Random Thoughts for December
Here's a major difference between men and women: Spitting. I don't know one woman, no matter how vulgar she may be, who would walk down the street and spit. Yet men think nothing of it. Forget baseball players with their seemingly endless supply of saliva or sunflower seeds or tobacco. Just the ordinary guy will be walking down the street and launch a lugie. So that is, in my mind, a very fundamental difference between the sexes. Thank you, Margaret Mead, for that anthropological observation.
Seen on a t-shirt: Why is abbreviation such a long word? Good question.
I hate it when my socks sink into my shoes and I have to keep retrieving them. This only happens with certain pairs, but when it does, it drives me crazy. The other thing that drives me crazy is missing socks. I picture a sock somehow gaining its freedom from the washer or dryer in a scene reminiscent of Tim Robbins’ escape from prison in “The Shawshank Redemption.”
Whenever my sister and I find ourselves with extra time on our hands, do we sit and watch a movie? Read a book? Call a friend? No, we throw in a "bonus load" of laundry. We're nuts, I know, but getting an extra load in – especially for her, since she has a job that keeps her out of the house all week – is a thrill. Even for me, the family retiree.
There's nothing like getting into a bed with clean sheets. Not that the ones that were on the bed last night could actually get dirty. After all, it's not like I work in a dusty place, have pets on the bed, eat in bed or any of the above, so how dirty could they get? But still, there's nothing like clean sheets on the bed. Come on, you know just what I mean.
Speaking of clean, raise your hand if you clean the house before the cleaning lady comes. OK, I see a lot of hands out there. I always straighten up, since I don't want her to have to deal with the newspapers and magazines and the general clutter. I want her to scrub and clean. I can do the organizing. Everyone does that, I think, unless they just don't have the time, right? Besides, do I want the cleaning lady to think I live like a slob (which, I assure you, I do not)?
There are so many cleaning products under the kitchen sink that there isn't even room for all of them. It would be nice if someone other than the cleaning lady used them. Oh, I guess that would be me...
Sometimes I think to myself, "If it were up to me, I'd stay in bed all day and read." Then I remember it IS up to me. But then I feel guilty about what I SHOULD be doing, so I don't stay in bed all day and read. But one day, I swear I will. I only hope it is by choice.
It is really strange to walk down the street, listening to iHeart Radio and get traffic and weather reports from Phoenix or whatever station I happen upon.
There are 15 clocks in this house and the only two that show the same time are on the DVRs (which I can't set or override). I throw up my hands sometimes and wait until we have to change the clocks, when I know they will all be at the same time, at least for the day. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
I have 2 red raffle tickets in my wallet for something I bought or signed up for. No one has called and no one will, but I am holding on to them anyway. Why?
My phone conversations with my sister are so mundane, so boring, that we get hysterical thinking about them. I only hope the government is listening in. Someone could easily fall asleep listening to us ruminate over the latest "star" to go home on "Dancing With the Stars," or planning an outing to drop off clothes for a clothing drive, or talking about the sale at ShopRite on the laundry detergent I use (my sister is on patrol to keep me informed of sales on Dynamo). Bring it on, NSA. We'll bore you to death.
Do you find yourself saying, “Before I forget,” more and more often? It’s not just me, right?
It seems every time I go to the eye doctor the sun is shining brightly. Then they put those drops in my eyes to dilate my pupils and I leave the office and am immediately blinded by the light. And then I drive home!
Is there a town that doesn't have a road named "River Road" or "Lakeview Drive?" And how many are actually near a river or have a view of a lake?
And speaking of street names, it is interesting to notice how the town or the developers have decided on the names. I live on Joshua Drive, near Scott and Daniel, but not that far from Barbara, so the developer must have had a lot of kids with those names. When will we see Tameika Place? Khadijah Drive? Some communities use names that reflect the former heritage of a location, like Choctaw Ridge Road. I always feel sorry for the kids who are just learning their addresses who have to learn to spell Amagansett. My former address was Skillman Close. Not Road, not Drive, not Street. Close. This is apparently a nicer way of denoting a dead end. But how many times did I have to spell it out or explain it? It's not like I CHOSE the name.
Who sits around and makes up names for paint colors and shades of lipstick? Look, this can't be an easy job. How many ways can YOU describe beige or shades of red and pink?
Please, God, make people stop using 'single quotes' where clearly "double quotes" belong. This seemingly universal change in punctuation is making me twitch. I see it in the Star-Ledger nearly every day, and it appears in more places than I can list. I can see the headline in the obituary section – Woman Dies from 'Single Quote' overexposure.
Stink bugs are aptly named, because they stink.
I wonder if any of the seemingly miserable and generally surly government employees with whom we have to deal went home excited and happy the day they got the news they were hired. Or does the government look for miserable people to hire so they can deal with the public? I’m thinking specifically of the local Social Security office as well as the toll-free SS line, where the person I spoke with was not even as warm and helpful as an automated line.
Among the many things I don’t do well, near the top of the list, is peeling hard-boiled eggs. Don’t expect deviled eggs from me anytime in the future since when I peel an egg, I end up denting it, and you are likely to get a piece of shell. I know, I know, peel ‘em under running water, but then you’ll get a wet egg from me. Your choice.
When I go out for a walk in the cold weather, I layer it up. In fact, nobody this side of Heidi wears this many layers. You'd think I was walking in the Antarctic rather than on the streets of Hillsborough.
Though I pride myself on a pop culture IQ that is far above average, I must admit that I have not only never seen “Dr. Who,” but I don't even know what it is about. Furthermore, I don't care to. And I've never seen or read “The Hunger Games,” either, and probably never will.
As I was scrubbing a potato to within an inch of its life the other day, I started to wonder how many tons of dirt I have consumed over the years. I mean, nobody truly gets all of the dirt off a potato, so some of it just has to be eaten. As the old ad goes, I guess we as a species are "stronger than dirt."
Sunday, December 15, 2013
Sunday, December 1, 2013
Tina's November 2013 Movies
In November, I was thankful to find 11 movies to see. Movies not seen previously are indicated with an * and numbering picks up from the previous month. Movies are rated on a scale of 0-5 cans of tuna fish, with 5 being the top accolade.
125. Hannah and Her Sisters (1984) – Woody Allen is a neurotic New Yorker (stop me if you’ve heard this one before) who was once married to Hannah (Mia Farrow). Hannah and her sisters (Dianne Weist, who won the Best Supporting Oscar for her role) and Barbara Hershey are entangled in each other’s lives. The film is loaded with romantic complications involving numerous guest stars, like Michael Caine, Max Von Sydow, but, sadly, no Diane Keaton. If you want to see New York living, Woody Allen and complicated relationships, this one’s for you. Give me Annie Hall instead. 3½ cans.
126. Witness (1985) – This movie was the first to take us into the land of the Amish, long before they started leaving home to appear on reality TV. Harrison Ford is a Philly cop investigating a murder witnessed by the young son (Lukas Haas) of an Amish widow (Kelly McGillis) at the train station. The cultural clash between “the English” and the Amish is clearly on display here, as Ford, seriously injured, ends up on the Amish farm to heal. The attraction he has for Amish mother played by Kelly McGillis, is genuine. I hadn’t seen this movie in many years and was glad to have rediscovered it. 4 cans.
127. In a World* (2013) – Whenever I watch movie previews and the announcer intones the phrase, “In a world..” I know I won’t be seeing that movie. So, ironically, I went to see this movie, which is about succeeding in the world of voiceovers. Lake Bell makes an auspicious debut as director and star of this dramedy about a 31-year old woman who is the daughter of a career voiceover artist who is content to outdo his daughter at every turn. Languishing as a vocal coach, Carol Solomon (Bell) yearns for a break, and she is on the verge of getting one as the narrator of a huge “quadrology” – a 4-part series that sounds similar to all those movies I never see, like “The Hunger Games.” In her corner (for the most part) is her sister and the cute guy with a crush on her. This is a pleasant romp, but Bell is the revelation. With Zooey Deschanel-like qualities, she stands out in this ensemble effort. Sounds good to me. 3½ cans.
128. Say Anything (1989) – While high school valedictorian Diane Court (Ione Skye) is looking forward to her future, studying on a fellowship in England, her classmate, flaky Lloyd Dobler (the under-rated John Cusak) has a more modest goal: He simply wants to go out with Diane. An unlikely match by everyone’s standards, they bring out the best in each other. Lloyd is supportive and caring, and Diane begins to see life without blinders and beyond her devotion to her controlling father (John Mahoney), to whom she can say anything. Can this relationship last? This Cameron Crowe movie elevates above the usual teenage angst with the sincerity of young love and memorable bits by supporting players like Lily Taylor, a friend of Lloyd’s who writes songs about her one-time love, Joe. And who can forget that iconic image of Lloyd standing outside Diane’s house, boombox overhead blaring “In Your Eyes?” 4 cans.
129. Miracle in the Rain (1956) – A very plain Jane Wyman plays Ruth Wood, a lonely single woman who meets charming soldier Art Hugenaut (Van Johnson) on a rainy day. He is unfailingly kind, thoughtful, polite and full of fun, and she inevitably falls for him. Just as inevitably, he is forced to leave her to fight in WWII. In case you can’t figure out the rest of the plot, I’ll just say that true love never dies, but sometimes it takes a miracle to keep love alive. True confession: At one time this was one of my favorite movies. Maybe I’ve gotten more stoic over the years, because it no longer makes me weep uncontrollably and it seems a little sappy to my 63-year old self, as opposed to my teenaged self. But, miraculously, I enjoyed seeing it again. 3 cans.
130. We’re the Millers* (2013) – Just because you fall asleep in the first 15 minutes of a movie, that doesn’t mean it is a terrible movie, right? In fact, this would be a bad movie even if I had stayed up through the whole thing. This comedy stars Jason Sudekis as a small-time drug dealer who has to smuggle a large load of pot from Mexico to repay a debt to his dealer “boss.” He grabs a couple of ne’er-do-well acquaintances (stripper Jennifer Anniston, wild child Emma Roberts and a geeky teenaged boy whose name escapes me) to pose as his phony family – hence, the title, “We’re the Millers” – so he can sneak across the border in an RV filled with drugs. Needless to say, things don’t go as planned. The RV has problems, bad guys are after them, and they meet a federal agent and his wife along the way, all of which slow them down. The bickering “family” naturally becomes like a real family. If you stick around for the whole thing – and I did go back and watch the parts I missed – make sure to watch the outtakes, which are funnier than the movie. Which isn’t saying much. 1½ cans.
131. Under the Tuscan Sun (2003) – In my next life I want to be Diane Lane. She’s beautiful, talented and, here, is living in Tuscany. What could be bad (her domestic violence order against estranged real-life husband Josh Brolin notwithstanding)? In this delightful movie, she plays real-life author Frances Mayes, who ditches her California life after her husband ditches her, goes on a tour of Tuscany and impulsively hops off a bus and buys a house. When I first saw this movie, I thought it was about love and home improvements. But it is really about love and family, the love between men and women, friends, young love, older love, endless devoted love, and the people who surround us who become our families. I loved it. 4 cans.
132. Planes, Trains & Automobiles (1987) – My Thanksgiving is complete, now that I have once again watched this endearing comedy with Steve Martin as frustrated traveler Neil, who keeps bumping into annoying salesman Dell (the late John Candy). Both guys are trying their best to get home to Chicago in time for Thanksgiving, but every possible thing happens to prevent them from getting there. Candy is a big hulk of a guy, but full of a soft and warm center. Martin is uptight and driven (occasionally on the wrong side of the road). They don’t call these movies “buddy movies” for nothing, however, as the characters begin to understand each other despite their conflicts and the circumstances. Terrific movie, great performances, and always something for which to be thankful in this special season. 4 cans.
133. The Sugarland Express* (1974) – Somehow I had managed to miss this movie, the feature movie debut of director Steven Spielberg, for all these years. It reminded me of his classic TV-movie, “Duel,” since both movies take place on long, flat highways. Here Goldie Hawn and William Atherton are a couple of convicts. She’s been released from jail and he breaks out of jail so they can retrieve their baby. But breaking out of jail usually attracts some attention, and before you know it, they have hijacked a police car and have a phalanx of patrol cars following their every move. The story is based on a real incident in Texas, and it is told by Spielberg (who co-wrote the screenplay) with tension and humor. Hawn is still cute but much tougher here than her typical ditsy character. Who knew this rookie director would go on to such classics as “ET,” “Indiana Jones” and “Schindler’s List?” He got off to a good start on this one. 3½ cans.
134. The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3 (1974) – Walter Matthau eschews his usual comic persona to take the lead as a NYC Transit cop in this outstanding suspense movie. Four criminals hijack NYC subway train and threaten to kill the passengers if their demand for a $1 million ransom is not met. The authorities can’t comprehend how these guys are going to succeed with this outrageous crime, but Matthau, their chief contact, is smart enough to figure it out. The bad guys (including Robert Shaw, Hector Elizondo and Martin Balsam) have the whole caper well thought out. I much prefer this original version to the remake that starred Denzel Washington and John Travolta a few years ago. There’s no need for excessive violence, blood and gore to keep the tension level high. This one is just smart, and I highly recommend it. 4 cans.
135. The Sessions* (2012) – John Hawkes gives a remarkable performance in this drama based on a real story of a man who lives most of his life in an iron lung. Mark O’Brien is an educated man, a poet and writer, who contracted polio as a child and is unable to go for more than a few hours without his iron lung. He relies on health care aides to care for and transport him. Even with the reality of his limitations, he is a witty, personable man who develops genuine feelings for some of the women in his life. He has never been able to have sexual intercourse – or hasn’t found a willing partner – so when a doctor suggests he contract the services of a sexual surrogate, he decides to take her advice. Helen Hunt is Cheryl, the woman who takes on Mark as a patient, and it is her patience and experience as a professional in the field that guides him. This poignant story is much less titillating than you might expect, considering how often Hunt sheds her clothes, and both characters have deep feelings about their sessions together. Not my usual kind of movie, but I was curious about how this subject would be portrayed. It turned out to be very moving and with considerable charm. 3½ cans.
Friday, November 15, 2013
LGF
I offer this remembrance in honor of Lawrence G. Foster, the man who hired me at Johnson & Johnson, and who passed away on October 17, 2013.
The carpet was a deep green, the desk a rich wood, and the man behind it was tall and imposing. He stuck out his hand and said two words to me that I would never hear again in my Johnson & Johnson career:
“You’re early.”
His name was Lawrence G. Foster, and he was director of Public Relations, the man who built the PR function at Johnson & Johnson and influenced generations of PR professionals both inside and outside of J&J.
He fired off questions and I must have answered them well enough, because he practically offered me a job on the spot. Instead, he told me to make an appointment with what was then called Personnel, where I had a formal interview and a job offer. It was May, 1972. He hired me on a Monday and I started the next day. I was 21 years old, wearing the only dress I owned and I had no idea I would be taking a job working for the preeminent PR practitioner of his generation at the best company in the world.
Larry Foster – or Mr. Foster, as we all called him, in much the same way Mary Richards called Lou Grant Mr. Grant – was, at his core, an editor. There wasn’t a piece of copy he couldn’t make better, more concise, more to the point. In fact, he’d think that sentence was redundant. Whether in his distinctive script (we all learned to forge his full signature and his initials after a while) or whether he called you in to tell you how to make it better, he always improved what you’d done.
He was also a true leader. You knew exactly who was in charge the minute he walked into the room. He had an amazing eye for talent (of course I say that since, after all, he hired me!). The core of people he hired before I started and during my tenure at Johnson & Johnson all stayed together for about 25 years. He had a knack for identifying people who could match his standards. Perfection was not an aspiration if you worked for Larry Foster. It was an expectation. And the people he hired worked diligently, often behind the scenes, to meet that standard.
I fear that compromises in corporate offices around the US have led to the lowering of standards, and those lower standards have become acceptable. Frankly, that’s one of the reasons I retired. I couldn’t lower the standards instilled in me by my parents, my education and my first boss. The world needs more people like Larry Foster, imposing their will, raising the level of performance and making the right decisions for the right reasons. In doing so, they also enhance the reputation of companies like Johnson & Johnson. By every measurable standard – polls in The Wall Street Journal, surveys in Fortune magazine -- Johnson & Johnson remains one of the most admired and beloved companies in the US, in no small measure because of the reputation built by its senior leaders during that era.
Mr. Foster was on a sabbatical in 1982, finishing his book on the legendary Chairman of Johnson & Johnson, the late General Robert Wood Johnson, when the TYLENOL crisis hit. Seven people in the Chicago area had purchased the analgesic in local stores and died from cyanide poisoning. Was it a manufacturing issue? A tampering incident? No one had ever seen anything like this event, and it became the number one news story of the year. Larry Foster came back to the office to help guide the company through what became a textbook example of crisis management and corporate social responsibility. The case now is taught in graduate school in places like Harvard, but to be there during the crisis was probably the defining moment of my career – witnessing history, and the confluence of doing what’s right for the public and for the shareholders. Needless to say, Johnson & Johnson survived, its reputation not only in tact, but enhanced, thanks to the work of CEO James E. Burke and his right hand man, Larry Foster. Years later, people still talk about the incident and Mr. Foster’s inspiring influence on the decisions the company made.
Not that it was all serious. Our group, despite the late hours, the huge meetings for which we handled everything literally from soup to the nuts who showed up, worked hard and laughed often. And there were times you could just tell he got a kick out of all of us, a cohesive group, each working away at our jobs, trying to live up to his expectations of us and hopes for us.
He could be kind and paternal—or intimidating and tough. All these many years later, the “girls” he hired are still friends, and we still refer to ourselves as the “Foster Children.” We couldn’t wear pants to work (this was not, as you would imagine, applicable to the men in the department), and you were expected to show up and work until the job was done. Once, when I broke my leg badly and had a cast on it for 8 weeks, I had to go to his office. He wasn’t happy with the boat anchor that might slow me down. In fact, the only thing he said to me was, “Don’t put your foot on my coffee table,” as if I had the temerity to even consider it.
Another time we were engaged in rehearsals for a worldwide management conference at the Park Lane Hotel in New York. I worked with each executive on his presentation, running through speeches and rehearsals all day and noting changes needed for each one, until about 4:00, when I finally had to take a bathroom break. Mr. Foster glared at me as if I had committed some unforgivable transgression. The show must go on, I agreed, but I had to go first. He had no choice but to wait, since I was the only one who knew every slide in every speech, and I was responsible for every change. He was a tough and demanding boss¸ and his work ethic rubbed off on every one of us who worked for him, making us better at what we did. I’m convinced it made us the best department in the company.
Every day at lunch he would take what we now call a “power nap.” He would have his lunch delivered by the Executive Dining Room and then lie on his couch until 1:30. God forbid you were on “phone duty” and someone important was looking for him. Occasionally, one of the women would have to go and wake him, either to take a call or because his internal alarm clock failed to go off. No one did it without considerable trepidation.
My interest in photography developed when LGF (as we referred to him) stuck me in a dark room with a couple of thousand slides to try to make a presentation on all of Johnson & Johnson’s facilities around the world. He would later tease me that, because I could readily identify each facility, I could memorize the numbers on boxcars as trains passed by.
When I was with Johnson & Johnson for just a year, Mr. Foster appointed me editor of a management publication that, ironically, I was too junior to receive. Later, he trusted me to build the company’s worldwide video network and direct video programs. Luckily, I learned fast. One of our first productions in our new studio was a video with his good friend, Joe Paterno. I recall a life-sized cardboard cutout of Jo Pa standing in his office. Scared the hell out of me when I walked in there one day. LGF was a long-standing supporter and served as president of the Alumni Association at his beloved Penn State. See the influence he had on me? I figured if he could uphold the Credo in spirit and action with his volunteer work and financial support, I could do the same for my alma mater. Today, following his example, I serve as president of the Associate Alumnae of Douglass College.
Between Larry Foster and his successor, Bill Nielsen, I was given opportunities to do things no one had done before. There was a lot of on the job training since I had no role models to follow. But I always appreciated their faith in me.
I’d get called into Mr. Foster’s office often, and I never knew precisely what he wanted when I would arrive, so I was prepared for anything. Sometimes when we’d finish he’d say to me, “Are there any more like you at home?” That’s when I figured out I must have done something right.
Sometimes being in the right place at the right time makes all the difference in the world. I was lucky enough to have had that experience in May of 1972, when I met the man who would hire me and change my life. His retirement marked the end of one era, and his passing marks another.
His faithful assistant, Karen Kier, was kind enough to let me know that Mr. Foster was not doing well and would probably appreciate hearing from me. I sat down and wrote to him immediately, thanking him for getting my career started and telling him how much he meant to me – among other things. She also told me that she had been cleaning his old files and had just found a letter that I wrote to him when I retired. I wasn’t surprised that he had kept it, because I also have every note he ever wrote to me.
Thanks, Mr. Foster.
The carpet was a deep green, the desk a rich wood, and the man behind it was tall and imposing. He stuck out his hand and said two words to me that I would never hear again in my Johnson & Johnson career:
“You’re early.”
His name was Lawrence G. Foster, and he was director of Public Relations, the man who built the PR function at Johnson & Johnson and influenced generations of PR professionals both inside and outside of J&J.
He fired off questions and I must have answered them well enough, because he practically offered me a job on the spot. Instead, he told me to make an appointment with what was then called Personnel, where I had a formal interview and a job offer. It was May, 1972. He hired me on a Monday and I started the next day. I was 21 years old, wearing the only dress I owned and I had no idea I would be taking a job working for the preeminent PR practitioner of his generation at the best company in the world.
Larry Foster – or Mr. Foster, as we all called him, in much the same way Mary Richards called Lou Grant Mr. Grant – was, at his core, an editor. There wasn’t a piece of copy he couldn’t make better, more concise, more to the point. In fact, he’d think that sentence was redundant. Whether in his distinctive script (we all learned to forge his full signature and his initials after a while) or whether he called you in to tell you how to make it better, he always improved what you’d done.
He was also a true leader. You knew exactly who was in charge the minute he walked into the room. He had an amazing eye for talent (of course I say that since, after all, he hired me!). The core of people he hired before I started and during my tenure at Johnson & Johnson all stayed together for about 25 years. He had a knack for identifying people who could match his standards. Perfection was not an aspiration if you worked for Larry Foster. It was an expectation. And the people he hired worked diligently, often behind the scenes, to meet that standard.
I fear that compromises in corporate offices around the US have led to the lowering of standards, and those lower standards have become acceptable. Frankly, that’s one of the reasons I retired. I couldn’t lower the standards instilled in me by my parents, my education and my first boss. The world needs more people like Larry Foster, imposing their will, raising the level of performance and making the right decisions for the right reasons. In doing so, they also enhance the reputation of companies like Johnson & Johnson. By every measurable standard – polls in The Wall Street Journal, surveys in Fortune magazine -- Johnson & Johnson remains one of the most admired and beloved companies in the US, in no small measure because of the reputation built by its senior leaders during that era.
Mr. Foster was on a sabbatical in 1982, finishing his book on the legendary Chairman of Johnson & Johnson, the late General Robert Wood Johnson, when the TYLENOL crisis hit. Seven people in the Chicago area had purchased the analgesic in local stores and died from cyanide poisoning. Was it a manufacturing issue? A tampering incident? No one had ever seen anything like this event, and it became the number one news story of the year. Larry Foster came back to the office to help guide the company through what became a textbook example of crisis management and corporate social responsibility. The case now is taught in graduate school in places like Harvard, but to be there during the crisis was probably the defining moment of my career – witnessing history, and the confluence of doing what’s right for the public and for the shareholders. Needless to say, Johnson & Johnson survived, its reputation not only in tact, but enhanced, thanks to the work of CEO James E. Burke and his right hand man, Larry Foster. Years later, people still talk about the incident and Mr. Foster’s inspiring influence on the decisions the company made.
Not that it was all serious. Our group, despite the late hours, the huge meetings for which we handled everything literally from soup to the nuts who showed up, worked hard and laughed often. And there were times you could just tell he got a kick out of all of us, a cohesive group, each working away at our jobs, trying to live up to his expectations of us and hopes for us.
He could be kind and paternal—or intimidating and tough. All these many years later, the “girls” he hired are still friends, and we still refer to ourselves as the “Foster Children.” We couldn’t wear pants to work (this was not, as you would imagine, applicable to the men in the department), and you were expected to show up and work until the job was done. Once, when I broke my leg badly and had a cast on it for 8 weeks, I had to go to his office. He wasn’t happy with the boat anchor that might slow me down. In fact, the only thing he said to me was, “Don’t put your foot on my coffee table,” as if I had the temerity to even consider it.
Another time we were engaged in rehearsals for a worldwide management conference at the Park Lane Hotel in New York. I worked with each executive on his presentation, running through speeches and rehearsals all day and noting changes needed for each one, until about 4:00, when I finally had to take a bathroom break. Mr. Foster glared at me as if I had committed some unforgivable transgression. The show must go on, I agreed, but I had to go first. He had no choice but to wait, since I was the only one who knew every slide in every speech, and I was responsible for every change. He was a tough and demanding boss¸ and his work ethic rubbed off on every one of us who worked for him, making us better at what we did. I’m convinced it made us the best department in the company.
Every day at lunch he would take what we now call a “power nap.” He would have his lunch delivered by the Executive Dining Room and then lie on his couch until 1:30. God forbid you were on “phone duty” and someone important was looking for him. Occasionally, one of the women would have to go and wake him, either to take a call or because his internal alarm clock failed to go off. No one did it without considerable trepidation.
My interest in photography developed when LGF (as we referred to him) stuck me in a dark room with a couple of thousand slides to try to make a presentation on all of Johnson & Johnson’s facilities around the world. He would later tease me that, because I could readily identify each facility, I could memorize the numbers on boxcars as trains passed by.
When I was with Johnson & Johnson for just a year, Mr. Foster appointed me editor of a management publication that, ironically, I was too junior to receive. Later, he trusted me to build the company’s worldwide video network and direct video programs. Luckily, I learned fast. One of our first productions in our new studio was a video with his good friend, Joe Paterno. I recall a life-sized cardboard cutout of Jo Pa standing in his office. Scared the hell out of me when I walked in there one day. LGF was a long-standing supporter and served as president of the Alumni Association at his beloved Penn State. See the influence he had on me? I figured if he could uphold the Credo in spirit and action with his volunteer work and financial support, I could do the same for my alma mater. Today, following his example, I serve as president of the Associate Alumnae of Douglass College.
Between Larry Foster and his successor, Bill Nielsen, I was given opportunities to do things no one had done before. There was a lot of on the job training since I had no role models to follow. But I always appreciated their faith in me.
I’d get called into Mr. Foster’s office often, and I never knew precisely what he wanted when I would arrive, so I was prepared for anything. Sometimes when we’d finish he’d say to me, “Are there any more like you at home?” That’s when I figured out I must have done something right.
Sometimes being in the right place at the right time makes all the difference in the world. I was lucky enough to have had that experience in May of 1972, when I met the man who would hire me and change my life. His retirement marked the end of one era, and his passing marks another.
His faithful assistant, Karen Kier, was kind enough to let me know that Mr. Foster was not doing well and would probably appreciate hearing from me. I sat down and wrote to him immediately, thanking him for getting my career started and telling him how much he meant to me – among other things. She also told me that she had been cleaning his old files and had just found a letter that I wrote to him when I retired. I wasn’t surprised that he had kept it, because I also have every note he ever wrote to me.
Thanks, Mr. Foster.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Tina's October 2013 Movies
Even though October had 31 days, I managed to find time for only 9 movies. Two of them were about astronauts, several were classics and one was epically bad. Movies not seen previously are indicated with an * and numbering picks up from the previous month. Movies are rated on a scale of 0-5 cans of tuna fish, with 5 being the top accolade.
116. The Bicycle Thief* (1948) – This classic from Italian director Vittorio DeSica is a depiction of societal poverty in Italy following World War II. The story focuses on Antonio, a husband and father desperately seeking work to support his family. He and his wife pawn their bedsheets to retrieve the bicycle he needs to deliver and display movie posters, a job for which he is extremely grateful. He is devastated when, on his first day, while mounting a poster, he sees a thief come along and grab his bicycle and pedal away. Determined to find the thief and get it back, he and his young son Bruno traverse the impoverished streets of Rome looking for the bike and the thief. This drama is unrelentingly morose, showing everyone afflicted with the same issues as poor Antonio. I won’t spoil the plot or tell you that this is an enjoyable way to spend an hour and a half, but the story is conveyed with realism and emotion. Though I am not a fan of subtitles and haven’t heard this much Italian spoken on screen since Lucy stomped those grapes, I got more understanding out of the faces of the people on the screen than I did from the dialog. Brutal (not in a violent way) but beautiful. 4 cans.
117. Captain Phillips* (2013) – Stay away from Tom Hanks – far away. He’s either on a doomed spaceship (“Apollo 13”), stuck on a remote Pacific Island talking to a volleyball (“Castaway”), trapped in an airport terminal where no one speaks his language (“Terminal”), or he is searching all over Europe for a soldier (“Saving Private Ryan”). Here he is the title character, the captain of a merchant vessel that is invaded by Somalian pirates. Approaching the ship in not much more than a rowboat with an engine and a long ladder, the small but determined Somalians are there to take over the ship, and they have automatic weapons and nothing to lose. Phillips and his crew can combat them only with hoses. Since this story is based on a real incident, you may remember the outcome, but that makes the story no less gripping, as the pirates become more desperate and Phillips does what he has to do to protect his crew. This is not a relaxing day at the movies. It is intense and the invaders are fierce, but, as we know, Tom Hanks – terrific as usual – always makes it home. 4 cans.
118. The Parent Trap (1961) – Way back before digital technology created whole worlds that don’t exist, Hayley Mills managed to be on the screen as two identical characters at once. She is Sharon and Susie, twins separated by their divorced parents. They meet at summer camp and realize that they are sisters, and the plot to change places begins. Brian Keith is the father, about ready to wed a golddigger, and the stunning Maureen O’Hara is the mother. Why these people separated their children and never told them about each other is the real mystery here, since you can see the happy ending coming from miles away. Still, if you watched this movie as a child, it probably conjures up pleasant memories. 3 cans.
119. The African Queen (1951) – Bogart. Hepburn. A dilapidated boat on a river in Africa and German u-boats on the way. Fighting the elements and each other, they are two people from different worlds. You want to see acting? Watch his iconic gem from John Huston. And try not to perspire in all that heat. Corny (now) but classic. 4½ cans.
120. Pushing Tin* (1999) – First, I thought I recorded the Richard Dreyfuss movie about aluminum siding salesmen. Turns out, this one is a John Cusak movie about air traffic controllers. Then, the TV write-up says it is a comedy. I didn’t find much funny about a bunch of ego-driven guys responsible for safely landing planes. Cusack is Nick Falzone, the alpha male until enigmatic Russell Bell arrives (Billy Bob Thornton, one of my least favorite actors) with his young wife (a very young brunette named Angela Jolie). Nick and Ray immediately start vying to be top dog, though their styles couldn’t be more different. Then Nick steps over – way over – the line, and his act affects his life and his marriage to Connie (Cate Blanchett, far from the English actress we know and love). There is a lot of unbelievable stuff that goes on, including Nick’s wild behavior on a flight of his own for which he isn’t arrested as he would be today. I happen to love Cusack, but this movie I could have done without. 2½ cans.
121. Showgirls* (1995) – The saying goes, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” If only that were true, this abominable movie would not have been foisted on the movie-going public. I will admit that I fell asleep, but the movie was so long that when I woke up, it was still going – and going nowhere. Elizabeth Berkley plays a would-be dancer who starts with nothing and ends up pretty much the same way after a brief run as the “It girl” of a musical/nude dancing review. I’ve been to Vegas once this movie affirmed my distaste for the town as well as exceeding my expectations of a bad movie. I will admit to laughing out loud when I first saw Berkley’s character dance on screen. She was at a club, not on stage, but the flailing of her arms reminded me of Elaine Benes (see Jerry Seinfeld for that reference). Now Berkley is competing on “Dancing With the Stars” and even in the skimpiest outfits she is way more clothed than she is in this movie. This movie is everything the critics said it was: BAD. 0 cans.
122. The Right Stuff ( 1983) – Tom Wolfe’s book is translated to the screen in this story of the men who became America’s first astronauts and heroes. All of them were pilots and were chosen for their expertise and All-American heroism. They and their families were both lauded and exploited by NASA. The terrific cast – Ed Harris, Dennis Quaid, Sam Shepard, among others – and the compelling history of the race to space make this movie one I catch frequently. 4 cans.
123. Vera Drake (2004) – British actress Imelda Staunton was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of the title character. A working class woman who takes care of people, she bustles around her house, tends to her husband and grown children as well as her elderly mother and cleans the homes of wealthy women. She’s the kind of woman who just wants to help others – not in a preachy, but in a practical way. When young women find themselves in “the family way” – as an unmarried pregnant woman in 1950 England would be described – she is available to “help” them by performing illegal abortions. She goes about her chores modestly and lovingly, until one young woman suffers an infection after the procedure and almost dies. The rest of the movie follows Vera as the police question her. Staunton virtually shrinks into the character. She is almost silent except to admit her guilt. She performed these acts not for money, but simply because she was trying to help, and she told no one, until forced to admit her guilt and live with the shame. A poignant drama with a perfect performance. 4 cans.
124. Gravity* (2013) – One of the things I got out of this contemporary space saga of astronauts in trouble is the feeling that we probably took for granted the courage displayed by astronauts in past space programs. The technical advances made since John Glenn orbited the earth in 1963 are significant, which makes the potential for danger the first astronauts faced that much more terrifying. Sandra Bullock is Ryan, a doctor and mission specialist flying with veteran Matt (George Clooney) when a shower of debris destroys their spacecraft and threatens their ability to return to earth. Soon Ryan is forced to rely on her modest training and ingenuity to survive. The story seems replete with implausibilities, but the visual sensation is stunning – especially if you see it in 3D, which I did (my first 3D experience since looking at “Sleeping Beauty” on my Viewmaster as a child). I’d be more interested in the story of how this movie was made than on the actual story itself. But points must be awarded for imagination and creativity and the depiction of floating in space. If I were Bullock, I’d hook up with Tom Hanks, who manages to get home safely in everything. 3½ cans.
116. The Bicycle Thief* (1948) – This classic from Italian director Vittorio DeSica is a depiction of societal poverty in Italy following World War II. The story focuses on Antonio, a husband and father desperately seeking work to support his family. He and his wife pawn their bedsheets to retrieve the bicycle he needs to deliver and display movie posters, a job for which he is extremely grateful. He is devastated when, on his first day, while mounting a poster, he sees a thief come along and grab his bicycle and pedal away. Determined to find the thief and get it back, he and his young son Bruno traverse the impoverished streets of Rome looking for the bike and the thief. This drama is unrelentingly morose, showing everyone afflicted with the same issues as poor Antonio. I won’t spoil the plot or tell you that this is an enjoyable way to spend an hour and a half, but the story is conveyed with realism and emotion. Though I am not a fan of subtitles and haven’t heard this much Italian spoken on screen since Lucy stomped those grapes, I got more understanding out of the faces of the people on the screen than I did from the dialog. Brutal (not in a violent way) but beautiful. 4 cans.
117. Captain Phillips* (2013) – Stay away from Tom Hanks – far away. He’s either on a doomed spaceship (“Apollo 13”), stuck on a remote Pacific Island talking to a volleyball (“Castaway”), trapped in an airport terminal where no one speaks his language (“Terminal”), or he is searching all over Europe for a soldier (“Saving Private Ryan”). Here he is the title character, the captain of a merchant vessel that is invaded by Somalian pirates. Approaching the ship in not much more than a rowboat with an engine and a long ladder, the small but determined Somalians are there to take over the ship, and they have automatic weapons and nothing to lose. Phillips and his crew can combat them only with hoses. Since this story is based on a real incident, you may remember the outcome, but that makes the story no less gripping, as the pirates become more desperate and Phillips does what he has to do to protect his crew. This is not a relaxing day at the movies. It is intense and the invaders are fierce, but, as we know, Tom Hanks – terrific as usual – always makes it home. 4 cans.
118. The Parent Trap (1961) – Way back before digital technology created whole worlds that don’t exist, Hayley Mills managed to be on the screen as two identical characters at once. She is Sharon and Susie, twins separated by their divorced parents. They meet at summer camp and realize that they are sisters, and the plot to change places begins. Brian Keith is the father, about ready to wed a golddigger, and the stunning Maureen O’Hara is the mother. Why these people separated their children and never told them about each other is the real mystery here, since you can see the happy ending coming from miles away. Still, if you watched this movie as a child, it probably conjures up pleasant memories. 3 cans.
119. The African Queen (1951) – Bogart. Hepburn. A dilapidated boat on a river in Africa and German u-boats on the way. Fighting the elements and each other, they are two people from different worlds. You want to see acting? Watch his iconic gem from John Huston. And try not to perspire in all that heat. Corny (now) but classic. 4½ cans.
120. Pushing Tin* (1999) – First, I thought I recorded the Richard Dreyfuss movie about aluminum siding salesmen. Turns out, this one is a John Cusak movie about air traffic controllers. Then, the TV write-up says it is a comedy. I didn’t find much funny about a bunch of ego-driven guys responsible for safely landing planes. Cusack is Nick Falzone, the alpha male until enigmatic Russell Bell arrives (Billy Bob Thornton, one of my least favorite actors) with his young wife (a very young brunette named Angela Jolie). Nick and Ray immediately start vying to be top dog, though their styles couldn’t be more different. Then Nick steps over – way over – the line, and his act affects his life and his marriage to Connie (Cate Blanchett, far from the English actress we know and love). There is a lot of unbelievable stuff that goes on, including Nick’s wild behavior on a flight of his own for which he isn’t arrested as he would be today. I happen to love Cusack, but this movie I could have done without. 2½ cans.
121. Showgirls* (1995) – The saying goes, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” If only that were true, this abominable movie would not have been foisted on the movie-going public. I will admit that I fell asleep, but the movie was so long that when I woke up, it was still going – and going nowhere. Elizabeth Berkley plays a would-be dancer who starts with nothing and ends up pretty much the same way after a brief run as the “It girl” of a musical/nude dancing review. I’ve been to Vegas once this movie affirmed my distaste for the town as well as exceeding my expectations of a bad movie. I will admit to laughing out loud when I first saw Berkley’s character dance on screen. She was at a club, not on stage, but the flailing of her arms reminded me of Elaine Benes (see Jerry Seinfeld for that reference). Now Berkley is competing on “Dancing With the Stars” and even in the skimpiest outfits she is way more clothed than she is in this movie. This movie is everything the critics said it was: BAD. 0 cans.
122. The Right Stuff ( 1983) – Tom Wolfe’s book is translated to the screen in this story of the men who became America’s first astronauts and heroes. All of them were pilots and were chosen for their expertise and All-American heroism. They and their families were both lauded and exploited by NASA. The terrific cast – Ed Harris, Dennis Quaid, Sam Shepard, among others – and the compelling history of the race to space make this movie one I catch frequently. 4 cans.
123. Vera Drake (2004) – British actress Imelda Staunton was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of the title character. A working class woman who takes care of people, she bustles around her house, tends to her husband and grown children as well as her elderly mother and cleans the homes of wealthy women. She’s the kind of woman who just wants to help others – not in a preachy, but in a practical way. When young women find themselves in “the family way” – as an unmarried pregnant woman in 1950 England would be described – she is available to “help” them by performing illegal abortions. She goes about her chores modestly and lovingly, until one young woman suffers an infection after the procedure and almost dies. The rest of the movie follows Vera as the police question her. Staunton virtually shrinks into the character. She is almost silent except to admit her guilt. She performed these acts not for money, but simply because she was trying to help, and she told no one, until forced to admit her guilt and live with the shame. A poignant drama with a perfect performance. 4 cans.
124. Gravity* (2013) – One of the things I got out of this contemporary space saga of astronauts in trouble is the feeling that we probably took for granted the courage displayed by astronauts in past space programs. The technical advances made since John Glenn orbited the earth in 1963 are significant, which makes the potential for danger the first astronauts faced that much more terrifying. Sandra Bullock is Ryan, a doctor and mission specialist flying with veteran Matt (George Clooney) when a shower of debris destroys their spacecraft and threatens their ability to return to earth. Soon Ryan is forced to rely on her modest training and ingenuity to survive. The story seems replete with implausibilities, but the visual sensation is stunning – especially if you see it in 3D, which I did (my first 3D experience since looking at “Sleeping Beauty” on my Viewmaster as a child). I’d be more interested in the story of how this movie was made than on the actual story itself. But points must be awarded for imagination and creativity and the depiction of floating in space. If I were Bullock, I’d hook up with Tom Hanks, who manages to get home safely in everything. 3½ cans.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Fleeting Thoughts for October
Optimism is believing that I will run into that cute guy (Matt) from the DIY Network's "Bath Crashers" in Lowe's and he'll offer to come home with me and redo my master bath – or marry me.
I think we should ban that old saying about comparing apples to oranges. Have you seen how many varieties of apples there are in the supermarket? Just comparing apples to apples is virtually impossible anymore.
Is it just me or does your car seem to drive better after it is washed?
I just bought a bra that says it provides "age-defying lift." I'm not sure whether to wear it or apply it to the bags under my eyes.
If all the fruit we buy is seedless – watermelon, grapes, etc. – how will there be fruit in the future?
Speaking of which, I hate it when I buy grapes marked "seedless" and they turn out to have seeds. This should be everyone’s biggest problem.
I still read an actual newspaper each day and always pass over the "Legal Advertising" (as opposed to "illegal advertising?"), those pages printed in tiny agate type that list sheriff's sales of homes and their contents, etc. I gather this kind of information must be published publicly, but does anyone ever read it? I've never had anyone say to me, "Hey, did you check out page 22 of the Ledger today? There's a great Sheriff's sale in Mountainside." I'll confess to perusing the obits, but that's just to assure myself that most people who die are older than me. Of course, that won't be the case forever. By now you are thinking once again, "Tina has too much time on her hands."
Why is it that when you ask someone to scratch your back, the itch moves from the original spot to everywhere else? “That’s it, oh, a little more to the right, up a little…oh, that’s it…”
Here’s a shout-out for the inventor of perforations. Imagine toilet paper, paper towels and checks without ‘em.
I think I have just figured out why I have had a weight problem for so long. It’s my shampoo. I never made the connection before, but the bottle says “infuses thickness, body and bounce,” which pretty much sums up my body. Maybe too much of it went from my head to the rest of me. Just a theory.
The best way to assure that the repairman will arrive – even if you have waited for hours – is to go to the bathroom or pick up the phone and make a call. It's like he is lurking outside your house, just waiting for you to get started on something before he rings the bell. Works every time.
I can't tell you how many times I glance at the speedometer and find I am driving at exactly the speed limit. I give full credit to the car, since I'm not even aware of this phenomenon until I check the speedometer.
Don’t you hate it when you are having a bad dream and you wake up and are afraid to go back to sleep again for fear that the bad dream will continue? Conversely, I have awakened from a good dream and tried to get back to sleep so I can dream on, but to no avail.
I think I would enjoy the TV shows more if I could either hear the dialog or understand the intricacies of the plot. Having the main characters speak fast in hushed tones and mumble makes it nearly impossible to understand what they are saying. I have friends who watch episodes of some shows twice. I just keep hitting the replay button three times, and if I don’t get it by then, I move on. This process was taught to me by my BFF, who has the same issues.
Considering how quickly many of you who work respond to my Facebook posts or post yourselves, I wonder what kind of impact Facebook is having on office productivity these days. Happily, I stopped working before this became an issue.
I hate those strings on my bananas. I have to remove them before I eat the banana. It's not just me, right?
I don't mind cooking, but wow, I sure make a mess. When I am done with a meal, I just about have to repaint the kitchen. I have to remove the burner plates and scrub down the black top of my stove to remove all the splatters (even using a splatter screen can't entirely prevent them) and then polish and remove the streaks from cleaning. Kind of takes the joy out of the meal, doesn't it? I have to allot prep time, cooking time and reconstruction time.
I hope I live long enough to clean out my e-mail in-box and folders, but if I don't, will it matter?
I am like “The Princess and the Pea” on my walks. God forbid the tiniest of pebbles should somehow get into my shoe, because it renders me unable to continue until I can take off my sneaker and get rid of the offensive irritant. Some of them are practically microscopic, but I can still feel them.
In looking for a new, shorter haircut, I Googled (if we can accept that term as a verb) Jamie Lee Curtis, who sports the ultimate short 'do. Along with pictures of Jamie Lee and her striking, gray hair, came pictures of her late father, Tony Curtis, with his striking, store-bought hair, and a shot of David Hasselhoff. How he snuck into the algorithm, I'll never know. My hair came out looking temporarily like the picture of Jamie Lee Curtis' hair but the rest of me looks more like Tony Curtis.
Why am I always the first one to turn on the windshield wipers, and always the one who has them running faster than everyone else? The answer must be related to why I don’t wear my glasses in aqua aerobics and volleyball. I just can’t stand seeing spots before my eyes.
I just popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. The instructions are to cook it for 9 minutes. Really, 9 minutes? Do they think I have all day? That seems like enough time to make a meal from scratch.
There was an local drive recently to collect old electronics as a fundraiser for the school down the road. Old phones, charger cords, boom boxes, CD players, cameras, etc., could be dropped off for recycling for a good cause. As I collected many of these items from around my house it made me wonder: Why did I have so many in the first place? I probably had four different sets of decrepit Panasonic house phones (for landlines), but what did I think was going to happen with them? Were the non-working phones going to heal miraculously? And who doesn't have the chargers for every cell phone they have ever owned, and why is there not a universal one that works with any brand or model? Let's just suppose I am a good citizen who waits for these opportunities to recycle and help out a school instead of thinking of me as a hoarder of all things electronic.
Last semester, I stopped at my nephew's dorm to take him out for a meal and take home some of his stuff. There is nothing that defines boys more than that certain smell, a combination of too many sweats and sneakers, sheets that haven’t been changed since they were first put on the bed and remnants of bags of chips. It's the boy smell, and if you have boys, you know exactly what I am trying to describe.
For those folks who wear their pants too low, I say this: I don't want to see your underwear, your butt crack or your tramp stamp, so pull 'em up, zip 'em up and keep your stuff to yourself.
I can understand being stuck in traffic because of an accident on your side of the highway, but does the other side really have the need to slow down so they can see what happened? Have they not seen a car break down before? Seems like an avoidable waste of time to me.
If you have a “pillow top” mattress, how do you flip it over? Or should you just turn it from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed to give it more even wear? Ah, the things that keep me up at night!
I live in fear of forgetting my passwords. You aren’t supposed to keep them where someone can find them, but then you can’t find them either. And then the website makes you change one, and you can’t remember what you changed. Did I put that first letter in CAPS? Did I change it on the list that I am not supposed to have where I store all of them? I am also afraid I will finally forget my employee number from Johnson & Johnson, the number that is the key to all of my pension, stock and benefits information. Again, see what keeps me up at night?
I am not at all clear on why Pandora Radio thinks Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” belongs on the Darlene Love “station.”
Did you ever overhear a conversation between two people and you knew that both of them were wrong about the topic? It takes all your restraint not to chime in and correct them without looking like a know-it-all, which, in this case, you probably are.
I don’t understand why Oprah needed her OWN TV-network so “The Policewomen of Broward County” could air 12 times a day. How the mighty have fallen.
An egg cream contains neither an egg or cream. Feel free to discuss among yourselves.
Having spent some time recently with my BFF and her grandsons, I could help but notice that kids have highly developed negotiating skills. Adult: “Pick which flavor of ice cream you want.” Kid: “I want both.” Adult: “You can have one, not both.” Kid: “Vanilla.” After giving him one scoop of vanilla, Kid: “I want chocolate, too.” Adult: “But you can only have one.” Kid: “But I want both.” And so it goes.
The weather report the other day called for sun, some clouds, maybe rain, possibly thunderstorms. The only thing the weather person missed was snow. I'd say he covered all bases with this forecast.
A story in the newspaper the other day said that by 2040 75 percent of all vehicles on the road will be driverless. You just have to enter in the address and the car and sensors do the rest. This is good news for those of us who will be 90 by then and completely incapable of getting anywhere. I just hope I remember where I want to go.
Broccoli: Good for you and tasty, too, but stinky in the refrigerator.
Every time I have trouble finding my car in a parking lot, I am convinced it has been stolen. And that's even with parking in the same general area every time at Shop-Rite or the mall.
When I do get to my car, the car parked next to mine is invariably pulling in or out as I approach.
Do you ever think of something you know you need to remember and you are sure you will remember it, so you don’t write it down? What invariably happens to me is that I forget it. That happens all the time with my incredibly insightful, clever and flawlessly constructed thoughts for this blog, which means you are reading only the best of what I can remember. Just think what you must be missing!
I think we should ban that old saying about comparing apples to oranges. Have you seen how many varieties of apples there are in the supermarket? Just comparing apples to apples is virtually impossible anymore.
Is it just me or does your car seem to drive better after it is washed?
I just bought a bra that says it provides "age-defying lift." I'm not sure whether to wear it or apply it to the bags under my eyes.
If all the fruit we buy is seedless – watermelon, grapes, etc. – how will there be fruit in the future?
Speaking of which, I hate it when I buy grapes marked "seedless" and they turn out to have seeds. This should be everyone’s biggest problem.
I still read an actual newspaper each day and always pass over the "Legal Advertising" (as opposed to "illegal advertising?"), those pages printed in tiny agate type that list sheriff's sales of homes and their contents, etc. I gather this kind of information must be published publicly, but does anyone ever read it? I've never had anyone say to me, "Hey, did you check out page 22 of the Ledger today? There's a great Sheriff's sale in Mountainside." I'll confess to perusing the obits, but that's just to assure myself that most people who die are older than me. Of course, that won't be the case forever. By now you are thinking once again, "Tina has too much time on her hands."
Why is it that when you ask someone to scratch your back, the itch moves from the original spot to everywhere else? “That’s it, oh, a little more to the right, up a little…oh, that’s it…”
Here’s a shout-out for the inventor of perforations. Imagine toilet paper, paper towels and checks without ‘em.
I think I have just figured out why I have had a weight problem for so long. It’s my shampoo. I never made the connection before, but the bottle says “infuses thickness, body and bounce,” which pretty much sums up my body. Maybe too much of it went from my head to the rest of me. Just a theory.
The best way to assure that the repairman will arrive – even if you have waited for hours – is to go to the bathroom or pick up the phone and make a call. It's like he is lurking outside your house, just waiting for you to get started on something before he rings the bell. Works every time.
I can't tell you how many times I glance at the speedometer and find I am driving at exactly the speed limit. I give full credit to the car, since I'm not even aware of this phenomenon until I check the speedometer.
Don’t you hate it when you are having a bad dream and you wake up and are afraid to go back to sleep again for fear that the bad dream will continue? Conversely, I have awakened from a good dream and tried to get back to sleep so I can dream on, but to no avail.
I think I would enjoy the TV shows more if I could either hear the dialog or understand the intricacies of the plot. Having the main characters speak fast in hushed tones and mumble makes it nearly impossible to understand what they are saying. I have friends who watch episodes of some shows twice. I just keep hitting the replay button three times, and if I don’t get it by then, I move on. This process was taught to me by my BFF, who has the same issues.
Considering how quickly many of you who work respond to my Facebook posts or post yourselves, I wonder what kind of impact Facebook is having on office productivity these days. Happily, I stopped working before this became an issue.
I hate those strings on my bananas. I have to remove them before I eat the banana. It's not just me, right?
I don't mind cooking, but wow, I sure make a mess. When I am done with a meal, I just about have to repaint the kitchen. I have to remove the burner plates and scrub down the black top of my stove to remove all the splatters (even using a splatter screen can't entirely prevent them) and then polish and remove the streaks from cleaning. Kind of takes the joy out of the meal, doesn't it? I have to allot prep time, cooking time and reconstruction time.
I hope I live long enough to clean out my e-mail in-box and folders, but if I don't, will it matter?
I am like “The Princess and the Pea” on my walks. God forbid the tiniest of pebbles should somehow get into my shoe, because it renders me unable to continue until I can take off my sneaker and get rid of the offensive irritant. Some of them are practically microscopic, but I can still feel them.
In looking for a new, shorter haircut, I Googled (if we can accept that term as a verb) Jamie Lee Curtis, who sports the ultimate short 'do. Along with pictures of Jamie Lee and her striking, gray hair, came pictures of her late father, Tony Curtis, with his striking, store-bought hair, and a shot of David Hasselhoff. How he snuck into the algorithm, I'll never know. My hair came out looking temporarily like the picture of Jamie Lee Curtis' hair but the rest of me looks more like Tony Curtis.
Why am I always the first one to turn on the windshield wipers, and always the one who has them running faster than everyone else? The answer must be related to why I don’t wear my glasses in aqua aerobics and volleyball. I just can’t stand seeing spots before my eyes.
I just popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. The instructions are to cook it for 9 minutes. Really, 9 minutes? Do they think I have all day? That seems like enough time to make a meal from scratch.
There was an local drive recently to collect old electronics as a fundraiser for the school down the road. Old phones, charger cords, boom boxes, CD players, cameras, etc., could be dropped off for recycling for a good cause. As I collected many of these items from around my house it made me wonder: Why did I have so many in the first place? I probably had four different sets of decrepit Panasonic house phones (for landlines), but what did I think was going to happen with them? Were the non-working phones going to heal miraculously? And who doesn't have the chargers for every cell phone they have ever owned, and why is there not a universal one that works with any brand or model? Let's just suppose I am a good citizen who waits for these opportunities to recycle and help out a school instead of thinking of me as a hoarder of all things electronic.
Last semester, I stopped at my nephew's dorm to take him out for a meal and take home some of his stuff. There is nothing that defines boys more than that certain smell, a combination of too many sweats and sneakers, sheets that haven’t been changed since they were first put on the bed and remnants of bags of chips. It's the boy smell, and if you have boys, you know exactly what I am trying to describe.
For those folks who wear their pants too low, I say this: I don't want to see your underwear, your butt crack or your tramp stamp, so pull 'em up, zip 'em up and keep your stuff to yourself.
I can understand being stuck in traffic because of an accident on your side of the highway, but does the other side really have the need to slow down so they can see what happened? Have they not seen a car break down before? Seems like an avoidable waste of time to me.
If you have a “pillow top” mattress, how do you flip it over? Or should you just turn it from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed to give it more even wear? Ah, the things that keep me up at night!
I live in fear of forgetting my passwords. You aren’t supposed to keep them where someone can find them, but then you can’t find them either. And then the website makes you change one, and you can’t remember what you changed. Did I put that first letter in CAPS? Did I change it on the list that I am not supposed to have where I store all of them? I am also afraid I will finally forget my employee number from Johnson & Johnson, the number that is the key to all of my pension, stock and benefits information. Again, see what keeps me up at night?
I am not at all clear on why Pandora Radio thinks Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” belongs on the Darlene Love “station.”
Did you ever overhear a conversation between two people and you knew that both of them were wrong about the topic? It takes all your restraint not to chime in and correct them without looking like a know-it-all, which, in this case, you probably are.
I don’t understand why Oprah needed her OWN TV-network so “The Policewomen of Broward County” could air 12 times a day. How the mighty have fallen.
An egg cream contains neither an egg or cream. Feel free to discuss among yourselves.
Having spent some time recently with my BFF and her grandsons, I could help but notice that kids have highly developed negotiating skills. Adult: “Pick which flavor of ice cream you want.” Kid: “I want both.” Adult: “You can have one, not both.” Kid: “Vanilla.” After giving him one scoop of vanilla, Kid: “I want chocolate, too.” Adult: “But you can only have one.” Kid: “But I want both.” And so it goes.
The weather report the other day called for sun, some clouds, maybe rain, possibly thunderstorms. The only thing the weather person missed was snow. I'd say he covered all bases with this forecast.
A story in the newspaper the other day said that by 2040 75 percent of all vehicles on the road will be driverless. You just have to enter in the address and the car and sensors do the rest. This is good news for those of us who will be 90 by then and completely incapable of getting anywhere. I just hope I remember where I want to go.
Broccoli: Good for you and tasty, too, but stinky in the refrigerator.
Every time I have trouble finding my car in a parking lot, I am convinced it has been stolen. And that's even with parking in the same general area every time at Shop-Rite or the mall.
When I do get to my car, the car parked next to mine is invariably pulling in or out as I approach.
Do you ever think of something you know you need to remember and you are sure you will remember it, so you don’t write it down? What invariably happens to me is that I forget it. That happens all the time with my incredibly insightful, clever and flawlessly constructed thoughts for this blog, which means you are reading only the best of what I can remember. Just think what you must be missing!
Monday, September 30, 2013
Tina's September 2013 Movies
Some oldies but goodies appeared on this month's list of movies I saw, along with a few new ones. Those newbies are marked with an *, and numbering
picks up from the previous month. They are rated on a scale of 1-5 cans of
tuna, 5 being the highest accolade.
105. A League of Their Own (1992) – You would think I would love this movie, and I so wanted to. It is about the first women’s baseball league, based on the actual All-American Girls Professional Baseball League that debuted during WWII. The men were off fighting the war, so women from small towns around the country were recruited to play professional baseball. There is the requisite drama – a rivalry between sisters who are the star player (Geena Davis) and her petulant little sister (Lori Petty), an alcoholic, disinterested manager (Tom Hanks), and a bunch of female jocks trying to win games while they bond with each other. It is a winning formula, but that’s the problem – it is too formulaic, too manipulative, and I didn’t believe for a minute that any of these women had ever thrown a ball or swung a bat in their lives. Penny Marshall is the director (she also directed Tom Hanks in “Big”) and Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna are ballplayers. I couldn’t get past the fact that the players always had dirt on their faces. I mean, really, nobody had a towel? And finally, if there really is “no crying in baseball,” why did they make an ending that made me what to shed a few tears? 3 baseballs.
106. Jobs* (2013) – It’s difficult not to compare this dramatization of the life of Steve Jobs, creator of Apple Computer, with “The Social Network,” the story of the rise of Facebook and its founder, Marc Zuckerberg. Both men were creators of goods and services that people don’t know how they could possibly live without, even though they had no idea they needed them initially. Both men were brilliant, demanding, self-centered and with a strong sense of vision and purpose. And both could be real jerks. In this movie, based on the Walter Issacson biography that I read last year, Jobs is a drifting hippie who drops out of college, likes to smoke pot and eschews bathing and wearing shoes. Working for Atari, he can’t get along with anyone and realizes that he has to be his own boss. He brings in his geeky friend Steve Wozniak to help him with a project but when he sees that Woz is building a personal computer, he immediately understands how this device will change the world. They start Apple Computer, which goes on to be a huge success, even as Jobs becomes more difficult. He dumps his girlfriend immediately after she tells him she is pregnant, and he gives up visitation rights so he won’t have to admit the child is his. He cuts long-time collaborators out of lucrative stock deals he doesn’t think they deserve. And then he makes the big mistake of allowing someone else to run Apple, which ultimately unseats Jobs himself. This movie is part history, part business story and part apocryphal – sometimes you can want something too much. Ashton Kutcher is highly believable as a doppelganger for Jobs, and, while lots of details from the book are glossed over, the only thing really missing is how Jobs started using a mouse with the Macintosh. If you like technology, you’ll like the story of a product proselytizer who believes everything he says. 3½ cans.
107. Donnie Brasco (1997) –Though I detest violence, I somehow gravitate towards movies about the mob. Here “Donnie” (Johnny Depp) is actually Joe Pistone, a real-life FBI special agent assigned to infiltrate the mob. He latches onto Lefty (Al Pacino), a mid-level “made” guy who takes a liking to him and brings him along as the bad guys do bad things. Brasco gets caught up in the life, and before you can say “fugetabouit,” he’s sawing dead bodies into pieces for the goons. His undercover life doesn’t go over so well with his Jersey wife, as he begins to cross the line between good guy and bad guy. There’s plenty of tension, with occasional laughs (the bad guys in their Florida outfits), and you worry about whether Donnie will survive without being unmasked. This movie is based on the real Joe Pistone, and, despite the blood, violence and what must be a record for the use of one particular swear word starting with an F, I liked it. 4 cans.
108. Goodfellas (1990) – And speaking of the mob, this classic Martin Scorsese film (based on a true story) takes us into the inner sanctum of the New York underworld. Ray Liotta is Henry Hill, a kid who aspires to the life of the goodfellas. They have money coming in from every quarter, and they pay off the cops and everyone else as they pull off their heists and pay their tributes up the line to the bosses. Robert DeNiro is master thief Jimmy Conway, and Joe Pesci plays the volatile Tommy, who will shoot someone for making a joke or not serving a drink fast enough. Hill marries Karen (Lorraine Bracco, who gives a great performance) becomes a player, gets hooked on drugs and eventually is busted. But will he rat out the other wiseguys to save his own hide? The movie leads the league in F-bombs and the violence is so relentless that you eventually get used to it. There’s nothing like whacking somebody and then stopping at Ma’s house for something to eat (and a large butcher knife to chop up the body). Mob movies are not for everyone, but this is one of the best of the genre. 4½ cans.
109. My Favorite Wife* (1940) – A complete departure from the previous two movies, this trifle stars Cary Grant as Nick, a widower whose wife (Irene Dunne)was declared dead after a plane crash years before. So imagine his surprise when she shows up on his wedding day. Now he has two wives, a possible case of bigamy, and he tries desperately to keep new wife away from first wife. Back in the day, these screwball comedies were quite in vogue, but the only appealing element to me now is the chemistry between the suave if confused Grant and the elegance of Dunne. How she shows up perfectly coiffed and isn’t recognized by her own kids could make this into a mystery, but that wasn’t the film’s intent. Good in its day, I suppose, but well past its prime. 2½ cans.
110. Private Benjamin (1980) – I can’t think of an actress more irresistible in a role than Goldie Hawn as Private Judy Benjamin. Spoiled, rich and ditzy, Judy is in mourning for the loss of her second husband (Albert Brooks in a very small part), who dies on screen in the throes of passion on their wedding night. Her depression makes her succumb to an enlistment pitch to join the Army. She sees pictures of a beautiful army base with nearby yachts and condos and figures, “This is for me.” Not exactly. Instead, she has basic training with a bunch of other recruits under the mean and watchful eye of Captain Doreen Lewis (Eileen Brennan, who is wonderful). Soon she’s scrubbing toilets with her electric toothbrush and stuck wearing drab green fatigues. She isn’t cut out for the life, but the alternative of going home to Mommy & Daddy again seems worse. Hawn is perfect in the part, and the scene where she and her troop celebrate in the barracks by dancing to “We Are Family” is one of my all-time favorite movie scenes. What a great way to start my day. 4½ cans.
111. The Stranger Beside Me* (1995) – I was enticed to watch this Lifetime movie by a title I recognized as a murder-mystery from one of my favorite authors, Ann Rule. Instead, this turned out to be the typical Lifetime drama, overwrought and underacted by stars Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Eric Close as a young couple with a major problem: He is a rapist. The neighborhood is not safe with this guy around, but, of course, his wife is shocked to learn the truth about her husband. Close is handsome in a Rob Lowe kind of way, with his All-American looks masking his twisted persona. Thiessen goes from loving to skeptical to shocked to determined with a minimal change of expression. The real mystery here is why I kept watching. No cans.
112. Moscow On the Hudson (1984) – A very hairy Robin Williams exudes charm and vulnerability as Vladimir Ivanov, a Russian musician who defects in Bloomingdales. Vladimir leaves behind his family – and his saxophone – but is befriended by a security guard and a sales clerk (delightful and spunky Maria Conchita Alonzo). His English improves as he becomes more comfortable in the US, where he can buy toilet paper, shoes that actually fit and as much coffee as he likes, all without standing on a line as he did in repressive Russia. This Paul Mazursky comedy-drama reminds us that everyone in the US is from somewhere, and especially reminds us to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy on the US. 3½ cans.
113. Nine for Nine* (2013) – This ESPN production was actually nine separate documentaries airing throughout the summer that focused on various aspects of women’s sports. There were profiles of legendary Tennessee women’s basketball coach Pat Summit and player Sheryl Swoopes, a look back at the exciting “99-ers,” the women’s Gold Cup soccer team from 1999, and many others, all having to do with the growth of women’s sports as a result of the adoption of Title IX legislation 40 years ago. ESPN’s last series, “30 for 30,” was equally diverse, informative and entertaining, and I commend the network for rising above its usual sports banter and analysis to examine and highlight special people and unique subjects – like free diving – that might otherwise go unnoticed but for those participating in them. Overall, 4 cans.
114. Parental Guidance* (2012) – This misguided, predictable comedy wastes the comedic chops of stars Billy Crystal and Bette Midler with a hum-drum plot and little humor. The stars are the parents of uptight mother Marisa Tomei, with whom they barely have a relationship, when they are called upon to care for her three issue-laden children while mom & dad go out of town. The grandparents can’t do anything right – at least not according to firmly-establish new-age house rules, and their old-school demeanor is foreign to the well-programmed kids. Of course, this set-up is doomed to fail, and we know that inevitably the kids will love their grandparents, who come in and change everything. When the best part of a movie is the credits at the end, you know it’s bad. The good thing is that, initially, this was supposed to be our family holiday movie last year. Glad I caught it on HBO for free instead. 2 cans for the credits and a heart-warming ending.
115. American Gigolo (1980) – I can never hear Smokey Robinson singing “Just a Mirage” without conjuring up the image of a handsome, young Richard Gere casually assembling his Giorgio Armani clothes on his bed in this movie. Gere is Julian, a “man about town,” an escort (and more) for rich women. He works for a woman who books his “dates,” but he also freelances, and on one such occasion, he goes somewhere he would have been better off avoiding. This sojourn connects him with a murder of a California couple, and Julian gets drawn deeper into the seedier side of LA as he tries to establish his innocence. Although the plot here centers around the case, the story is much more focused on Julian’s lifestyle. He wears the best clothes, drives a cool car and lives a hedonistic life made possible solely because of his attractiveness to women. When a politician’s wife (Lauren Hutton) meets him in a bar, he lets down his guard and lets her into his world at great risk to both them and her aspiring husband. Can someone whose business is to gratify others truly enjoy himself? This film is visually arresting, with much of the credit going directly to Gere, who plays the part to perfection. Not a great movie, but you can’t take your eyes off the prize. 4 cans.
105. A League of Their Own (1992) – You would think I would love this movie, and I so wanted to. It is about the first women’s baseball league, based on the actual All-American Girls Professional Baseball League that debuted during WWII. The men were off fighting the war, so women from small towns around the country were recruited to play professional baseball. There is the requisite drama – a rivalry between sisters who are the star player (Geena Davis) and her petulant little sister (Lori Petty), an alcoholic, disinterested manager (Tom Hanks), and a bunch of female jocks trying to win games while they bond with each other. It is a winning formula, but that’s the problem – it is too formulaic, too manipulative, and I didn’t believe for a minute that any of these women had ever thrown a ball or swung a bat in their lives. Penny Marshall is the director (she also directed Tom Hanks in “Big”) and Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna are ballplayers. I couldn’t get past the fact that the players always had dirt on their faces. I mean, really, nobody had a towel? And finally, if there really is “no crying in baseball,” why did they make an ending that made me what to shed a few tears? 3 baseballs.
106. Jobs* (2013) – It’s difficult not to compare this dramatization of the life of Steve Jobs, creator of Apple Computer, with “The Social Network,” the story of the rise of Facebook and its founder, Marc Zuckerberg. Both men were creators of goods and services that people don’t know how they could possibly live without, even though they had no idea they needed them initially. Both men were brilliant, demanding, self-centered and with a strong sense of vision and purpose. And both could be real jerks. In this movie, based on the Walter Issacson biography that I read last year, Jobs is a drifting hippie who drops out of college, likes to smoke pot and eschews bathing and wearing shoes. Working for Atari, he can’t get along with anyone and realizes that he has to be his own boss. He brings in his geeky friend Steve Wozniak to help him with a project but when he sees that Woz is building a personal computer, he immediately understands how this device will change the world. They start Apple Computer, which goes on to be a huge success, even as Jobs becomes more difficult. He dumps his girlfriend immediately after she tells him she is pregnant, and he gives up visitation rights so he won’t have to admit the child is his. He cuts long-time collaborators out of lucrative stock deals he doesn’t think they deserve. And then he makes the big mistake of allowing someone else to run Apple, which ultimately unseats Jobs himself. This movie is part history, part business story and part apocryphal – sometimes you can want something too much. Ashton Kutcher is highly believable as a doppelganger for Jobs, and, while lots of details from the book are glossed over, the only thing really missing is how Jobs started using a mouse with the Macintosh. If you like technology, you’ll like the story of a product proselytizer who believes everything he says. 3½ cans.
107. Donnie Brasco (1997) –Though I detest violence, I somehow gravitate towards movies about the mob. Here “Donnie” (Johnny Depp) is actually Joe Pistone, a real-life FBI special agent assigned to infiltrate the mob. He latches onto Lefty (Al Pacino), a mid-level “made” guy who takes a liking to him and brings him along as the bad guys do bad things. Brasco gets caught up in the life, and before you can say “fugetabouit,” he’s sawing dead bodies into pieces for the goons. His undercover life doesn’t go over so well with his Jersey wife, as he begins to cross the line between good guy and bad guy. There’s plenty of tension, with occasional laughs (the bad guys in their Florida outfits), and you worry about whether Donnie will survive without being unmasked. This movie is based on the real Joe Pistone, and, despite the blood, violence and what must be a record for the use of one particular swear word starting with an F, I liked it. 4 cans.
108. Goodfellas (1990) – And speaking of the mob, this classic Martin Scorsese film (based on a true story) takes us into the inner sanctum of the New York underworld. Ray Liotta is Henry Hill, a kid who aspires to the life of the goodfellas. They have money coming in from every quarter, and they pay off the cops and everyone else as they pull off their heists and pay their tributes up the line to the bosses. Robert DeNiro is master thief Jimmy Conway, and Joe Pesci plays the volatile Tommy, who will shoot someone for making a joke or not serving a drink fast enough. Hill marries Karen (Lorraine Bracco, who gives a great performance) becomes a player, gets hooked on drugs and eventually is busted. But will he rat out the other wiseguys to save his own hide? The movie leads the league in F-bombs and the violence is so relentless that you eventually get used to it. There’s nothing like whacking somebody and then stopping at Ma’s house for something to eat (and a large butcher knife to chop up the body). Mob movies are not for everyone, but this is one of the best of the genre. 4½ cans.
109. My Favorite Wife* (1940) – A complete departure from the previous two movies, this trifle stars Cary Grant as Nick, a widower whose wife (Irene Dunne)was declared dead after a plane crash years before. So imagine his surprise when she shows up on his wedding day. Now he has two wives, a possible case of bigamy, and he tries desperately to keep new wife away from first wife. Back in the day, these screwball comedies were quite in vogue, but the only appealing element to me now is the chemistry between the suave if confused Grant and the elegance of Dunne. How she shows up perfectly coiffed and isn’t recognized by her own kids could make this into a mystery, but that wasn’t the film’s intent. Good in its day, I suppose, but well past its prime. 2½ cans.
110. Private Benjamin (1980) – I can’t think of an actress more irresistible in a role than Goldie Hawn as Private Judy Benjamin. Spoiled, rich and ditzy, Judy is in mourning for the loss of her second husband (Albert Brooks in a very small part), who dies on screen in the throes of passion on their wedding night. Her depression makes her succumb to an enlistment pitch to join the Army. She sees pictures of a beautiful army base with nearby yachts and condos and figures, “This is for me.” Not exactly. Instead, she has basic training with a bunch of other recruits under the mean and watchful eye of Captain Doreen Lewis (Eileen Brennan, who is wonderful). Soon she’s scrubbing toilets with her electric toothbrush and stuck wearing drab green fatigues. She isn’t cut out for the life, but the alternative of going home to Mommy & Daddy again seems worse. Hawn is perfect in the part, and the scene where she and her troop celebrate in the barracks by dancing to “We Are Family” is one of my all-time favorite movie scenes. What a great way to start my day. 4½ cans.
111. The Stranger Beside Me* (1995) – I was enticed to watch this Lifetime movie by a title I recognized as a murder-mystery from one of my favorite authors, Ann Rule. Instead, this turned out to be the typical Lifetime drama, overwrought and underacted by stars Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Eric Close as a young couple with a major problem: He is a rapist. The neighborhood is not safe with this guy around, but, of course, his wife is shocked to learn the truth about her husband. Close is handsome in a Rob Lowe kind of way, with his All-American looks masking his twisted persona. Thiessen goes from loving to skeptical to shocked to determined with a minimal change of expression. The real mystery here is why I kept watching. No cans.
112. Moscow On the Hudson (1984) – A very hairy Robin Williams exudes charm and vulnerability as Vladimir Ivanov, a Russian musician who defects in Bloomingdales. Vladimir leaves behind his family – and his saxophone – but is befriended by a security guard and a sales clerk (delightful and spunky Maria Conchita Alonzo). His English improves as he becomes more comfortable in the US, where he can buy toilet paper, shoes that actually fit and as much coffee as he likes, all without standing on a line as he did in repressive Russia. This Paul Mazursky comedy-drama reminds us that everyone in the US is from somewhere, and especially reminds us to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy on the US. 3½ cans.
113. Nine for Nine* (2013) – This ESPN production was actually nine separate documentaries airing throughout the summer that focused on various aspects of women’s sports. There were profiles of legendary Tennessee women’s basketball coach Pat Summit and player Sheryl Swoopes, a look back at the exciting “99-ers,” the women’s Gold Cup soccer team from 1999, and many others, all having to do with the growth of women’s sports as a result of the adoption of Title IX legislation 40 years ago. ESPN’s last series, “30 for 30,” was equally diverse, informative and entertaining, and I commend the network for rising above its usual sports banter and analysis to examine and highlight special people and unique subjects – like free diving – that might otherwise go unnoticed but for those participating in them. Overall, 4 cans.
114. Parental Guidance* (2012) – This misguided, predictable comedy wastes the comedic chops of stars Billy Crystal and Bette Midler with a hum-drum plot and little humor. The stars are the parents of uptight mother Marisa Tomei, with whom they barely have a relationship, when they are called upon to care for her three issue-laden children while mom & dad go out of town. The grandparents can’t do anything right – at least not according to firmly-establish new-age house rules, and their old-school demeanor is foreign to the well-programmed kids. Of course, this set-up is doomed to fail, and we know that inevitably the kids will love their grandparents, who come in and change everything. When the best part of a movie is the credits at the end, you know it’s bad. The good thing is that, initially, this was supposed to be our family holiday movie last year. Glad I caught it on HBO for free instead. 2 cans for the credits and a heart-warming ending.
115. American Gigolo (1980) – I can never hear Smokey Robinson singing “Just a Mirage” without conjuring up the image of a handsome, young Richard Gere casually assembling his Giorgio Armani clothes on his bed in this movie. Gere is Julian, a “man about town,” an escort (and more) for rich women. He works for a woman who books his “dates,” but he also freelances, and on one such occasion, he goes somewhere he would have been better off avoiding. This sojourn connects him with a murder of a California couple, and Julian gets drawn deeper into the seedier side of LA as he tries to establish his innocence. Although the plot here centers around the case, the story is much more focused on Julian’s lifestyle. He wears the best clothes, drives a cool car and lives a hedonistic life made possible solely because of his attractiveness to women. When a politician’s wife (Lauren Hutton) meets him in a bar, he lets down his guard and lets her into his world at great risk to both them and her aspiring husband. Can someone whose business is to gratify others truly enjoy himself? This film is visually arresting, with much of the credit going directly to Gere, who plays the part to perfection. Not a great movie, but you can’t take your eyes off the prize. 4 cans.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Prep School
Let the games begin. Every three years or so, it is time for the exam all of us over 50 dread – the colonoscopy. I know what you’re thinking (besides TMI, Tina, TMI): The test isn’t so bad, it is the prep we hate. And right you are.
As a colon cancer survivor of 13 years, I know that having a colonoscopy saved my life, so I faithfully follow doctors’ orders and report for my exam as instructed. Let me be your guide as you get ready to take on the challenge, and I’ll even drive you there and back if you are anywhere near my zip code, just so I know you will go!
The procedure itself isn’t bad (assuming the doctor doesn’t nick your colon or there aren’t any other complications). You show up, strip down, roll over, and get the best 30 minutes of sleep all year. I can almost understand why Michael Jackson found Propophol so appealing – until it killed him, that is. Afterwards, you can’t drive a car or make big decisions, but that’s fine. I won’t decide to buy a South American diamond mine that day. It can wait.
The bigger decision starts for me the day before – the dreaded “prep day.” My gastro guy requires that I use an entire container of non-tasting (really, it is) Miralax mixed with 64 ounces any clear liquid. My beverage of choice was low-cal lemonade, which I will not be able to drink again for at least a year without recalling the rigors of prep day. The ingestion of that much liquid, combined with the use of laxative pills, is designed to work something like Drano. Take as directed and anything in your system will soon be out of your system. Ah, but there’s the rub, and the rub hurts like hell. Grab yourself a container of baby or adult wipes, and trust me, the ones you bought three years ago are now stuck together like a brick, so buy more before the process gets underway.
The directions call for drinking 8 ounces of your beverage of choice every 20 minutes until you have consumed all 64 ounces, and they encourage you to drink any kind of non-red liquid (which, sorry to tell some of you, rules out red wine). Good grief, only fraternity boys with a keg can drink that amount of fluid. And after doing it, they will feel as shitty as I will. (And then they will pledge not to do it again, but they will, as we know, break that promise…) You have to get the stuff down so the Drano can work its magic.
The morning of Prep Day morning, after having read the instructions in advance so I would have everything I needed at the ready, I sat down to watch the doctor’s video, which, thankfully, features only a doctor explaining the procedure and no graphic depiction of any part of the process. Maybe I should have watched it sooner so I would have known not to have taken my vitamins this week. I knew I couldn’t take aspirin or Motrin, so only ice could be used to relieve the pain in my knee. Now I’m thinking the ice might be put to better use…
The doctor in the video very calmly goes through the steps. Mix the drink, keep it cold, try using a straw, slow down if you get nauseous. Slow down? Once it took me from 9 AM to 6 PM to down the requisite amount, and then it was time for the next dose. Because my procedure was scheduled for 1:30, I also had to drink again on the morning of the test. Being the total wuss that I am, taking the bottle of “citrusy-flavored” whatever they suggest is out of the question for me. What goes down the next morning will come right back up. So instead, I drank more Miralax (a mere 32 ounces this time) with BOC (beverage of choice, just nothing red), AND I had to finish drinking it no later than 9 AM. Calculating the slow rate of descent, that means I was up around 5 AM to get it all down. Like my desire to have my driveway after a snowfall be “down-to-blacktop,” I only want to “run clear” so the test can be done. The worst thing imaginable would be to NOT be prepped properly and have to go through the process all over again.
This prep isn’t nearly as unbearable as the prep I used to do, which required drinking a mere 3 ounces of a hideous “citrusy-flavored” Drano-type product called Phospho Soda. That stuff worked, alright, assuming I could get it down. I don’t want to say the stuff was strong, but it has since been banned by the authorities so it is no longer used. It caused possible kidney damage, I hear. I wasn’t sorry to see it go. But the Miralax really doesn’t have any taste, so the issue is merely consuming all of that liquid in one day. Incidentally, for those who think taking pills is a better course of action, you still have to drink gallons of liquid anyway, so you will be facing the same issue as taking Miralax.
The other side of the prep is the food side, or, more accurately, the LACK of food side. I had my “farewell to food” at dinner on the day before Prep Day, or, as I like to think of it, “the day before the day before.” According to the doctor’s orders, I could not consume fruits or vegetables, which made eating a challenge. I tried to incorporate foods that wouldn’t stick around long, but if they would only let me eat a bowl of cherries and a bowl of chili, I could skip the prep entirely and still achieve the desired state of internal cleanliness. On the day before, you consume only clear liquids. Since broth or Jello have no appeal to me, I confined my consumption to drinking and followed directions banning all solid food after my hard-boiled egg at breakfast. I just hoped whatever I ate in the last 3 months would be gone in time.
Not eating has its advantages. You don’t have to plan, cook or clean up after you eat for one. The kitchen stays clean, and it will be that way for about 36 hours. I also count on the lack of caloric consumption having a positive effect at next week’s Weight Watchers weigh-in, but that assumes I won’t go overboard to compensate for a day without food. Meanwhile, tracking my food intake required no time at all since there wasn’t any. I guess you could say that I looked at the glass as half-full, but what is in that glass?
The plan was simple – take the pills, drink the stuff and stay near the bathroom. I had programs all lined up to watch on the DVR and Netflix to keep me busy. I avoided watching the Food Network, though I know that anything I watch on TV on prep day will undoubtedly be laden with commercials for foods that ordinarily wouldn’t even interest me. When I walked through Walgreen’s before I started the process, I found the Doritos display tempting – and I don’t even like Doritos. Even the newspaper seemed to have a preponderance of food-related advertising and articles, but it just might be that I was getting cravings simply because I was not allowed to eat. Like fasting on Yom Kippur, if I get over the first wave of hunger, I’m usually good for 24 hours. Since this prep was longer, not eating was a bigger challenge. My sister and I like to view anything like this as a “silver lining.” You get the flu and can’t eat for a day? Silver lining: You lose weight. Stuck in the house? Silver lining: You get extra laundry done. I try to think of it all that way and see how silver my lining can be.
Several hours after this process began I was still able to tolerate the lemonade, as long as I kept drinking it from an icy mug. The magic potion worked well after a slow start, so I can’t complain. I felt weak but, with all that liquid I drank, I was more bloated than hungry, which is a good thing. Even so, my stomach seemed flatter. I wondered if we could stop at Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before the colonoscopy. Oh, never mind.
The day of the test, the main road in Hillsborough was closed because of flooding, so my sister and I left extra early, got there in plenty of time and I was whisked away ahead of schedule. As the medical team prepared for the procedure, I kept my eye on the anesthesiologist, the person who will make sure I get a quality – albeit short – rest. He inserted the IV in my arm, and as I saw him push the plunger and release the drug to knock me out, I looked up and said, “Goodbye.” The next thing I knew, a nurse was waking me up and telling me I was done. It was over so fast that my poor sister never made it to Kohl’s before they called her to come and get me.
I am happy to report that the story has a happy ending. I survived the test and not even one nasty little polyp could be found, so I am good for another 100,000 miles or three years, which ever comes first. I got my sleep, I came home and drank a lot of water to flush out my system, and I reveled in the good news.
“Bottom line,” so to speak, is that if you are over 50 and haven’t been through the colonoscopy process yet, suck it up, swig it down and get it done. It is a small price to pay to possibly save your life. And call me if you need a ride.
As a colon cancer survivor of 13 years, I know that having a colonoscopy saved my life, so I faithfully follow doctors’ orders and report for my exam as instructed. Let me be your guide as you get ready to take on the challenge, and I’ll even drive you there and back if you are anywhere near my zip code, just so I know you will go!
The procedure itself isn’t bad (assuming the doctor doesn’t nick your colon or there aren’t any other complications). You show up, strip down, roll over, and get the best 30 minutes of sleep all year. I can almost understand why Michael Jackson found Propophol so appealing – until it killed him, that is. Afterwards, you can’t drive a car or make big decisions, but that’s fine. I won’t decide to buy a South American diamond mine that day. It can wait.
The bigger decision starts for me the day before – the dreaded “prep day.” My gastro guy requires that I use an entire container of non-tasting (really, it is) Miralax mixed with 64 ounces any clear liquid. My beverage of choice was low-cal lemonade, which I will not be able to drink again for at least a year without recalling the rigors of prep day. The ingestion of that much liquid, combined with the use of laxative pills, is designed to work something like Drano. Take as directed and anything in your system will soon be out of your system. Ah, but there’s the rub, and the rub hurts like hell. Grab yourself a container of baby or adult wipes, and trust me, the ones you bought three years ago are now stuck together like a brick, so buy more before the process gets underway.
The directions call for drinking 8 ounces of your beverage of choice every 20 minutes until you have consumed all 64 ounces, and they encourage you to drink any kind of non-red liquid (which, sorry to tell some of you, rules out red wine). Good grief, only fraternity boys with a keg can drink that amount of fluid. And after doing it, they will feel as shitty as I will. (And then they will pledge not to do it again, but they will, as we know, break that promise…) You have to get the stuff down so the Drano can work its magic.
The morning of Prep Day morning, after having read the instructions in advance so I would have everything I needed at the ready, I sat down to watch the doctor’s video, which, thankfully, features only a doctor explaining the procedure and no graphic depiction of any part of the process. Maybe I should have watched it sooner so I would have known not to have taken my vitamins this week. I knew I couldn’t take aspirin or Motrin, so only ice could be used to relieve the pain in my knee. Now I’m thinking the ice might be put to better use…
The doctor in the video very calmly goes through the steps. Mix the drink, keep it cold, try using a straw, slow down if you get nauseous. Slow down? Once it took me from 9 AM to 6 PM to down the requisite amount, and then it was time for the next dose. Because my procedure was scheduled for 1:30, I also had to drink again on the morning of the test. Being the total wuss that I am, taking the bottle of “citrusy-flavored” whatever they suggest is out of the question for me. What goes down the next morning will come right back up. So instead, I drank more Miralax (a mere 32 ounces this time) with BOC (beverage of choice, just nothing red), AND I had to finish drinking it no later than 9 AM. Calculating the slow rate of descent, that means I was up around 5 AM to get it all down. Like my desire to have my driveway after a snowfall be “down-to-blacktop,” I only want to “run clear” so the test can be done. The worst thing imaginable would be to NOT be prepped properly and have to go through the process all over again.
This prep isn’t nearly as unbearable as the prep I used to do, which required drinking a mere 3 ounces of a hideous “citrusy-flavored” Drano-type product called Phospho Soda. That stuff worked, alright, assuming I could get it down. I don’t want to say the stuff was strong, but it has since been banned by the authorities so it is no longer used. It caused possible kidney damage, I hear. I wasn’t sorry to see it go. But the Miralax really doesn’t have any taste, so the issue is merely consuming all of that liquid in one day. Incidentally, for those who think taking pills is a better course of action, you still have to drink gallons of liquid anyway, so you will be facing the same issue as taking Miralax.
The other side of the prep is the food side, or, more accurately, the LACK of food side. I had my “farewell to food” at dinner on the day before Prep Day, or, as I like to think of it, “the day before the day before.” According to the doctor’s orders, I could not consume fruits or vegetables, which made eating a challenge. I tried to incorporate foods that wouldn’t stick around long, but if they would only let me eat a bowl of cherries and a bowl of chili, I could skip the prep entirely and still achieve the desired state of internal cleanliness. On the day before, you consume only clear liquids. Since broth or Jello have no appeal to me, I confined my consumption to drinking and followed directions banning all solid food after my hard-boiled egg at breakfast. I just hoped whatever I ate in the last 3 months would be gone in time.
Not eating has its advantages. You don’t have to plan, cook or clean up after you eat for one. The kitchen stays clean, and it will be that way for about 36 hours. I also count on the lack of caloric consumption having a positive effect at next week’s Weight Watchers weigh-in, but that assumes I won’t go overboard to compensate for a day without food. Meanwhile, tracking my food intake required no time at all since there wasn’t any. I guess you could say that I looked at the glass as half-full, but what is in that glass?
The plan was simple – take the pills, drink the stuff and stay near the bathroom. I had programs all lined up to watch on the DVR and Netflix to keep me busy. I avoided watching the Food Network, though I know that anything I watch on TV on prep day will undoubtedly be laden with commercials for foods that ordinarily wouldn’t even interest me. When I walked through Walgreen’s before I started the process, I found the Doritos display tempting – and I don’t even like Doritos. Even the newspaper seemed to have a preponderance of food-related advertising and articles, but it just might be that I was getting cravings simply because I was not allowed to eat. Like fasting on Yom Kippur, if I get over the first wave of hunger, I’m usually good for 24 hours. Since this prep was longer, not eating was a bigger challenge. My sister and I like to view anything like this as a “silver lining.” You get the flu and can’t eat for a day? Silver lining: You lose weight. Stuck in the house? Silver lining: You get extra laundry done. I try to think of it all that way and see how silver my lining can be.
Several hours after this process began I was still able to tolerate the lemonade, as long as I kept drinking it from an icy mug. The magic potion worked well after a slow start, so I can’t complain. I felt weak but, with all that liquid I drank, I was more bloated than hungry, which is a good thing. Even so, my stomach seemed flatter. I wondered if we could stop at Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before the colonoscopy. Oh, never mind.
The day of the test, the main road in Hillsborough was closed because of flooding, so my sister and I left extra early, got there in plenty of time and I was whisked away ahead of schedule. As the medical team prepared for the procedure, I kept my eye on the anesthesiologist, the person who will make sure I get a quality – albeit short – rest. He inserted the IV in my arm, and as I saw him push the plunger and release the drug to knock me out, I looked up and said, “Goodbye.” The next thing I knew, a nurse was waking me up and telling me I was done. It was over so fast that my poor sister never made it to Kohl’s before they called her to come and get me.
I am happy to report that the story has a happy ending. I survived the test and not even one nasty little polyp could be found, so I am good for another 100,000 miles or three years, which ever comes first. I got my sleep, I came home and drank a lot of water to flush out my system, and I reveled in the good news.
“Bottom line,” so to speak, is that if you are over 50 and haven’t been through the colonoscopy process yet, suck it up, swig it down and get it done. It is a small price to pay to possibly save your life. And call me if you need a ride.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Tina's August 2013 Movies
I managed to squeeze in 14 movies in August, with many interesting documentaries along with previously-unseen films. Those are marked with an *, and numbering picks up from the previous month. They are rated on a scale of 1-5 cans of tuna, 5 being the highest accolade.
91. Annie Hall (1977) – This, to me, is Woody Allen’s classic movie, his “Shindler’s List,” his “Citizen Kane.” Every line rings true, every casting decision is perfect, every neurotic moment and painful romantic encounter is beautifully realized. This movie brought us “la de da,” from uniquely dressed Diane Keaton, it brought us bugs the size of a Buick, and reminded us that we’d never want to be part of a club that would have us as members. Not a single unfunny moment. 5 cans.
92. Been Rich All My Life* (2006) – Last month I saw “First Position,” about young ballet dancers and their passion for their craft. This documentary looks at the Silver Belles, a remarkable group of women in their 80s and 90s who started dancing as chorus girls at the Cotton Club and the Apollo Theater as far back as the 1920s. They have survived cancer and broken bones, World War II and the closing of the legendary clubs where they once performed, but their gifts as dancers and their love of the dance keeps them on stage and dreaming up new routines at an age when most of us would barely be able to walk, no less put on a show. These women can still move, and, more importantly, they teach the next generation of tap dancers how it should be done. There’s a spirit here to enjoy all of the little things in life, and to keep on dancin’. 4 cans.
93. Love, Marilyn* (2012) – Contemporary stars comment on the life, loves and death of legendary movie star Marilyn Monroe. The documentary traces her rise and fall, her marriages and divorces, her insecurities and attempts to move from movie star to genuine actress in a poignant look at her troubled life and early demise, incorporating her own prolific journal entries. A loving tribute, worth 3 cans.
94. Our Nixon* (2013) – We all have old pictures and home movies stowed away somewhere, but ours are probably not as historically significant as those shot by three close aides to former President Richard Nixon. H. R. Haldeman, John Erlichman and Dwight Chapin were among the President’s men, and their personal memories – as seen through footage they shot and interviews they granted much later – are the basis of this CNN documentary. The footage and the interviews reveal key aspects of Nixon’s terms in office as well as the Watergate affair and offer a compelling look at the deterioration of the presidency. By the end of the movie, I actually felt sorry for these men, whose job was to protect and defend the President. We hear Nixon on the day the taping system is installed in the Oval Office and learn how it works (unfortunately for Erlichman, he had no inkling of its existence). We overhear the hiring of dirty trickster Donald Segreti, a college buddy of Chapin – who was the first of Nixon’s aides forced to resign. We hear Nixon asking Haldeman – even after accepting the latter’s resignation – to let him know the press reaction to the resignation, before realizing he can no longer ask for his help. The film documents the insecurities of Nixon but also reflects the loyalty of his aides, which ultimately led to their – and his – downfall. I felt like a witness to history watching the events unfold, even though I knew the story’s unhappy ending. This is the real “All the President’s Men,” and it is fascinating. 4 cans.
95. Ted* (2012) – Mark Wahlberg stars as John in this amusing story of a man with a girlfriend and a foul-mouthed companion who ruins their relationship. The acerbic sidekick is Ted, a teddy bear who came to life when John was 8 and has been his best bud ever since. Ted is a wing man who attracts chicks and distracts John, urging him to leave work for a few beers and getting him into trouble. Seth Macfarlane, the genius behind so many animated programs, is the writer and director here, and I’d love to know how they filmed the sequences with Ted moving (especially with Ted fighting with John). I used to love the TV show ALF, with a similar – if less crude – character, but Ted takes his fuzzy character to the next level. Mina Kulis plays the exasperated but loving girlfriend, helping John rescue Ted from kidnappers. This raunchy, funny comedy was more than “bearable.” 3½ cans.
96. Blue Jasmine* (2013) – Jasmine (Cate Blanchett) has plenty to be blue about in this most un-Woody Allen movie I’ve seen. She is recovering from a terrible fall – from grace – and forced to live with a sister (Sally Hawkins) she considers far below her social status after her wealthy beyond description husband (Alec Baldwin) gets busted for Bernie Madoff-like offenses. Though she swears she was unaware of her spouse’s fraud and illicit schemes, it is clear from the flashbacks into their opulent life together that she just willed herself to ignore his transgressions – all of them. After a breakdown and electric shock treatments (that she refers to as “Edison’s Medicine”), she has abandoned 5th Avenue to bunk with her divorced sister in a small apartment in San Francisco. She pops Xanax and gulps down vodka at a rate faster than Lindsey Lohan, still full of self-absorption and denial, lamenting the loss of her jewelry and her brief stint selling shoes to women who formerly came to her home for dinner parties – the poor thing. There was little real comedy in this Allen offering, but Woody manages to make cogent comments on class differences, morality and the difficulty in finding a good man. Blanchett is likely to be honored for her work in this movie, giving her Jasmine a haunted yet haughty mien. Her husband may have stolen money, but Jasmine steals the show here. 3½ cans.
97. Sleuth (1972) – Don’t watch this movie unless you are ready to pay strict attention to the sharp dialog and twisting plot. Michael Caine goes to the home of a mystery writer, played by Sir Laurence Olivier, to ask for his wife’s hand in marriage. But first, the writer concocts a complicated plot involving disguises, a break-in, theft and murder. He loves games, as evidenced by the preponderance of toys and puzzles throughout his manor house and garden, and both the characters and the audience better be ready to play along. This movie was adapted from a stage play, and feels a little confined, despite the size of the house in which it takes place. The characters are happy to play along with their own warped plans, and the viewers can only shake their heads at the clever path the story follows. 3½ cans.
98. The Butler* (2013) – A fictionalized account of the real life of a White House butler who served eight U.S. Presidents, “The Butler” blends the personal story of a man and his family with the tumultuous Civil Rights movement from the 1950s on. Forest Whitaker portrays Cecil Gaines, a dignified man trained to be neither seen nor heard, but to merely serve, to anticipate needs and stand at the ready but to offer nothing more than whatever is on the silver tray. Gaines understands his role and the demands on his time, even if his lonely wife Gloria (Oprah Winfrey should be in more movies – she’s really good here) feels overlooked. His older son, Louis, is the bridge between the family story and the Civil Rights movement, as he leaves for college and becomes a Freedom Rider, a Black Panther and a politician whose activism meets with disapproval from his straight-laced father. There are horrifying scenes of the treatment afforded black people in this country, from taunts to physical violence and lynchings. This movie serves as a reminder of the chasm between the races in this country, between social classes and between countries, as it follows right into the Vietnam War. Irony abounds, as Presidents Kennedy and Johnson espouse the need for racial equality while the black White House staff is paid less than the white staff and is supposed to be grateful for their jobs. The presidents (and the first ladies) are played by a variety of well-known stars, from Robin Williams as Eisenhower to Alan Rickman as Reagan, with Jane Fonda, of all people, thrown in for a tasty bit as Nancy Reagan. But this is not the presidents’ story. It’s all about the butler, and when it comes to serving his country, you have to say, the butler did it well. 4 cans.
99. Losing Chase* (1996) – The only thing that elevates this movie above the usual Lifetime fare is the cast – Helen Mirren as Chase and Kyra Sedgwick as Elizabeth. Chase is a lonely and unhappy woman, saddled with a very nice husband (Beau Bridges) who she clearly doesn’t love. She is recovering from a nervous breakdown with the assistance of Elizabeth, hired to be a mother’s helper. She’s pretty miserable, lashing out at the kids and treating Elizabeth like the help – until she falls for the young woman. The problem here is more than just the story – it’s the casting. The always wonderful Mirren is too old for both Bridges and to be the mother of two young children. Sedgwick is nowhere near young enough to be believable as a college student (or recent graduate). The script is overwrought and ends abruptly. I’d say somewhere along the line, we all lost Chase. 2 cans.
100. Casting By* (2012) – Speaking of casting, this documentary underscores the critical role played by the casting director, whose instincts, understanding of the script and the director and connections with actors can lead to the success or failure of a movie or TV show. Much of the movie is a tribute to Marian Dougherty, whose legendary career began by casting TV dramas in the 50s and continued both as independent casting director and the head of casting for Paramount and, later, Warner Brothers. She was responsible for Jon Voight’s debut in “Midnight Cowboy” and handled all of Woody Allen’s movies until moving to Hollywood. She was the first person in her profession to get a screen credit, and the first to get one as a single card, meaning her name and credit were alone on the screen. The movie emphasizes the contributions people like Marian bring to a movie, despite the fact that the director generally gets the credit and is ultimately the one who makes the final decision on who plays what part. I love all the behind the scenes stuff in show biz, so I relished the stories of John Travolta trying out for “Midnight Cowboy,” being turned down and ultimately winding up in TV’s “Welcome Back,” where he made is name as Vinnie Barbarino. 3½ cans.
101. In the Shadow of the Moon (2007) – Only a few men have walked on the moon and lived to tell about it. In this engrossing documentary, filled with spectacular images, the astronauts who have made that journey talk about its significance to them personally and to history. Though Neil Armstrong was the first to set foot on the moon in 1969, he was not part of this film, but his calm demeanor and skill made him the perfect person to be the first man on the moon, according to his fellow space travelers. They talk about how the experience changed them, about spirituality, and even show hijinks as they cavort where no man had never been before. Will man ever get the chance to replicate their feats? Who knows? But until then, take it from the men who traveled where no man had ever been before and listen to their description of a truly unique experience. 3½ cans.
102. Ted Williams* (2013) – Ted Williams was the best hitter in the history of baseball. A member of the Boston Red Sox from the 1930s to the 60s, he probably would hold the all-time hits record if not for two interruptions in his stellar career to serve as a Marine pilot in WWII and the Korean War. Williams is the last big leaguer to hit .400 for the season, finishing at .406 in 1941 after passing up a chance to sit out the last game to protect his average. That was also the year that Joe DiMaggio set the record for consecutive games with a hit (56) and beat out Teddy Ballgame for the MVP trophy. This much I knew, being a baseball history aficionado. What I learned is that Williams detested the baseball writers, barely tolerated the fans, refused to tip his hat, paid little or no attention to his various wives and children and preferred to be out fishing to doing anything else. And I do recall the news – still unconfirmed – that his family had him frozen when he died, preserved in case the world needs another .400 hitter. This HBO documentary didn’t shed much light on the iconoclastic Williams, but you have to give him credit for his significant achievements on the baseball diamond. But as a man? Not a very good guy. 2½ cans.
103. Glickman* (2012 – If you grew up in the New York area in the 1950-60s as a fan of the football Giants or the Knicks, you know Marty Glickman, one of the pioneers of sports broadcasting. This HBO profile credits Glickman with popularizing the Knicks and expanding the game of football with his coverage. But he also cast a spotlight on high school football, did the radio broadcasts of the Jets (after WOR offered double what he was making to do the Giants games) and shared the craft he perfected with such well-known names as Marv Albert and Bob Costas as they got their starts. Glickman himself was an accomplished athlete and qualified for the 1936 Olympics in Berlin. Because he was a Jew, he was stopped from competing in the relay for which he had qualified. Ironically, he and teammate Jesse Owens set a new world record in the event shortly after the games. This HBO documentary also shows how Glickman helped HBO get started in its own sports coverage. It is a heartfelt tribute to an accomplished athlete, broadcaster and man. 3 cans.
104. The Usual Suspects* (1995) – You won’t believe it when I tell you I had never seen this movie. I always wanted to, but somehow I never got around to it, until today. It was worth the wait. Intricately plotted, the story is about a group of five criminals who are hired to pull off a robbery on a ship and all but one perish in the act when the boat is doused with gas and set on fire. They are a motley but cold-blooded crew, and their caper is told to the cops by Verbal (Kevin Spacey), the lone survivor. He spins a tale about the roles of each man and the mob boss, a mysterious man named Keyser Soze, both feared and fearless. I always worry that I won’t be able to figure out or follow the plot of this kind of movie. The former was true – until the end – but following it was easy if you pay enough attention. It is taut, violent, full of action and surprises and not usual in any way. 4 cans.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Inspect Her Gadgets
Recently in ShopRite I happened upon a plastic device
designed solely for slicing bananas. How
ridiculous, I thought upon first glance.
Who can’t take the time to slice a banana?
But that got me thinking about the myriad of gadgets that I
have bought, used, discarded, regretted and swore I couldn’t do without lo
these many years of living on my own. I
mean, come on, who hasn’t succumbed in a weak moment to the late night
infomercial for a sandwich maker or a NuWave Oven (so far, not me). My most recent purchase – from QVC, a fine
purveyor of gadgets – is a slicer that fits over a bowl (provided) that makes
quick work of zucchini, tomatoes and strawberries. That’s assuming you first cut these things
into chunks small enough to fit into the slicer so it can make them even
smaller. But once I take out the cutting
board and the knife, do I really need a slicer?
For me, the accumulation of the gadgets began with repeated late
night showings of the Boerner V-Slice infomercial. For those of you who are actual cooks, this
device can best be likened to a mandoline.
And it works on everything – including fingers. I know this because, despite the printed
warning on the sharpness of the V-Slicer, I managed to slice my pinky once
anyway, necessitating a trip to the emergency room, accompanied by my concerned
and somewhat disdainful sister.
Nonetheless, I love the V-Slicer, and am on my second one. Nothing ever cleans up as well in real life
as it does on TV, which is why I am on V 2.0.
And speaking of things that look much better on TV, let’s
meet Vince and the SlapChop, which I have addressed in a previous blog entry. Yes, you put veggies in it and get out your
aggressions by pounding the top to chop the veggies, but the thing is so small
that you really have to cut up the veggies first anyway, so why do you need the
Slap Chop? Since the blade is shaped
like an extended W, the food gets caught in the angles of the blade, and
cleaning the damn thing takes much longer than simply slicing the food with a
knife.
For a while, pasta machines were all the rage, and, of
course, I just HAD to have one of those.
I poured in the flour and water (paste, anyone?), selected one of the
“dies” that you use to extrude the dough to form linguini, spaghetti and the
like, and, before you can say, “This thing is impossible to clean,” you have
flour all over the kitchen and a clump of pasta. Taking it out of the Buitoni box is so much
easier. I used it once, and when I had
to take a paper clip to poke the dried dough out of the die, I realized that
this only looks easy on TV. I sold it in
a garage sale, though I felt guilty about foisting it on another unsuspecting
gadget lover.
When I lived in a townhouse back in the 1980s, a local real
estate agent would drop off all kinds of gadgets to generate business. There were measuring cups and spoons, pasta
portion measurers, bottle openers, things to use when draining liquid out of a
bowl, citrus reamers, those rubber things you use to open jars – literally
dozens of items that I referred to as “the Laura Sampson Collection” since they
all came emblazoned with her name and number.
Some of these items came in handy – who doesn’t need a bottle opener,
after all? – and many of them can be found in my “junk drawer” today, lying
beside the turkey baster that gets used once a year, the little plastic thing
that I can use to cut potatoes so they look like mushrooms (though I’m not sure
why I thought that was a good idea in the first place), the egg and mushroom
slicers (separate, but equal), and the little spiral thing that came with the
original V-Slicer that I can use to turn a zucchini or cucumber into what looks
like a Slinky (think about how important it is to have something like
that). Granted, some of these things
haven’t been out of the drawer since my nephew so neatly arranged them when I
moved into this house six years ago, but some – like the cheese grater – get
used fairly often.
I have particular admiration for the single-purpose devices
that do their jobs exceedingly well. You
may not use a melon baller often, but try to get to make a piece of watermelon
round without one. Similarly, a
grapefruit knife is designed solely for use in separating the membrane from the
fruit, although I suppose you could extend its magical powers to sectioning
oranges, too. My mother had the best
grapefruit knife ever, with a blade so thin that it cut expertly between
sections. When she passed away and we
got rid of her kitchen stuff that we didn’t want, it never occurred to me that
I should keep the grapefruit knife, and I have been mourning its loss ever
since. (Ironically, since I take Lipitor
for high cholesterol, I am no longer allowed to eat grapefruit, so I miss the
knife less now than I do eating grapefruit in general.)
I have a jar popper that I find indispensible for opening
jelly, jam, pickles – basically anything that comes in a jar. And I was recently introduced to the “bev
hat,” a device that looks like a strainer but is designed to sit on the top of
a glass to serve as a barrier between the bugs and the beverage.
My junk drawer holds funnels, meat thermometers, chip clips,
special dishes for corn on the cob (along with a little plastic guy who holds a
stick of butter so you can butter the corn, and, of course little plastic corn
cob holders), a garlic press and a plastic device that you use to stab a bagel
and hold it so you can slice it without inflicting bodily harm. At one time I had a bagel guillotine that I
donated to the office to use on “Bagel Day” Fridays. Marie Antoinette would have admired that
one. I have at least four vegetable
peelers, three timers and a host of non-electric can openers (not to be
confused with bottle openers), strainers and a few things whose missions now
escape me.
Yet I continue to succumb to the intrigue of a new device
when I see it on TV. Hence, the “Pocket
Hose.” This is a hose that expands
(supposedly up to 50 feet; if that’s 50 feet long, I am 6 feet tall) when you
turn on the water and it contracts down to a very small, manageable size when
you are done using it and turn the water off.
I used my first one (yes, the story is not over) and loved it, but when
I turned on the water without first uncurling it, the pressure exploded the
thin (and therefore, collapsible) plastic.
Undeterred – after all, this was my fault, I figured – I bought Pocket
Hose #2. Now, the plants and I get
watered at the same time, because the cheap plastic nozzle springs leaks. I tried switching back to the nozzle from the
old one, but apparently the only way to avoid getting wet is to buy the Pocket
Hose that comes with a metal nozzle (and costs more). How much money do I want to throw away on
hoses, I ask myself, already down $40?
Some things work out well.
You’ve probably seen the Sham Wow cloths. They are demonstrated on TV as the pitch man
soaks up a bottle of soda from a carpet.
My Sham Wow cloths come in handy for soaking up water in the bottom of
the hot tub or anywhere I find a pool of liquid. You can wash them, but you can’t throw them
into the dryer. So instead of a wet
floor, you end up with wet rags hanging everywhere to dry out.
Then, of course, there are the electric devices. I have two George Foreman grills (one for
hotdogs and one larger one that I use for, well, larger things), as well as the
George Foreman Rotisserie. Having grown
up in a house with a rotisserie my mother frequently used, I thought this
gadget (a gift) would come in handy. However,
it is enormous. It takes up more counter
space than the toaster oven and toaster put together. And then, though George himself and Ron
Popeil can get their chickens rolling just right, mine tend to flip and flop,
wings going all akimbo and impeding the rotisserie motion. Cleaning it is not quite as bad as cleaning
that pasta machine, but I have to say it looks pretty good – sitting in its
original box, from which it hasn’t emerged since I moved here in 2007.
A few years ago I just had to have a Rabbit wine bottle opener. There’s something that will last forever,
since it has yet to be opened. The same
is true for the ultrasonic jewelry cleaner, though I am tempted to haul it out
and read the directions. Any day now,
Tina, any day now.
The moral of the story is that I need to resist temptation
and stop collecting these time-saving devices that take too much time to use
and clean. These days, even my
smartphone is smarter than I am.
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