Random Thoughts for Mid-December

You know you’re getting old when you find yourself using the phrase, “back in the day.”

Please tell me you do this, too: I walk into a room but I don’t remember why I entered the room. Sometimes I open a drawer and forget what I was supposed to be looking for. The cure for this malady is simple: Just go back to where you were when you thought of the idea originally and sit down. As you sit, the idea pops up from your ass to your brain.  I swear it works every time.

Much to my chagrin, I will have to start using a single space between sentences on this blog. If I double-space the sentences that wrap to the next line appear to be indented and the lack of alignment drives me crazy. So you will notice just the single-space, which we all concede is WRONG, but we also know I am thinking double-space, which we all know is RIGHT.

I could write an entire blog entry just on the SPAM e-mail I get. No, Dr. Oz, I am not interested in your belly fat blaster, so please stop contacting me about it (today alone I had 7 messages on this subject in my SPAM folder, half of the total for the day). You’re making me very self-conscious about my appearance. And whoever you are, Adriana from Facebook, I have no interest in meeting you. I am certain that I won’t be buying Viagra any time soon, and I have no plans to start smoking e-cigarettes. I don’t need a scholarship and a college degree since I already have the latter so I don’t need the former. If Yahoo really needed to reach me regarding my e-mail account, I would expect a note that was professionally written and did not contain typos and spacing problems, so I’m pretty sure the ones I have received that are allegedly from Yahoo are not actually from Yahoo. Finally, no one I know would fall for any scam requiring us to send money to Nigeria for any reason. Enough with the SPAM!

There are so many creams and lotions and tubes of ointment in this house that I am afraid one day I’ll be in a stupor and accidentally brush my teeth with hydrocortisone cream (which is also in a spray can, so I could accidentally use it as hairspray).

I always thought that coming up with names for shades of lipstick (mine is canyon ranch) or nail polish or even paint required quite an imagination. But at least these names are descriptions of something we can imagine. My question is who comes up with the polysyllabic names of drugs? What on earth is hydrochlorothiazide/quinapril hydrochloride? Taking alclometasone dipropionate? Have you tried estradiol/norethindrone acetate? No? I’ll pass, too. Coming up with “linen white” must be far easier for everyone.

The new “Hunger Games” movie is coming out, filled with high drama, fierce fighting and special effects (which only means I won’t be seeing it). Big deal. It is the Hunger Games every day at this house. Thank God for Weight Watchers, my personal heroes!

Really, what is better than coming into the house and smelling dinner cooking in the crock pot?  Yet we restrict the use of the crock pot to winter only, as if the small amount of heat it produces in the kitchen will counteract the air conditioning in the summer.  Or will it?

Each year around this time the weather starts to get colder (so we can start using the crock pot).  Yet we seem surprised by this, remarking on it in conversations with friends and strangers and reacting as if we have never experienced cold before.  And I plead guilty on all counts.

The best part of the cold weather is that I use a heated mattress pad on my bed. I turn it on to warm up the bed and by the time I get into it, it is delightfully warm. It really is the little things.

Speaking of cold weather, I am not to be deterred from making my appointed rounds — or, in my case, walks around Hillsborough. I bundle up like Heidi crossing the Alps. The other day I wore Cuddl Duds long johns under my heaviest sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a hoodie, a jacket and a wool cap. With my earphones in and my earmuffs over the wool cap, I was so warm and soundproofed that I could barely hear the sound of the neighborhood leaf blowers. A runaway bear would have to tap me on the shoulder to get my attention. Please don’t.

I have to admit that for someone who has never spent time hunting, fishing or camping, I seem to have an inordinate amount of thermal and insulated underwear. In my mind, going out for a winter walk is akin to being Jeremiah Johnson or living in a cabin in the remote woods, I guess, because I have at least three sets of Cuddl Duds or thermals. If I layer them all together I look like the Michelin Tire guy. I’m best described as “toasty warm.” Wait — that could be a nail polish color!

When I am out for a walk and I hear the BeeGees’ “Staying Alive,” I always want to strut down the street like Tony Manero (John Travolta) in “Saturday Night Fever.” I try hard to resist the urge.

Whenever I see a storefront with a “Psychic” sign, I wonder if they know who will be dropping in. And do they know it won’t be me?

My sister and I have each had trouble locating a supply of string lately. I don’t know which is more remarkable, that there appears to be a shortage of string or that we have had a discussion about this topic. In any case, I think we should contact Dr. Sheldon Cooper for his take on string theory.

There is a restaurant on Route 206 between Hillsborough and Montgomery that has changed hands more times than I can remember. There is even a suspicious fire or two in its dossier. The most recent iteration was called Tusk, and the sign remains lit even though the restaurant has been closed for well over a year. I can’t help wondering who pays the light bill for the sign and the interior lights that remain lit. This is the stuff that keeps me up at night.

Whenever I hear any song by KC & the Sunshine Band I end up with it running through my head for the rest of the day. There has to be a scientific explanation of this Sunshine phenomenon.

Speaking of songs, I have always wondered what the Chicago song “25 or 6 to 4” is about so I decided to look it up. The composer of the song, band member Robert Lamm, explains that it is more or less about the process of writing a song, which can be painstaking, and the reference in the title is just a reference to the time of day — as in "waiting for the break of day" at 25 or (2)6 minutes to 4 a.m. (3:35 or 3:36 a.m.). So now we know. You’re welcome.

Do you go to the supermarket for a few things and come out with 20 and none of them are what you went for in the first place? Me, too.

My ShopRite sells “Executive Turkey.” Just what is Executive Turkey? Can it not be purchased and enjoyed by the masses? Is this a class thing? I mean, I know plenty of execs who were real turkeys, but I don’t think any of them man the deli counter at ShopRite. Really, who comes up with this stuff?

Today’s technology has made shopping so easy — too easy. The other day I spent $100 from my bed, before my feet hit the floor for the first time. Amazon knows me, my credit card and my tastes, so they point out stuff I might want that I can buy with one click. (Why does my sister need ideas for every occasion? Amazon knows me better than she does.) When my order is delivered, I get an alert on my phone to let me know the package has arrived. Then the hard part begins, as apparently I am supposed to get my butt off the recliner and open the door to retrieve it and then open it all by myself.

I heard the announcer on TV this morning say, “For the first time in history,” and my thoughts immediately went to “It’s raining men.”

A woman in my aqua aerobics class who was playing behind me in volleyball informed me the other day, “Honey, you have a lot of gray hair for someone your age. Really, you have a lot of gray.” OK, first of all, I’m 64 years old, so I am entitled to some gray. Second, I am letting my hair grow it so I can decide if I want to go gray. If not, I can always color it. Thirdly, who looks at the back of their own head? So how gray is it, I wondered. And finally, who says that to someone? Just an elderly woman with Sophia Petrillo tendencies and no filter!

I thought I was just having problems telling black from blue, but now I can’t tell brown from green, either. I thought women didn’t have color-blindness.

I hereby declare that no cards should be allowed to have even a modicum of glitter. Christmas, Birthday – whatever. Why did anyone think that glitter, which scatters all over as soon as you open the envelope, was a good idea?

In speaking with several of my girlfriends lately, I have noticed the glee with which we tell shopping stories. For us, shopping is a competitive sport – competitive not with each other (we relish every victory), but in the great satisfaction derived from getting a really good bargain. We stalk our prey, wait for the right moment to pounce (a sale, of course), come armed with all of the requisite coupons, rebates, rainchecks, gift cards and Kohl’s cash, and bag our prizes with relish (not the kind you put on a hotdog). And we can’t wait to brag about how much we saved. In fact, buying something NOT on sale would drum a woman right out of the shopping corps. Shopping as sport – that’s what it’s all about.

Please tell me there is a 12-step program for people who cannot stop tearing out those perfume strips from magazines and the Macy’s flyers and keeping them. Not that I know anyone who does that, but just in case it should come up in conversation.

Speaking of Macy’s, you know my issue with the Macy’s One Day Sale that takes place on two days. Now Macy’s has made Super Saturday into a three-day event, starting Friday and ending Sunday but still called Super Saturday. If I were Monday or Thursday, I’d have my nose out of joint about being left out.

Some days, when I haven’t washed my hair because I am going to wear a hat and go out for a walk or go to the pool for aqua aerobics, I pull on the sweats and walk out the door and think that if my mother were alive, she’d tell me that I looked like “shit on a shovel.” The Wisdom of Sylvia Gordon. Sounds like a great book, doesn’t it?

Tina's November 2014 Movies

As we enter into the prolific holiday movie season, I have already surpassed my annual goal of watching 150 movies with the addition of November's baker's dozen.  As always, numbering picks up from the previous month, and movies which I have not previously seen are marked with an asterisk. 

142.  The Caine Mutiny (1954) — We’ve all had bosses or co-workers we thought were off their rockers, but few of us have seen the likes of Philip Francis Queeg (Humphrey Bogart).  Captain Queeg is put in charge of the old ship the Caine, where he brings a career in the Navy and a by-the-book attitude to go with his insecurities and paranoia.  Queeg is so hung up on details, he fails to recognize that the ship is traveling in circles because he is too busy berating a sailor for not having his shirt tucked in.  Queeg is the perfect example of “The Peter Principle” — someone rising to his level of incompetence — which is dangerous when you are commanding a ship in World War II.  Officer Keefer (Fred McMurray), a glib author who thinks he is smarter than everyone else, plays amateur psychologist, diagnosing the Captain with paranoia and urging first officer Maryk (Van Johnson) to inform the chain of command, but then Keefer refuses to back him up.  The real tipping point in this engrossing drama comes during a typhoon, when Queeg demonstrates his incompetence by insisting on the wrong approach that may sink the ship — until Maryk feels compelled to relieve him of his duty and take over command.  Maryk saves the ship but goes on trial for mutiny.  Will his Navy lawyer (Jose Ferrer), who has nothing but disdain for Maryk and his men, be able to defend the underling without completely destroying the career and reputation of Queeg?  And who is the real villain here?  It’s always hard to eat strawberries and not think of this movie.  Bogart IS Queeg.  4 cans.

143.  Dave (1993) — This is my kind of Kevin Kline movie.  He plays Dave, who looks so similar to US President Bill Mitchell that he is drafted by Mitchell’s men to impersonate the president after the latter suffers a devastating stroke.  That scheme enables the Presidential advisors (Frank Langella and Kevin Dunn) to retain power, rather than — as constitutionally required — to have the vice president (Ben Kingsley) take over.  Dave is initially scared to death, but he gradually becomes more comfortable in his role as the pseudo-president, even as he has to deal with the First Lady (Sigourney Weaver) who can’t stand her husband.  My favorite scene is when Dave summons his accountant Murray (Charles Grodin) to the White House to go over the budget and save enough money to fund homeless shelters.  This film is a sharp critique of the men in power but the charm exuded by Kline as the neophyte politician surpasses everything else.  4 votes for Dave!

144.  Something’s Gotta Give (2003) — Harry (Jack Nicholson) is an aging lothario who suffers a heart attack at the home of the mother of the very young woman he is dating (Amanda Peet).  He is too weak to be moved, so he is stuck staying with the mother, the much chagrined Erica (Diane Keaton), a successful playwright who is not amused with the way this plot is evolving.  They spar and can’t stand each other, which only means that they will eventually recognize their true feelings and admit that they are in love.  But, of course, complications ensue, primarily that they are equals in age and accomplishment, and that Erica is pursued by Harry’s young doctor (Keanu Reeves).  There is a lot to like in this movie, particularly in the byplay between the leads.  Nicholson doesn’t care if his butt is hanging out of a hospital gown and his hair looks like Albert Einstein’s.  Not the best way to meet a soul mate but certainly amusing for those of us who get to observe.  3½ cans.

145.  Disclosure (1994) — When Tom Sanders (Michael Douglas) is passed over for a promotion that instead goes to his former girlfriend Meredith (Demi Moore), that’s just the start of a really bad day.  Meredith invites him to her office for a late night rendezvous, where she proceeds to sexually assault him.  Tom is married and reluctant at first, and denying himself the sexual pleasure takes all the strength he can muster but he eventually extricates himself from the proceedings.  Meredith, a gorgeous and aggressive woman in every sense, reports the encounter to her bosses the next day, claiming that Tom attacked her, and Tom is about to lose his job and his marriage before he realizes he needs to fight back.  Though a good example of “he said, she said,” the movie examines sexual assault from the unusual perspective of the male, but it is no less damaging to him than to her.  This story is set against the tableau of ruthless business people, which makes the sexual aggressiveness fit in perfectly.  3½ cans.

146.  Cocoon (1985) — A group of elderly residents at a retirement community stumbles upon the fountain of youth in a nearby pool on property that is owned by aliens.  I don’t normally go for fantasies, but this early Ron Howard movie is hard to resist, as the old folks get increasingly frisky while they frolic in the not so still waters.  Would you want to live forever if it meant leaving your loved ones and your earthly life behind?  I guess it would depend on who would be with you on the journey.  The oldies but goodies are Oscar-winner Don Ameche, Hume Cronyn, Maureen Stapleton, Gwen Verdon, Jessica Tandy and Wilford Brimley, looking as hot as Wilford Brimley can get.  Youth really is wasted on the young.  3½ cans.

147.  Whiplash* (2014) – “Who would think that a movie about a music school could be this intense and have blood, sweat and tears?” queried my sage sister upon seeing this film.  Young Andrew (Miles Teller) is a would-be Buddy Rich, a talented 19-year-old drummer with dreams of greatness.  He attends a prestigious NY music college, where he is thrust into the hands of a maniacal music instructor named Fletcher (J. K. Simmons), a man so foul of language that his insults and epithets would make former Rutgers basketball coach Mike Rice blush.  Fletcher looks like the devil himself – bald head, taut muscles and piercing, dangerous eyes – and dealing with him is like being in Hell.  Andrew pushes himself to practice until his hands bleed.  But Fletcher cannot be satisfied by anyone.  Does he push his students because he believes they need the motivation to excel?  Or is he merely power mad and abusive?  Teller is astonishing in his role, and Simmons – who is one of those character actors you know you have seen before but you can’t name a single movie he’s been in – is all coiled, ruthless energy, ready to pounce at any time.  Exhausting, but worth experiencing.  4 cans.

148.  The Goodbye Girl (1977) — Neil Simon puts a twist on his “Odd Couple” story by teaming mismatched roommates Paula McFadden (Marsha Mason, his wife at the time) and Elliott Garfield (Richard Dreyfus, in his Oscar-winning performance).  Paula is an aging (33) dancer who lives with her precocious 10-year old daughter Lucy (Quinn Cummings in a memorable debut) and her boyfriend, who dumps her and leaves a note and a tenant to sublet the apartment they shared without telling her.  Paula is enraged when smug actor Elliott shows up on her doorstep with lease in hand, but they work out an agreement to share the place while he appears Off-Off Broadway in the worst production of “Richard III” that has ever been staged.  Their insecurities and differences are evident, as is the fact that, eventually, they will strike up a relationship.  But can Paula depend on yet another actor?  She has trust issues with good reason.  Witty Simon dialog is delivered by perfectly cast performers (including Cummings) in this entertaining oldie.  4 cans.

149.  The Lucky One (2012) — Handsome Zac Efron is Logan, an Iraqi War veteran who feels he survived thanks to a good luck charm — the photograph of a pretty woman he found on the ground after a battle.  Once he returns to the States, he is determined to find her, and he walks from Colorado to Louisiana and does just that.  This is where the movie turns into science fiction to me.  Walking to Louisiana and finding the woman, Beth (Taylor Schilling, now the star of NetFlix’s “Orange Is the New Black”) seems completely preposterous to me.  Nevertheless, Logan shows up and starts working for Beth at her dog care place, helping repair her boat and ramshackle house, and becoming a fixture in the family with her grandmother (Blythe Danner) and her young son, Ben.  Her menacing ex lurks around, unhappy about this development, and Logan, despite numerous opportunities to tell Beth what drew him there, fails to do so.  The characters are too beautiful and perfect and you just know that the Big Dramatic Moment will have to take place.  Still, this couple is easy on the eyes and who among us doesn’t like a romantic story once in a while?  My once in a while is done for now.  3½ cans.

150.  Doc Hollywood (1991) — Ben Stone (Michael J. Fox) is a hotshot young plastic surgeon on his way to an interview with a lucrative practice in Beverly Hills when he loses control of his prized sports car and destroys a fence, his car and his plans in a small South Carolina town.  He is sentenced to community service, replacing the town’s crotchety doctor (Barnard Hughes) while the local mechanics try to piece together his roadster.  The town is full of colorful characters.  He has to read letters to one pregnant couple who can’t read, pull toys out of boys’ ears and deal with a stern nurse and a spirited ambulance driver, Lou (Julie Warner, who matches Fox in height, which is to say she is suitably short).  One of the locals gives him a pig to pay him for his medical work, while the mayor (David Ogden Stiers) tries to persuade him to stay and his daughter (Bridget Fonda) puts on an all-out flirt.  But Ben Stone only has eyes for Lou, his car and his future in Hollywoodland.  Of course you know it won’t quite work out the way he planned.  This movie gives us the youthful, earnest and somewhat smug Fox at his best, just before he started experiencing the symptoms of the Parkinson’s disease that has affected his career.  He is utterly charming, whether walking his pig, turning down the advances of the mayor’s daughter, or verbally sparring with Lou’s suitor Hank (Woody Harrelson, when he still had hair).  A light and appealing movie, and just what the doctor ordered.  4 cans.

151.  A Civil Action (1998) — In the beginning of this courtroom drama, Jan Schlichtmann (John Travolta) is a stereotypical personal injury lawyer, literally handing out his card at the scene of an accident and anxious to win his clients’ cases so his firm can get its cut.  Even when a case comes along that involves pollution so bad that it causes children in a Massachusetts town to get sick and die, Jan isn’t interested in taking the case because he can’t find anyone at fault whom he can sue for a big payday.  That’s until he gets a speeding ticket in the town and notices factories nearby which may be to blame.  He stakes his case, his reputation and the assets of his firm on being able to prove negligence by two very large corporations, one of whom his represented by Jerry Facher (Robert Duval, nominated for an Oscar as Best Supporting Actor).  As the narrator tells us, going to court takes too long and costs too much, so the aim is to settle.  But that is not about to happen here, and Jan puts his firm and his partners’ families at risk by going all in.  Will he be able to win the case, save the firm and somehow compensate these poor families for their tragic losses?  This movie is based on a true story and acquits itself quite well.  Along for the ride are Travolta’s partners, played by the always reliable William H. Macy, Tony Shaloub and Zeljko Ivanek.  4 cans.

152.  Mr. Dynamite – James Brown* (2014) — James Brown was called “The Godfather of Soul” for a good reason.  His rise in the music business coincided with the evolution of music from Gospel to jazz to R&B and soul, with plenty of funk thrown in along the way.  With horns blaring, drums beating and the sax wailing, Brown commanded center stage with an uncanny ability to dance, scream, shout and conduct the orchestra, which was comprised of polished musicians who kept a careful eye on their demanding leader.  Mick Jagger produced this documentary, which includes plenty of interviews from music mavens and Brown’s musicians, all set within the symphony of rock & roll and the rise of the Civil Rights movement.  James Brown was known as “the hardest working man in show business” and this film bares testament to that description as Brown not only dazzles as a performer but excels as he manages his own band and destiny.  A fascinating story of a life force in a cape.  4 cans.

153.  Slap Shot (1977) — Full disclose: I love all things Paul Newman.  Whether he is a con artist (“The Sting”), a hustler (think about it), a bank robber (“Butch Cassidy”) or a prisoner (“Cool Hand Luke”), Newman brings a certain attitude to his roles.  Here he is washed up hockey player-coach Reg Dunlap, presiding over a rag-tag group of journeymen athletes in a small town in a rinky-dink league, and his franchise is about to fold when the local steel mill shuts down.  Ah, but Reg floats a rumor about the team being bought by a senior citizens’ community and moving to Florida.  Along the way, we see what life is like for professional athletes on the road, full of humor, hard times, too much booze, too many women.  In the case of hockey, throw in a brutal amount of violence, much perpetrated by the three Hansen Brothers, goons put into the game to stir things up and draw fans to the seats.  Ned (Michael Onktean) is a Princeton man who decries the violence and simply loves the game, while his miserable young wife (Lindsay Crouse) wants out of the hockey wife life.  Newman is great, full of cunning, as Reg tries to stay afloat, but, alas, he is treading on thin ice (come on, you knew that one was coming…) as the team is ready to fold.  I love the story (George Roy Hill, Newman’s collaborator on “Butch Cassidy,” wrote and directed the film), the actors and the great ‘70s music (thank you, Maxine Nightingale, for “Get Right Back to Where I Started From”).  This might not go down as one of the best sports movies ever, but as a comedy sports movie, it is worth of the Stanley Cup.  4 cans.

154.  Lost in America (1985) —Advertising exec David Howard (Albert Brooks, who also co-wrote and directed) gets passed over for a promotion and protests so vehemently that he gets fired.  He and wife Linda (Julie Hagerty) decide to cash in their nest egg and travel the country in a Winnebago, first stopping in Las Vegas to renew their marriage vows.  In this case, we’re happy that what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas — except for the next egg, that is — because Linda spends the night gambling away the family fortune, leaving them destitute and driving a gas guzzler.  How are two Yuppies who think they have “dropped out,” as in “Easy Rider,” going to survive?  Brooks’ clever comedy pokes fun at all the things we think of as important (“Mercedes leather,” anyone?), and his gift for dialog (check out the scene with Gary Marshall — yes, the director of so many other movies, but not this one — when David tries to talk the casino boss into simply returning their money as an advertising campaign to promote the casino) add enormously to the plot.  There are too many great lines to quote here, but I, for one, cannot hear the term "nest egg” without thinking of this brilliant comedy.  4 big stacks of chips.