Category Archives: Sad

Dear Blog,

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Dear Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow,

We’ve been pals a lot of years. I started you in 2002 over at Live Journal and moved you to Word Press a few years later. Since then, we’ve had good times and loads of bad times. I’ve used you for various purposes, but mostly I used you to vent. I never quite figured out what you were good for aside from unleashing my problems into cyber space. I realized after a time that I was changing and you were not. You stayed my steadfast outlet, but as I started posts (but never published them) it occurred to me that even I didn’t want to read my own blog. Not that I ever wanted an audience, but I figured that I should want to read what I was writing. I used to do that…remember? I’d go back and read old posts, reminisce about where I was a year ago, five years ago…it was fun. Except…lately, my posts haven’t been fun. I’ve been censoring myself because I’m kind of like a grown up now. I just can’t unleash whatever I’m feeling and not worry about who I’m offending. I don’t necessarily have to be responsible, but self control is just a nice thing to do. I also don’t really need to offend people anymore. I can do that without a blog and usually on accident.

I start and then I stop. I have dozens of unfinished blog entries going back several years. I’ve been boring myself silly here and I know it’s not your fault…I also have this tendency to ramble. Today’s blogs are about quick information and photos. If you could talk, you’d tell me that you’re just as robust as Tumblr and all the other new kids on the block. I know you are, but you’ve come to represent a part of my life I’m moving away from. I’m entering a new phase in my life where I want to complain less and create more. I want positivity in my life and I want to focus on things that make me happy. I thought that changing your theme would change things. It hasn’t. Whenever I sit down to blog, I just can’t get it out the way I used to. Remember when I used to blog every day?

This isn’t really good-bye. I’m going to keep you alive and I promise to visit often. You’re a part of me and who I used to be. I used to be a confused mess and I’m so passed that…alright, maybe not totally, but I’m working on it. Like I said, I want to focus on the positive. I’m sorry I didn’t end you on a high note. That last post about the trash cans…come on…what was that? Pretty lame. I don’t want to rub it in your face, but my new blog is going to teach me to keep it simple. It’s going to teach me to condense and focus. You’ve allowed me to rant to my word-count’s content, but those days are behind me now. I suppose I shouldn’t ever say “never”. Who knows. Maybe I’ll hate it over there and come back. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but I might be back. You never know.

What can I say? You’ve been an important facet of my life and you’ve gotten me through some hard times. You were there through thick and thin. Sometimes you were the only thing I could count on. I will always love you for that. I’m pretty sure I’m missing some sentimental phrase, but the gist of it is: I just really wanted to say so long and thank you for being a friend.

This is where I’ll be: A Little Pretty Pocket Book

a guy i knew died

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Last night I got a text that a guy I knew from my Hot Topic days passed away. Cancer. I knew Adrian briefly while I worked at Hot Topic and he was generally part of my group – that is, the group of people I hung out with at company functions. He was a sweet guy, a bit understated, funny, and smart. I liked him a lot.

When I left Hot Topic, I found it difficult to stay in touch with all the wonderful people I knew there…and there were a lot. In fact, the only reason I stayed with the company as long as I did – besides a steady paycheck – was because the people were amazing. They made it possible for me to withstand the humiliations of the job, my lousy treatment, and the back breaking work I did without any recognition. These were all people I wish I knew better and saw more of. Whenever you leave a company clique you realize that thing you had most in common was your day to day strife between 9 to 5. This isn’t the case with everyone, but just about.

Hearing about Adrian has got me thinking about life, friends, and mortality. Death does that. Because I hadn’t kept in touch, not even on Facebook, I didn’t even know he was sick and I feel bad for that. I figure, Facebook is the least you can do and it’s the bare minimum when it comes to cultivating friendship. And let’s face it, when it comes to making and keeping friends, I’m not really great at it. I want to be a better friend.

This last year I’ve been so consumed with the move, the house, and my career that I’ve let a lot of friendships take a back seat. I feel I need to rediscover my gregarious side and seek out the people I want to know better. I find myself saying that if people wanted me around, they’d seek me out. Is this true or are friend-rich people the ones who do the seeking? I’ve worried about this my entire life and I’d like to worry less and do more.

So, to my once-friend Adrian…I’m glad I knew you even for a brief time. Rest in peace.

Oh, that we could always see such spirit through the year

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ARE people nicer during the holidays? I’ve noticed a few more people actually held doors open for me – I always hold doors for people and when I’m preoccupied and let the door slam in their face, I apologize. Seemed to me people were in bad moods this year. Not just me. Everyone seems to be kinda annoyed with the holiday. People in general seem worried about the economy, yet I just read an article that said we’re setting records this year. How’s that work? The economy is bad and we’re spending more money than ever? Perhaps this is why everyone’s in such tight fixes.

Ever since my Dad died I’ve become increasingly cold towards Christmas. I’m not one of those people who needs Christmas to be perfect and then implodes when it isn’t. Here’s what I want for Christmas:

  • Get gifts for my loved ones
  • Have my shopping done before Christmas Eve
  • Watch my favorite Christmas movies: It’s a Wonderful Life, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, A Charlie Brown Christmas, Miracle on 34th St., and A Christmas Story.
  • Bake cookies
  • Have and decorate a Christmas tree
  • Spend time with my family and have fun
  • Go to a Christmas party or two



    • So far I’ve done two of those things and they both relate to shopping. This year, however, I kept my gift limit to $20 and I pretty much stayed in budget. Only one or two went over because of insane shipping prices. Overall, I did pretty well and I think I got some nice gifts for my family. I’m also wrapping my gifts in paper bags, twine, and simple embellishments. They really look nice and the bonus: Recycling.

    *le sigh* I guess everyone’s been tense this year. You can kind of feel it in the air. Cashiers are glum, shoppers look worried, families are fighting, and I didn’t get a Christmas tree this year. Oh, I got the little ones AJB bought, but I didn’t get to decorate them. I was playing Left 4 Dead 2 with my brothers when it happened and wasn’t given fair enough warning; although I was told I had been.

    Yesterday I didn’t get anything done. I felt like I was in a car most of the day. We had lunch and then took my Mother-in-Law to see the new house – and also meet with the contractor to give him money. The house is coming along. All of the demo is done. The murder shed is gone, the ugly white cabinet that was blocking a beautiful window is gone, lots of ugliness is gone. Unearthed beneath the murder shed was 100 year old siding in a deep forest green. We think this was the original color of the house. The siding’s in great condition and there’s a slim chance most of it might be preserved under the stucco, which would be awesome. Eventually we’ll get to the outside of the house and we’re thinking we’ll restore it back to it’s original (or near original) look. I like the siding a lot.

    Now we start the…uh…what are we starting now? Technically we should be starting electrical, but our bids were so discombobulated we’ve had to start over. Again. The house will be upgraded to 120 amps (is that right? Is it amps?), we’ll have ethernet all over the house, all the superfluous wiring in the basement will be taken out – if it’s dead, it’s gone – new outlets, new light-switch plates for all the missing ones, a couple of phone lines in AJB’s office, a ceiling light in my office, better lighting in AJB’s office, push button switches in the downstairs, and I think that’s it. We’re also moving some ill advised switches to more convenient locations.

    By the time I got home yesterday, it was 5:30pm and I was kinda pooped. AJB and his mom had more shopping to do and I was going to help my brother make mashed potatoes. Except, he had to leave and now I’m making the mashed potatoes he’s taking to Christmas Eve. Go figure. Because I was having a bad day, I decided to treat myself to a glass of wine. Except, we packed all our wine glasses and yes, even the cork screw. I must continue to remind myself that NO ONE thought we’d still be in storage by December. It was inconceivable at the time, but certain things grind my gears like packing up the cork screw. Why? Had I actually done the packing, I’m not sure I would have stowed it. Serves me right. So then I tried to push the cork through and it’s one of those not-a-cork corks and was jammed in pretty tight. By now I was really frustrated and decided to venture out to buy a new one. I stood in line at Rite-Aid for 15 minutes while three cashiers SLOWLY rang up customers, none of them with smiles on their faces, and the lady behind me kept pushing her cart into my ankles. All I wanted was to relax and have a glass of wine.

    I used to love Christmas. I used to get so happy when I’d see the decorations and lights on the streets. I’d hear music and my heart would sing. Not this year. This year I kinda just want it to be over with. I miss my Dad and all the traditions I’ve held dear which are rather nonexistent. My husband also told me that he can take or leave Christmas. I mean, he’s a Jew after all, but his family has always celebrated Christmas. Don’t you lose Jew points for celebrating Christmas? He also doesn’t celebrate Hanukkah. Bad Jew. I watch him getting into the spirit and he seems to really enjoy it, but then to say he can take it or leave it. Man. Last year I swore this year’s Christmas would be better. It’s somehow worse. That we’re not in our house, no tree, no movies, no baking, all rushing around, tired all the time…people are in crappy moods. Christmas seems more like something we endure rather than celebrate. When Charlie Brown exclaims “Isn’t there anybody who knows what Christmas is all about?” I feel his pain. Next year will be better. We’ll be in our new house, I’ll have a tree, and perhaps…just perhaps, I’ll be in a better mood.

    Appropriately, I woke up with this in my head this morning: I think Charlie sums it up best.

    Merry Christmas everyone.

    The Addams Family Musical SuckFest 2009

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    Skipping over the real important aspects of my life like my wedding, my honeymoon, and how I spent my Thanksgiving vacation, I thought I’d concentrate on putting something up…anything. I came to the conclusion that I am often happiest when I write. Therefore, I shall write. I have also concluded that Twitter is, not the least bit, a heartfelt record of my life. And I need one.

    I am by no means a theater critic. I do, in fact, hate a lot of theater. Since meeting my husband 5 years ago, he has dragged me (often kicking and screaming) to numerous theatrical productions of various types. These types range in quality from local theater to big productions starring famous people. Bless his heart, he does try to take me to shows he thinks I might enjoy; anything dark or weird.

    Over time, my aversion to theater has lessened to the point where I am less inclined to kick and scream, but rather let out a few moans of “I guess so” when he asks if I’d like to see something. This has also geared me towards keeping a weather eye out for shows we can see together; as it’s something he thoroughly enjoys doing. It makes him happy and I enjoy seeing him happy. I’ve also seen enough shows now to have a firm grasp of what the good ones look like.

    Vanity Fair Cast Photo

    Vanity Fair Cast Photo

    On our way back home from Paris, we stopped over in Chicago’s O’Hare airport. As we staggered through the terminal, I spotted a poster for the pre-Broadway production of The Addams Family Musical starring Nathan Lane and Bebe Neuwirth. I was a little more than excited. When we came home, we bought tickets. They were expensive.

    A week later, we were back in Chicago for Thanksgiving. Tickets in hand, we ventured to the big city to see a show that couldn’t possibly disappoint. I mean, we’re talking Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family. How could we lose? OK, so it’s a musical, but Nathan Lane, Bebe Neuwirth, and the frickin’ Addams Family! As usual, I didn’t set out with the highest of hopes. We’d already heard that the show wasn’t very good, but that Nathan Lane brought it to the table and served it up right. I was looking forward to seeing Lane and Neuwirth do their thing. I mean, these are top quality actors we’re talking about!

    To be fair, let’s start with what the show got right. The costumes for the Addams ancestors were gorgeous and rather well done.

    Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way….

    The Addams Family Musical was probably one of the worst shows I’ve ever seen. Nathan Lane was out sick and his stand-by, Merwin Foard, took his place. The sheer magnitude of dissatisfaction in this misfortune hovered over the audience like a thick fog. It was, needless to say, a severe let down and the audience never fully recovered.

    The curtain opened to a whimsical tune about Wednesday Addams no longer being a little kid anymore and taking the fictional Addams oath to honor the family’s macabre way of life. Instantly, you could tell the girl playing Wednesday was going to get on your nerves (AJB’s 13 year old daughter hated her). Not only was she unable to evoke the spirit of Wednesday, she was, sadly, a stupid little brat which conjured thoughts of ripping one’s ears off.

    The creators of this show thought it would be awesome to take our beloved Addams’ into a new direction. Wednesday was now 18, she was in love, rebelling against the strangeness of her family, and filled to the brim with teenage angst. While the creators attempted to keep some semblance of Wednesday in tact, despite her new found mutinous behavior, she wasn’t anything even remotely resembling the little girl clutching a decapitated doll we know and love. This girl they called “Wednesday” had somehow met a boy (a really normal dude) and fell in love. They made out all the time.

    Despite claims in the Playbill that the creators would disinherit the TV show and films, the major plot of the story was “normal family meets Addams’ and freaks out”. So much for new ideas. Normal boy’s parents meet the family. All hell’s gonna break loose now! The stereotypical Ohio business man and his quirky, poetry-spouting wife come over for dinner. What could go wrong? Wednesday begs her not-normal family to act normal for one night. There was a song about it.

    During the course of the evening, Morticia has a mid-life crisis, Pugsley accidentally poisons the normal mother (of which he is later apologetic), Grandmama flashes her crotch and discusses her sex-life, the family plays a made-up game called “Full Disclosure” in which the “adults” of the family drink wine and tell the truth. Not sure why. Wednesday throws numerous tantrums, Gomez whines about not understanding anyone, and Ohio Dad fucks a giant squid; after which I inadvertently spoke out, “what the hell?” Fester fades in and out of being a weirdo-pervert to a wise narrator who falls in love with the moon – eventually copulating with it. The subject of “sex” was a major topic – because, you know, Morticia and Gomez just bang all the time – it eventually became uncomfortable and creepy, but not in a good way.

    Cousin “Itt” makes a brief appearance and so does Thing. Lurch is ever present, but because he doesn’t speak, he’s the least of our worries…that is, until his big number.

    None of the above is actually half of the show’s overall problems. Problem was, the creators of the show just don’t get it. They have absolutely NO idea who the Addams Family are, what they’re about, or why we love them. Morticia would never, in a million years, have a mid-life crisis. Ten years in the future or not, she would not lament the appearance of crow’s feet. She would, in fact, rejoice that they were called “crow’s feet” and that like a fine wine, she only gets better with age. Gomez would continue his usual half-crazed antics, be cool, fence, crash trains, and smoke cigars. Pugsley and Wednesday would grow up, but continue to celebrate who they were. Grandmama would always be Grandmama and Lurch would always be Lurch. There is, you see, a great deal of pride in being an Addams. While I suppose it’s OK for characters to grow or change, they shouldn’t change into an entirely new family no one cares about. Because the TV show is an integral part of who the family is, you almost certainly can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.

    They’re creepy and they’re kooky, mysterious and spooky, they’re altogether ooky, The Addam’s Family.

    At their core, they are what a family should be. They’re not perfect and sometimes they embarrass you, but they love you for who you are…even if you’re dead, demented, or covered in hair. They are, above all, about tolerance, tradition, and love. The people who produced this musical totally missed the mark. They managed to turn the undying affection of Morticia and Gomez into a sleezy sex-fest. Yes, we know they bone all the time, but their implied love-making and copious amounts of arm kissing was always far more romantic. We don’t need it spelled out.

    Aside from the horrifying diversion from the truest sense of the family, it was painfully obvious that the actors were aware of what they’d gotten themselves into. The missing Nathan Lane, replaced with the poor man’s version of “Raul Julia meets Robert Goulet” wasn’t able to pull off jokes Lane could have done in his sleep. Bebe Neuwirth, whom you’d assume would make the best Morticia ever, ended up looking like someone’s mom dressed as Morticia for Halloween – in one of those “Gothic Enchantress” costumes you see at Target. Frankly, Bebe just doesn’t have the cleavage to pull off the lowest of the low-cut Morticia costumes. And sadly, her big number “Second Banana” fell absolutely flat as it continued the theme of mid-life crisis comparing herself to an old plum. Morticia, insecure? Never. Ever.

    Should I even talk about the cruddy set design? Talk about cheap. Just about everything looked borrowed from another show and none of it conveyed the grandeur of the Addams residence in all it’s Second Empire, deliciously dilapidated decor. Cobwebs? Not one. I also don’t have space/time to discuss the ugly choreography and the sad use of major-key songs versus minor (more spookier) songs.

    The Addams Family Musical was disappointing on every level. We tried to think: Even if Nathan Lane had showed up, would it have made a difference? It might have…a bit. Nathan Lane is pretty awesome, but I’m not sure even the great Nathan Lane could carry a dead weight like this. Bebe couldn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if this show ends up having one of the shortest runs on Broadway ever. They might even set a new record. Thing is, that’s sad. This show had the potential to be something truly amazing.

    If it tells you anything, AJB’s kid’s have been making fun of “Second Banana” for days. If this wildebeest of a sham crosses your path, turn around and walk the other way. You’re better off renting the goofy Addams Family Reunion movie with Tim Curry and Darryl Hannah. That’s not saying much.

    The Week of Dead Celebs

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    It’s been a strange week. On Tuesday, Ed McMahon died. A few days later, Farrah Fawcett, Sky Saxon, and Michael Jackson died. And then this morning, we found out that Billy Mays died.

    Ed McMahon
    Farrah Fawcett
    Michael Jackson
    Sky Saxon
    Billy Mays

    It’s always so peculiar when celebrities die. It’s not like we knew them, but in a way, we did. Actually, I met Sky Saxon a few times. He was a sweet, crazy, old, man. At least, that’s what I gathered from our brief interactions during the period I was dating the bass player of his reformed band. Poor Sky. He didn’t look particularly healthy when I met him. He was old and the 60′s had taken their toll. I suppose it was only a matter of time.

    Whether they were sick for a while or we never saw it coming, it’s still intriguing to think of how they changed the world, how they made their mark, and how they will remain in collective memories for a long while to come. Some more than others.

    I’m not a huge celebrity fanatic. I have my favorites, but even then, I’m hardly obsessive. When each of the aforementioned celebrities died, my initial reaction was, “Oh, that’s sad“. It’s not that my day to day life was impacted very much. Aside from being inundated with news reports and retrospectives, life goes on very much the same way it did when they were alive. Naturally, with this particular group of celebrities (Michael Jackson aside), it’s not as though they created anything on the scale of say, Gene Roddenberry, Rod Serling, or William Shakespeare. Ed McMahon seemed like a nice guy, Farrah was a decent actress and a famous poster, Billy Mays annoyed us into buying products that didn’t always work, and Sky Saxon helped change music in the 60′s but managed a level of obscurity that only die hard music fans could appreciate.

    The natural exception is Michael Jackson. I read a nice TIME Magazine article that talked about the sad aspects of Michael’s life and discussed his particular classification of abnormality; one that we hope is never duplicated. While my standard response of “Oh, that’s sad” is handed almost unenthusiastically to the other dead celebs this week, I do in fact feel bad for Michael. I feel bad for anyone who is that lost, that sick, and that tragic.

    Like a lot of people, as a child, I was a huge fan. I grew up listening to his music and continue to love many of his songs; specifically his album “Off the Wall”. I remember the photo my sister and I tore out of Bop Magazine and pasted to the wall of our shared room. I used to look at it and think how adorable he was. And yes, like most 8 year olds at the time, I had a huge crush on him. When Thriller came out, I thought it was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen. It helped fuel a life long love for zombies, cheesy horror movies, and above all: Vincent Price. I guess I have Michael to thank for all that. Or perhaps (more appropriately) John Landis. Thriller also made me want to see American Werewolf in London and the rest is history.

    I don’t really know the point I’m trying to make. I guess all I can really say is that Michael’s death has stirred feelings of conflict. I’m sure a lot of people feel the same way. I loved him, but I also thought he was severely deranged.

    This morning, during a Twitter conversation, my soon-to-be cousin-in-law, a writer for TIME Magazine (London Bureau Chief), recently interviewed Quincy Jones where he said “the idea of a well-adjusted artiste is oxymoronic”. I replied, “Which supports my theory that great artists are never sane. Of course, this means I’ll never be great. LOL.” My soon-to-be cousin-in-law went on to say that “I don’t agree with Quincy. The trope about great artists being mad gives a lot of mediocre talents the excuse to behave badly”.

    I think in some cases, insanity leads to great things; take Edgar Allan Poe or Pablo Picasso. Then again, I suppose it depends on your perspective. If you don’t think Poe or Picasso were great, than insanity is a bad thing. My soon-to-be cousin-in-law is right, it does give mediocre talent an excuse to behave badly; take Britney Spears.

    What this means is that there really is no recipe for greatness. The idea that you either have it or you don’t remains ever true. I surmise that fame is really about luck – either self made or fated by the stars. Who knows. It seems that fame takes it’s toll and perhaps, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Even for someone like Michael Jackson who will be remembered among the ranks of Elvis or The Beatles…I have to ask, was it worth it? On the one hand, he had a pretty great life. Never feel bad for a man who owns a theme park in their backyard (even if he did have to sell it to settle debts). Michael’s life was riddled with pain and emotional torment, but I reckon he did it to himself; which is just sad.

    So long all you crazy fucks. Rest well.

    Two Years Later

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    048

    Two years later, I still miss my Dad everyday. The tears don’t fall quiet as steadily, but it still hits me from time to time. Through sheer force of will, I have attempted to live my life; a life my Dad would be proud of. Two years later and I continue to wish I could share things with him, tell him my good news, or just hear his voice.

    A few months ago, I was trying to fasten around my neck, a necklace that he’d given me. Suddenly, it slipped from my hands and went crashing down on the cold bathroom floor. It was a royal blue, glass heart, vile. I remember when he gave it to me, I asked him what I was supposed to keep in it…drugs? He laughed and said he didn’t know you could keep stuff in it. It wasn’t the most beautiful necklace, in fact, it was sort of cheap. I wore it all the time anyway. I loved it because he gave it to me. He saw it in a store, thought of me, and gave it to me. When I looked down at the hundreds of tiny blue pieces of glass, I burst into tears and was inconsolable for a few moments. It couldn’t be fixed. For a minute, I thought about keeping the shards of glass, but came to my senses. I have other things: Photographs, knick-knacks, mementos, my memories.

    Occasionally, it hits me really hard as though I’ve been punched in the chest. My Dad is really gone. It still seems unfair. It remains the great tragedy of my life. I try not to think about him not walking me down the aisle or dancing with me at my wedding – or getting drunk and obnoxious. He wouldn’t like that I’m wearing black, but I’d make some joke about not being a virgin anymore and he’d laugh it off uncomfortably or get annoyed with me for being so crass. He probably wouldn’t like that I’m not getting married in a church in front of God, but I’d work to change his mind the way I did with just about everything. Eventually, he’d see my point.

    It’s raining today. My brother JCS and I want to visit his grave site today. Hardly anyone has gone in the last year. Not because they don’t miss him, but because it’s just too painful. It’s raining, so maybe we won’t go. I’ve also had a headache and neck ache since yesterday. I don’t particularly like going to the grave because he’s not really there. It’s a beautiful place, serene and quiet, but he’s not there.

    I don’t know if I appreciated him enough when he was here or if I let him know how much I loved him. I hope I did. I think he knew. Still, the one thing I’ve taken from this is that you absolutely need to let people know how you feel. Life is short. Our time on this planet is but the blink of an eye.

    It’s a nice thought to think that our loved ones are watching us from Heaven, but I don’t know. I wonder. If it’s true, my Dad can look down from time to time and see that I’m doing just fine. Better, anyway.

    It’s the perfect day for rain. It rained the day we put his ashes into the ground.

    I miss you, Dad.

    Good-Bye Saturday Morning

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    It’s 10:30am on a Saturday morning and AJB’s kids are still asleep. Their eyes are not glued to the set watching 4 hours of uninterrupted Saturday morning cartoons, the way I did when I was little.

    superfriendsWhen I was a kid, I couldn’t wait to get up Saturday mornings. It meant all the cartoons you could sink your teeth into. Sometimes I’d get up too early and end up watching Villa Allegra – A Spanish educational show, sort of like The Electric Company – or the New Zoo Review; both of which were syndicated 70′s shows and sort of creeped me out. After that, it was a flurry of animated shows that came and went faster than I noticed. I watched it all, but my favorites were Looney Tunes, Superfriends, Shirt Tales, The Smurfs, Turbo Teen, Monchhichis, The Littles, Dragon’s Lair, Ewoks, Jim Henson’s Muppet Babies, Droids: The Adventures of R2D2 and C3PO, Mighty Mouse: The New Adventures, Misadventures of Ed Grimley, Superman, Plastic Man, Rubik the Amazing Cube, Thundarr, Pac Man, and CBS Storybreak. I’m sure there are more, but there are the ones that come to mind.

    The decline of Saturday morning cartoons came towards the end of the 80′s and into the early 90′s. I was in junior high, starting high school. Once I got into high school, I remember not waking up so early anymore, but when I did, I still watched whatever was on. I remember thinking that I had to watch them or else they’d disappear forever – as if my watching made a difference. I knew I was getting older and the shows weren’t that great anymore. In fact, by the early 90′s, the era of Saved by the Bell (which I hated with a fiery passion) was dawning and Saturday cartoons were already waning. It coincided with my becoming a teenager and being more concerned with The Cure, The Smiths, and Siouxsie Sioux.

    I was born in 1975, so by the time I could get myself up to watch TV, the glorious Saturday morning routine that 80′s kids recall with such loving devotion was just getting started (about 1979). I, along with everyone else in their mid-30′s, were given this unique gift that no other generation will know. I see AJB’s kid rise after 10am and immediately turn on the Wii. When I was a kid, rising at 10am meant missing all the good shows and it meant only another hour or so of animated programming. If, for some reason, I awoke late on a Saturday, I was bummed all day. How could I miss the cartoons? How awful! It was horrible. Kids on Monday would be talking about them and I would have to say I missed it. So, no, I rarely got up late. I also recall feeling sad when the final cartoon came on. Once that song for Saved by the Bell came on, we turned off the TV and played with our toys. Of course, back then, my parents liked to clean the house on Saturday so we did everything we could to get out of it.

    It’s funny how kids change from generation to generation. AJB’s kids watch cartoons, but on Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network. At 12, the age of the twins, I was watching Teen Wolf, Muppet Babies, and Mighty Mouse. The twins watch something called Total Drama Island (which is actually fairly mature), Robot Chicken, and Spongebob. No wonder, I just looked it up and Spongebob is on 6 times in a row on Fridays and at least 4 times in a row during the week. That’s a lot of Spongebob.

    There are very few new cartoons that I actually like. I don’t like Spongebob, even though some adults think it’s great. Occasionally a gem like Powerpuff Girls comes along, but it’s not like the old days when even the shows that sucked were good. They were good because they were cartoons. Good because Saturday was your day, a day for kids. AJB’s kids will spend the day playing Wii, Club Penguin, and Nintendo DS – all in separate rooms. AJB might round them up and take them out, but it’s been raining and a it’s a bit soggy outside.

    It’s now 11am. If this were 1984, I’d be watching Mr. T followed by The Incredible Hulk and Spiderman.

    Farewell Ricardo

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    ricardomontalban9 The elder generation of celebrities are dropping off like flies. Today we lost another great actor, Senor Ricardo Montalban. I grew up with this man. From Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island, to Armando in Escape from the Planet of the Apes, and most especially, Khan Noonien Singh in Star Trek The Wrath of Khan. What can I say? He didn’t belong to the younger generation. My fiancee’s children won’t know who he is and they won’t miss him the way I will. They won’t know what you mean when you say, “Fine Corinthian leather“. They won’t want to immediately watch Wrath of Khan or think back lovingly to all the countless hours watching Fantasy Island and wondering which semi-celebrity would be on this week? I used to watch that show and think, Dang, Mr. Roake is one suave dude. And he was. He was one suave dude.

    The thing about yesterday’s movie stars is that…well, they really don’t make them like they used to. I mean, let’s talk about your Judy Garlands and your Gene Kellys. Maybe I’m old, but today’s celebrities all kind of look alike, dress alike, none of them can act, and none of them are making anything important. In 70 years has anything come close to topping The Wizard of Oz? I was watching a documentary about MGM Studios today and it occurred to me, the grand era of movies is really gone. What are they making today? Remakes upon remakes. Nothing new. They take an old story, dress it up with today’s hottest star, and repackage it. I say, if it ain’t broke, why fix it? Of course, this makes me sound like your typical “get off my lawn” old person, but it’s true. Why remake the classics? Why can’t the younger generation enjoy the old stuff? It’s about money, isn’t it? Yes, I know. Granted, Poseidon was pretty good, but it’ll never compare to The Poseidon Adventure. Then again, anything with Kurt Russell is A+ in my book. Occasionally, an independent film will come along and rock my world; Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and anything from Wes Anderson, but on the whole, movies hardly carry the same impact. Do they?

    Recently, my fiancee’s twin boy had a brief aversion to black and white television. He actually said he wouldn’t watch a movie if it was in black and white. He changed his tune after a full day of Twilight Zone episodes. He was spouting, “It’s a cook book!” for several days after. He quickly realized that color doesn’t necessarily make things better. Good for him. I knew he’d come around. He even applauded after It’s a Wonderful Life. He came around because classic films are a part of history that kids today aren’t easily granted access to. There are good stories there, plenty of action, damn fine acting, and cinematography to beat all cinematography. It’s good. Damn good. Kids are so berated with high-octane, edge of your seat, CGI remakes, old films hardly stand a chance. Thank goodness for Turner Classic Movies. When given the chance, kids will appreciate the old films.

    When fine actors like Ricardo Montalban pass away, I can’t help but think the list is growing shorter and shorter. Because it is. Soon they’ll all be gone. Like the last remaining survivor of the Titanic. Gone. Not forgotten, but the stories they told, the lives they lead…now all a part of history and life goes on. The good news is, whenever I want to see Ricardo, there he is, for all eternity making Captain Kirk’s life a living hell, spouting Shakespeare, and dying a fine death with all kinds of awesome explosions. Revenge is a dish best served cold. It is very cold…in space. Yes Ricardo, it certainly is. And it always will be.

    So long old friend. You were awesome.

    Goodbye Bettie

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    Bettie Page died today. It’s hard to think of what to say. I discovered Bettie in a book at Salzer’s Records in Ventura, California and thought she was practically perfect. I wanted to look like her and spent a great deal of time lamenting the fact that I didn’t. What I liked most about her was that she seemed so unaware that what she was doing was “dirty” or “scandalous”. She simply appeared to be having a good time. Bettie was my first introduction to the term “bondage”, up until then I’d lead a very sheltered life so I was fascinated by the fact that people tied each other up and liked it; a concept that still baffles me.

    The world no doubt will mourn this loss. Bettie wasn’t just a pin-up model, to many, she was a lifestyle. If I had a nickle for every girl that copied the Bettie hair style, well…I’d be rich indeed. I myself, on occasion, sported Bettie bangs. They look good on just about everyone, but they looked best on Bettie herself.

    Bettie, the all American girl, the likes of which are often imitated and never duplicated. She only recently came out of hiding and never made appearances despite hundreds of desperate pleas. She wanted people to remember her the way she was. In fact, it wasn’t until recently that she had any idea how famous she was. And she always will be. She will be remembered as that sweet girl who was almost too perfect to conceive. With a gorgeous body and a sunny disposition, she will be remembered for her sweet smile, her divine figure, and that harmonious blend of sex and charm.

    Farewell Bettie. To say you’ll be missed is an understatement. I bet you knew how much you were loved, but you’ll never know that now that you’re gone, the world is actually a little less brighter.

    Babies are Born, Life Goes On

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    Just got home from Orlando. Oh my, it’s good to be home. In retrospect, this was a very strange trip. I spent most of the time in the hotel and when I did get out, I was escorted around to my boyfriend’s industry parties, most of which were like a thick fog of friendly faces and people I’ve met before, but don’t remember. A good portion of the trip was spent battling a headache that finally went away with a glass of Jack and Coke. We stayed in the very nice Peabody Hotel, but because of the convention, were forced to stay in a non-smoking room. To AJB’s dismay I smoked anyway, but managed to dodge the arbitrary “clean up fee” with a Glade scented candle and some heavy duty Febreze. I never actually made it to the convention even though I had a ticket that AJB paid for. Wasted money.

    Today, our last day, we darted around Universal Studios Orlando and AJB showed me some of the attractions he worked on including Jaws, Terminator 2-3D, Spiderman, and Jurassic Park – all of which retain varying levels of his influence. I’d never actually seen anything he’s done in our 4 years together, so it was pretty amazing to see what he does for a living first hand and close up. Most of all, I was impressed with the Terminator show which is far cooler than I thought it would be.

    And during all of that, I got the call: My brother’s baby had been born. I have both excitement and various degrees of reservation towards the event. Those of you who’ve read my blog at all in the last 4 years, know that I don’t exactly get along with my brother’s baby mama. It’s not just me. Feelings of confusion and resentment span the entire family and just about everyone questions his choices. It’s quite a long story, but in this case, the ends don’t necessarily justify the means when he’s never looked or acted as happy as he claims to be.

    While I’m pleased about this new life that has come to my family, I can’t help but feel left out. Because no one really likes my brother’s baby mama, a gigantic rift has been generated. Before I get all Jerry Springer on your ass, let me just say, I haven’t really talked to my brother since he moved to Omaha. Even less when he announced his girlfriend was pregnant. Despite my efforts to put the past behind, make up, move on, and attempt a solid relationship with my brother, regardless, I have been shut out. It’s a long painful story and no matter what I do, I can’t help but feel he just doesn’t want me in his life anymore. It’s hard for me to understand that even with misunderstandings, arguments, and knowing that we can’t (and won’t) always agree, it’s come to this. I’m not a part of his life and he’s not a part of mine.

    I really can’t get into it because when I do, it becomes a long, drawn out tale of deceit, manipulation, heartbreak, and blame. Truth is, I don’t care what it’s about anymore. I’ve tried to make amends, but without any real outside input, my brother has no option but to listen to the voices closest at hand. As more time passes, we become less and less the friends we were and more like strangers. I’m happy about the baby, but in the last 9 months, I haven’t been a part of it. It’s more like hearing an old friend from high school had a baby. That’s nice. Good. Great. Whatever. It’s hard to be joyful when I’ve been shut out. I received the obligatory text-message this morning and that was it. You’d think, the first of my sibling’s children has been born. My parent’s first grandchild. How wonderful! But it doesn’t feel like it. I feel sad. I feel like a dog left out in the rain, whimpering at the door for some scraps. We used to be friends and now he doesn’t return my calls. It’s not in my nature to clamor for attention, but I have and I feel like an idiot for doing so. I’ve written letters, I made a video that he never watched, I’ve texted him, sent postcards, and bought an expensive baby gift he thanked me for two months later. I know. Get the hint. I keep thinking that if I continue to try, eventually he’ll see how much I care for him, that blood is thicker than water, and that my Father’s words were true. He taught us to stick together. He used to say that if we only had one slice of bread left, we should split it four ways. That was meaningful to me. It helped build the bond I have with my siblings because I believed it. One slice of bread, split it four ways…cause that’s what you do. You take care of your family and no one gets left out.

    Happy Birthday little Michael. I wonder if we’ll ever know each other.