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!

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.

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.

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 5^th 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.

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.