July
71. More Than a Game (TV) – Long before he became the world’s most sought-after free agent, LeBron James was an athletic kid playing basketball and winning championships in Akron, Ohio, with three good buddies. This film shows a lanky 11-year old James, one of several good players regularly trouncing AAU teams, through his evolution into a 17-year old man-child, winning state and national high school championships. But it is more than the LeBron show, as he and his friends develop into accomplished basketball players, young men and good friends. Talent like LeBron’s may come along once in a generation, but it is teamwork that ultimately wins championships. 4 cans.
72. Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (Montgomery with Nan and Hank) – At 75 and with a face only a plastic surgeon could love, Joan Rivers is a desperate woman. She is desperate for recognition as the comedy pioneer she was and still is, desperate for acceptance and desperate to keep working. Her greatest fear is a blank page in her “book,” the calendar in which she writes down all of her engagements. “Ask a nun why she is a nun,” she says in attempting to explain why she is still doing gigs in Wisconsin, on cruise ships and at 4:30 in the afternoon in the Bronx. With staff to pay and a New York apartment in which even she admits Marie Antoinette could live, the insecure icon needs the money, the fame and to be on the stage, the only place where she is truly happy. There is a sense of loneliness and sadness to this movie, which documents one year in Rivers’ life but refers back to her many highs (as permanent guest host on Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show) and lows (when Fox cancelled her own talk show, Johnny refused to ever speak with her again and her husband committed suicide). But in the end, it is a revealing and honest look at a very funny woman doing what she does best – make us laugh – and she is still damn good at it. 3½ cans.
73. The Paper Chase (TV) – The trials and tribulations of law students at Harvard are played out in this 1973 film starring a floppy-haired Timothy Bottoms as first-year student Hart and the great John Housman as formidable Professor Kingsfield. They develop a mutual respect even as Kingsfield refuses to acknowledge that he knows Hart’s name. A young Lindsay Wagner (before she became the Bionic Woman), Edward Hermann (before he played FDR and lots of grandfathers) and James Naughton (before he became a song and dance man on Broadway) co-star. This movie was turned into a very good TV series and educated those of us not in law school about how tough it is to get out alive. 3½ cans.
74. I Am Love (Montgomery, with Dee and Sheila) – You start with a love story, add Italian scenery and throw in a dash of food, courtesy of the chef character in the movie, and you have a recipe for success, right? Not so fast. A great performance by Tilda Swinton as the bored Russian mother in a wealthy Italian family whose son decides to open a restaurant with his friend Antonio, a chef. Seduced by the chef’s enormous prawns, Momma begins an affair that seems somewhat far-fetched, and the foreboding music tells you that this is not going to end well. I wanted more – more food, more sunny countryside scenes and a more handsome lover with better assets than those on display here. I am love – no. I am disappointed – yes. 3½ cans.
75. Unfaithful (HBO) – Richard Gere is not enough for Diane Lane, at least not after she (literally) bumps into young Frenchman Olivier Martinez and begins a torrid affair in this movie. If Martinez had played the Italian in the movie above, I would have given “I Am Love” another star. I’ve liked Diane Lane’s work since she appeared as a 14-year old in “A Little Romance” way back when. I also loved her in the movie in which she had a torrid affair with Viggo Mortensen, “A Walk on the Moon.” Here, her face as she returns home on the train after her initial tryst with Martinez reveals both ecstasy and guilt. Great performance in a very satisfying film. My favorite part is when she knows that he knows but he doesn’t know that she knows that he knows. You know? 4 ½ cans.
76. Presumed Innocent (TV) – Harrison Ford stars in this whodunit courtroom drama as a prosecutor accused of killing his former lover, fellow attorney (Greta Sacchi). As in the two movies I saw immediately preceding this one, the lesson here again is that no good can come from having a hot affair. I will bear that in mind, just in case an opportunity presents itself. Ford gives an almost sleepy performance, with little dialog to help him convince us of his innocence. I won’t tell you how it ends, but I remember seeing this years ago and not expecting the twist in the case. 3½ cans.
77. Toots (Sundance Channel) – Saloonkeeper to the stars Toots Shor was the toast of New York from the 40s to the 60s. Long before places like Studio 54 attracted the rich and famous, Toot’s joint was the hangout for Sinatra, Gleason and DiMaggio, as well as sportswriters, newspapermen and mobsters. This documentary recounts the days and nights of the gregarious barkeep and his famous and infamous cohorts. Rich in anecdotes and interviews with Toots and his pals, this is a portrait of a true New York character, someone who met Pope John and called him a “helluva guy.” So was Toots. 3½ cans.
78. Flash of Genius (Blockbuster rental) –This film focuses on the inventor of intermittent windshield wipers, Dr. Bob Kearns, played by Greg Kinnear in a surprisingly interesting movie about patent violations. After striking a deal with Kearns, Ford rained on his parade by coming out with its own product, claiming its engineers invented it. Kearns struck back, doggedly taking on the giant company at the cost of first his sanity, and then his marriage and family. Don’t we always root for the underdog? Next time I turn on my wipers, I will think of Kearns and his contribution to automotive safety and innovation. 3 cans.
79. The Turning Point (TV) – This ballet-themed movie is on point as former ballerina Shirley MacLaine and fading ballerina Anne Bancroft, once BFFs, reflect on their respective choices and achievements as they battle for control over the promising career of MacLaine’s coming of age daughter. Harboring decades of resentment, they have to come to terms with each other and the paths they have chosen. Did MacLaine’s character get pregnant because she was in love or because she was afraid she wasn’t good enough to make it as a ballet star? Did Bancroft’s Emma give up everything to be a prima ballerina? This is the movie that brought the gravity-defying Mikhail Baryshnikov to the screen. Great performances and a stellar catfight. 4 cans.
80. The Kids Are All Right (in Montgomery with Dee and Angela) – Annette Bening is an uptight doctor with control issues and her partner, played by Julianne Moore, is a new age, middle aged woman looking for the right vibe – or something. When the kids in the title, an 18-year old daughter by Bening and a 15-year son named Laser by Moore, track down their sperm donor dad (Mark Ruffalo), relationships begin to change for everyone. Rough around the edges Ruffalo, a single restaurateur who is way too cool to be a real dad, nonetheless brings some perspective to the kids that their Moms could not. He also brings something to Moore that Bening cannot. She had him at “Hello!” 4 cans.
81. Three Days of the Condor (TV) – Robert Redford stars in this suspenseful film as a low-level CIA analyst. He can’t imagine that his mundane job – reading books – could possibly uncover a rogue CIA network that results in the deaths of all of his co-workers and leaves him on the run. He needs help and a place to hide, for which he randomly grabs Faye Dunaway, who is initially terrified but eventually – well, he IS Robert Redford, you know. Good story, if a little tough to follow, and Redford looked great in 1974. 4 cans.
82. Yankee Doodle Dandy (TCM) – As a movie aficionado, I have to admit I was embarrassed that I had never seen this All-American movie, but what better month to see it than in July? Tough guy actor James Cagney goes back to his song and dance man roots to portray George M. Cohan, composer, actor, singer, patriot and Broadway producer. Cohan was responsible for such classic tunes as “You’re a Grand Old Flag,” “Over There,” and “Give My Regards to Broadway.” Cagney emulates Cohan’s odd dancing style, tapping with a stiff-legged gait while bent from the waist, and he was impressive enough in this role to win an Oscar. The production numbers are grand but cheesy. I know it is considered a grand old movie, but it’s just not my cup of tea. 3 cans.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Trash Talk - July 2010
“We’re down to one bag of trash a month,” dear friend Katherine proclaimed proudly.
One bag a month, I thought. One bag a week would have impressed me, but one bag a month? That seems almost impossible, unless you reside on the space station, where I imagine trash pick-up is really limited.
Katherine went on to explain the seven kinds of recycling accepted in her town in a conversation that only two dear friends could have without feeling really bored. By now I was really jealous, though I perked up a bit when she admitted they still have a problem with overuse of paper towels. She assured me, however, that she really is using those ShamWows we bought and shared (and no, ShamWow is not one of the people on “Jersey Shore.”). They use cloth napkins (I could do that, I think), and run the dishwasher often. Mine runs about once a quarter, so at least I’m ahead on the lowering of energy consumption (as if this were a competition).
She also composts all her vegetable scraps and has a sizable garden, affording her family of four the opportunity to eat whatever tomatoes, zucchini, potatoes, etc., the rabbits and other wildlife haven’t plundered before harvest. That means not only better quality and more fresh veggies are consumed at her house than at mine, but also that she doesn’t have to deal with all the plastic bags and wrapping in which we tote home our produce. She always uses her own bags at the supermarket and has for years, even before it became fashionable to do so. I do this about half the time, when I remember to bring them in from the car. Once I had my own bags on my arm while shopping and still forgot to bag in them since I was apparently so transfixed by watching the cash register while checking out.
This leaves me with one question: How can one person produce all this trash?
As a consumer of many kinds of goods, I always have to contend with packaging materials. There is that hideous plastic that imprisons my memory sticks for my computer and memory cards for my camera, all 10 times the size of the product they encase, and all of which are lethally sharp as I cut them with my utility knife to wrestle out the contents. Then there is food packaging – huge boxes in which much less cereal resides than it would appear and boxes that contain individual packets of cookies or other snacks. There are the Styrofoam cartons for the eggs, foam trays beneath the meat and chicken, the little plastic cups for my cling peaches, and, of course, all those shiny packets that house my beloved Bumble Bee Tuna.
Sunday and Wednesday nights I haul the trash out in my trash can, placing it at the curb with my secret trash code visible from my front door. Code, you wonder? What is a trash code? I always take the red draw string from the big black bag (into which I place the smaller white bag) and put it outside the lid of the garbage can. That way I can tell at a glance whether the garbage has been picked up and I need to go out and retrieve the can. Believe me, in the winter, this clever trick has helped me avoid many a possible slip on the icy driveway.
Not that I don’t try to be good. I dutifully recycle my cardboard, remove the labels from my cans and bottles (more trash just from the labels), collect all the magazine inserts and junk mail and neatly tie my newspapers into bundles. (My sister, once observing the latter ritual, inquired as to whether I was recycling or gift wrapping the newspapers.) I broke down so many cardboard cartons when I moved into this house that I ended up at the orthopedist with carpal tunnel in both wrists (His advice? Don’t move again.). If I use a paper towel for a quick wipe of something (like cleaning my glasses), I’ll let it dry and reuse it for something else. I refuse bags from the store if the item is small and fits in my purse. I reuse my plastic bags, lining the garbage pails in the bathrooms and bedrooms with the grocery ones and reserving the larger ones (mostly from Kohl’s or Macy’s) for my shredded paper. If my take-out or doggie bags are aluminum pans, I wash them and reuse them for leftovers. In my town, you can’t recycle your cereal or pizza boxes or the plastic from the salad bar containers, so I feel like I am doing all I can.
Or am I?
Maybe if I consume less – buy less stuff that I probably don’t need anyway, eat less (my docs would be happy) and just try not to get all caught up in trash, I’d actually have less to toss. I’ll try the cloth napkin route and use the ShamWows more to clean up after meals to cut down on the paper towels. If I cook more and have less takeout I’ll probably come out ahead in several ways.
But one bag of trash a month? It’s only a dream for me.
Stay tuned for next month, when I consider this burning question: How can one person produce this much laundry?
One bag a month, I thought. One bag a week would have impressed me, but one bag a month? That seems almost impossible, unless you reside on the space station, where I imagine trash pick-up is really limited.
Katherine went on to explain the seven kinds of recycling accepted in her town in a conversation that only two dear friends could have without feeling really bored. By now I was really jealous, though I perked up a bit when she admitted they still have a problem with overuse of paper towels. She assured me, however, that she really is using those ShamWows we bought and shared (and no, ShamWow is not one of the people on “Jersey Shore.”). They use cloth napkins (I could do that, I think), and run the dishwasher often. Mine runs about once a quarter, so at least I’m ahead on the lowering of energy consumption (as if this were a competition).
She also composts all her vegetable scraps and has a sizable garden, affording her family of four the opportunity to eat whatever tomatoes, zucchini, potatoes, etc., the rabbits and other wildlife haven’t plundered before harvest. That means not only better quality and more fresh veggies are consumed at her house than at mine, but also that she doesn’t have to deal with all the plastic bags and wrapping in which we tote home our produce. She always uses her own bags at the supermarket and has for years, even before it became fashionable to do so. I do this about half the time, when I remember to bring them in from the car. Once I had my own bags on my arm while shopping and still forgot to bag in them since I was apparently so transfixed by watching the cash register while checking out.
This leaves me with one question: How can one person produce all this trash?
As a consumer of many kinds of goods, I always have to contend with packaging materials. There is that hideous plastic that imprisons my memory sticks for my computer and memory cards for my camera, all 10 times the size of the product they encase, and all of which are lethally sharp as I cut them with my utility knife to wrestle out the contents. Then there is food packaging – huge boxes in which much less cereal resides than it would appear and boxes that contain individual packets of cookies or other snacks. There are the Styrofoam cartons for the eggs, foam trays beneath the meat and chicken, the little plastic cups for my cling peaches, and, of course, all those shiny packets that house my beloved Bumble Bee Tuna.
Sunday and Wednesday nights I haul the trash out in my trash can, placing it at the curb with my secret trash code visible from my front door. Code, you wonder? What is a trash code? I always take the red draw string from the big black bag (into which I place the smaller white bag) and put it outside the lid of the garbage can. That way I can tell at a glance whether the garbage has been picked up and I need to go out and retrieve the can. Believe me, in the winter, this clever trick has helped me avoid many a possible slip on the icy driveway.
Not that I don’t try to be good. I dutifully recycle my cardboard, remove the labels from my cans and bottles (more trash just from the labels), collect all the magazine inserts and junk mail and neatly tie my newspapers into bundles. (My sister, once observing the latter ritual, inquired as to whether I was recycling or gift wrapping the newspapers.) I broke down so many cardboard cartons when I moved into this house that I ended up at the orthopedist with carpal tunnel in both wrists (His advice? Don’t move again.). If I use a paper towel for a quick wipe of something (like cleaning my glasses), I’ll let it dry and reuse it for something else. I refuse bags from the store if the item is small and fits in my purse. I reuse my plastic bags, lining the garbage pails in the bathrooms and bedrooms with the grocery ones and reserving the larger ones (mostly from Kohl’s or Macy’s) for my shredded paper. If my take-out or doggie bags are aluminum pans, I wash them and reuse them for leftovers. In my town, you can’t recycle your cereal or pizza boxes or the plastic from the salad bar containers, so I feel like I am doing all I can.
Or am I?
Maybe if I consume less – buy less stuff that I probably don’t need anyway, eat less (my docs would be happy) and just try not to get all caught up in trash, I’d actually have less to toss. I’ll try the cloth napkin route and use the ShamWows more to clean up after meals to cut down on the paper towels. If I cook more and have less takeout I’ll probably come out ahead in several ways.
But one bag of trash a month? It’s only a dream for me.
Stay tuned for next month, when I consider this burning question: How can one person produce this much laundry?
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Tina's June Movies
Not a great month for movies, but I did get to the theater to see Sex and the City. Here's what I watched in June, with numbering picked up from the rest of the year.
June
63. Bringing Down the House (TV) – After a very busy and exhausting day, this Steve Martin-Queen Latifah comedy was just what I needed to relax. A fish-out-of-water tale of rich versus poor, white vs. black and uptight vs. spontaneous, this movie has many funny moments, none funnier than Steve Martin going gansta in a club. Eugene Levy almost steals the movie as well as the heart of the Queen, who, by the way, shows great potential as an actress. Very cute, and Betty White to boot. 3½ cans.
64. Second Hand Lions (rental) – Recommended by pool pal Bunny, this film is about two crusty old men (Robert Duvall and Michael Caine, sans English accent) living alone in a dilapidated house in Texas, content to welcome uninvited guests with shotgun blasts. When their previously unknown young nephew (Haley Joel Osment) is dumped on their door by his ne’er-do-well mother, the quiet youngster and eccentric old men develop the kind of predictable bond you expect in this kind of movie. Nonetheless, there is enough funny and heart-warming stuff to make viewing this film highly worthwhile. 3½ cans.
65. The Ugly Truth (rental) – The ugly truth is that Hollywood is bound and determined to make Katherine Heigl the next Goldie Hawn-Meg Ryan-Sandra Bullock rom-com queen, but this movie doesn’t quite get her to the throne. She has the right qualities but not as yet the right vehicle. Predictable in plot and annoying in making a competent woman into a ditzy idiot. 2½ cans.
66. A Perfect Murder (TV) – Michael Douglas is at his Gordon Gekko best as a wealthy businessman who hires his wife’s lover (Gwyneth Paltrow and Viggo Mortenson) to kill her. Is it for her family’s money? Will lover-boy, with a rather shady past, complete the mission made possible by Douglas? Does anyone in New York really live in an apartment that big? Suspenseful and with enough twists and turns to keep it very interesting. 4 cans.
67. Fame (rental) – A remake of the 1980s movie, this version lacks the exuberance and jaw-dropping talent displayed by the original cast (particularly by the late dancer Gene Anthony). Lots of familiar names among the faculty (Debbie Allen, Kelsey Grammer, Bebe Neuwirth, Megan Mulally) but they have little to contribute. The young dancers, filmmakers, singers and dancers are more aspiring than inspiring. Maybe on its own this movie would fare better, but I kept comparing it to its much superior predecessor. This one will not live forever. 3 cans.
68. Smash His Camera (TV) – Speaking of fame, this documentary captures the original paparazzo, Ron Galella, who made his reputation by stalking and shooting his celebrity prey – especially Jackie Kennedy (whose demand prompts the title of the film) – with his ever-present camera. Galella and Jackie had a love-hate relationship. In a creepy way, he adored her, while she hated him (but allegedly kept a stash of magazines in which his pictures of her appeared). Though I deplore his invasion of the privacy of public figures, I couldn’t stop looking at the iconic images of Jackie and her kids and of so many other prominent people he shot in his (and their) heyday. Is it art, photojournalism or simply voyeurism? Or is it working hard to be in the right place at the right time with a camera? 4 cans.
69. Sex & the City (with Andrea) – Sometimes it is best to approach a movie with low expectations so you won’t be disappointed. I had expected this movie to be somewhere between “Ishtar” and “Mamma Mia” and was pleasantly surprised to enjoy it as much as I did. The girls, in full travel regalia – including a hat worn by Carrie Bradshaw that needed its own seat on the plane – are off to Abu Dhabi with their conspicuous consumption and Samantha’s unstoppable sex drive. The latter joke is really beginning to wane, and the overdose of references to menopause and hormones was just that – an overdose. For SATC fans, however, there are healthy doses of Big, Aidan and beefcake – to say nothing of a $22,000 a day hotel suite and the ability to buy shoes for $20 – that make this fantasy worthwhile. 4 cans, surprisingly.
**. It’s Complicated – Since I have already seen this movie once this year, I am not counting it in the total. However, I will point out that I found it well worth seeing a second time, especially with someone who hadn’t seen it yet.
70. June 17, 1994 (ESPN) – On June 17, 1994, Arnold Palmer was playing his last round of competitive golf, President Bill Clinton and a very slim Oprah Winfrey were welcoming soccer teams to the World Cup in Chicago, the New York Rangers were in a tickertape parade in honor of winning the Stanley Cup, and O. J. Simpson was in a white Ford Bronco with pal Al Cowlings, leading L.A. police on a slow-speed chase after being charged with the murder of his wife and her friend. This documentary – with no interviews, no voiceover and only news and sports broadcasts of all of these events – is a compelling reminder of the Simpson circus and how it forever altered coverage of news, blurring it with popular culture and expanding the reign of celebrity. This film is part of ESPN’s outstanding “30 for 30” series of documentaries, hour-long programs made with considerable freedom by a wide range of filmmakers. I have seen almost all of them, but couldn’t decide whether to treat them like actual movies. Since their quality is so high, and since I’d like to recommend them when appropriate, I have decided to include them here. 4 cans.
June
63. Bringing Down the House (TV) – After a very busy and exhausting day, this Steve Martin-Queen Latifah comedy was just what I needed to relax. A fish-out-of-water tale of rich versus poor, white vs. black and uptight vs. spontaneous, this movie has many funny moments, none funnier than Steve Martin going gansta in a club. Eugene Levy almost steals the movie as well as the heart of the Queen, who, by the way, shows great potential as an actress. Very cute, and Betty White to boot. 3½ cans.
64. Second Hand Lions (rental) – Recommended by pool pal Bunny, this film is about two crusty old men (Robert Duvall and Michael Caine, sans English accent) living alone in a dilapidated house in Texas, content to welcome uninvited guests with shotgun blasts. When their previously unknown young nephew (Haley Joel Osment) is dumped on their door by his ne’er-do-well mother, the quiet youngster and eccentric old men develop the kind of predictable bond you expect in this kind of movie. Nonetheless, there is enough funny and heart-warming stuff to make viewing this film highly worthwhile. 3½ cans.
65. The Ugly Truth (rental) – The ugly truth is that Hollywood is bound and determined to make Katherine Heigl the next Goldie Hawn-Meg Ryan-Sandra Bullock rom-com queen, but this movie doesn’t quite get her to the throne. She has the right qualities but not as yet the right vehicle. Predictable in plot and annoying in making a competent woman into a ditzy idiot. 2½ cans.
66. A Perfect Murder (TV) – Michael Douglas is at his Gordon Gekko best as a wealthy businessman who hires his wife’s lover (Gwyneth Paltrow and Viggo Mortenson) to kill her. Is it for her family’s money? Will lover-boy, with a rather shady past, complete the mission made possible by Douglas? Does anyone in New York really live in an apartment that big? Suspenseful and with enough twists and turns to keep it very interesting. 4 cans.
67. Fame (rental) – A remake of the 1980s movie, this version lacks the exuberance and jaw-dropping talent displayed by the original cast (particularly by the late dancer Gene Anthony). Lots of familiar names among the faculty (Debbie Allen, Kelsey Grammer, Bebe Neuwirth, Megan Mulally) but they have little to contribute. The young dancers, filmmakers, singers and dancers are more aspiring than inspiring. Maybe on its own this movie would fare better, but I kept comparing it to its much superior predecessor. This one will not live forever. 3 cans.
68. Smash His Camera (TV) – Speaking of fame, this documentary captures the original paparazzo, Ron Galella, who made his reputation by stalking and shooting his celebrity prey – especially Jackie Kennedy (whose demand prompts the title of the film) – with his ever-present camera. Galella and Jackie had a love-hate relationship. In a creepy way, he adored her, while she hated him (but allegedly kept a stash of magazines in which his pictures of her appeared). Though I deplore his invasion of the privacy of public figures, I couldn’t stop looking at the iconic images of Jackie and her kids and of so many other prominent people he shot in his (and their) heyday. Is it art, photojournalism or simply voyeurism? Or is it working hard to be in the right place at the right time with a camera? 4 cans.
69. Sex & the City (with Andrea) – Sometimes it is best to approach a movie with low expectations so you won’t be disappointed. I had expected this movie to be somewhere between “Ishtar” and “Mamma Mia” and was pleasantly surprised to enjoy it as much as I did. The girls, in full travel regalia – including a hat worn by Carrie Bradshaw that needed its own seat on the plane – are off to Abu Dhabi with their conspicuous consumption and Samantha’s unstoppable sex drive. The latter joke is really beginning to wane, and the overdose of references to menopause and hormones was just that – an overdose. For SATC fans, however, there are healthy doses of Big, Aidan and beefcake – to say nothing of a $22,000 a day hotel suite and the ability to buy shoes for $20 – that make this fantasy worthwhile. 4 cans, surprisingly.
**. It’s Complicated – Since I have already seen this movie once this year, I am not counting it in the total. However, I will point out that I found it well worth seeing a second time, especially with someone who hadn’t seen it yet.
70. June 17, 1994 (ESPN) – On June 17, 1994, Arnold Palmer was playing his last round of competitive golf, President Bill Clinton and a very slim Oprah Winfrey were welcoming soccer teams to the World Cup in Chicago, the New York Rangers were in a tickertape parade in honor of winning the Stanley Cup, and O. J. Simpson was in a white Ford Bronco with pal Al Cowlings, leading L.A. police on a slow-speed chase after being charged with the murder of his wife and her friend. This documentary – with no interviews, no voiceover and only news and sports broadcasts of all of these events – is a compelling reminder of the Simpson circus and how it forever altered coverage of news, blurring it with popular culture and expanding the reign of celebrity. This film is part of ESPN’s outstanding “30 for 30” series of documentaries, hour-long programs made with considerable freedom by a wide range of filmmakers. I have seen almost all of them, but couldn’t decide whether to treat them like actual movies. Since their quality is so high, and since I’d like to recommend them when appropriate, I have decided to include them here. 4 cans.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Nailed - June 2010
It is summer, so in a bow to one of the few girlie things I do (wearing perfume being the most prominent), it’s time for a mani-pedi. Off I go to the nail salon.
Remember back in the day when people had their hair “done” on a weekly basis? My mother made me have mine “done” for my senior picture in high school, and I emerged from the rollers, the rocket ship-looking hair dryer and enough hair spray to seriously damage the ozone layer looking nothing like I actually looked on any given day in high school. I have since been immortalized in the yearbook looking the way my hair looked for three hours on that one day. But I digress. Those were the days when manicurists were all like “Madge” in those Palmolive commercials, the ones where the ladies soaked their hands in Palmolive before Madge would do their nails while they gossiped – in English.
Times have changed.
Madge is long gone, and so, for the most part, are manicurists who work in what we used to call “beauty parlors” (I believe that term had to be dropped right after my hair was “done” for the yearbook picture). We get our nails done at a nail salon, ubiquitous storefront operations that pop up, along with pizza joints, dry cleaners and Chinese take-out places, at virtually any strip mall you can find. At least in New Jersey, that is. The “nail technicians,” if that’s what we can them, all speak English as a second language, and generally work for a woman named Kim. I’m pretty sure that is a legal requirement to own and operate a nail business.
This of course reminds me of the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine was sure the nail technicians were talking about her behind her back but, in this case, in front of her face. And if Elaine were your customer, you’d talk about her, too.
The technicians, upon arriving in this country from wherever they may hail, first learn the most important English phrase in their vocabulary: “Pick a color.” This is the single biggest decision a woman can make. The choice depends on the season, the length of the nails, the age of the person getting them done (I saw a nine-year old having her nails done in a neon lime color the other day), and what we have planned, like matching the nails with a certain outfit. But that is far from the only decision. Should the finger and toenails match? Do we want a French manicure – which I fear will result in boorish behavior on the part of the technician – a gel manicure, acrylics, wraps or nail “art?” The latter consists of using tiny brushes and a million little bottles of color to create anything from a snowman to a flower to a peace sign on the nail to make it, well, artsy, I guess. We can pay extra for a spa manicure, where they apply lotion and massage the feet and hands, or we can add a special topcoat that will protect the nails even longer – even though mine almost always are ruined by the time I turn the key in the ignition of the car as I leave the salon.
I try to do this right, even though my heels hurt as they are massaged because of my plantar fasciitis, and I am ticklish, so touching my feet makes me squirm. I bring my own polish so when my nails chip 10 minutes after I get home I can retouch them. I don’t wear a watch so they can massage my hands and arms. I don the shortest capris I have, which for me is an issue since most just look like shorter long pants on my stubby little legs. I wear my flip flops, which I wear exclusively to get a pedicure, and I put my credit card and money in my pocket so I don’t have to reach into my purse to pay (the second phrase all technicians must learn upon arrival in the U.S. is, “You pay now,” which they remind you after the initial work is done but before the polish is applied).
The whole experience is quite a process, and though we pay for the service, sometimes we forget who is in charge. Once a friend of mine had a manicure and upon leaving, headed straight to another nail joint for a “color change” since she was too embarrassed to admit she hated the color she selected.
Sure, you can do this yourself, and occasionally I try, but the cuticles never cooperate and my left hand isn’t all that helpful when working on my right hand. You can tell I have done it myself when the polish is clear, which usually is meant only to keep them strong enough to last until I can get a manicure.
Between the chlorine in the pool and the ordinary wear and tear on my hands, and not even considering that my nails seem to grow much faster in the summer, my nails will look good for approximately 3 days. After that, the chips appear, the cuticles split, and, let’s face it, I have no future as a hand model. But for those three days, as Shania says, “Man, I feel like a woman.”
Remember back in the day when people had their hair “done” on a weekly basis? My mother made me have mine “done” for my senior picture in high school, and I emerged from the rollers, the rocket ship-looking hair dryer and enough hair spray to seriously damage the ozone layer looking nothing like I actually looked on any given day in high school. I have since been immortalized in the yearbook looking the way my hair looked for three hours on that one day. But I digress. Those were the days when manicurists were all like “Madge” in those Palmolive commercials, the ones where the ladies soaked their hands in Palmolive before Madge would do their nails while they gossiped – in English.
Times have changed.
Madge is long gone, and so, for the most part, are manicurists who work in what we used to call “beauty parlors” (I believe that term had to be dropped right after my hair was “done” for the yearbook picture). We get our nails done at a nail salon, ubiquitous storefront operations that pop up, along with pizza joints, dry cleaners and Chinese take-out places, at virtually any strip mall you can find. At least in New Jersey, that is. The “nail technicians,” if that’s what we can them, all speak English as a second language, and generally work for a woman named Kim. I’m pretty sure that is a legal requirement to own and operate a nail business.
This of course reminds me of the episode of Seinfeld where Elaine was sure the nail technicians were talking about her behind her back but, in this case, in front of her face. And if Elaine were your customer, you’d talk about her, too.
The technicians, upon arriving in this country from wherever they may hail, first learn the most important English phrase in their vocabulary: “Pick a color.” This is the single biggest decision a woman can make. The choice depends on the season, the length of the nails, the age of the person getting them done (I saw a nine-year old having her nails done in a neon lime color the other day), and what we have planned, like matching the nails with a certain outfit. But that is far from the only decision. Should the finger and toenails match? Do we want a French manicure – which I fear will result in boorish behavior on the part of the technician – a gel manicure, acrylics, wraps or nail “art?” The latter consists of using tiny brushes and a million little bottles of color to create anything from a snowman to a flower to a peace sign on the nail to make it, well, artsy, I guess. We can pay extra for a spa manicure, where they apply lotion and massage the feet and hands, or we can add a special topcoat that will protect the nails even longer – even though mine almost always are ruined by the time I turn the key in the ignition of the car as I leave the salon.
I try to do this right, even though my heels hurt as they are massaged because of my plantar fasciitis, and I am ticklish, so touching my feet makes me squirm. I bring my own polish so when my nails chip 10 minutes after I get home I can retouch them. I don’t wear a watch so they can massage my hands and arms. I don the shortest capris I have, which for me is an issue since most just look like shorter long pants on my stubby little legs. I wear my flip flops, which I wear exclusively to get a pedicure, and I put my credit card and money in my pocket so I don’t have to reach into my purse to pay (the second phrase all technicians must learn upon arrival in the U.S. is, “You pay now,” which they remind you after the initial work is done but before the polish is applied).
The whole experience is quite a process, and though we pay for the service, sometimes we forget who is in charge. Once a friend of mine had a manicure and upon leaving, headed straight to another nail joint for a “color change” since she was too embarrassed to admit she hated the color she selected.
Sure, you can do this yourself, and occasionally I try, but the cuticles never cooperate and my left hand isn’t all that helpful when working on my right hand. You can tell I have done it myself when the polish is clear, which usually is meant only to keep them strong enough to last until I can get a manicure.
Between the chlorine in the pool and the ordinary wear and tear on my hands, and not even considering that my nails seem to grow much faster in the summer, my nails will look good for approximately 3 days. After that, the chips appear, the cuticles split, and, let’s face it, I have no future as a hand model. But for those three days, as Shania says, “Man, I feel like a woman.”
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Tina's May Movies - June 2010
It was a good month for documentaries once again, as well as a movie I had never seen ("The Old Man and the Sea" and one I never miss "Rudy." Here's how I spent my time during May:
May
53. Feast of Love (TV) – This movie about relationships stars Morgan Freeman and Greg Kinear, who both bring their considerable charm to a bittersweet tale. The problem is that there is so much foreboding that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, which affected my enjoyment of the film. This movie is one that I hadn’t even heard of, but I figured anything with Morgan Freeman can’t be all bad. Feast had its moments, but I’m not sure I’d go back for seconds. 3½ cans.
54. The Kid Stays in the Picture (HBO) – Hollywood producer Robert Evans offers a fascinating account of his life that is equal parts biography and bombast. From a successful career in women’s clothing (Evan-Picone, but take that any way you like) to becoming a strictly B actor, he ended up as a producer and the very young head of Paramount Pictures. There he claims credit for saving the ailing studio with such hits as “Rosemary’s Baby,” “Love Story” and “The Godfather.” His meteoric rise was followed by a predictably precipitous fall, as he lost his wife Ali McGraw to hot star Steve McQueen, got busted for drugs, sunk money into the disaster that was “The Cotton Club” and lost his beloved home when his career nosedived. This guy has had more lives than a cat, and he unabashedly shares his triumphs and failures here. 3½ cans.
55. The Cooler (TV) – Bernie, the sad sack played by William H. Macy, is such a loser that his mere presence can cool off anyone’s hot streak in the Vegas casino where he works. That is, until Lady Luck, in the form of a waitress played by Maria Bello, comes along. He gets lucky (take that any way you want), which turns out not to be so lucky for a guy who is paid to be a loser. Casino boss Alec Baldwin runs the casino old school style, which means Bernie’s luck is about to run out. 3½ cans.
56. Days of Wine and Roses (TCM) – This sobering tale about the demons of drinking features Jack Lemmon as a PR man whose life careens between frenetic and pathetic. He and his wife (Lee Remick), who initially drinks only because he doesn’t want to drink alone, descend into the depths of alcoholism. The lesson here: You are only one step away from ruin when drinking dominates your life. On the other hand, you are only 12 steps away from helping yourself once you face up to being an alcoholic. A sad, disturbing and difficult film to watch, but well-played by all, and directed by Blake Edwards, better known more for such frothy fare as “The Pink Panther.” 4 cans.
57. Babies (in Manville with Dee) – Short and very sweet, this unscripted movie documents the birth and growth of four babies from four continents during their first year. Despite immense differences in cultural backgrounds, the babies are all very much the same in their eagerness to explore the world around them, cry for food, laugh at things that amuse them and, generally, act like little babies. Whether it is playing with a rock in Africa or attending a Gymboree-type class in San Francisco, these babies show us the miracle that is life and the wonder of it all. Oooh, baby, baby. 3½ cans.
58. Letters to Juliet (in Hillsborough with Dee and Angela) – I won’t bog you down with the details of this tale of lost love. The movie stars Dakota Fanning look-alike (but older) Amanda Seyfried as engaged yet ringless Sophie, who is to marry would-be restaurateur Victor. On a trip to Italy, Victor spends most of his time visiting his suppliers and exalting the food and wine of Italy, while Sophie gets involved helping Clare, played by the elegant and gracious Vanessa Redgrave, find her long-lost (50 years) love (her actual long-lost love, Franco Nero). Accompanying them is Vanessa’s priggish Brit of a grandson, an actor whose name escapes me and is best forgotten and who bears an uncanny resemblance to the late Heath Ledger but with better enunciation. The story, acting and dialog (which ends with one of the cheesiest lines I have ever heard) are largely forgettable, but if you appreciate the beauty of Italy, the road trip alone is worth seeing. 3 cans, made better with a good bottle of wine and some Italian food.
59. Rudy (TV) – There are scenes in movies that you know are coming (because you’ve seen them before) but they get you anyway. I think of Gregory Peck leaving the courtroom in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Tim Robbins escaping Shawshank or a smirky Dustin Hoffman at the back of the bus with Elaine in “The Graduate.” “Rudy” is a movie based on a true story of a kid not smart enough to be accepted by Notre Dame and too small to play football there. So, of course, he gets into Notre Dame, ends up on the practice squad and inspires his more athletic teammates. The last game of his senior year is down to the final seconds when the crowd, chanting “Rudy, Rudy,” beseeches the coach to put him in. On his one and only play from scrimmage, he sacks the quarterback and is hoisted up by his teammates and carried off the field, the last player to be so honored at Notre Dame. My throat is getting that giant lump again. It’s a great scene and worth 5 cans on its own, while the movie itself, a bit too long and slow, gets 4 cans.
60. Hotel Gramercy Park (Sundance Channel) – Proving the adage that “everything old is new again,” this documentary takes a look at New York’s once tony but ultimately rundown Gramercy Park Hotel. Owned by the Weissberg family, who lived above the store (so to speak), the hotel was favored by rock stars, artists and an odd collection of people who still reside there full-time. We witness the new owner, hotelier Ian Schrager (the former owner, with partner Steve Rubell, of Studio 54) as he takes the hotel from decrepit to divine, even as the long-time residents are forced to sidestep the ongoing construction and lack of elevators, etc. One unique perk the hotel offers is a private park. Residents actually have keys to open the gates of this Manhattan oasis. Interesting (especially when Schrager goes toe-to-toe with artist Julian Schnabel on design), but too much emphasis on the family and its many problems. After checking this out, I won’t be checking in. 3 cans.
61. The Old Man and the Sea (TCM) – Spencer Tracy stars in this movie about one man, one boat, and one whale of a marlin, bigger than the tiny fishing boat but not bigger than the will of the fisherman. For days and nights, the old man battles the fish, the elements, his bloody, cramping hands and his fatigue before the fish finally succumbs to his will. But sometimes you win the battle and lose the war, as the fisherman soon realizes. Beautifully shot, this film, from the novel by Ernest Hemingway that everyone had to read at some point in school, is a study in man’s determination as well as where we fit in the universe. I think I’ll get my fish from the market. 4 cans.
62. Visual Acoustics (Sundance Channel) – I love photography and admire architecture, and this documentary about renowned architectural photographer Julius Shulman features both. Working with acclaimed architects from Frank Lloyd Wright to Frank Gehry, Shulman documented the modern architecture that largely defined southern California from the 40s on while enhancing the work and acceptance of a myriad of famous architects and others just starting out. A brilliant essay on a man with a clear focus on straight lines, lighting and some of the most spectacular homes in America. This movie won’t appeal to everyone, but it fascinated me. 4 cans.
May
53. Feast of Love (TV) – This movie about relationships stars Morgan Freeman and Greg Kinear, who both bring their considerable charm to a bittersweet tale. The problem is that there is so much foreboding that I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, which affected my enjoyment of the film. This movie is one that I hadn’t even heard of, but I figured anything with Morgan Freeman can’t be all bad. Feast had its moments, but I’m not sure I’d go back for seconds. 3½ cans.
54. The Kid Stays in the Picture (HBO) – Hollywood producer Robert Evans offers a fascinating account of his life that is equal parts biography and bombast. From a successful career in women’s clothing (Evan-Picone, but take that any way you like) to becoming a strictly B actor, he ended up as a producer and the very young head of Paramount Pictures. There he claims credit for saving the ailing studio with such hits as “Rosemary’s Baby,” “Love Story” and “The Godfather.” His meteoric rise was followed by a predictably precipitous fall, as he lost his wife Ali McGraw to hot star Steve McQueen, got busted for drugs, sunk money into the disaster that was “The Cotton Club” and lost his beloved home when his career nosedived. This guy has had more lives than a cat, and he unabashedly shares his triumphs and failures here. 3½ cans.
55. The Cooler (TV) – Bernie, the sad sack played by William H. Macy, is such a loser that his mere presence can cool off anyone’s hot streak in the Vegas casino where he works. That is, until Lady Luck, in the form of a waitress played by Maria Bello, comes along. He gets lucky (take that any way you want), which turns out not to be so lucky for a guy who is paid to be a loser. Casino boss Alec Baldwin runs the casino old school style, which means Bernie’s luck is about to run out. 3½ cans.
56. Days of Wine and Roses (TCM) – This sobering tale about the demons of drinking features Jack Lemmon as a PR man whose life careens between frenetic and pathetic. He and his wife (Lee Remick), who initially drinks only because he doesn’t want to drink alone, descend into the depths of alcoholism. The lesson here: You are only one step away from ruin when drinking dominates your life. On the other hand, you are only 12 steps away from helping yourself once you face up to being an alcoholic. A sad, disturbing and difficult film to watch, but well-played by all, and directed by Blake Edwards, better known more for such frothy fare as “The Pink Panther.” 4 cans.
57. Babies (in Manville with Dee) – Short and very sweet, this unscripted movie documents the birth and growth of four babies from four continents during their first year. Despite immense differences in cultural backgrounds, the babies are all very much the same in their eagerness to explore the world around them, cry for food, laugh at things that amuse them and, generally, act like little babies. Whether it is playing with a rock in Africa or attending a Gymboree-type class in San Francisco, these babies show us the miracle that is life and the wonder of it all. Oooh, baby, baby. 3½ cans.
58. Letters to Juliet (in Hillsborough with Dee and Angela) – I won’t bog you down with the details of this tale of lost love. The movie stars Dakota Fanning look-alike (but older) Amanda Seyfried as engaged yet ringless Sophie, who is to marry would-be restaurateur Victor. On a trip to Italy, Victor spends most of his time visiting his suppliers and exalting the food and wine of Italy, while Sophie gets involved helping Clare, played by the elegant and gracious Vanessa Redgrave, find her long-lost (50 years) love (her actual long-lost love, Franco Nero). Accompanying them is Vanessa’s priggish Brit of a grandson, an actor whose name escapes me and is best forgotten and who bears an uncanny resemblance to the late Heath Ledger but with better enunciation. The story, acting and dialog (which ends with one of the cheesiest lines I have ever heard) are largely forgettable, but if you appreciate the beauty of Italy, the road trip alone is worth seeing. 3 cans, made better with a good bottle of wine and some Italian food.
59. Rudy (TV) – There are scenes in movies that you know are coming (because you’ve seen them before) but they get you anyway. I think of Gregory Peck leaving the courtroom in “To Kill a Mockingbird,” Tim Robbins escaping Shawshank or a smirky Dustin Hoffman at the back of the bus with Elaine in “The Graduate.” “Rudy” is a movie based on a true story of a kid not smart enough to be accepted by Notre Dame and too small to play football there. So, of course, he gets into Notre Dame, ends up on the practice squad and inspires his more athletic teammates. The last game of his senior year is down to the final seconds when the crowd, chanting “Rudy, Rudy,” beseeches the coach to put him in. On his one and only play from scrimmage, he sacks the quarterback and is hoisted up by his teammates and carried off the field, the last player to be so honored at Notre Dame. My throat is getting that giant lump again. It’s a great scene and worth 5 cans on its own, while the movie itself, a bit too long and slow, gets 4 cans.
60. Hotel Gramercy Park (Sundance Channel) – Proving the adage that “everything old is new again,” this documentary takes a look at New York’s once tony but ultimately rundown Gramercy Park Hotel. Owned by the Weissberg family, who lived above the store (so to speak), the hotel was favored by rock stars, artists and an odd collection of people who still reside there full-time. We witness the new owner, hotelier Ian Schrager (the former owner, with partner Steve Rubell, of Studio 54) as he takes the hotel from decrepit to divine, even as the long-time residents are forced to sidestep the ongoing construction and lack of elevators, etc. One unique perk the hotel offers is a private park. Residents actually have keys to open the gates of this Manhattan oasis. Interesting (especially when Schrager goes toe-to-toe with artist Julian Schnabel on design), but too much emphasis on the family and its many problems. After checking this out, I won’t be checking in. 3 cans.
61. The Old Man and the Sea (TCM) – Spencer Tracy stars in this movie about one man, one boat, and one whale of a marlin, bigger than the tiny fishing boat but not bigger than the will of the fisherman. For days and nights, the old man battles the fish, the elements, his bloody, cramping hands and his fatigue before the fish finally succumbs to his will. But sometimes you win the battle and lose the war, as the fisherman soon realizes. Beautifully shot, this film, from the novel by Ernest Hemingway that everyone had to read at some point in school, is a study in man’s determination as well as where we fit in the universe. I think I’ll get my fish from the market. 4 cans.
62. Visual Acoustics (Sundance Channel) – I love photography and admire architecture, and this documentary about renowned architectural photographer Julius Shulman features both. Working with acclaimed architects from Frank Lloyd Wright to Frank Gehry, Shulman documented the modern architecture that largely defined southern California from the 40s on while enhancing the work and acceptance of a myriad of famous architects and others just starting out. A brilliant essay on a man with a clear focus on straight lines, lighting and some of the most spectacular homes in America. This movie won’t appeal to everyone, but it fascinated me. 4 cans.
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