I offer this remembrance in honor of Lawrence G. Foster, the man who hired me at Johnson & Johnson, and who passed away on October 17, 2013.
The carpet was a deep green, the desk a rich wood, and the man behind it was tall and imposing. He stuck out his hand and said two words to me that I would never hear again in my Johnson & Johnson career:
“You’re early.”
His name was Lawrence G. Foster, and he was director of Public Relations, the man who built the PR function at Johnson & Johnson and influenced generations of PR professionals both inside and outside of J&J.
He fired off questions and I must have answered them well enough, because he practically offered me a job on the spot. Instead, he told me to make an appointment with what was then called Personnel, where I had a formal interview and a job offer. It was May, 1972. He hired me on a Monday and I started the next day. I was 21 years old, wearing the only dress I owned and I had no idea I would be taking a job working for the preeminent PR practitioner of his generation at the best company in the world.
Larry Foster – or Mr. Foster, as we all called him, in much the same way Mary Richards called Lou Grant Mr. Grant – was, at his core, an editor. There wasn’t a piece of copy he couldn’t make better, more concise, more to the point. In fact, he’d think that sentence was redundant. Whether in his distinctive script (we all learned to forge his full signature and his initials after a while) or whether he called you in to tell you how to make it better, he always improved what you’d done.
He was also a true leader. You knew exactly who was in charge the minute he walked into the room. He had an amazing eye for talent (of course I say that since, after all, he hired me!). The core of people he hired before I started and during my tenure at Johnson & Johnson all stayed together for about 25 years. He had a knack for identifying people who could match his standards. Perfection was not an aspiration if you worked for Larry Foster. It was an expectation. And the people he hired worked diligently, often behind the scenes, to meet that standard.
I fear that compromises in corporate offices around the US have led to the lowering of standards, and those lower standards have become acceptable. Frankly, that’s one of the reasons I retired. I couldn’t lower the standards instilled in me by my parents, my education and my first boss. The world needs more people like Larry Foster, imposing their will, raising the level of performance and making the right decisions for the right reasons. In doing so, they also enhance the reputation of companies like Johnson & Johnson. By every measurable standard – polls in The Wall Street Journal, surveys in Fortune magazine -- Johnson & Johnson remains one of the most admired and beloved companies in the US, in no small measure because of the reputation built by its senior leaders during that era.
Mr. Foster was on a sabbatical in 1982, finishing his book on the legendary Chairman of Johnson & Johnson, the late General Robert Wood Johnson, when the TYLENOL crisis hit. Seven people in the Chicago area had purchased the analgesic in local stores and died from cyanide poisoning. Was it a manufacturing issue? A tampering incident? No one had ever seen anything like this event, and it became the number one news story of the year. Larry Foster came back to the office to help guide the company through what became a textbook example of crisis management and corporate social responsibility. The case now is taught in graduate school in places like Harvard, but to be there during the crisis was probably the defining moment of my career – witnessing history, and the confluence of doing what’s right for the public and for the shareholders. Needless to say, Johnson & Johnson survived, its reputation not only in tact, but enhanced, thanks to the work of CEO James E. Burke and his right hand man, Larry Foster. Years later, people still talk about the incident and Mr. Foster’s inspiring influence on the decisions the company made.
Not that it was all serious. Our group, despite the late hours, the huge meetings for which we handled everything literally from soup to the nuts who showed up, worked hard and laughed often. And there were times you could just tell he got a kick out of all of us, a cohesive group, each working away at our jobs, trying to live up to his expectations of us and hopes for us.
He could be kind and paternal—or intimidating and tough. All these many years later, the “girls” he hired are still friends, and we still refer to ourselves as the “Foster Children.” We couldn’t wear pants to work (this was not, as you would imagine, applicable to the men in the department), and you were expected to show up and work until the job was done. Once, when I broke my leg badly and had a cast on it for 8 weeks, I had to go to his office. He wasn’t happy with the boat anchor that might slow me down. In fact, the only thing he said to me was, “Don’t put your foot on my coffee table,” as if I had the temerity to even consider it.
Another time we were engaged in rehearsals for a worldwide management conference at the Park Lane Hotel in New York. I worked with each executive on his presentation, running through speeches and rehearsals all day and noting changes needed for each one, until about 4:00, when I finally had to take a bathroom break. Mr. Foster glared at me as if I had committed some unforgivable transgression. The show must go on, I agreed, but I had to go first. He had no choice but to wait, since I was the only one who knew every slide in every speech, and I was responsible for every change. He was a tough and demanding boss¸ and his work ethic rubbed off on every one of us who worked for him, making us better at what we did. I’m convinced it made us the best department in the company.
Every day at lunch he would take what we now call a “power nap.” He would have his lunch delivered by the Executive Dining Room and then lie on his couch until 1:30. God forbid you were on “phone duty” and someone important was looking for him. Occasionally, one of the women would have to go and wake him, either to take a call or because his internal alarm clock failed to go off. No one did it without considerable trepidation.
My interest in photography developed when LGF (as we referred to him) stuck me in a dark room with a couple of thousand slides to try to make a presentation on all of Johnson & Johnson’s facilities around the world. He would later tease me that, because I could readily identify each facility, I could memorize the numbers on boxcars as trains passed by.
When I was with Johnson & Johnson for just a year, Mr. Foster appointed me editor of a management publication that, ironically, I was too junior to receive. Later, he trusted me to build the company’s worldwide video network and direct video programs. Luckily, I learned fast. One of our first productions in our new studio was a video with his good friend, Joe Paterno. I recall a life-sized cardboard cutout of Jo Pa standing in his office. Scared the hell out of me when I walked in there one day. LGF was a long-standing supporter and served as president of the Alumni Association at his beloved Penn State. See the influence he had on me? I figured if he could uphold the Credo in spirit and action with his volunteer work and financial support, I could do the same for my alma mater. Today, following his example, I serve as president of the Associate Alumnae of Douglass College.
Between Larry Foster and his successor, Bill Nielsen, I was given opportunities to do things no one had done before. There was a lot of on the job training since I had no role models to follow. But I always appreciated their faith in me.
I’d get called into Mr. Foster’s office often, and I never knew precisely what he wanted when I would arrive, so I was prepared for anything. Sometimes when we’d finish he’d say to me, “Are there any more like you at home?” That’s when I figured out I must have done something right.
Sometimes being in the right place at the right time makes all the difference in the world. I was lucky enough to have had that experience in May of 1972, when I met the man who would hire me and change my life. His retirement marked the end of one era, and his passing marks another.
His faithful assistant, Karen Kier, was kind enough to let me know that Mr. Foster was not doing well and would probably appreciate hearing from me. I sat down and wrote to him immediately, thanking him for getting my career started and telling him how much he meant to me – among other things. She also told me that she had been cleaning his old files and had just found a letter that I wrote to him when I retired. I wasn’t surprised that he had kept it, because I also have every note he ever wrote to me.
Thanks, Mr. Foster.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Friday, November 1, 2013
Tina's October 2013 Movies
Even though October had 31 days, I managed to find time for only 9 movies. Two of them were about astronauts, several were classics and one was epically bad. Movies not seen previously are indicated with an * and numbering picks up from the previous month. Movies are rated on a scale of 0-5 cans of tuna fish, with 5 being the top accolade.
116. The Bicycle Thief* (1948) – This classic from Italian director Vittorio DeSica is a depiction of societal poverty in Italy following World War II. The story focuses on Antonio, a husband and father desperately seeking work to support his family. He and his wife pawn their bedsheets to retrieve the bicycle he needs to deliver and display movie posters, a job for which he is extremely grateful. He is devastated when, on his first day, while mounting a poster, he sees a thief come along and grab his bicycle and pedal away. Determined to find the thief and get it back, he and his young son Bruno traverse the impoverished streets of Rome looking for the bike and the thief. This drama is unrelentingly morose, showing everyone afflicted with the same issues as poor Antonio. I won’t spoil the plot or tell you that this is an enjoyable way to spend an hour and a half, but the story is conveyed with realism and emotion. Though I am not a fan of subtitles and haven’t heard this much Italian spoken on screen since Lucy stomped those grapes, I got more understanding out of the faces of the people on the screen than I did from the dialog. Brutal (not in a violent way) but beautiful. 4 cans.
117. Captain Phillips* (2013) – Stay away from Tom Hanks – far away. He’s either on a doomed spaceship (“Apollo 13”), stuck on a remote Pacific Island talking to a volleyball (“Castaway”), trapped in an airport terminal where no one speaks his language (“Terminal”), or he is searching all over Europe for a soldier (“Saving Private Ryan”). Here he is the title character, the captain of a merchant vessel that is invaded by Somalian pirates. Approaching the ship in not much more than a rowboat with an engine and a long ladder, the small but determined Somalians are there to take over the ship, and they have automatic weapons and nothing to lose. Phillips and his crew can combat them only with hoses. Since this story is based on a real incident, you may remember the outcome, but that makes the story no less gripping, as the pirates become more desperate and Phillips does what he has to do to protect his crew. This is not a relaxing day at the movies. It is intense and the invaders are fierce, but, as we know, Tom Hanks – terrific as usual – always makes it home. 4 cans.
118. The Parent Trap (1961) – Way back before digital technology created whole worlds that don’t exist, Hayley Mills managed to be on the screen as two identical characters at once. She is Sharon and Susie, twins separated by their divorced parents. They meet at summer camp and realize that they are sisters, and the plot to change places begins. Brian Keith is the father, about ready to wed a golddigger, and the stunning Maureen O’Hara is the mother. Why these people separated their children and never told them about each other is the real mystery here, since you can see the happy ending coming from miles away. Still, if you watched this movie as a child, it probably conjures up pleasant memories. 3 cans.
119. The African Queen (1951) – Bogart. Hepburn. A dilapidated boat on a river in Africa and German u-boats on the way. Fighting the elements and each other, they are two people from different worlds. You want to see acting? Watch his iconic gem from John Huston. And try not to perspire in all that heat. Corny (now) but classic. 4½ cans.
120. Pushing Tin* (1999) – First, I thought I recorded the Richard Dreyfuss movie about aluminum siding salesmen. Turns out, this one is a John Cusak movie about air traffic controllers. Then, the TV write-up says it is a comedy. I didn’t find much funny about a bunch of ego-driven guys responsible for safely landing planes. Cusack is Nick Falzone, the alpha male until enigmatic Russell Bell arrives (Billy Bob Thornton, one of my least favorite actors) with his young wife (a very young brunette named Angela Jolie). Nick and Ray immediately start vying to be top dog, though their styles couldn’t be more different. Then Nick steps over – way over – the line, and his act affects his life and his marriage to Connie (Cate Blanchett, far from the English actress we know and love). There is a lot of unbelievable stuff that goes on, including Nick’s wild behavior on a flight of his own for which he isn’t arrested as he would be today. I happen to love Cusack, but this movie I could have done without. 2½ cans.
121. Showgirls* (1995) – The saying goes, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” If only that were true, this abominable movie would not have been foisted on the movie-going public. I will admit that I fell asleep, but the movie was so long that when I woke up, it was still going – and going nowhere. Elizabeth Berkley plays a would-be dancer who starts with nothing and ends up pretty much the same way after a brief run as the “It girl” of a musical/nude dancing review. I’ve been to Vegas once this movie affirmed my distaste for the town as well as exceeding my expectations of a bad movie. I will admit to laughing out loud when I first saw Berkley’s character dance on screen. She was at a club, not on stage, but the flailing of her arms reminded me of Elaine Benes (see Jerry Seinfeld for that reference). Now Berkley is competing on “Dancing With the Stars” and even in the skimpiest outfits she is way more clothed than she is in this movie. This movie is everything the critics said it was: BAD. 0 cans.
122. The Right Stuff ( 1983) – Tom Wolfe’s book is translated to the screen in this story of the men who became America’s first astronauts and heroes. All of them were pilots and were chosen for their expertise and All-American heroism. They and their families were both lauded and exploited by NASA. The terrific cast – Ed Harris, Dennis Quaid, Sam Shepard, among others – and the compelling history of the race to space make this movie one I catch frequently. 4 cans.
123. Vera Drake (2004) – British actress Imelda Staunton was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of the title character. A working class woman who takes care of people, she bustles around her house, tends to her husband and grown children as well as her elderly mother and cleans the homes of wealthy women. She’s the kind of woman who just wants to help others – not in a preachy, but in a practical way. When young women find themselves in “the family way” – as an unmarried pregnant woman in 1950 England would be described – she is available to “help” them by performing illegal abortions. She goes about her chores modestly and lovingly, until one young woman suffers an infection after the procedure and almost dies. The rest of the movie follows Vera as the police question her. Staunton virtually shrinks into the character. She is almost silent except to admit her guilt. She performed these acts not for money, but simply because she was trying to help, and she told no one, until forced to admit her guilt and live with the shame. A poignant drama with a perfect performance. 4 cans.
124. Gravity* (2013) – One of the things I got out of this contemporary space saga of astronauts in trouble is the feeling that we probably took for granted the courage displayed by astronauts in past space programs. The technical advances made since John Glenn orbited the earth in 1963 are significant, which makes the potential for danger the first astronauts faced that much more terrifying. Sandra Bullock is Ryan, a doctor and mission specialist flying with veteran Matt (George Clooney) when a shower of debris destroys their spacecraft and threatens their ability to return to earth. Soon Ryan is forced to rely on her modest training and ingenuity to survive. The story seems replete with implausibilities, but the visual sensation is stunning – especially if you see it in 3D, which I did (my first 3D experience since looking at “Sleeping Beauty” on my Viewmaster as a child). I’d be more interested in the story of how this movie was made than on the actual story itself. But points must be awarded for imagination and creativity and the depiction of floating in space. If I were Bullock, I’d hook up with Tom Hanks, who manages to get home safely in everything. 3½ cans.
116. The Bicycle Thief* (1948) – This classic from Italian director Vittorio DeSica is a depiction of societal poverty in Italy following World War II. The story focuses on Antonio, a husband and father desperately seeking work to support his family. He and his wife pawn their bedsheets to retrieve the bicycle he needs to deliver and display movie posters, a job for which he is extremely grateful. He is devastated when, on his first day, while mounting a poster, he sees a thief come along and grab his bicycle and pedal away. Determined to find the thief and get it back, he and his young son Bruno traverse the impoverished streets of Rome looking for the bike and the thief. This drama is unrelentingly morose, showing everyone afflicted with the same issues as poor Antonio. I won’t spoil the plot or tell you that this is an enjoyable way to spend an hour and a half, but the story is conveyed with realism and emotion. Though I am not a fan of subtitles and haven’t heard this much Italian spoken on screen since Lucy stomped those grapes, I got more understanding out of the faces of the people on the screen than I did from the dialog. Brutal (not in a violent way) but beautiful. 4 cans.
117. Captain Phillips* (2013) – Stay away from Tom Hanks – far away. He’s either on a doomed spaceship (“Apollo 13”), stuck on a remote Pacific Island talking to a volleyball (“Castaway”), trapped in an airport terminal where no one speaks his language (“Terminal”), or he is searching all over Europe for a soldier (“Saving Private Ryan”). Here he is the title character, the captain of a merchant vessel that is invaded by Somalian pirates. Approaching the ship in not much more than a rowboat with an engine and a long ladder, the small but determined Somalians are there to take over the ship, and they have automatic weapons and nothing to lose. Phillips and his crew can combat them only with hoses. Since this story is based on a real incident, you may remember the outcome, but that makes the story no less gripping, as the pirates become more desperate and Phillips does what he has to do to protect his crew. This is not a relaxing day at the movies. It is intense and the invaders are fierce, but, as we know, Tom Hanks – terrific as usual – always makes it home. 4 cans.
118. The Parent Trap (1961) – Way back before digital technology created whole worlds that don’t exist, Hayley Mills managed to be on the screen as two identical characters at once. She is Sharon and Susie, twins separated by their divorced parents. They meet at summer camp and realize that they are sisters, and the plot to change places begins. Brian Keith is the father, about ready to wed a golddigger, and the stunning Maureen O’Hara is the mother. Why these people separated their children and never told them about each other is the real mystery here, since you can see the happy ending coming from miles away. Still, if you watched this movie as a child, it probably conjures up pleasant memories. 3 cans.
119. The African Queen (1951) – Bogart. Hepburn. A dilapidated boat on a river in Africa and German u-boats on the way. Fighting the elements and each other, they are two people from different worlds. You want to see acting? Watch his iconic gem from John Huston. And try not to perspire in all that heat. Corny (now) but classic. 4½ cans.
120. Pushing Tin* (1999) – First, I thought I recorded the Richard Dreyfuss movie about aluminum siding salesmen. Turns out, this one is a John Cusak movie about air traffic controllers. Then, the TV write-up says it is a comedy. I didn’t find much funny about a bunch of ego-driven guys responsible for safely landing planes. Cusack is Nick Falzone, the alpha male until enigmatic Russell Bell arrives (Billy Bob Thornton, one of my least favorite actors) with his young wife (a very young brunette named Angela Jolie). Nick and Ray immediately start vying to be top dog, though their styles couldn’t be more different. Then Nick steps over – way over – the line, and his act affects his life and his marriage to Connie (Cate Blanchett, far from the English actress we know and love). There is a lot of unbelievable stuff that goes on, including Nick’s wild behavior on a flight of his own for which he isn’t arrested as he would be today. I happen to love Cusack, but this movie I could have done without. 2½ cans.
121. Showgirls* (1995) – The saying goes, “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” If only that were true, this abominable movie would not have been foisted on the movie-going public. I will admit that I fell asleep, but the movie was so long that when I woke up, it was still going – and going nowhere. Elizabeth Berkley plays a would-be dancer who starts with nothing and ends up pretty much the same way after a brief run as the “It girl” of a musical/nude dancing review. I’ve been to Vegas once this movie affirmed my distaste for the town as well as exceeding my expectations of a bad movie. I will admit to laughing out loud when I first saw Berkley’s character dance on screen. She was at a club, not on stage, but the flailing of her arms reminded me of Elaine Benes (see Jerry Seinfeld for that reference). Now Berkley is competing on “Dancing With the Stars” and even in the skimpiest outfits she is way more clothed than she is in this movie. This movie is everything the critics said it was: BAD. 0 cans.
122. The Right Stuff ( 1983) – Tom Wolfe’s book is translated to the screen in this story of the men who became America’s first astronauts and heroes. All of them were pilots and were chosen for their expertise and All-American heroism. They and their families were both lauded and exploited by NASA. The terrific cast – Ed Harris, Dennis Quaid, Sam Shepard, among others – and the compelling history of the race to space make this movie one I catch frequently. 4 cans.
123. Vera Drake (2004) – British actress Imelda Staunton was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar for her portrayal of the title character. A working class woman who takes care of people, she bustles around her house, tends to her husband and grown children as well as her elderly mother and cleans the homes of wealthy women. She’s the kind of woman who just wants to help others – not in a preachy, but in a practical way. When young women find themselves in “the family way” – as an unmarried pregnant woman in 1950 England would be described – she is available to “help” them by performing illegal abortions. She goes about her chores modestly and lovingly, until one young woman suffers an infection after the procedure and almost dies. The rest of the movie follows Vera as the police question her. Staunton virtually shrinks into the character. She is almost silent except to admit her guilt. She performed these acts not for money, but simply because she was trying to help, and she told no one, until forced to admit her guilt and live with the shame. A poignant drama with a perfect performance. 4 cans.
124. Gravity* (2013) – One of the things I got out of this contemporary space saga of astronauts in trouble is the feeling that we probably took for granted the courage displayed by astronauts in past space programs. The technical advances made since John Glenn orbited the earth in 1963 are significant, which makes the potential for danger the first astronauts faced that much more terrifying. Sandra Bullock is Ryan, a doctor and mission specialist flying with veteran Matt (George Clooney) when a shower of debris destroys their spacecraft and threatens their ability to return to earth. Soon Ryan is forced to rely on her modest training and ingenuity to survive. The story seems replete with implausibilities, but the visual sensation is stunning – especially if you see it in 3D, which I did (my first 3D experience since looking at “Sleeping Beauty” on my Viewmaster as a child). I’d be more interested in the story of how this movie was made than on the actual story itself. But points must be awarded for imagination and creativity and the depiction of floating in space. If I were Bullock, I’d hook up with Tom Hanks, who manages to get home safely in everything. 3½ cans.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Fleeting Thoughts for October
Optimism is believing that I will run into that cute guy (Matt) from the DIY Network's "Bath Crashers" in Lowe's and he'll offer to come home with me and redo my master bath – or marry me.
I think we should ban that old saying about comparing apples to oranges. Have you seen how many varieties of apples there are in the supermarket? Just comparing apples to apples is virtually impossible anymore.
Is it just me or does your car seem to drive better after it is washed?
I just bought a bra that says it provides "age-defying lift." I'm not sure whether to wear it or apply it to the bags under my eyes.
If all the fruit we buy is seedless – watermelon, grapes, etc. – how will there be fruit in the future?
Speaking of which, I hate it when I buy grapes marked "seedless" and they turn out to have seeds. This should be everyone’s biggest problem.
I still read an actual newspaper each day and always pass over the "Legal Advertising" (as opposed to "illegal advertising?"), those pages printed in tiny agate type that list sheriff's sales of homes and their contents, etc. I gather this kind of information must be published publicly, but does anyone ever read it? I've never had anyone say to me, "Hey, did you check out page 22 of the Ledger today? There's a great Sheriff's sale in Mountainside." I'll confess to perusing the obits, but that's just to assure myself that most people who die are older than me. Of course, that won't be the case forever. By now you are thinking once again, "Tina has too much time on her hands."
Why is it that when you ask someone to scratch your back, the itch moves from the original spot to everywhere else? “That’s it, oh, a little more to the right, up a little…oh, that’s it…”
Here’s a shout-out for the inventor of perforations. Imagine toilet paper, paper towels and checks without ‘em.
I think I have just figured out why I have had a weight problem for so long. It’s my shampoo. I never made the connection before, but the bottle says “infuses thickness, body and bounce,” which pretty much sums up my body. Maybe too much of it went from my head to the rest of me. Just a theory.
The best way to assure that the repairman will arrive – even if you have waited for hours – is to go to the bathroom or pick up the phone and make a call. It's like he is lurking outside your house, just waiting for you to get started on something before he rings the bell. Works every time.
I can't tell you how many times I glance at the speedometer and find I am driving at exactly the speed limit. I give full credit to the car, since I'm not even aware of this phenomenon until I check the speedometer.
Don’t you hate it when you are having a bad dream and you wake up and are afraid to go back to sleep again for fear that the bad dream will continue? Conversely, I have awakened from a good dream and tried to get back to sleep so I can dream on, but to no avail.
I think I would enjoy the TV shows more if I could either hear the dialog or understand the intricacies of the plot. Having the main characters speak fast in hushed tones and mumble makes it nearly impossible to understand what they are saying. I have friends who watch episodes of some shows twice. I just keep hitting the replay button three times, and if I don’t get it by then, I move on. This process was taught to me by my BFF, who has the same issues.
Considering how quickly many of you who work respond to my Facebook posts or post yourselves, I wonder what kind of impact Facebook is having on office productivity these days. Happily, I stopped working before this became an issue.
I hate those strings on my bananas. I have to remove them before I eat the banana. It's not just me, right?
I don't mind cooking, but wow, I sure make a mess. When I am done with a meal, I just about have to repaint the kitchen. I have to remove the burner plates and scrub down the black top of my stove to remove all the splatters (even using a splatter screen can't entirely prevent them) and then polish and remove the streaks from cleaning. Kind of takes the joy out of the meal, doesn't it? I have to allot prep time, cooking time and reconstruction time.
I hope I live long enough to clean out my e-mail in-box and folders, but if I don't, will it matter?
I am like “The Princess and the Pea” on my walks. God forbid the tiniest of pebbles should somehow get into my shoe, because it renders me unable to continue until I can take off my sneaker and get rid of the offensive irritant. Some of them are practically microscopic, but I can still feel them.
In looking for a new, shorter haircut, I Googled (if we can accept that term as a verb) Jamie Lee Curtis, who sports the ultimate short 'do. Along with pictures of Jamie Lee and her striking, gray hair, came pictures of her late father, Tony Curtis, with his striking, store-bought hair, and a shot of David Hasselhoff. How he snuck into the algorithm, I'll never know. My hair came out looking temporarily like the picture of Jamie Lee Curtis' hair but the rest of me looks more like Tony Curtis.
Why am I always the first one to turn on the windshield wipers, and always the one who has them running faster than everyone else? The answer must be related to why I don’t wear my glasses in aqua aerobics and volleyball. I just can’t stand seeing spots before my eyes.
I just popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. The instructions are to cook it for 9 minutes. Really, 9 minutes? Do they think I have all day? That seems like enough time to make a meal from scratch.
There was an local drive recently to collect old electronics as a fundraiser for the school down the road. Old phones, charger cords, boom boxes, CD players, cameras, etc., could be dropped off for recycling for a good cause. As I collected many of these items from around my house it made me wonder: Why did I have so many in the first place? I probably had four different sets of decrepit Panasonic house phones (for landlines), but what did I think was going to happen with them? Were the non-working phones going to heal miraculously? And who doesn't have the chargers for every cell phone they have ever owned, and why is there not a universal one that works with any brand or model? Let's just suppose I am a good citizen who waits for these opportunities to recycle and help out a school instead of thinking of me as a hoarder of all things electronic.
Last semester, I stopped at my nephew's dorm to take him out for a meal and take home some of his stuff. There is nothing that defines boys more than that certain smell, a combination of too many sweats and sneakers, sheets that haven’t been changed since they were first put on the bed and remnants of bags of chips. It's the boy smell, and if you have boys, you know exactly what I am trying to describe.
For those folks who wear their pants too low, I say this: I don't want to see your underwear, your butt crack or your tramp stamp, so pull 'em up, zip 'em up and keep your stuff to yourself.
I can understand being stuck in traffic because of an accident on your side of the highway, but does the other side really have the need to slow down so they can see what happened? Have they not seen a car break down before? Seems like an avoidable waste of time to me.
If you have a “pillow top” mattress, how do you flip it over? Or should you just turn it from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed to give it more even wear? Ah, the things that keep me up at night!
I live in fear of forgetting my passwords. You aren’t supposed to keep them where someone can find them, but then you can’t find them either. And then the website makes you change one, and you can’t remember what you changed. Did I put that first letter in CAPS? Did I change it on the list that I am not supposed to have where I store all of them? I am also afraid I will finally forget my employee number from Johnson & Johnson, the number that is the key to all of my pension, stock and benefits information. Again, see what keeps me up at night?
I am not at all clear on why Pandora Radio thinks Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” belongs on the Darlene Love “station.”
Did you ever overhear a conversation between two people and you knew that both of them were wrong about the topic? It takes all your restraint not to chime in and correct them without looking like a know-it-all, which, in this case, you probably are.
I don’t understand why Oprah needed her OWN TV-network so “The Policewomen of Broward County” could air 12 times a day. How the mighty have fallen.
An egg cream contains neither an egg or cream. Feel free to discuss among yourselves.
Having spent some time recently with my BFF and her grandsons, I could help but notice that kids have highly developed negotiating skills. Adult: “Pick which flavor of ice cream you want.” Kid: “I want both.” Adult: “You can have one, not both.” Kid: “Vanilla.” After giving him one scoop of vanilla, Kid: “I want chocolate, too.” Adult: “But you can only have one.” Kid: “But I want both.” And so it goes.
The weather report the other day called for sun, some clouds, maybe rain, possibly thunderstorms. The only thing the weather person missed was snow. I'd say he covered all bases with this forecast.
A story in the newspaper the other day said that by 2040 75 percent of all vehicles on the road will be driverless. You just have to enter in the address and the car and sensors do the rest. This is good news for those of us who will be 90 by then and completely incapable of getting anywhere. I just hope I remember where I want to go.
Broccoli: Good for you and tasty, too, but stinky in the refrigerator.
Every time I have trouble finding my car in a parking lot, I am convinced it has been stolen. And that's even with parking in the same general area every time at Shop-Rite or the mall.
When I do get to my car, the car parked next to mine is invariably pulling in or out as I approach.
Do you ever think of something you know you need to remember and you are sure you will remember it, so you don’t write it down? What invariably happens to me is that I forget it. That happens all the time with my incredibly insightful, clever and flawlessly constructed thoughts for this blog, which means you are reading only the best of what I can remember. Just think what you must be missing!
I think we should ban that old saying about comparing apples to oranges. Have you seen how many varieties of apples there are in the supermarket? Just comparing apples to apples is virtually impossible anymore.
Is it just me or does your car seem to drive better after it is washed?
I just bought a bra that says it provides "age-defying lift." I'm not sure whether to wear it or apply it to the bags under my eyes.
If all the fruit we buy is seedless – watermelon, grapes, etc. – how will there be fruit in the future?
Speaking of which, I hate it when I buy grapes marked "seedless" and they turn out to have seeds. This should be everyone’s biggest problem.
I still read an actual newspaper each day and always pass over the "Legal Advertising" (as opposed to "illegal advertising?"), those pages printed in tiny agate type that list sheriff's sales of homes and their contents, etc. I gather this kind of information must be published publicly, but does anyone ever read it? I've never had anyone say to me, "Hey, did you check out page 22 of the Ledger today? There's a great Sheriff's sale in Mountainside." I'll confess to perusing the obits, but that's just to assure myself that most people who die are older than me. Of course, that won't be the case forever. By now you are thinking once again, "Tina has too much time on her hands."
Why is it that when you ask someone to scratch your back, the itch moves from the original spot to everywhere else? “That’s it, oh, a little more to the right, up a little…oh, that’s it…”
Here’s a shout-out for the inventor of perforations. Imagine toilet paper, paper towels and checks without ‘em.
I think I have just figured out why I have had a weight problem for so long. It’s my shampoo. I never made the connection before, but the bottle says “infuses thickness, body and bounce,” which pretty much sums up my body. Maybe too much of it went from my head to the rest of me. Just a theory.
The best way to assure that the repairman will arrive – even if you have waited for hours – is to go to the bathroom or pick up the phone and make a call. It's like he is lurking outside your house, just waiting for you to get started on something before he rings the bell. Works every time.
I can't tell you how many times I glance at the speedometer and find I am driving at exactly the speed limit. I give full credit to the car, since I'm not even aware of this phenomenon until I check the speedometer.
Don’t you hate it when you are having a bad dream and you wake up and are afraid to go back to sleep again for fear that the bad dream will continue? Conversely, I have awakened from a good dream and tried to get back to sleep so I can dream on, but to no avail.
I think I would enjoy the TV shows more if I could either hear the dialog or understand the intricacies of the plot. Having the main characters speak fast in hushed tones and mumble makes it nearly impossible to understand what they are saying. I have friends who watch episodes of some shows twice. I just keep hitting the replay button three times, and if I don’t get it by then, I move on. This process was taught to me by my BFF, who has the same issues.
Considering how quickly many of you who work respond to my Facebook posts or post yourselves, I wonder what kind of impact Facebook is having on office productivity these days. Happily, I stopped working before this became an issue.
I hate those strings on my bananas. I have to remove them before I eat the banana. It's not just me, right?
I don't mind cooking, but wow, I sure make a mess. When I am done with a meal, I just about have to repaint the kitchen. I have to remove the burner plates and scrub down the black top of my stove to remove all the splatters (even using a splatter screen can't entirely prevent them) and then polish and remove the streaks from cleaning. Kind of takes the joy out of the meal, doesn't it? I have to allot prep time, cooking time and reconstruction time.
I hope I live long enough to clean out my e-mail in-box and folders, but if I don't, will it matter?
I am like “The Princess and the Pea” on my walks. God forbid the tiniest of pebbles should somehow get into my shoe, because it renders me unable to continue until I can take off my sneaker and get rid of the offensive irritant. Some of them are practically microscopic, but I can still feel them.
In looking for a new, shorter haircut, I Googled (if we can accept that term as a verb) Jamie Lee Curtis, who sports the ultimate short 'do. Along with pictures of Jamie Lee and her striking, gray hair, came pictures of her late father, Tony Curtis, with his striking, store-bought hair, and a shot of David Hasselhoff. How he snuck into the algorithm, I'll never know. My hair came out looking temporarily like the picture of Jamie Lee Curtis' hair but the rest of me looks more like Tony Curtis.
Why am I always the first one to turn on the windshield wipers, and always the one who has them running faster than everyone else? The answer must be related to why I don’t wear my glasses in aqua aerobics and volleyball. I just can’t stand seeing spots before my eyes.
I just popped a frozen dinner in the microwave. The instructions are to cook it for 9 minutes. Really, 9 minutes? Do they think I have all day? That seems like enough time to make a meal from scratch.
There was an local drive recently to collect old electronics as a fundraiser for the school down the road. Old phones, charger cords, boom boxes, CD players, cameras, etc., could be dropped off for recycling for a good cause. As I collected many of these items from around my house it made me wonder: Why did I have so many in the first place? I probably had four different sets of decrepit Panasonic house phones (for landlines), but what did I think was going to happen with them? Were the non-working phones going to heal miraculously? And who doesn't have the chargers for every cell phone they have ever owned, and why is there not a universal one that works with any brand or model? Let's just suppose I am a good citizen who waits for these opportunities to recycle and help out a school instead of thinking of me as a hoarder of all things electronic.
Last semester, I stopped at my nephew's dorm to take him out for a meal and take home some of his stuff. There is nothing that defines boys more than that certain smell, a combination of too many sweats and sneakers, sheets that haven’t been changed since they were first put on the bed and remnants of bags of chips. It's the boy smell, and if you have boys, you know exactly what I am trying to describe.
For those folks who wear their pants too low, I say this: I don't want to see your underwear, your butt crack or your tramp stamp, so pull 'em up, zip 'em up and keep your stuff to yourself.
I can understand being stuck in traffic because of an accident on your side of the highway, but does the other side really have the need to slow down so they can see what happened? Have they not seen a car break down before? Seems like an avoidable waste of time to me.
If you have a “pillow top” mattress, how do you flip it over? Or should you just turn it from the foot of the bed to the head of the bed to give it more even wear? Ah, the things that keep me up at night!
I live in fear of forgetting my passwords. You aren’t supposed to keep them where someone can find them, but then you can’t find them either. And then the website makes you change one, and you can’t remember what you changed. Did I put that first letter in CAPS? Did I change it on the list that I am not supposed to have where I store all of them? I am also afraid I will finally forget my employee number from Johnson & Johnson, the number that is the key to all of my pension, stock and benefits information. Again, see what keeps me up at night?
I am not at all clear on why Pandora Radio thinks Lynard Skynard’s “Sweet Home Alabama” belongs on the Darlene Love “station.”
Did you ever overhear a conversation between two people and you knew that both of them were wrong about the topic? It takes all your restraint not to chime in and correct them without looking like a know-it-all, which, in this case, you probably are.
I don’t understand why Oprah needed her OWN TV-network so “The Policewomen of Broward County” could air 12 times a day. How the mighty have fallen.
An egg cream contains neither an egg or cream. Feel free to discuss among yourselves.
Having spent some time recently with my BFF and her grandsons, I could help but notice that kids have highly developed negotiating skills. Adult: “Pick which flavor of ice cream you want.” Kid: “I want both.” Adult: “You can have one, not both.” Kid: “Vanilla.” After giving him one scoop of vanilla, Kid: “I want chocolate, too.” Adult: “But you can only have one.” Kid: “But I want both.” And so it goes.
The weather report the other day called for sun, some clouds, maybe rain, possibly thunderstorms. The only thing the weather person missed was snow. I'd say he covered all bases with this forecast.
A story in the newspaper the other day said that by 2040 75 percent of all vehicles on the road will be driverless. You just have to enter in the address and the car and sensors do the rest. This is good news for those of us who will be 90 by then and completely incapable of getting anywhere. I just hope I remember where I want to go.
Broccoli: Good for you and tasty, too, but stinky in the refrigerator.
Every time I have trouble finding my car in a parking lot, I am convinced it has been stolen. And that's even with parking in the same general area every time at Shop-Rite or the mall.
When I do get to my car, the car parked next to mine is invariably pulling in or out as I approach.
Do you ever think of something you know you need to remember and you are sure you will remember it, so you don’t write it down? What invariably happens to me is that I forget it. That happens all the time with my incredibly insightful, clever and flawlessly constructed thoughts for this blog, which means you are reading only the best of what I can remember. Just think what you must be missing!
Monday, September 30, 2013
Tina's September 2013 Movies
Some oldies but goodies appeared on this month's list of movies I saw, along with a few new ones. Those newbies are marked with an *, and numbering
picks up from the previous month. They are rated on a scale of 1-5 cans of
tuna, 5 being the highest accolade.
105. A League of Their Own (1992) – You would think I would love this movie, and I so wanted to. It is about the first women’s baseball league, based on the actual All-American Girls Professional Baseball League that debuted during WWII. The men were off fighting the war, so women from small towns around the country were recruited to play professional baseball. There is the requisite drama – a rivalry between sisters who are the star player (Geena Davis) and her petulant little sister (Lori Petty), an alcoholic, disinterested manager (Tom Hanks), and a bunch of female jocks trying to win games while they bond with each other. It is a winning formula, but that’s the problem – it is too formulaic, too manipulative, and I didn’t believe for a minute that any of these women had ever thrown a ball or swung a bat in their lives. Penny Marshall is the director (she also directed Tom Hanks in “Big”) and Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna are ballplayers. I couldn’t get past the fact that the players always had dirt on their faces. I mean, really, nobody had a towel? And finally, if there really is “no crying in baseball,” why did they make an ending that made me what to shed a few tears? 3 baseballs.
106. Jobs* (2013) – It’s difficult not to compare this dramatization of the life of Steve Jobs, creator of Apple Computer, with “The Social Network,” the story of the rise of Facebook and its founder, Marc Zuckerberg. Both men were creators of goods and services that people don’t know how they could possibly live without, even though they had no idea they needed them initially. Both men were brilliant, demanding, self-centered and with a strong sense of vision and purpose. And both could be real jerks. In this movie, based on the Walter Issacson biography that I read last year, Jobs is a drifting hippie who drops out of college, likes to smoke pot and eschews bathing and wearing shoes. Working for Atari, he can’t get along with anyone and realizes that he has to be his own boss. He brings in his geeky friend Steve Wozniak to help him with a project but when he sees that Woz is building a personal computer, he immediately understands how this device will change the world. They start Apple Computer, which goes on to be a huge success, even as Jobs becomes more difficult. He dumps his girlfriend immediately after she tells him she is pregnant, and he gives up visitation rights so he won’t have to admit the child is his. He cuts long-time collaborators out of lucrative stock deals he doesn’t think they deserve. And then he makes the big mistake of allowing someone else to run Apple, which ultimately unseats Jobs himself. This movie is part history, part business story and part apocryphal – sometimes you can want something too much. Ashton Kutcher is highly believable as a doppelganger for Jobs, and, while lots of details from the book are glossed over, the only thing really missing is how Jobs started using a mouse with the Macintosh. If you like technology, you’ll like the story of a product proselytizer who believes everything he says. 3½ cans.
107. Donnie Brasco (1997) –Though I detest violence, I somehow gravitate towards movies about the mob. Here “Donnie” (Johnny Depp) is actually Joe Pistone, a real-life FBI special agent assigned to infiltrate the mob. He latches onto Lefty (Al Pacino), a mid-level “made” guy who takes a liking to him and brings him along as the bad guys do bad things. Brasco gets caught up in the life, and before you can say “fugetabouit,” he’s sawing dead bodies into pieces for the goons. His undercover life doesn’t go over so well with his Jersey wife, as he begins to cross the line between good guy and bad guy. There’s plenty of tension, with occasional laughs (the bad guys in their Florida outfits), and you worry about whether Donnie will survive without being unmasked. This movie is based on the real Joe Pistone, and, despite the blood, violence and what must be a record for the use of one particular swear word starting with an F, I liked it. 4 cans.
108. Goodfellas (1990) – And speaking of the mob, this classic Martin Scorsese film (based on a true story) takes us into the inner sanctum of the New York underworld. Ray Liotta is Henry Hill, a kid who aspires to the life of the goodfellas. They have money coming in from every quarter, and they pay off the cops and everyone else as they pull off their heists and pay their tributes up the line to the bosses. Robert DeNiro is master thief Jimmy Conway, and Joe Pesci plays the volatile Tommy, who will shoot someone for making a joke or not serving a drink fast enough. Hill marries Karen (Lorraine Bracco, who gives a great performance) becomes a player, gets hooked on drugs and eventually is busted. But will he rat out the other wiseguys to save his own hide? The movie leads the league in F-bombs and the violence is so relentless that you eventually get used to it. There’s nothing like whacking somebody and then stopping at Ma’s house for something to eat (and a large butcher knife to chop up the body). Mob movies are not for everyone, but this is one of the best of the genre. 4½ cans.
109. My Favorite Wife* (1940) – A complete departure from the previous two movies, this trifle stars Cary Grant as Nick, a widower whose wife (Irene Dunne)was declared dead after a plane crash years before. So imagine his surprise when she shows up on his wedding day. Now he has two wives, a possible case of bigamy, and he tries desperately to keep new wife away from first wife. Back in the day, these screwball comedies were quite in vogue, but the only appealing element to me now is the chemistry between the suave if confused Grant and the elegance of Dunne. How she shows up perfectly coiffed and isn’t recognized by her own kids could make this into a mystery, but that wasn’t the film’s intent. Good in its day, I suppose, but well past its prime. 2½ cans.
110. Private Benjamin (1980) – I can’t think of an actress more irresistible in a role than Goldie Hawn as Private Judy Benjamin. Spoiled, rich and ditzy, Judy is in mourning for the loss of her second husband (Albert Brooks in a very small part), who dies on screen in the throes of passion on their wedding night. Her depression makes her succumb to an enlistment pitch to join the Army. She sees pictures of a beautiful army base with nearby yachts and condos and figures, “This is for me.” Not exactly. Instead, she has basic training with a bunch of other recruits under the mean and watchful eye of Captain Doreen Lewis (Eileen Brennan, who is wonderful). Soon she’s scrubbing toilets with her electric toothbrush and stuck wearing drab green fatigues. She isn’t cut out for the life, but the alternative of going home to Mommy & Daddy again seems worse. Hawn is perfect in the part, and the scene where she and her troop celebrate in the barracks by dancing to “We Are Family” is one of my all-time favorite movie scenes. What a great way to start my day. 4½ cans.
111. The Stranger Beside Me* (1995) – I was enticed to watch this Lifetime movie by a title I recognized as a murder-mystery from one of my favorite authors, Ann Rule. Instead, this turned out to be the typical Lifetime drama, overwrought and underacted by stars Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Eric Close as a young couple with a major problem: He is a rapist. The neighborhood is not safe with this guy around, but, of course, his wife is shocked to learn the truth about her husband. Close is handsome in a Rob Lowe kind of way, with his All-American looks masking his twisted persona. Thiessen goes from loving to skeptical to shocked to determined with a minimal change of expression. The real mystery here is why I kept watching. No cans.
112. Moscow On the Hudson (1984) – A very hairy Robin Williams exudes charm and vulnerability as Vladimir Ivanov, a Russian musician who defects in Bloomingdales. Vladimir leaves behind his family – and his saxophone – but is befriended by a security guard and a sales clerk (delightful and spunky Maria Conchita Alonzo). His English improves as he becomes more comfortable in the US, where he can buy toilet paper, shoes that actually fit and as much coffee as he likes, all without standing on a line as he did in repressive Russia. This Paul Mazursky comedy-drama reminds us that everyone in the US is from somewhere, and especially reminds us to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy on the US. 3½ cans.
113. Nine for Nine* (2013) – This ESPN production was actually nine separate documentaries airing throughout the summer that focused on various aspects of women’s sports. There were profiles of legendary Tennessee women’s basketball coach Pat Summit and player Sheryl Swoopes, a look back at the exciting “99-ers,” the women’s Gold Cup soccer team from 1999, and many others, all having to do with the growth of women’s sports as a result of the adoption of Title IX legislation 40 years ago. ESPN’s last series, “30 for 30,” was equally diverse, informative and entertaining, and I commend the network for rising above its usual sports banter and analysis to examine and highlight special people and unique subjects – like free diving – that might otherwise go unnoticed but for those participating in them. Overall, 4 cans.
114. Parental Guidance* (2012) – This misguided, predictable comedy wastes the comedic chops of stars Billy Crystal and Bette Midler with a hum-drum plot and little humor. The stars are the parents of uptight mother Marisa Tomei, with whom they barely have a relationship, when they are called upon to care for her three issue-laden children while mom & dad go out of town. The grandparents can’t do anything right – at least not according to firmly-establish new-age house rules, and their old-school demeanor is foreign to the well-programmed kids. Of course, this set-up is doomed to fail, and we know that inevitably the kids will love their grandparents, who come in and change everything. When the best part of a movie is the credits at the end, you know it’s bad. The good thing is that, initially, this was supposed to be our family holiday movie last year. Glad I caught it on HBO for free instead. 2 cans for the credits and a heart-warming ending.
115. American Gigolo (1980) – I can never hear Smokey Robinson singing “Just a Mirage” without conjuring up the image of a handsome, young Richard Gere casually assembling his Giorgio Armani clothes on his bed in this movie. Gere is Julian, a “man about town,” an escort (and more) for rich women. He works for a woman who books his “dates,” but he also freelances, and on one such occasion, he goes somewhere he would have been better off avoiding. This sojourn connects him with a murder of a California couple, and Julian gets drawn deeper into the seedier side of LA as he tries to establish his innocence. Although the plot here centers around the case, the story is much more focused on Julian’s lifestyle. He wears the best clothes, drives a cool car and lives a hedonistic life made possible solely because of his attractiveness to women. When a politician’s wife (Lauren Hutton) meets him in a bar, he lets down his guard and lets her into his world at great risk to both them and her aspiring husband. Can someone whose business is to gratify others truly enjoy himself? This film is visually arresting, with much of the credit going directly to Gere, who plays the part to perfection. Not a great movie, but you can’t take your eyes off the prize. 4 cans.
105. A League of Their Own (1992) – You would think I would love this movie, and I so wanted to. It is about the first women’s baseball league, based on the actual All-American Girls Professional Baseball League that debuted during WWII. The men were off fighting the war, so women from small towns around the country were recruited to play professional baseball. There is the requisite drama – a rivalry between sisters who are the star player (Geena Davis) and her petulant little sister (Lori Petty), an alcoholic, disinterested manager (Tom Hanks), and a bunch of female jocks trying to win games while they bond with each other. It is a winning formula, but that’s the problem – it is too formulaic, too manipulative, and I didn’t believe for a minute that any of these women had ever thrown a ball or swung a bat in their lives. Penny Marshall is the director (she also directed Tom Hanks in “Big”) and Rosie O’Donnell and Madonna are ballplayers. I couldn’t get past the fact that the players always had dirt on their faces. I mean, really, nobody had a towel? And finally, if there really is “no crying in baseball,” why did they make an ending that made me what to shed a few tears? 3 baseballs.
106. Jobs* (2013) – It’s difficult not to compare this dramatization of the life of Steve Jobs, creator of Apple Computer, with “The Social Network,” the story of the rise of Facebook and its founder, Marc Zuckerberg. Both men were creators of goods and services that people don’t know how they could possibly live without, even though they had no idea they needed them initially. Both men were brilliant, demanding, self-centered and with a strong sense of vision and purpose. And both could be real jerks. In this movie, based on the Walter Issacson biography that I read last year, Jobs is a drifting hippie who drops out of college, likes to smoke pot and eschews bathing and wearing shoes. Working for Atari, he can’t get along with anyone and realizes that he has to be his own boss. He brings in his geeky friend Steve Wozniak to help him with a project but when he sees that Woz is building a personal computer, he immediately understands how this device will change the world. They start Apple Computer, which goes on to be a huge success, even as Jobs becomes more difficult. He dumps his girlfriend immediately after she tells him she is pregnant, and he gives up visitation rights so he won’t have to admit the child is his. He cuts long-time collaborators out of lucrative stock deals he doesn’t think they deserve. And then he makes the big mistake of allowing someone else to run Apple, which ultimately unseats Jobs himself. This movie is part history, part business story and part apocryphal – sometimes you can want something too much. Ashton Kutcher is highly believable as a doppelganger for Jobs, and, while lots of details from the book are glossed over, the only thing really missing is how Jobs started using a mouse with the Macintosh. If you like technology, you’ll like the story of a product proselytizer who believes everything he says. 3½ cans.
107. Donnie Brasco (1997) –Though I detest violence, I somehow gravitate towards movies about the mob. Here “Donnie” (Johnny Depp) is actually Joe Pistone, a real-life FBI special agent assigned to infiltrate the mob. He latches onto Lefty (Al Pacino), a mid-level “made” guy who takes a liking to him and brings him along as the bad guys do bad things. Brasco gets caught up in the life, and before you can say “fugetabouit,” he’s sawing dead bodies into pieces for the goons. His undercover life doesn’t go over so well with his Jersey wife, as he begins to cross the line between good guy and bad guy. There’s plenty of tension, with occasional laughs (the bad guys in their Florida outfits), and you worry about whether Donnie will survive without being unmasked. This movie is based on the real Joe Pistone, and, despite the blood, violence and what must be a record for the use of one particular swear word starting with an F, I liked it. 4 cans.
108. Goodfellas (1990) – And speaking of the mob, this classic Martin Scorsese film (based on a true story) takes us into the inner sanctum of the New York underworld. Ray Liotta is Henry Hill, a kid who aspires to the life of the goodfellas. They have money coming in from every quarter, and they pay off the cops and everyone else as they pull off their heists and pay their tributes up the line to the bosses. Robert DeNiro is master thief Jimmy Conway, and Joe Pesci plays the volatile Tommy, who will shoot someone for making a joke or not serving a drink fast enough. Hill marries Karen (Lorraine Bracco, who gives a great performance) becomes a player, gets hooked on drugs and eventually is busted. But will he rat out the other wiseguys to save his own hide? The movie leads the league in F-bombs and the violence is so relentless that you eventually get used to it. There’s nothing like whacking somebody and then stopping at Ma’s house for something to eat (and a large butcher knife to chop up the body). Mob movies are not for everyone, but this is one of the best of the genre. 4½ cans.
109. My Favorite Wife* (1940) – A complete departure from the previous two movies, this trifle stars Cary Grant as Nick, a widower whose wife (Irene Dunne)was declared dead after a plane crash years before. So imagine his surprise when she shows up on his wedding day. Now he has two wives, a possible case of bigamy, and he tries desperately to keep new wife away from first wife. Back in the day, these screwball comedies were quite in vogue, but the only appealing element to me now is the chemistry between the suave if confused Grant and the elegance of Dunne. How she shows up perfectly coiffed and isn’t recognized by her own kids could make this into a mystery, but that wasn’t the film’s intent. Good in its day, I suppose, but well past its prime. 2½ cans.
110. Private Benjamin (1980) – I can’t think of an actress more irresistible in a role than Goldie Hawn as Private Judy Benjamin. Spoiled, rich and ditzy, Judy is in mourning for the loss of her second husband (Albert Brooks in a very small part), who dies on screen in the throes of passion on their wedding night. Her depression makes her succumb to an enlistment pitch to join the Army. She sees pictures of a beautiful army base with nearby yachts and condos and figures, “This is for me.” Not exactly. Instead, she has basic training with a bunch of other recruits under the mean and watchful eye of Captain Doreen Lewis (Eileen Brennan, who is wonderful). Soon she’s scrubbing toilets with her electric toothbrush and stuck wearing drab green fatigues. She isn’t cut out for the life, but the alternative of going home to Mommy & Daddy again seems worse. Hawn is perfect in the part, and the scene where she and her troop celebrate in the barracks by dancing to “We Are Family” is one of my all-time favorite movie scenes. What a great way to start my day. 4½ cans.
111. The Stranger Beside Me* (1995) – I was enticed to watch this Lifetime movie by a title I recognized as a murder-mystery from one of my favorite authors, Ann Rule. Instead, this turned out to be the typical Lifetime drama, overwrought and underacted by stars Tiffani-Amber Thiessen and Eric Close as a young couple with a major problem: He is a rapist. The neighborhood is not safe with this guy around, but, of course, his wife is shocked to learn the truth about her husband. Close is handsome in a Rob Lowe kind of way, with his All-American looks masking his twisted persona. Thiessen goes from loving to skeptical to shocked to determined with a minimal change of expression. The real mystery here is why I kept watching. No cans.
112. Moscow On the Hudson (1984) – A very hairy Robin Williams exudes charm and vulnerability as Vladimir Ivanov, a Russian musician who defects in Bloomingdales. Vladimir leaves behind his family – and his saxophone – but is befriended by a security guard and a sales clerk (delightful and spunky Maria Conchita Alonzo). His English improves as he becomes more comfortable in the US, where he can buy toilet paper, shoes that actually fit and as much coffee as he likes, all without standing on a line as he did in repressive Russia. This Paul Mazursky comedy-drama reminds us that everyone in the US is from somewhere, and especially reminds us to appreciate the freedoms we enjoy on the US. 3½ cans.
113. Nine for Nine* (2013) – This ESPN production was actually nine separate documentaries airing throughout the summer that focused on various aspects of women’s sports. There were profiles of legendary Tennessee women’s basketball coach Pat Summit and player Sheryl Swoopes, a look back at the exciting “99-ers,” the women’s Gold Cup soccer team from 1999, and many others, all having to do with the growth of women’s sports as a result of the adoption of Title IX legislation 40 years ago. ESPN’s last series, “30 for 30,” was equally diverse, informative and entertaining, and I commend the network for rising above its usual sports banter and analysis to examine and highlight special people and unique subjects – like free diving – that might otherwise go unnoticed but for those participating in them. Overall, 4 cans.
114. Parental Guidance* (2012) – This misguided, predictable comedy wastes the comedic chops of stars Billy Crystal and Bette Midler with a hum-drum plot and little humor. The stars are the parents of uptight mother Marisa Tomei, with whom they barely have a relationship, when they are called upon to care for her three issue-laden children while mom & dad go out of town. The grandparents can’t do anything right – at least not according to firmly-establish new-age house rules, and their old-school demeanor is foreign to the well-programmed kids. Of course, this set-up is doomed to fail, and we know that inevitably the kids will love their grandparents, who come in and change everything. When the best part of a movie is the credits at the end, you know it’s bad. The good thing is that, initially, this was supposed to be our family holiday movie last year. Glad I caught it on HBO for free instead. 2 cans for the credits and a heart-warming ending.
115. American Gigolo (1980) – I can never hear Smokey Robinson singing “Just a Mirage” without conjuring up the image of a handsome, young Richard Gere casually assembling his Giorgio Armani clothes on his bed in this movie. Gere is Julian, a “man about town,” an escort (and more) for rich women. He works for a woman who books his “dates,” but he also freelances, and on one such occasion, he goes somewhere he would have been better off avoiding. This sojourn connects him with a murder of a California couple, and Julian gets drawn deeper into the seedier side of LA as he tries to establish his innocence. Although the plot here centers around the case, the story is much more focused on Julian’s lifestyle. He wears the best clothes, drives a cool car and lives a hedonistic life made possible solely because of his attractiveness to women. When a politician’s wife (Lauren Hutton) meets him in a bar, he lets down his guard and lets her into his world at great risk to both them and her aspiring husband. Can someone whose business is to gratify others truly enjoy himself? This film is visually arresting, with much of the credit going directly to Gere, who plays the part to perfection. Not a great movie, but you can’t take your eyes off the prize. 4 cans.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Prep School
Let the games begin. Every three years or so, it is time for the exam all of us over 50 dread – the colonoscopy. I know what you’re thinking (besides TMI, Tina, TMI): The test isn’t so bad, it is the prep we hate. And right you are.
As a colon cancer survivor of 13 years, I know that having a colonoscopy saved my life, so I faithfully follow doctors’ orders and report for my exam as instructed. Let me be your guide as you get ready to take on the challenge, and I’ll even drive you there and back if you are anywhere near my zip code, just so I know you will go!
The procedure itself isn’t bad (assuming the doctor doesn’t nick your colon or there aren’t any other complications). You show up, strip down, roll over, and get the best 30 minutes of sleep all year. I can almost understand why Michael Jackson found Propophol so appealing – until it killed him, that is. Afterwards, you can’t drive a car or make big decisions, but that’s fine. I won’t decide to buy a South American diamond mine that day. It can wait.
The bigger decision starts for me the day before – the dreaded “prep day.” My gastro guy requires that I use an entire container of non-tasting (really, it is) Miralax mixed with 64 ounces any clear liquid. My beverage of choice was low-cal lemonade, which I will not be able to drink again for at least a year without recalling the rigors of prep day. The ingestion of that much liquid, combined with the use of laxative pills, is designed to work something like Drano. Take as directed and anything in your system will soon be out of your system. Ah, but there’s the rub, and the rub hurts like hell. Grab yourself a container of baby or adult wipes, and trust me, the ones you bought three years ago are now stuck together like a brick, so buy more before the process gets underway.
The directions call for drinking 8 ounces of your beverage of choice every 20 minutes until you have consumed all 64 ounces, and they encourage you to drink any kind of non-red liquid (which, sorry to tell some of you, rules out red wine). Good grief, only fraternity boys with a keg can drink that amount of fluid. And after doing it, they will feel as shitty as I will. (And then they will pledge not to do it again, but they will, as we know, break that promise…) You have to get the stuff down so the Drano can work its magic.
The morning of Prep Day morning, after having read the instructions in advance so I would have everything I needed at the ready, I sat down to watch the doctor’s video, which, thankfully, features only a doctor explaining the procedure and no graphic depiction of any part of the process. Maybe I should have watched it sooner so I would have known not to have taken my vitamins this week. I knew I couldn’t take aspirin or Motrin, so only ice could be used to relieve the pain in my knee. Now I’m thinking the ice might be put to better use…
The doctor in the video very calmly goes through the steps. Mix the drink, keep it cold, try using a straw, slow down if you get nauseous. Slow down? Once it took me from 9 AM to 6 PM to down the requisite amount, and then it was time for the next dose. Because my procedure was scheduled for 1:30, I also had to drink again on the morning of the test. Being the total wuss that I am, taking the bottle of “citrusy-flavored” whatever they suggest is out of the question for me. What goes down the next morning will come right back up. So instead, I drank more Miralax (a mere 32 ounces this time) with BOC (beverage of choice, just nothing red), AND I had to finish drinking it no later than 9 AM. Calculating the slow rate of descent, that means I was up around 5 AM to get it all down. Like my desire to have my driveway after a snowfall be “down-to-blacktop,” I only want to “run clear” so the test can be done. The worst thing imaginable would be to NOT be prepped properly and have to go through the process all over again.
This prep isn’t nearly as unbearable as the prep I used to do, which required drinking a mere 3 ounces of a hideous “citrusy-flavored” Drano-type product called Phospho Soda. That stuff worked, alright, assuming I could get it down. I don’t want to say the stuff was strong, but it has since been banned by the authorities so it is no longer used. It caused possible kidney damage, I hear. I wasn’t sorry to see it go. But the Miralax really doesn’t have any taste, so the issue is merely consuming all of that liquid in one day. Incidentally, for those who think taking pills is a better course of action, you still have to drink gallons of liquid anyway, so you will be facing the same issue as taking Miralax.
The other side of the prep is the food side, or, more accurately, the LACK of food side. I had my “farewell to food” at dinner on the day before Prep Day, or, as I like to think of it, “the day before the day before.” According to the doctor’s orders, I could not consume fruits or vegetables, which made eating a challenge. I tried to incorporate foods that wouldn’t stick around long, but if they would only let me eat a bowl of cherries and a bowl of chili, I could skip the prep entirely and still achieve the desired state of internal cleanliness. On the day before, you consume only clear liquids. Since broth or Jello have no appeal to me, I confined my consumption to drinking and followed directions banning all solid food after my hard-boiled egg at breakfast. I just hoped whatever I ate in the last 3 months would be gone in time.
Not eating has its advantages. You don’t have to plan, cook or clean up after you eat for one. The kitchen stays clean, and it will be that way for about 36 hours. I also count on the lack of caloric consumption having a positive effect at next week’s Weight Watchers weigh-in, but that assumes I won’t go overboard to compensate for a day without food. Meanwhile, tracking my food intake required no time at all since there wasn’t any. I guess you could say that I looked at the glass as half-full, but what is in that glass?
The plan was simple – take the pills, drink the stuff and stay near the bathroom. I had programs all lined up to watch on the DVR and Netflix to keep me busy. I avoided watching the Food Network, though I know that anything I watch on TV on prep day will undoubtedly be laden with commercials for foods that ordinarily wouldn’t even interest me. When I walked through Walgreen’s before I started the process, I found the Doritos display tempting – and I don’t even like Doritos. Even the newspaper seemed to have a preponderance of food-related advertising and articles, but it just might be that I was getting cravings simply because I was not allowed to eat. Like fasting on Yom Kippur, if I get over the first wave of hunger, I’m usually good for 24 hours. Since this prep was longer, not eating was a bigger challenge. My sister and I like to view anything like this as a “silver lining.” You get the flu and can’t eat for a day? Silver lining: You lose weight. Stuck in the house? Silver lining: You get extra laundry done. I try to think of it all that way and see how silver my lining can be.
Several hours after this process began I was still able to tolerate the lemonade, as long as I kept drinking it from an icy mug. The magic potion worked well after a slow start, so I can’t complain. I felt weak but, with all that liquid I drank, I was more bloated than hungry, which is a good thing. Even so, my stomach seemed flatter. I wondered if we could stop at Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before the colonoscopy. Oh, never mind.
The day of the test, the main road in Hillsborough was closed because of flooding, so my sister and I left extra early, got there in plenty of time and I was whisked away ahead of schedule. As the medical team prepared for the procedure, I kept my eye on the anesthesiologist, the person who will make sure I get a quality – albeit short – rest. He inserted the IV in my arm, and as I saw him push the plunger and release the drug to knock me out, I looked up and said, “Goodbye.” The next thing I knew, a nurse was waking me up and telling me I was done. It was over so fast that my poor sister never made it to Kohl’s before they called her to come and get me.
I am happy to report that the story has a happy ending. I survived the test and not even one nasty little polyp could be found, so I am good for another 100,000 miles or three years, which ever comes first. I got my sleep, I came home and drank a lot of water to flush out my system, and I reveled in the good news.
“Bottom line,” so to speak, is that if you are over 50 and haven’t been through the colonoscopy process yet, suck it up, swig it down and get it done. It is a small price to pay to possibly save your life. And call me if you need a ride.
As a colon cancer survivor of 13 years, I know that having a colonoscopy saved my life, so I faithfully follow doctors’ orders and report for my exam as instructed. Let me be your guide as you get ready to take on the challenge, and I’ll even drive you there and back if you are anywhere near my zip code, just so I know you will go!
The procedure itself isn’t bad (assuming the doctor doesn’t nick your colon or there aren’t any other complications). You show up, strip down, roll over, and get the best 30 minutes of sleep all year. I can almost understand why Michael Jackson found Propophol so appealing – until it killed him, that is. Afterwards, you can’t drive a car or make big decisions, but that’s fine. I won’t decide to buy a South American diamond mine that day. It can wait.
The bigger decision starts for me the day before – the dreaded “prep day.” My gastro guy requires that I use an entire container of non-tasting (really, it is) Miralax mixed with 64 ounces any clear liquid. My beverage of choice was low-cal lemonade, which I will not be able to drink again for at least a year without recalling the rigors of prep day. The ingestion of that much liquid, combined with the use of laxative pills, is designed to work something like Drano. Take as directed and anything in your system will soon be out of your system. Ah, but there’s the rub, and the rub hurts like hell. Grab yourself a container of baby or adult wipes, and trust me, the ones you bought three years ago are now stuck together like a brick, so buy more before the process gets underway.
The directions call for drinking 8 ounces of your beverage of choice every 20 minutes until you have consumed all 64 ounces, and they encourage you to drink any kind of non-red liquid (which, sorry to tell some of you, rules out red wine). Good grief, only fraternity boys with a keg can drink that amount of fluid. And after doing it, they will feel as shitty as I will. (And then they will pledge not to do it again, but they will, as we know, break that promise…) You have to get the stuff down so the Drano can work its magic.
The morning of Prep Day morning, after having read the instructions in advance so I would have everything I needed at the ready, I sat down to watch the doctor’s video, which, thankfully, features only a doctor explaining the procedure and no graphic depiction of any part of the process. Maybe I should have watched it sooner so I would have known not to have taken my vitamins this week. I knew I couldn’t take aspirin or Motrin, so only ice could be used to relieve the pain in my knee. Now I’m thinking the ice might be put to better use…
The doctor in the video very calmly goes through the steps. Mix the drink, keep it cold, try using a straw, slow down if you get nauseous. Slow down? Once it took me from 9 AM to 6 PM to down the requisite amount, and then it was time for the next dose. Because my procedure was scheduled for 1:30, I also had to drink again on the morning of the test. Being the total wuss that I am, taking the bottle of “citrusy-flavored” whatever they suggest is out of the question for me. What goes down the next morning will come right back up. So instead, I drank more Miralax (a mere 32 ounces this time) with BOC (beverage of choice, just nothing red), AND I had to finish drinking it no later than 9 AM. Calculating the slow rate of descent, that means I was up around 5 AM to get it all down. Like my desire to have my driveway after a snowfall be “down-to-blacktop,” I only want to “run clear” so the test can be done. The worst thing imaginable would be to NOT be prepped properly and have to go through the process all over again.
This prep isn’t nearly as unbearable as the prep I used to do, which required drinking a mere 3 ounces of a hideous “citrusy-flavored” Drano-type product called Phospho Soda. That stuff worked, alright, assuming I could get it down. I don’t want to say the stuff was strong, but it has since been banned by the authorities so it is no longer used. It caused possible kidney damage, I hear. I wasn’t sorry to see it go. But the Miralax really doesn’t have any taste, so the issue is merely consuming all of that liquid in one day. Incidentally, for those who think taking pills is a better course of action, you still have to drink gallons of liquid anyway, so you will be facing the same issue as taking Miralax.
The other side of the prep is the food side, or, more accurately, the LACK of food side. I had my “farewell to food” at dinner on the day before Prep Day, or, as I like to think of it, “the day before the day before.” According to the doctor’s orders, I could not consume fruits or vegetables, which made eating a challenge. I tried to incorporate foods that wouldn’t stick around long, but if they would only let me eat a bowl of cherries and a bowl of chili, I could skip the prep entirely and still achieve the desired state of internal cleanliness. On the day before, you consume only clear liquids. Since broth or Jello have no appeal to me, I confined my consumption to drinking and followed directions banning all solid food after my hard-boiled egg at breakfast. I just hoped whatever I ate in the last 3 months would be gone in time.
Not eating has its advantages. You don’t have to plan, cook or clean up after you eat for one. The kitchen stays clean, and it will be that way for about 36 hours. I also count on the lack of caloric consumption having a positive effect at next week’s Weight Watchers weigh-in, but that assumes I won’t go overboard to compensate for a day without food. Meanwhile, tracking my food intake required no time at all since there wasn’t any. I guess you could say that I looked at the glass as half-full, but what is in that glass?
The plan was simple – take the pills, drink the stuff and stay near the bathroom. I had programs all lined up to watch on the DVR and Netflix to keep me busy. I avoided watching the Food Network, though I know that anything I watch on TV on prep day will undoubtedly be laden with commercials for foods that ordinarily wouldn’t even interest me. When I walked through Walgreen’s before I started the process, I found the Doritos display tempting – and I don’t even like Doritos. Even the newspaper seemed to have a preponderance of food-related advertising and articles, but it just might be that I was getting cravings simply because I was not allowed to eat. Like fasting on Yom Kippur, if I get over the first wave of hunger, I’m usually good for 24 hours. Since this prep was longer, not eating was a bigger challenge. My sister and I like to view anything like this as a “silver lining.” You get the flu and can’t eat for a day? Silver lining: You lose weight. Stuck in the house? Silver lining: You get extra laundry done. I try to think of it all that way and see how silver my lining can be.
Several hours after this process began I was still able to tolerate the lemonade, as long as I kept drinking it from an icy mug. The magic potion worked well after a slow start, so I can’t complain. I felt weak but, with all that liquid I drank, I was more bloated than hungry, which is a good thing. Even so, my stomach seemed flatter. I wondered if we could stop at Weight Watchers for a quick weigh-in before the colonoscopy. Oh, never mind.
The day of the test, the main road in Hillsborough was closed because of flooding, so my sister and I left extra early, got there in plenty of time and I was whisked away ahead of schedule. As the medical team prepared for the procedure, I kept my eye on the anesthesiologist, the person who will make sure I get a quality – albeit short – rest. He inserted the IV in my arm, and as I saw him push the plunger and release the drug to knock me out, I looked up and said, “Goodbye.” The next thing I knew, a nurse was waking me up and telling me I was done. It was over so fast that my poor sister never made it to Kohl’s before they called her to come and get me.
I am happy to report that the story has a happy ending. I survived the test and not even one nasty little polyp could be found, so I am good for another 100,000 miles or three years, which ever comes first. I got my sleep, I came home and drank a lot of water to flush out my system, and I reveled in the good news.
“Bottom line,” so to speak, is that if you are over 50 and haven’t been through the colonoscopy process yet, suck it up, swig it down and get it done. It is a small price to pay to possibly save your life. And call me if you need a ride.
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