while I am just the barfer. I can cough up pages, but she’s the one who cleans the barf, so to speak. Her ability is the result of studying filmmaking and screenplays and keeping her eye on “the industry” and writing trends. Someday I’ll have to learn to do that myself. For now, I rely on her expertise.
This weekend, she told me about the “Bechdel Test” used in evaluating creative writing. The test is named for Alison Bechdel (who attributes the idea to her friend Liz Wallace). Back in 1985, Bechdel wrote a comic strip where a character stated that she only watched movies where the following requirements were met:
(1) It has to have at least two women in it, (2) who talk to each other, (3) about something besides a man.
Later versions of the test revise the two women requirement to two “named women.” Sounds simple, right? Well, go ahead. Think of a movie that meets the requirements. I’ll wait . . .
*Jeopardy tune plays*
You back? Not as easy as it seems. There are movies out there which pass muster, but it definitely takes some thought to name them. A user-generated website called Bechdel Test Movie List lists movies and applies the test to determine whether the movies pass or fail. For movies that fail, an explanation is provided.
For example, The Incredible Burt Wonderstone fails, according to the website, because while there are two or more women in the movie, they don’t talk to each other. Likewise, Oblivion was dinged because although there are two or more women in the movie, they only talk to each other about a man. Again, since the website is user-generated, you may disagree with the results (and leave a comment on the site as to why). I can’t confirm or deny the accuracy.
What does it all mean? According to Neda Ulaby in a 2008 interview for NPR called, “The ‘Bechdel Rule,’ Defining Pop-Culture Character,” (click here to go to the transcript), Ms. Ulaby states that Ms. Bechdel’s cartoon:
…still resonates because it articulates something often missing in popular culture. Not the number of women we see on screen, but the depths of their stories and the range of their concerns.
Depth of women’s stories… range of their concerns… hmm…
I checked the movie list and also noticed that most of the recent kid movies (the exception being Brave, although even Brave is contested) didn’t pass: Jack and the Giant Slayer and Frankenweenie (fewer than two women); Hotel Transylvania, ParaNorman, The Pirate! Band of Misfits, Rise of the Guardians, and The Lorax (two or more women but they don’t talk to each other); Madagascar 3: Europe’s Most Wanted (two or more women but they only talk to each other about a man).
I can’t verify these results, as I haven’t seen all of these movies. I am going purely by the website. Still, what does this say about filmmaking and society? Anyone? Anyone?
To me, it kind of bums me out as a woman, a parent, and a writer.
Back to Brave for a bit. I am a huge Pixar fan. I love all the Pixar movies. When I heard that Pixar was doing a female-centered movie, I hoped it would be different. What I craved from Pixar was a story equivalent to Toy Story, with the Woody and/or Buzz characters being female. Finding Nemo with Marlin being Nemo’s mom and Dory being “Donny.” Keep the action! Keep the premise! Keep the dialogue too! Just make the star a girl.
But Brave wasn’t that. Pixar punted and what we got instead was a girl rebelling against marriage and her parents. Meh. Such high hopes for naught.
Now please understand– Brave won an Oscar. It made millions. It received critical acclaim. It was a wonderful movie. But it wasn’t Wall-E or Up. To me, it was a take on a traditional fairy tale about … guess what, surprise surprise … a Princess.
Where does this leave me? Well, how about here: Challenge Accepted. I want to write for Pixar a female-centered film and I want it to win an Oscar, make millions, not mention anything about Princesses, and pass the Bechdel Test with flying colors! Hopefully Angela’s up for the challenge too. We can do it.
Despite the history of filmmaking and Pixar’s track record, I know it’s not impossible. It can be done.
Have a nice evening.
Going Lite Today- Movie Quote Reveal
A few days ago I posted a list of some favorite movie quotes. You all responded so positively that I’ll do it again sometime. I promise. Now though, in hopes of lightening up your day, I reveal the movies quoted in the prior post. How’d you all score by the way? Was it too easy? Too difficult? Let me know and I’ll adjust for the next time.
Here we go:
(1) “Look Kids- Big Ben, the Parliament.” European Vacation (1985). Clark gets stuck driving in circles. A google search reveals that he’s driving around Lambeth Bridge Roundabout in London, and he can’t seem to work his way out. Since seeing this movie back in ’85, I use the quote “Big Ben, the Parliament” as a code that I’m lost. Not surprisingly, most people get it, too.
(2) “Dear God. Make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far, far, away from here.” Forrest Gump (1994). A young Jenny says this. I remember her being up in a tree when she says this, but Especially Made pictures her in the middle of a corn field. Guess we’ll just have to watch this EXCELLENT movie again to find out! I think this movie makes my Top Five Movies of All Time list.
(3) “I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.” Sixteen Candles (1984). Remember the image of Anthony Michael Hall raising the panties in the boys’ room to the geeks staring up at them amazed? And who didn’t have a crush on Jake Ryan? John Hughes at his finest.
(Michael Schoeffling)
(4) “I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” The Godfather (1972). If you didn’t get that one, I feel sorry for you. If you haven’t seen the movie, I feel even more sorry for you. Get your act together, please. (:
(5) “Tell me about it, stud.” Grease (1978). Can anyone else recite the dialogue and sing every song from this movie, or is that just me?
(6) “Nine million terrorists in the world, and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister.” Die Hard (1988). The world could use a couple extra John McClane’s. Enough said.
(7) “You think I’m hostile now, wait til you see me tonight.” My Cousin Vinny (1992). Marisa Tomei has some great one-liners throughout the film. Joe Pesci’s trial skills, his witnesses, and his “yoots” (“youths”), including the Karate Kid himself, make this one of those films you can watch a gazillion times and never be bored with it.
(8) “You jump, I jump, right?” Titanic (1997). I knew the boat would sink, yet this movie rips me to shreds every time (I posted a bit about that here). In 1997, in 2000, in 2013, whenever I see this movie I lose my sh*t. I can’t even write anything else about it. Stupid Celine Dion and her beautiful song. JACK and ROSE for EVER!
(9) “Hey Trav. Don’t knock her up!” Overboard (1987). Travis’s little brothers give him a hard time when he gets a girlfriend, shouting this line to him as Travis and his girlfriend are walking away together. [Bonus round: Can anyone name the other Proffitt brothers?] This movie is one of my all time favorites, despite the horrific premise. Don’t think about it too hard, or you’ll see what I mean. How can I love this film so much? Is it simply that good? Maybe it’s the Goldie/Kurt factor.
(10) “You ever seen a duck that couldn’t swim?” Convoy (1978). Kris Kristofferson and Ali McGraw star in this gritty 70’s film about a trucker nicknamed the “Rubber Duck” who fights off authorities by creating a convoy of trucks and using a CB radio. I’m dying to tell you the end but I’ll refrain. Okay, I can’t refrain. Stop reading here if you don’t want the spoiler. . . .
So the bad guys (who are really, like, the good guys), fire weapons at Rubber Duck (the first trucker in the convoy, of course) and his truck flies off a bridge into a river. Of course we think he’s dead. They have a funeral. Later, Ali finds Kris in disguise on some weird bus and is delighted he’s alive and upon seeing her reaction he says the line about ducks who can’t swim. YAY! For whatever reason, I LOVED this movie and aspired to a career as a trucker for the sole purpose of creating my own convoy someday (my parents were thrilled, as you can imagine).
By the way, David over at soundslikeorange thinks the actual list of quotes sounds like “the main plot points from a surreal movie script.” Hmm… could be a challenging writing project!
Thanks for reading and have a nice night.
[Source: Jake Ryan pic: http://danishbird.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/SixteenCandleJakeRyan2.jpg]
Opera Night
Last night, my husband and I put on our fancy pants and headed to the Opera. The Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center, New York City to be exact. I know–first Foxwoods, now this. Smoke-filled casinos in Connecticut, to dinner and the opera at Lincoln Center. That’s how we roll. [I haven’t previously mentioned this, but our March outings are in celebration of my husband’s 40th birthday, which takes place officially tomorrow.]
Our date last night was our 4th Annual Opera Outing, this time to see Otello. In years past, we’ve seen Rigoletto, Romeo and Juliet, and La Traviata. We like to go in March around his birthday or in April, as the weather gets nicer and opera season is underway. We drive into Manhattan and have a nice dinner, then go to the performance. Usually we go on a weekend, but this year we decided on a mid-week trip (Translation: I waited too long to get our tickets and Wednesday night turned out to be our best option. Husband is a teacher on spring break this week, so the timing worked out. Phew!).
The mid-week opera excursion was quite pleasant. The restaurants around Lincoln Center were busy but not crazy, and the crowd seemed more of the after-work local crowd than the tourist crowd. Also, security at Lincoln Center was lax, and I mean this in a good way. Last year on a Saturday night, a security guard scolded me for taking pictures in the Opera House with my phone; however, this year people were snapping photos left and right without consequence. I assume this was permitted because it was mid-week– maybe less security guards milling around. Feeling a bit criminal, I joined in and attach my pictures below.
Have you been to the opera? Any opera fans out there? It seems people either love it or hate it, but if you get the opportunity, I highly recommend shelling out the cash and experiencing Lincoln Center and The Met at least once in your life.
Practically, it’s super easy. You can park underneath the building (I think we paid about $30 to park), and the Met’s Website is fairly user-friendly. Our favorite feature on the website is the ability to pick your seat from a seating chart of the theater. We make sure to pick aisle seats for husband’s long legs, and so we can dart out at the end during the applause in order to beat traffic out of the lot (classy, right?).
Also, in front of every seat is a tiny screen which can be seen only by you, which they call “Met Titles” where you can read the text of the opera during the performance. It’s subtle and not distracting. I tried to take a picture for you, but it’s hard to see. I’ll attach it anyway.
Besides those practical aspects of an opera outing, creatively, of course, it’s amazing. I don’t know much about music or voice or opera, but I love hearing a soprano voice that is so beautiful and perfect that it sounds like it must be from an instrument instead of a person. The tenors and baritones are strong and powerful. Obviously the music is lovely, and watching the orchestra is also interesting. Whether experienced in opera and music or not, you’ll see, and feel in your gut that you are listening and watching something special. The best in the world perform at The Met. If you get the opportunity, it’s worth the trip.
Here are some pics from our NY date:
Thanks for reading!
Friday Fun with Ferris!
I planned on writing my 50 Shades of Grey post today, but I had a crap day at work, and my 50 Shades post, believe it or not, seems to require a lot of brain power. Moreso than the author put into the actual book, I’m afraid. I never take notes on posts, and I took notes on that one, and I don’t feel like it’s quite where I want it. Also, I’m fried from a nutty week. [Hot off the presses: Hermione as Anastasia? I’ll save my comments.] Screw 50 Shades (pardon the pun). It’s Friday, folks! We made it. I want to celebrate.
Friday Fun = Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. In a post about the Isle of Man, I mentioned my love for Ferris and you responded. You told me that Ferris deserved his own post, and I am here to serve, Blogtropolis.
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a classic 80’s John Hughes masterpiece (wedged between Pretty in Pink and Some Kind of Wonderful on the Hughes’ bio). If you haven’t seen it, first, hang your head in shame. It has been around since 1986. Where have you been? Second, go turn on Netflix, find it, and watch it. Third, fall in love with Ferris.
The movie’s protagonist, played by Matthew Broderick, is a high school teenager who decides he needs the day off. He fakes illness and convinces his parents to let him stay home from school. With the assistance of his girlfriend, Sloane (Mia Sara), and his best friend, Cameron (Alan Ruck), Ferris has a kick-ass day doing tons of fun stuff. Meanwhile, a rumor travels around the school that Ferris is on his death bed, which aggravates his bitter sister Jeanie (Jennifer Grey) and the oafish Principal Rooney (Jeffrey Jones). Will his sister turn him in? Will Principal Rooney catch up with him? Will his parents realize that he’s fibbing and call him out? Will he be caught, or won’t he?
Simple plot, simple movie. Simply Genius. Why do we love it so much? Anyone? Anyone?
We love FBDO because like most of John Hughes’ 80’s films, it’s Fun with a touch of Serious. Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is a day that any of us would love to experience. Ballgames, parades, museums, Ferraris, fancy lunches, lounging at the pool. Like typical 80’s yuppies, the Bueller parents are busy at work, losing out on the beauty of the day and all that is happening around them in the big city. Ferris appreciates life and love and good weather in Chicago and takes advantage.
Guess what? He doesn’t get caught. So we love FBDO because it’s a day where kids get the win.
We also love FBDO because we love Ferris. We want to be him, date him, or be friends with him. He’s handsome and charming, smart and clever. Ferris uses his wit to trick his parents, to scam the school principal, to spring Sloane from the confines of the high school, and to convince Cameron not only to hang out with him but to “borrow” Cameron’s dad’s car– his beloved Ferrari convertible– for their travels. Ferris, who notes that he received a computer for his birthday instead of a car (it was 1986), hacks into the computer at school to change his absentee record, uses his keyboard to make sick noises to play during phone calls, and rigs a system of strings and wires to convince people he’s home sick.
Nerdy yet super cute, Ferris may have been the first combination of attractive and dorky in the teenage movie genre. Although devious, Ferris is a sweetheart. He loves his mom and dad. He worries about his best friend. He thinks his girlfriend is da bomb, and he even cares about his sister even though she can’t stand him.
We love FBDO because of the music. Especially “Oh Yeah” by Yello. Think “Um bom bom (pause) chicka chicka (pause) chicka chicka- oooo yeah.” Who can hear that and not think of Ferris?
We love FBDO because of Sloane. Sloane with her long, straight, brown hair, and her white leather fringe jacket. Sloane, who watches Ferris and declares that he’s going to marry her someday. “Sigh,” says the 1986, fifteen-year-old me. “Oh Sloane, honey,” tsks the 2013, forty-two year old me. Still. I wanted to be her.
We love FBDO because of Cameron and his issues– his “sicknesses,” his problems in his home life, his lasting friendship with Ferris since the fifth grade. We all felt a little like Cameron now and again in high school. How great would it have been to have a Ferris to bully us into getting out of bed?
We love FBDO because of Principal Rooney and Grace, his secretary (Edie McClurg). Remember when Rooney runs through the hallway but then slows down each time he approaches the window of a classroom door, as he rushes to get Sloane to deliver her to her “father”?
What about when Jeanie tells Charlie Sheen (a.k.a. “The Boy in the Police Station”) that she hates her brother? He says: “That’s cool. Did you blow him away or somethin’?” Really, in the end, it’s Jeanie who saves Ferris. Bitter, jealous Jeanie transformed by a conversation with a cute boy in a police station.
Mostly we love FBDO because it makes us smile. Kids deserve to have a day like the one Ferris and his friends experienced. We all deserve to have a day like that. Thankfully, at this point in our lives we don’t have to fake out our parents or the principal to do it. The next time we have a beautiful spring day, I think we should all play hooky. On the way out the door, we can quote Ferris: “The question isn’t ‘what are we going to do?’ The question is ‘what aren’t we going to do?'”
Ferris memories and comments are encouraged! Thanks for reading and have a great weekend. Happy St. Patty’s Day!
[Sources: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ferris_Bueller%27s_Day_Off; FBDO Quotes: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091042 /quotes; pic in museum: http://blogs.orlandosentinel.com/entertainment_movies_blog/files/2011/08/ferris_bueller.jpg; shower pic: http://i1.cdnds.net/09/32/550w_john_hughes_ferris_buellers_day_off.jpg; parade: http://www.thelmagazine.com/binary/2c4d/gal_ferris_bueller_02.jpg; the gang pic: http://aka.media.entertainment.sky.com/image/unscaled/2009/5/15/Ferris-Buellers-Day-Off-09.jpg%5D
My Boy Band of Bloggers
It’s Friday night and I have two things on my mind: guilt and boys.
Boys because I am surrounded by three of them here, and tomorrow that number increases to four. Nope, not pregnant and going into labor; rather, my brother is dropping off my sweet little nephew for the weekend. Guilt because it’s Friday during Lent, and we Catholics excel at guilt. But I also have boys and guilt on my mind for another reason.
In my last post I discussed my nomination for the Beautiful Blogger Award, and nominated seven bloggers to receive the award. Admitting my gender-role discrimination, I purposely picked seven female bloggers for my nominees.
Since then, I’ve been guilt-ridden about the male bloggers I’ve neglected. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It just wasn’t right. Especially from me, the mother of boys! Do I want my boys to grow up thinking that they can’t be Beautiful Bloggers?
My WordPress stats reveal that of my top five commenters, three are men. Ardent supporters of my posts. How could I discriminate like that against the nice Gentlemen of Blogtropolis? I am burdened with regret. But the question remains: How can I redeem myself?
Then, on the way into work today, it hit me. I heard an N’Sync song. Despite the fact that I was driving through snow during rush hour, I recalled the video and danced the upper body movements of Justin and the crew as I sang and navigated the messy streets of Trenton, New Jersey. Mostly shoulder pops, some smooth neck moves, and pointing at viewers (a.k.a. people sitting at red lights next to me).
Hearing the song made me instantly happy, as do the posts and comments by my favorite Boy Bloggers. Then I realized how I could honor the men in my blogging life.
I could create my own N’Sync from the blogging world. My Boy Band of Bloggers. It’s only right after dissing them during awards season! (Geez, first I knock British television, and now this? What’s next? Babies and puppies?).
I thought about creating my own blogging award: The Boy Band of Bloggers Award. Nominees would be required to have a Y chromosome and sufficiently entertain me. But then I figured these guys have been honored with enough blogging awards. So I’m just going ahead and forming my Boy Band.
Now before you men go getting all testosterone-y on me and slamming the Boy Bands of the 90’s consider the coolness of these pre-nineties Boy Bands: The Beatles; the Monkees; the Jackson Five; the Bee Gees; the Beach Boys; Duran Duran; Menudo (that’s a stretch in the Cool Boy Band category, I admit). Do you get my drift? Boy Bands have been around forever, and we women? We can’t get enough of them. So feel honored . . . and, dare I say, “beautiful.”
Ladies, listen. Maybe these guys can’t sing or dance. Maybe they don’t have the glorious highlighted hair of the best Boy Banders, or maybe they have bad hair, or no hair. They probably don’t wear coordinating outfits. But they provide smile-inducing, thought-provoking posts that make me, and lots of other followers, instantly happy.
So here it is. My Boy Band of Bloggers. Meet:
(1) David (soundslikeorange). Watching him on the stage, I’d scream and cry and try to rip out my own hair. He’s the Justin Timberlake of my Band. Which, given his taste for music, will probably make him want to jump off a cliff (or, if not jump, will at least elicit a snarky comment . . . see below… countdown to comment….. 3, 2, . . .). He wins blogging awards out the wazoo for a reason, folks. I find both his writing and knowledge of music intimidating, but despite his talent, he’s no snob. Although I’ve admitted crushes on Adam Levine, Beyonce, and Justin Bieber, he still follows me and doesn’t make fun of me (yet). His love of people, writing, blogging, music, and everything else he writes about comes through in every post and every comment he leaves for us mortal bloggers. Justin. Definitely.
(2) John (Chronicles of Shue). If John were on stage, forget the screaming and carrying on. I think I’d just pass out cold. He’s the Rebel of the Band with the big heart and the tattoos and the Corn Fed Spartan bod. He’s A.J. of New Kids on the Block (sorry, John). Like A.J., John’s working through issues, finding himself, being himself, getting himself healthy and happy. Right now he’s in Florida, doing what he loves– photography. Check him out, be a fan, and discuss whatever you want with him. He always reciprocates with thoughtful comments.
(3) Jack (Jack Flacco). Since Jack writes zombie novels, he’s going to be the member of my Boy Band who has a bit of an edge. The mysterious one. The introspective one. Maybe the George Harrison of the group? He recently wrote a swoon-worthy post about a trip to Niagara Falls with his wife. And he cuts his own hair. Zombies are cool. Give him a look!
(4) Al (Poetry Corner and Once Written). Al’s a poet, so he’s going to be my Romantic Boy Band specimen. He’s the J.C. in N’Sync. The Howie in NKOTB. He probably doesn’t know what that means. But he knows poetry. And feet. He’s a foot and ankle surgeon during the day, poet and blogger by night. Although I’m straying off the “Band” theme here, Al’s the George Clooney of Blogtropolis. Yep, I said it. Check him out and you’ll agree.
(5) drishism (ish ism). He’s a grad student marathon runner, and every boy band needs an athlete. He blogs about his journey to becoming a foster parent, his cat eating peas out of the bowl, and his marathon training. He’s an excellent writer and shares so many different aspects of his life. Boy Band-worthy, for sure.
(6) Steve (The Side Wedge). Name a Beach Boy, any Beach Boy. . . that’s Steve. He’s all about surfing. I don’t do the ocean, yet I follow his blog. Why? He shares sunny pics of surfers, waves and the ocean. Who wouldn’t appreciate that? He writes with passion, not only about surfing, but also about teamwork, coaching, travel, and even litter, and always includes beautiful photos.
Thank you, Gentlemen. Seeing your posts and comments everyday elicits in me the same joy as hearing an N’Sync song on my way to work (I can hear your collective groans). Ladies, I hope you check out and enjoy my Boy Band of Bloggers.
Thanks for reading and indulging this pause in my usual posting schedule to acknowledge all of my favorite bloggers, male and female alike. It really helped me with the guilt thing. Wish me luck with my own boys, plus one, this weekend!
Bonkers at Bingo
In addition to tuition for JC’s enrollment in private school, my husband and I are required to accumulate thirty “service points” per year. The school offers many options for obtaining points, but the best “bang for your buck” points-wise, for working parents at least, is to work Bingo.
Yes, Bingo.
“We” (by that I mean, “I”) are on the “last Tuesday of the month” Bingo team. Luckily, we have a “Bingo Buddy” (which sounds more fun than it is). A “Bingo Buddy” is another family who alternates months with us. So ultimately, I work Bingo every other last Tuesday of the month. If I work six Bingos a year and bring a cake with me each time to sell at concession, I have my thirty points.
A little background. I remember going to Bingo with my grandmother when I was a kid. I remember cigarette smoke, and cranky crowds of old people, and the little, colored chips that the players used. I remember someone sitting in the front of the room, pulling balls from a cage and calling numbers.
It’s not like that anymore. Thankfully, there’s no smoking. Bingo isn’t played on hard cards anymore; it’s played on paper sheets of cheesy quality. Chips are a thing of the past. Now, they use “daubers”– ink holders with sponge tips. There is still a person who calls numbers, but now the balls pop up from a machine, and are placed into a contraption which magnifies the ball onto television screens located across the stage. A giant, light up board stretches behind the caller, illuminating every number called. It’s quite high tech for a game that consists of matching a letter and number on a ball to that same letter and number on your “card.”
Despite the advances in Bingo, one thing remains unchanged: Senior Citizens.
They arrive an hour prior to playing time and fight for the handicapped parking spots. When the doors open, they rush in (I use that term loosely) and get “their seat.” They always sit in the same seats– apparently it’s good luck. The first thing they do is set up their spot. Good luck charms are placed around them like a border. Trolls, pictures of grandkids, stuffed animals, noisemakers (more on that later), daubers. Some players have a circular looking Bingo Bag that holds daubers of every color of the rainbow, like this:
They don bedazzled sweatshirts that shout messages about Bingo, being Grandparents, or both (“Grandma’s My Name, and Bingo’s My Game,” “I [heart] Bingo!”). Here’s a fun example:
Don’t get me wrong. Many of these senior citizens are quite lovely. There’s one little lady who must be closing in on a hundred years old who’s so sweet that I want to steal her and bring her home. She has a voice like the movie stars of the 1940’s, sort of a throaty, yet melodic voice, and wears hats and scarves that she knit, no matter the season.
Then there’s the proud grandfather and fan of The Godfather, who wears this tee shirt:
Cracks me up every time I see it (which is every time I see him in his usual seat). Wonderful patrons tell you all (translate: ALLLLLLLL) about their grandkids, and the War, and the Depression. Some stories are interesting, and you can’t help but admire the Greatest Generation. I’ve also had the privilege of discussing 50 Shades of Grey with a lady old enough to be my grandmother. She revealed that she read half of the first book earlier that day while sitting on the beach. The conversation got really interesting, really quickly. Then, there are the super-nice, super-kids who bring their aging parents week after week to play Bingo. It’s kind of sweet (don’t get any ideas, Mom and Dad!).
As you can imagine though, there’s another side to that coin. Bingo attracts the Cranky Pants Seniors too (No offense Grandma Says . . . crankycaregiver!). Man, are they grumpy! They are too hot. Too cold. It’s too late. Why do we start so early? They can’t hear. Why is it so loud? I’m blocking their view. Can I go away? Wait, they need me. Come back.
Though they are spending money to play Bingo, they argue about the prices of the snacks at the concession. A whole dollar for a hot dog! Is it made of gold? Back in the old days hot dogs were cheaper. How about a cup of ice instead? I wanted decaf, not regular. It is decaf. No it’s not. I know the difference. Okay, sir. That will be fifty cents. FIFTY CENTS?
The most challenging Bingo nights are when “the Progressive” is “up.” As Bingo workers, you can never quite be sure when this is going to happen. I’ve been doing Bingo now for four years, and have yet to figure out how “the Progressive” works. Something about an accumulating pot of money that you have to win within a certain number of balls being called. Suffice it to say, when “the Progressive” is “up,” we get aggressive emails from our “MIC” (Master in Charge- a.k.a. “Bingo Dude”) starting in the early afternoon hours confirming we are going to show. At my last Bingo, I witnessed a “Progressive” winner take home almost three thousand dollars!
When the pot is big and “the Progressive” is “up,” they come in droves, from miles away. Unfortunately, the larger the crowd, the more restless the seniors. The Amateurs do everything wrong and the Regulars get miffed. Once some poor soul called “Bingo” and everyone crumbled up their cards, only to find that it “wasn’t a good bingo.” Somehow the sweet old lady messed up with her daubbing. We had to walk her to her car at the end of the night for fear of retaliation by the Regulars. You never call a false bingo!
The most problematic task in working Bingo, however– worse than concession, worse than admission ticket sales, worse than calling the numbers, is selling Poppers.
At our fine establishment, “Poppers” refers to a packet of seventy-five little cards sold for one dollar each. There is one card for each Bingo ball (ex. B-10, O-75, etc.). After purchase, the Popper holder opens the card to reveal their number. Once the Poppers are sold, the winning Popper number is called, and the matching ticket holder gets fifty bucks (Bingo gets the other $25). The lure of the Popper is the odds of winning- one in seventy-five. If there is one thing I know about Bingo-loving seniors? THEY LOVE POPPERS.
We “Experienced Bingo Workers” usually sucker some poor Kindergarten parent into selling the Poppers and sit back and watch the show. The problem with the Poppers which causes strife and stress to the seller is that there are only seventy-five of them. So you get your pile of Poppers spread into your giant plastic bowl and you step into the Bingo forum during the regularly-scheduled Bingo fun. Suddenly you hear, “Poppers!” “Hey Popper Lady!” Some of them simply hold a dollar bill up in the air and wait for you.
Newbies run around the room, trying to accommodate all who call. “Over here!” “Poppers!” Then one of the wealthier Bingo patrons decides to buy ten Poppers, and dries them up, and they haven’t made it past the first table! The Cranky Pants People from the other side of the room yell obscenities and tell every worker within earshot that “the next set of Poppers better start on their side of the room.”
The first time I was duped into being the Popper Person as a Kindergarten parent I was panicked and apologetic and so frazzled that my money apron was short a few bucks (the Establishment took the hit). The next couple of times I did it, with the confidence appropriate for a first and second grade Bingo parent, I shut my ears. I took charge and weaved a pattern through the tables and didn’t stray. I took some hits. My favorite was when I was asked if I had a hearing problem. “Hey Popper Lady. Are you deaf?” One patron accused me of flaring her arthritis since she had to hold up her dollar for so long. I stayed strong, and powered through.
One of the most fascinating things at Bingo though are the different noises for different calls. For example, B-8 elicits recordings of whistles. Whistles reminiscent of construction workers admiring women pedestrians, if you can imagine. I get that. The figure eight and the B-8. Ha. I don’t understand why I-23 gets a bit of Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York”. Or why they start to yelp or toot horns at certain numbers. It’s sort of like Bizzaro Bingo World.
Listen, Blogtropolis. I love seniors as much as the next person. Heck, God-willing I am going to be one in the not-so-far future. But something about the combination of age and the wonderful game of Bingo bring out the worst in some (yes, some) of our most cherished seniors. Why is that? Is “Bingo” a whole secret culture for the over-sixty crowd? Some initiation into the world of the elderly?
All I know is that despite the Regulars and their “seats,” Bingo nights are unpredictable. I have to admit that it’s nice to see people win money. My favorite job at Bingo is to hand out the winnings (they love me then!).
Thanks for reading, and have a nice night.
[Sources: Bingo pic: http://fortjacksonmwr.com/bingo/images/bingoBallsAndCards.gif; Dauber bag: http://www.freebingobag.com/complete%20with%20daubers.jpg; Grandpa Streets T-shirt: http://rlv.zcache.com/support_bingo_grandpa_tshirt-p235363155944392320qrf1_425.jpg; The Grandfather T-shirt: http://skreened.com/render-product/u/k/w/ukwesoienadykplsivtl/the-grandfather-t-shirt.american-apparel-unisex-fitted-tee.black.w760h760.jpg]
WOAW’s First Poll- Downton Abbey
I just finished Season One of Downton Abbey on Netflix and I need your help, Blogtropolis.
As much as I love our friends on the other side of the Atlantic–as much as I love hats and wish they were in style here in the States–as much as I love London, and Will and Kate, and Shakespeare, and The Beatles– I just don’t love British television.
Apologies to all. I’m sorry. It’s weird, right? What’s not to like?
It started with The Office. The American version is one of my all-time favorite shows, so I tried the British version on Netflix. I was bored and had trouble comprehending. I know I speak English too, sort of, but they are all so quick and witty over there. I couldn’t keep up. I called it quits after a couple of episodes.
My mother is a huge fan of Miss Marple and English mysteries. I tried. Again: “Eh” (*shrugs shoulders and squints*).
Friends rave about Monty Python and I wanted to love it. I really did. I just didn’t.
Since my history with British entertainment is as rocky as the English Channel, I don’t know what I was thinking when I tried Downton Abbey. After referring to the show as “Downtown Alley” over and over, I believe I tried it simply because so many people told me that I had to–that it was amazingly wonderful. That I would love it- the scenery, the drama, the history. Also, it was only seven episodes and available on Netflix.
I feel like I should love it. That maybe I could love it. But at this moment, I’m sort of “whatever.” Now I feel guilty and I’m questioning my intelligence and taste in television because I’m not yet smitten with the Abbey crew. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? First The Hurt Locker, and now this?
When I thought about it, I realized that all of the people who recommended Downton Abbey to me are over the age of 50. Maybe I’m too old to completely blow off the idea of DA, yet too young to really appreciate it? I dunno. All I know is that I tried, and I’m on the fence about whether or not to continue.
To help you help me, here’s what’s happening in my head after Season One.
I kind of HATE Lady Mary, although I dig her sisters (yes, even mousy Lady Edith). I’m okay with the Ladyship and Lordship and adore the Dowager Countess Maggie Smith. My favorite character is Mr. Bates. He’s charming and full of integrity and sort of unattractively attractive, if that makes sense. I don’t really get Matthew. I mean, do you like Mary? Do you not? If you do, why? She’s kind of nasty. Do you want to inherit the Abbey? And why is everyone so loyal to Butler Thomas? I guess he’s a good looking guy, but obviously he’s a troublemaker. And his co-hort, Mrs. Curly Sideburn Lady is miserable too.
The characters are interesting and the show is pretty to watch, but the story seems to move sooooo sloooowwwly. Is it me? Am I too American, expecting a cliffhanger at the end of every hour? Wanting immediate satisfaction and sensory overload? Do I not possess the frame of mind needed to enjoy this show?
Or is it the show? Be honest Downton-ers. Does it pick up in Season Two? Do things start to move?
The last episode of the season escalated the drama a bit and was everything that I wanted the first six episodes to be; however, the first six episodes felt long and drawn out.
For example, I was so excited when the Turkish Dude kicked the bucket on Lady Mary’s bed, but then besides some troublesome letters exchanged by the fancy people, it all sort of fizzled out. I liked when Anna and Mr. Bates had a civilized conversation about the possibility of liking each other, but again, nothing really moved that story along. I would have enjoyed additional unladylike action between Maggie Smith and Matthew’s Pseudo-Doctor Mom. I would have jumped with joy if Daisy had thrown a brisket at the mean blind Cook Woman prior to Cook Woman’s cataract surgery, kicked Thomas on his way out of the Abbey, and made out with William in the stables.
What am I doing wrong? Am I missing the drama? Expecting too much too soon? I don’t know. It must be me.
Right?
Since I can’t decide whether or not to stick with it, I’m posing the question to you fine folks out there, in WOAW’s First Official Poll (which I cross my fingers will work–I’m new, remember?). I will take your advice either way. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME WHAT TO DO!
Thanks for your help. It is much appreciated.
Odd and Ends
New Jersey gets a bad rap, but there are lots of great things about living here. I hope to dedicate a post to New Jersey eventually. For now, know that one great thing about The Garden State is its proximity to New York City. These pictures were taken from the waiting room of a doctor’s office in Jersey City, which is right across the river from the city.
It’s pretty cool to be able to look out a random window and see the Statue of Liberty and the site of the new Towers. I wasn’t expecting to be able to see these places from my friend’s doctor’s office, but glanced out the window and there they were. Just thought I’d share.
Also, I almost let the weekend go by without mentioning the Oscars tonight! Besides the movies I have posted about (Les Mis, Zero Dark Thirty, Life of Pi, and Beasts of the Southern Wild, as well as Anita’s post about Amour), I did get to see Argo and The Silver Linings Playbook. I just didn’t plan my posting schedule well-enough to find time to post about them prior to tonight. As you can imagine, they were both awesomesauce.
So in total, of the nine movies I was able to watch six. Not too bad! I will be anxious to see what wins Best Picture tonight. My guess is Lincoln, since I didn’t see that one!
Have a great rest of the weekend!
Waiting on a Word 
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