I Don’t Watch Homeland. Can We Still Be Friends?

November 25, 2012

 

My husband and I don’t have much of a social life.  Like many parents of young kids, we don’t get out as often as we’d like.  But hey, we can have cocktails at home, cook dinner and watch some TV.  And then we can talk about that riveting evening with other parents of small kids who don’t get out.

Well, that’s not working anymore.

Because we screwed up.  We’re out of the loop.  We’re late to the party.  We’re missing out.

On Homeland.

My life is starting to feel like a Saturday Night Live skit.  I can’t have any social interactions anymore without an exchange like this.

**Begin social interaction.**

“You guys are watching Homeland, right?”

“Uh, no.  We haven’t seen it yet.  I hear it’s gr–”

“Wait, what?!  OMG, you’re not watching Homeland?  You’re kidding?  Please be kidding.”

“No. I know, we need to start.  We don’t have Showtime.”

“Well, you have to get Showtime.  You have to.  Or just get it on Netflix.”

“That’s true.  We could do th–”

“OR watch it online.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“Oh wait, I think my cousin’s ex-husband’s new wife’s niece’s parole officer has the first season on DVD.  I’ll get it for you.”

“Oh you don’t have to do that.  Thanks, though.”

“Well, then WHAT are you going to do? ”

“We’ll get it.  We will.”

“Good.  Because we are OBSESSED with it.  OBSESSED.”

“Really?  I hadn’t noticed.  I can’t wait to watch it.”

“What else could you be watching on Sunday night?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  I mean, we flip the channels and, you know — we find something.”

**Blank, incredulous stares.  End of social interaction.  Possibly end of friendship.**

Seriously, I have had some variation of this conversation no fewer than five different times in the last two weeks.  This is a fiercely loyal group of viewers.  And I believe them — I’m sure it’s a great show.

But, here’s the problem:  Apparently, P and I don’t learn from our mistakes.  We never watched 24.  Or Alias.  Yeah, once in a while we’ll catch Mad Men if it happens to be on.  We were hot and cold with The Sopranos.  But we fumbled our way through the related conversations {Did Tony die on the series finale?  And what about using that Journey song for the closing scene?}.  We did OK.  We got invited back to parties.  Mostly because we fucking owned Lost.  We rode that wave from beginning to end and were completely well-versed in all things about The Island, The Others and The Smoke Monster.  At a Final Jeopardy level.

But that doesn’t matter anymore.  That day is done.  It’s all Homeland, all the time.  And we’re on the outside looking in.

This is affecting my interactions at pre-school pick-up.  The Kindergarten bus stop.  Playdates.  Bunco night.

And now, we’re just plain screwed.  It’s the holiday season — the one time of year when we get out to multiple parties in the span of several weeks.  It’s also — I hear, frequently — around the time when the Homeland Season 2 finale will air.  This is a social pariah perfect storm for us.  If we don’t start watching it now, I should probably just cancel the babysitter and stay home.  We will have no social credibility.  What could we possibly contribute to these parties?

So, if you see two loners by the punch bowl at your next holiday gathering, mumbling quietly about the Lost finale — that will be us.  It’s all we’ve got.  Until we get our hands on those Homeland DVDs.

 

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Thanksgiving Checklist: The Kids’ Table

November 20, 2012

I’m sure you guys are all up to your eyeballs in grocery store rage and finding the right elastic-waist pants for the upcoming holiday weekend.  So I won’t keep you very long.  I just want to make sure you’re not overlooking one critical aspect of your Thanksgiving prep:  The Kids’ Table.

Basically, there are two ways you can approach this.

1)  Pottery Barn Kids’ Way

I’ve taken the liberty of sharing a few of the tidbits from their latest catalog for your consideration.

{Image credit: Pottery Barn Kids}

Great points, PBK.  Let’s definitely remind the kids of what they have to be thankful for.  Should we do that through unnecessary, time-consuming craft projects while we’re all prepping huge dinners?  Of course!  I would fucking love to spend the days leading up to Thanksgiving building a true-to-scale replica of the Mayflower for a kids’ table centerpiece.  Please tell me — what else can I do to avoid abject parental failure?  Let’s see…

{Image credit: Pottery Barn Kids}

I can’t believe I almost had Thanksgiving without party favors for the kids.  They would have been furious if they didn’t *receive* something on this day of thanks. And giving.  Plus, we totally need a turkey pencil holder to carry us through that critical seven-week stretch between our Halloween pencil holder and our Christmas pencil holder.  Crisis averted, for sure.

{Image credit: Pottery Barn Kids}

Because nothing says gratitude like felt leaves.  I know this is always a huge conversation starter in my house.

{Image credit: Pottery Barn Kids}

OMG, HOLD UP.  I DON’T HAVE TO PUT FINE CHINA ON THE KIDS’ TABLE?  THANK YOU, PBK!  I NEVER WOULD HAVE KNOWN THIS.  {Also, in my house, “shatter-proof plates” = paper.}

So, that’s one way you could do the kids’ table.  But let me now present an alternative.

 

2)  My Way

Folding table:  Check.

{Tablecloth?  OK, OK — I’ll get one.  But low maintenance, inexpensive and, for God’s sake, machine washable.}

 

Decorative headgear made in school:  Check.

Let’s see, what else?

Nothing — we’re done!  With nary a decorative acorn in sight.  Now we can focus on family and friends without those pesky felt leaves and ships all over the place.

So there you have it — an important decision.  One approach requires glue guns and the patience of a saint, but allows you to look like a goddess on Pinterest.  The other lacks a certain je ne sais quoi, but gives you far more time for important prep items — like Pie Quality Control Testing.

Your choice, folks.  Happy Thanksgiving!

 

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Filed Under: Entertainment, Family, Holidays, That Which Drives Me Crazy 13 Comments

Calgon, Where the Hell Did You Take Me?

November 8, 2012

School has now been closed for nine consecutive days in the post-Sandy mess that is my town.  And since I’m a betting woman, I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’ll be rounded up to an even two weeks.

And then, yesterday, the Nor’easter.  We got some real snow here, which is just messing with my brain by sitting on Sandy-compromised, dangling tree limbs that loom near the fragile power lines.  The lights were flickering, as was my sanity.

If only I had Calgon to take me away.

Or so I thought — but be careful what you wish for.  Let me explain…

 

If you were a child of the 70s or 80s, you’ll remember the iconic “Calgon, take me away” commercials.

YouTube Preview Image

Yes?  Anyone?

Call me out of touch with faux-luxurious consumer bathing products, but I thought Calgon closed up shop years ago.  Probably right after the woman in the tub finished her hallucinogenic trip, was subsequently put on a psychiatric hold against her will — and then proceeded to sue Calgon for damages.

So I checked it out online {because, let’s be honest, it’s starting to feel like house arrest here and I have some time on my hands}.  And it appears I’m wrong.  Way wrong.

Calgon, it turns out, is not only up and running, but has recently launched its Sensual Collection.

What?

I’ll spare you the pain of going to their website — here’s the gist.

There is a whole line of products that have words like luminous, shimmering, mist, double mist {huh?} and of course sexy mist.  These also appear in French, presumably to make the products seem more seductive.  Unless France has secretly been keeping Calgon in business all these years.

Anyway, it’s a whole lot of misting and glowing. It seems shiny and slippery.  And a little scary — like a line-up of Love’s Baby Soft illegitimate children.

But wait.  Let’s not miss the best part — the fragrance names & descriptions.

  • Femme Inferno — Fiery seduction at its finest
  • Angelic Kiss — Bask in divine romance
  • Flirty Tease — Playful & provocative all at once

[Can’t decide?  Don’t despair!  If you’re not sure which fragrance best suits you, Calgon has an online quiz.  Thank goodness.  Because this is a big decision and I, for one, needed some help after “OMG, I Am Traumatized By All of These” was not available in my zip code.]

WHAT. THE. HELL. IS. HAPPENING?  Is Calgon is trying to bring sexyback?

And, more importantly:  Where are the commercials for this new product line?  This is the real missed opportunity.

If Calgon is not going to produce them for my own personal entertainment value — and if SNL is not going to capitalize on this — well, then I’m forced to make them up in my head and share my artistic {read: wine-fueled} vision with you…

So the mom in the original commercials?  Yelling about being taken away?  I think in the 80s they were taking her to a meadow or an island or something.  While she appeared to bathe in the Parthenon.  Or in a champagne glass.

Now, instead of climbing into her calming bath, she applies four layers of shiny, shimmering, misting and glowing products, and becomes far too slippery to walk on a tile surface without a substantial risk of falling and sustaining a head injury.  Her Calgon Sensual Collection then transports her to either a strip club, a 50 Shades fan club gathering or a suburban swingers party.  Realizing that this is not what she signed up for, her domestic afternoon with whining kids doesn’t seem so bad after all.  But she can’t get back.  Because Calgon’s Sensual Collection is not messing around.  This is their big comeback, after all.

So she is trapped in her slippery, glowing skin at her unwanted Calgon destination, knowing that she will never be back in time for pre-school pick-up.  Or for that 2-for-1 sale on Swiffer refill packs that ends today.

Calgon, where the hell am I?

Calgon, you sonofabitch!

Take me back!

Calgonnnnnn!

To no avail.  Not until all that product wears off, anyway.  In about 72 hours.

* * * * *

Don’t worry, my brain will be back to normal soon.  I just need the faux house arrest to be lifted and school to open.

 

 

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Facebook is Broken

October 15, 2012

 

Dear Mr. Zuckerberg,

I’m writing today in the hopes you can pass my feedback along to the appropriate member(s) of your team.  I’m not sure if I’m the first to bring this to your attention, but Facebook seems to be broken.

Let me be more specific.

Sure, the site loads and most of the features work just fine.  What I’m concerned about is the clear deficiency in the algorithms your folks are using to suggest what or who I should like going forward.

I’m what you’d call a very engaged user of your product.  I do more than an average amount of liking, commenting, friending and posting.  I know my way around Facebook.  As a result, I presume you have more data on me than I should be reasonably comfortable with — probably including videos of my kids’ births that I didn’t know existed.

That’s the Facebook Circle of Life, right?  I overshare, you glean that data and then use it to point me toward other relevant interests that will deepen the time suck my engagement on your site.

And so, you can imagine my surprise last week when the suggestions you made for me started to seem a little off.

First, you suggested that I friend a former boss.  Come on, Mr. Zuckerberg, you and I both know that she is a sadistic, self-absorbed nightmare and that it took every ounce of restraint I had not to flip her off during her reign of terror.  Do you really think that I want to share any information about my life with her?

OK, fine.  A programming anomaly.  A blip in the secret sauce, I figured.

But then, you suggested I friend the psycho who stole my boyfriend in high school.  For the love of all that is holy, Mr. Zuckerberg!  Surely you have audio of me from tapped phone lines, circa 1989, crying to my friends about losing that guy with the mullet while quoting Naked Eyes’ “Always Something There to Remind Me.”  I was crushed, as you well know.  Maybe you believe in burying the hatchet, but I found this friend suggestion highly insensitive.  It kicked up all kinds of feelings that I wasn’t ready to revisit.

Equally intriguing are the brands/public figures you have recently recommended that I like.

I knew something was amiss when I saw this.

Now, it’s not that I don’t love an occasional Fresh Prince of Bel-Air re-run like everyone else, but I just couldn’t see why Mr. Ribeiro would top your list of suggestions for me.  Fine, fine, I saw him in The Tap Dance Kid on Broadway {which I’m sure you know — remember those nosebleed seats I had?}, but that was almost 30 years ago.

From a hobbies perspective, your crew has also veered significantly off course.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve never been a cheerleader.  I’ve never been related to a cheerleader.  I don’t hate cheerleaders {except for the slutty boyfriend thief}, but they’re not what I’d call part of my everyday life.  Except that I recently caught a few minutes of Bring It On while flipping through the channels.  For future reference, my hobby pages would be more like “Writing Blog Posts That Nobody Reads.”  Or “Failed Crock Pot Recipes.”

And politically, there should be no question whatsoever on where I stand with this election.  And yet, a person I “might like,” in your view, is the opposing ticket’s VP candidate?  Now I think you’re messing with me.  Or you’ve lost your core technical team to Google due your unfortunate recent stock woes.

I’d like to think that I’m a tough nut to crack.  But here’s the thing, Mr. Z:  I’m not.  Maybe I once was.  But since I had kids, I’m certainly no riddle wrapped in an enigma.  I’m more like a Bloody Mary wrapped in bacon.  I basically spend my days arbitrating sibling arguments and barely keeping my household intact.  Once my kids are in bed, I have enough brain cells left to enjoy a few mindless pursuits.

I’m just not that complicated.  I figured it would help if I were honest with myself, and with your team, in an effort to make my Facebook experience more enjoyable.  Or just less absurd.

Let me help you help me.  Here’s a few places where you got it right recently.

 

Whatever asterisk or “put this in bold” code you have to add to these categories — plus anything wine-related — just double down on those and I think our problem will be solved.

Let’s start there and see how it goes.

Thanks so much for your attention to this matter.

 

* * *

For those of you who get my blog updates via email, I had to change my email subscription service this week.  So if you see anything wonky, just bear with me until I sort out the technical end of the switch.  Thanks.

 

 

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How to Revive the Fall TV Line-Up

October 1, 2012

So.  We’re a week into the fall TV season and I have a question:  Where can I apply to get the wasted hours of my life back from watching some of these new shows?   Because I am owed a brain cell refund.

You know it’s bad when I am actively looking forward to the Vice Presidential Debate taking over all of the major networks.  That will be far better fictitious material than most of what the writers have dreamt up.

The truth is, I miss Lost.  I know, it has been gone for a few years now.  But with each terrible new show on TV, I’m having a harder time letting go of Oceanic Flight 815.  Maybe because I pulled muscles in my brain trying to piece together the space/time continuum.  Or maybe just because of Sawyer.

If only we could get it back on the air.

I’ll admit that my wish seems unlikely in the traditional plot continuity sense, for a variety of reasons.  But this alone doesn’t stop me — because I clearly have important issues on my mind.

So I’ve been thinking.  And it seems that the only chance I have is to give Lost an entirely new and fresh angle.

…One that would please the existing fan base but also attract new viewers.

…Maybe have a crossover event and join forces with another currently popular show, to create buzz.

…I’m thinking a show that has a broad audience and wide appeal, but also generates a lot of debate…One that makes people like me throw a shoe at the TV and then tune in again the very next day.

…Oh yes, something like House Hunters.

Or, said better, when we integrate the Lost theme…

Hatch Hunters.

Stick with me.  I think I have TV gold here.

{Unless you never watched Lost, in which case, my apologies — this post probably won’t do it for you.  But I couldn’t resist.}

* * *

Premise:  Kate and Sawyer {or we could go Team Jack — TBD by the production guys}, tired of everyone else’s island bickering and save-the-world nonsense, take all of the Dharma Beer they can get their hands on and move away from the crew.  They view three properties, shown by Ben Linus — who has a commanding attention to the island’s details and history — and must choose in the end where to settle down.

Hatch 1:  Originally owned by a bloke named Desmond, this hatch is the ultimate in privacy.  Carefully tucked away beneath a pile of brush, this subterranean getaway boasts its own security code {4-8-15-16-23-42} and a massive pantry filled with a wide variety of non-perishable items.  On the downside, the formerly state-of-the-art technology upgrades are now somewhat dated, as is the turntable sound system.  The decor also needs some TLC.  And that pesky button must be pushed every 108 minutes to avoid the universe from crumbling.

Hatch 2:  Located partially underwater, this hatch is for the safety-minded who enjoy the right to bear arms.   Featuring dedicated military-like guards, as well as an extensive video monitoring system, rest assured that your new island home is secure.  With your enviable water-submerged locale, you’ll also enjoy access to water sports and, yes, your own private submarine slip.  A must-see for the paranoid and nautical at heart buyer.

Property 3:  Ever the open-minded consumers, Kate and Sawyer decide to expand their search beyond the traditional island hatches and look at another option as well — the Dharma condo development.  Entirely above ground and free standing, this property offers instant and permanent membership into a tight-knit community, as well as nearby employment opportunities.  Although it’s out of their price range, they can choose to cash in an extra heroin-filled religious statue to make this their dream home.

 

All three properties have unparalleled access to a pristine beach, as well as rare wildlife species (think polar bears and smoke monsters), and remain out of the pesky flight patterns of the South Pacific.  In fact, the surroundings are all off the map, so to speak.  Though wi-fi and cell phone service can be tricky, time travel affords residents the opportunity to communicate with family back on the mainland at unpredictable intervals.

So which one will they choose?

* * *

Come on.  What would you watch — Hatch Hunters or Breaking Amish?  I think the choice is clear to liven up the fall schedule.

 

 

 

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Celebration & World Domination

September 12, 2012

 

 

It’s birthday party time around here.

Don’t worry — there are no kids’ birthday cake disasters in the works.  And I’m not still attempting to extend my 40th {well, not much}.

Nope.  This birthday belongs to the blog.

That’s right, folks — The Fordeville Diaries meets The Terrible Twos.  I’ve somehow learned to crawl and walk over the last two years in Blog Land — so now I guess it’s time for unpredictable public tantrums.  Let the fun begin.

This is my 208th post on this site — 80 of which were written in the last year.  I won’t bore you with everything that I covered in the last 12 months, but here’s the Reader’s Digest recap:

  • We unknowingly undertook the longest basement renovation in modern American history — pending final ruling from the people at The Guinness Book.
  • I drank wine.
  • I dreaded turning 40.
  • I embraced turning 40.  This entailed taking my deep denial on a series of road trips, both domestic and international.
  • I almost kicked our General Contractor in the kneecaps somewhere around the eight month mark of the basement project.
  • I drank wine.
  • I had an apocalyptic swarm of bees in my yard, which resembled a National Geographic episode and a scene from Candyman. Which led to self-imposed house arrest and, ultimately, more wine.
  • I began to deny the very existence of our basement.  Except that I was dragging dirty clothes to the laundromat for six months.
  • I kept the 40th birthday party going.
  • I harbored an unhealthy amount of rage toward my basement.*

{*Note: The final, final approved basement inspection JUST OCCURRED LAST WEEK.  So if your wager on the completion timeframe of our “5-week” project was 54 weeks — you win!  What you’ve won exactly is still TBD, but I have a ton of items in our storage pod you can choose from.}

 

Now that you’re up to speed on the riveting excitement of my life, I’ll tell you a secret —  in the spirit of the blog’s birthday:  I never get tired of writing here.

If I had more spare hours in the day, I would spend many of them doing exactly this.  The blog is one of my favorite things in the world.  And every time, with every post, I’m so thrilled — and sort of surprised, and certainly lucky — that someone will read it.  And even comment.  And then — sometimes — come back to read more.

Some posts are better than others.  And it’s always fascinating to see which ones generate more comments and traffic {all you closet 50 Shades fans, I’m looking at you.}

These are my favorites from this past year.  Because a birthday is a good time to look back.

How to Lose Your Will to Live at the DMV

The Days Are Long

Out of the Office

Lawyering Up

Say It With Tape

I Might Be Scared of These Families

Hibachi PTSD

The Problem With House Hunters

 

A birthday is also a good time to look ahead.  And though the terrible twos can be tough, I’m confident we can get through them together.  With wine, of course.  And coffee.  And some unconventional parenting.

If you want to celebrate this birthday with me, I’d love it.

What’s that?  You want to bring a gift to the party?

Oh no, I couldn’t possibly accept a gift.  I don’t really need anyth–

Wait a minute.

I know what I really want.  And you can help me get it.

 

***************

FORDEVILLE WORLD DOMINATION!

***************

 

I’m kidding.

Mostly.

What I mean is this:  I love to write this stuff, but I’m bad at promoting it.  Really bad.  There are bloggers who excel at catchy, attention-grabbing titles and witty tweets to spread the word and attract more readers.  I’m more like, “Uh, hey, if you guys have time and aren’t totally busy, maybe you could read this.  I hope you think it’s a little funny.  OKthanksbye.”  

I was never a marketer by trade.

So, remember those Faberge Shampoo commercials from the 80s?  “And then she told two friends, and she told two friends.  And so on.  And so on…”  {If your answer is “Oh those were made before I was born,” just keep that to yourself, ok?}

That Faberge Effect is the best gift you could give me.  If you like what you see around here — please pass it along to someone else who might enjoy it too.  Because if my chronic mis-steps in parenting and, well — life in general — can help make one person feel less crazy, more normal and like Mother of the Year — then my writing is not in vain.

Not a fan of the Faberge model?  How about this instead:  If you’re not already following along on Facebook, please do.  Because you get exclusive bonus features* over there beyond my blog posts.  If I were a real blogger, I’d have some birthday giveaways or contests or something for all of you.  The truth is, I’m just not that organized.  But I suspect you already knew that.

{*Bonus features = mainly snarky photos about my kids or life in suburbia.}

But in all seriousness — thanks so, so much for your readership, your comments and your support.  And your wine suggestions.  You guys are fabulous.

So, if you’ll have me for another year, I’ve got a lot more up my sleeve.  I can’t reveal everything, but I’m told that good marketers use teasers.

  • Will we renovate the kitchen next?  Or maybe tear down the whole house?  And who will live to tell?
  • How will Señor and I resolve our legal battle around the annual Halloween costume debacle?
  • In which states will my kids vomit this year on road trips?
  • And — last but not least — how many people will I accidentally poison through the new couples’ dinner club I’ve joined?

You’re all on the edge of your seats, aren’t you?  I can feel it.

Year Three awaits.  After I have some celebratory cake and wine.  Join me, won’t you?

 

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We All Need Some Bela Karolyi in Our Lives

August 10, 2012

So the Olympics are winding down, and I’m not really sure how to re-acclimate myself to regular television programming.  Everything is going to seem like such a let down without a gold medal on the line.  Or without trying to guess the gender of some of the athletes.  The good news is that I can look at the Internet during the day without fear of Spoiler Rage.

Like many, I have been drawn to the women’s gymnastics most of all.  We’ll go back to that in a minute.  Because I don’t want you to think that I didn’t have a well-rounded Olympic viewing experience.

I mean, what would the XXX Olympiad be without the shenanigans of Ryan Lochte, his one-night stands (as told by his mom, no less) and his gold medal grill?  It’s nice to have a role model for our kids.

Speaking of role models, how about the fine Judo competitor who was disqualified for a failed drug test?  Not for steroids.  But for pot.  Oh and he’s from this neck of the woods — our new hometown hero.  But don’t worry, he says the positive test was “caused by my inadvertent consumption of food that I did not realize had been baked with marijuana”

Of course it was.  I always inadvertently eat pot-laced food.  It’s really just dumb luck.  Can happen to anyone.

And then there’s good old Ann “I Won’t Go Quietly” Curry.  I saw this tweet from Al Roker yesterday, and I can’t help but wonder if it wasn’t a desperate cry for help.  If you read between the lines, I think you’ll see that his message was something like “Who the hell let her in?  Someone call security before she kills Matt on live TV.”

 

But let’s get back to women’s gymnastics, because I have some important thoughts here.

–The mockery of the gymnasts’  hair has been well-covered territory.  The scrunchies.  The shellac product.  The glitter.  What a train wreck.  But maybe I’m being too judgmental.  Remember, if you will, I have a daughter whose hair often resembles Nick Nolte’s mugshot.  So there may be a lesson in there for me.

We can turn this.

Into this.

Pure Olympic magic.

 

–Oh, McKayla Maroney.  It’s terrible that you missed that vaulting gold.  I was crushed for you.  But don’t you, for one minute, try to trademark that medal podium scowl as your own.  My kids have been pulling that unimpressed/totally pissed off look for years.  You better come and see me for copyright issues before we have a problem.

 

–Tim Daggett, the long-time gymnastics commentator.  Also known as Tim Daggett, Voice of Doom.  I should have made a drinking game out of the number of times he said any of the following:  Catastrophic.  Tragic.  Unrecoverable.  Note to NBC:  Next time there is, God forbid, a human tragedy story, forget Matt Lauer or even Brian Williams.  You get Tim Daggett on that.  Stat.

 

–This brings me to my personal favorite part of every Summer Olympics.  Bela Karolyi.  I mentioned in my last post that I want him to be my General Contractor for his, shall we say, can-do attitude.  But, upon further reflection, I think I was underselling Bela.  He’s like that jolly old uncle in every family who is a little crazy.  And perhaps a little drunk.  So while I would love for Bela to come here and oversee my next home renovation project for the sake of efficiency, technical difficulty scores and execution, I think we could all use a little Bela in our lives.  The man makes things happen.

Consider the possibilities.

Bela the Local Bartender

 

Bela the PTA President

 

Bela the Religious Cult Leader

 

Bela the Zumba Instructor

 

Bela the Unlikely US Presidential Candidate

 

Bela the Marriage Counselor

 

Bela the Substitute Host for Inside the Actors Studio


It’s true — Bela is a national treasure.  I can hardly wait to see him in action in Rio 2016.

 

So, now that gymnastics is over, I am throwing my support behind the remaining events, like track & field, synchronized swimming and diving — though that one gives me extreme vertigo {much like the Russian uniform jackets}.

As for the closing ceremonies, anything is possible.  With my luck, it will be an Adele marathon.  With Ann Curry crashing center stage.

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Deep Thoughts: Olympics Edition

July 31, 2012

OK, so I know that the last thing you all need is one more person writing about the Olympics.  To boot, I have zero qualifications when it comes to organized sports.  So my opinion means nothing.

However, if I may — I do have a few quick initial observations to share about the Games of the XXX Olympiad.  Because one can’t rely on Bob Costas alone.

 

1)  The Russians’ Secret Weapon

Who can I sue in the Russian Federation for the seizures I’m experiencing as a result of looking at their uniform jackets?

My eyes, they burn.

Remember those pictures from the 1990s when you’d stare long enough and you’d see another image?  Like this?

I learned they are called autostereograms.   And that’s what these jackets remind me of.  Now, it might be a brilliant competitive distraction strategy, but it’s killing me in high definition on my couch at home.

 

2)  Diversifying Bela Karolyi’s Skill Set

I’ve decided that I’d like to hire Bela Karolyi as my General Contractor.  More for my personal entertainment value than for his qualifications.  I’m reasonably convinced he can make things happen.

 

3)  The Shawshank Effect

How about the Visa commercials with the Morgan Freeman voice over?  Is it just me, or do they make you feel all Shawshank Redemption?  The only thing I want Morgan Freeman to talk about — ever — is meeting his friend Andy on a Mexican beach after making parole.  Perhaps they can incorporate that into the ad:  “Parole — it’s everywhere you want to be.  Go world.”  Or something like that — let me come back to you with some more developed pitches soon.

 

4)  The Independent Olympic Athletes = My Deficiency in Current Events

Did you see the five delegates for the Independent Olympic Athletes (let’s call them the IOA)?  Or, like many of us, had you already lost the will to live by that point of the opening ceremony?  I’m fascinated by this whole concept.  Basically if your country has dissolved (Netherlands Antilles) or a new one has been formed (South Sudan), you’re going all IOA.  And, apparently, you’re going to party your ass off at the opening ceremonies.  Godspeed, I say.

But the bigger issue, for me personally, is not having known that an entire country dissolved.  I missed that one.  And yet somehow I’m fully up to speed on the finer points of Suri Cruise’s custody arrangement.  I have to revisit my reading lists.

 

5)  Olympic Village Hook Ups

How many STDs do you think emerge from two weeks in the Olympic Village?  I mean — athletes in top physical shape, looking to relieve some stress, partying in glorified dorms away from home for two weeks.  Just saying.

* * *

The Olympic fun has just begun, my friends.  I haven’t even started watching Shooting, Table Tennis or Badminton yet.  If my retinas can hold off the long-term effects of those Russian jackets, there will be more to come.  Stay tuned.

 

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Cover the Zeroes

July 14, 2012

My two sisters and I are all very different.  However, we have three key things in common:

1)  Political leanings

2)  A love of Motown

3) A real affection for roulette

Actually, it’s four things if you count our collective and pronounced disdain for Keanu Reeves.

But today I’d like to focus on #3.  Because on Sunday, they are taking me to Atlantic City.  It’s my 40th birthday present — how excellent is that?

{And yes, this is officially the last mention I will make of celebrating this birthday, two months after the fact.  Unless you’re my husband, in which case, there are still ten more months in The Year of 40 to celebrate.}

We love us some roulette, my sisters and me.

How did this happen, you ask?

Hmmm.  It’s hard to pinpoint.

Oh wait, it’s coming back to me now.

Something in my childhood home.

Perhaps a piece of furniture.

Could it have been:  This?

Yes, yes, it’s true.  We grew up with a roulette table in our living room.

Is our father a bookie?  No.  Just Italian.

See, my grandmother used to take a lot of trips back to Italy.  And she usually brought home some very cool things from the homeland.  Like jewelry.  Or dishes.  Or wine.  Or a nice leather bag.

Or, this one time, an Italian gaming table with four matching chairs.

They make them in Sorrento.  On the outside they simply look like your typical Italian, gaudy furniture sets.

But, no, they hide a treasure trove of gambling fun.  You remove one leaf at a time to find ornately handcrafted backgammon, black jack and poker boards.

Then.  You open up the bottom layer to find the roulette situation.

God, I love the Italians.

Look, it’s not like we sat around playing roulette as kids on Saturday mornings.  My parents used the table for parties every now and then, and we actually weren’t allowed to touch it.  But, on the eve of my spring break trip to the Bahamas in my senior year of college, my mom had three of my friends and me stay overnight at our house.  And she busted out the roulette table.  You know, to show us the ropes before we lost the shirts off our backs.  {We were all 21, if any of you are feeling litigious.}

And, there, in that Bahamian casino, my love of roulette was complete.

I guess it’s genetic among us sisters.  We love the game.  Not in a lose-your-house-kind-of-way.  We’re not high rollers, by any stretch.  In fact, we’re pretty happy to sit at any $5 table we can find and stretch out $100 for hours on end.

We like to talk strategy.  I’m not saying we’re academic about it, but there are major decisions to be made.  Like playing the inside versus the outside.  Doubling down on a winning number or vacating it.

We like to talk numbers.  I mean, everyone has their numbers.  No, I won’t tell you mine, but I hope you know to always cover the zeroes.

We like to sit back and watch the tables for a bit before committing to the one we like.

We like to decry what my uncle has dubbed The System.  For years, he had our extended family believing he had cracked the code on roulette.  It worked for a while, in small doses.  But my sisters and I, after years of experimenting with it in different iterations, have officially declared The System to be bullshit.  Or just dumb luck.

Speaking of dumb luck:  Yes, I realize that roulette has the statistically worst odds in the house.  I know that counting on a ball spinning in a wheel is absurd.

But I do love it.

So.  Wish us luck.  And if you have a favorite number, let me know.

 

 

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Found: The Funny

July 11, 2012

Wednesdays can suck in a lot of ways, right?

I guess that whole “Oh-look-it’s-already-the-middle-of-the-week” thing can be uplifting.  At least I’ve heard.  Or, if you’re like me, you might think of Wednesday more like “Holy shit, I still have to make it 2.5 more days to get to the weekend.”

But, I have good news.  Turns out there are two nice upsides to Wednesdays:

1)  The summer drink special at the bar up the street from my house

2)  Finding the Funny

Finding the Funny

If you’re not familiar with #2, it’s a great weekly link-up of — you guessed it — funny posts, hosted by Kelley’s Break Room and My Life and Kids.  I usually try to link up something I’ve written, hoping it’s funny enough.  And even if it’s not, it’s always fun to read the other submissions.

This week, I had Finding the Funny homework.  I’ve been tasked with telling you which are my favorite five out of this week’s 52 posts.  Not a bad gig, right?

So, here we go.

1)  Ah, This is Push It — Ninja Mom.  She lives inside my mind, Ninja Mom.  And apparently inside my shoes as well.  It’s all about how subtly you can physically “prompt” your kids out the door, now, isn’t it?

2)  Make 4th of July Fun or Die Trying — Hollow Tree Ventures.  Why, yes, this national holiday is a real hoot while trying to navigate pyrotechnics with your children.  I felt her pain.

3)  9 Things I Learned at the Water Park of America — People I Want to Punch in the Throat.  Seriously, this singlehandedly validated every. single. fear. I have of water parks.  Sorry, kids, I have now pushed back our water park timeline from “maybe we’ll go next year” to “probably never.”

4)  No, It is Not Hot Enough for Me — Good Day, Regular People (The Empress).  Look, she invokes both Chuck Norris and Bananarama.  Need I say more?

5)  Firecracker, Firecracker, Sis-Boom, Blah Blah Blah — Actual Times May Vary.  More July 4th fun with the kids.  Bonus points for mosquito-feasting graphics and insanity-inducing repeat bathroom trips.

At the risk of sounding like a late-night ginsu knives informercial — Wait, there’s more!

Honorable Mention:

Aw, nuts.  Or, how puppies and testicles are related. — The Bearded Iris.  So, really, if you weren’t already considering using your pet’s genitalia as an opportunity for a life lesson, this should sway you.

Lessons Learned by Seeing Magic Mike — Let Me Start By Saying.  Hang onto those matinee listings, folks.  Read this first before you buy your popcorn.

Hello Mudder, Hello Fadder.  Here I am at Camp Granada.  — Bad Parenting Moments.  Oh yes, the magical pull of summer camp.  I packed those lunches, sunscreen and medical forms a little faster after reading this.

* * *

So if your Wednesday is sucking the life out of you, stop by these blogs and have a read.  Although they won’t bring your weekend any closer, they will give you something fun to do while you plan Friday’s happy hour in your mind.

{T minus 58 hours.}

 

 

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