blogging

Another Sunday at the Movies


With Dee safely pawned off at her bff’s house Saturday for an overnight (I will miss that about summer. We’ve had a Dee-free weekend just about every other and at the price of hosting bff on the opposite weekends which is still a definite win-win in terms of child occupying), Rob and I spent the day pondering the “movie” side of dinner and a movie date night. 

Rob wants to see the new Tarantino flick but it doesn’t open until next weekend and so I googled the offerings and did a bit of review reading and came up fairly empty. It’s not that bad reviews put me off. I don’t pay much attention to what a critic thinks. I read reviews to get a feel for the story-line and to find links to trailers. The bottom line is always this:

Is a story interesting enough to justify the time spent elbowing with the masses?

Most of the time, the answer is “no” because unless a movie is a must see – like the recent Star Trek for example – we aren’t in any hurry. The majority of films are out on dvd within four to six months and our public library does a wonderful job of keeping current on titles. Trekking to the theatre to queue up with teenagers and young adults who have little concept of personal space or tmi conversations, which they carry on at deafening levels that make me glad when I run across groups of young people who text each other even when shoulder to shoulder, just isn’t an experience I need and I know Rob has little patience with humanity anyway, so why? 

Movies can be savored from the comfyness of the sofa, snuggled with husband, pillows and under blankets. The living room is a lot closer to the true amenities of life and what it lacks in screen size is more than made up for by a clean bathroom and a kitchen with a wider – healthier – variety of snack options.

After ruling out the theatre and taking in dinner at the local Chinese option, Rob and I decided to splurge and rent dvd’s. Our selection for last evening was the Nick Cage flick, Knowing. The trailer blaring from a tv screen in the store lured us into it. Trailers are deceptive but nothing else was really screaming out “pick me” and it had an intriguing premise.

A time capsule buried fifty years earlier is unearthed and reveals a sheet of paper covered in numbers that turns out to be the date, location and death totals for nearly every major disaster between 1959 and 2009. And there are just three dates left. Cue the spooky music.

Unfortunately many things work against such a promising start.

  • Nick Cage is a one facial expression actor.
  • The film can’t decide if it wants to be a horror, action or alien encounter movie.
  • It veers wildly back and forth between actual science and Rapture inspired religious mumbo-jumbo.
  • And did I mention that Nick Cage really sucks the air out of every scene?

Of course widowhood reared its head. Cage’s character is a widower who drinks himself to sleep every night while staring morosely at the unopened birthday gift his wife died before having the chance to give him the year before, and there is cgi galore. The end is part Michael Bay/part Spielberg AI. And there are two adorable children. Something for everyone and therein lay the problem. No focus. Story drifted and then would scream off in an almost opposite direction.

I hate it when good story ideas are treated so badly. Some people should not be allowed to make movies.

And It’s Friday


I have been feeling a tad charred around my creative edges for a few weeks. I realized that I write everyday and have done so for over two years now. It may not seem like much to anyone right now, but I don’t think I have ever worked this hard at anything in my life. And so, I decided to step back, think and plan. What comes next? That is the question foremost in my mind and on more fronts than just the writing.

As Suzy would say, it’s time for a bit of 10-10-10. I’ve pondered asking her for a bit of an assist, but she has had her hands full this summer as her husband was quite ill for a time. I don’t like to presume on friendships anyway, but I am less likely to ask for help when someone is dealing with things more important than simply career and life goals. More on my plans next week.

So I settled into the mommy life this last week with swim lessons and dog sitting for Edee. The latter of which brought an epiphany. I am not cut from pet owner cloth regardless of how sweet the pet might be.

 I began purging for the hamlet-wide garage sale at the end of the month and found, to my dismay, we still own far too many things we don’t use. This does not bode well for us when Rob’s transfer number eventually comes up in the coming year. We have to be able to travel lighter for the foreseeable future and we are fat.

I jumped another widow hurdle with what would have been the tenth anniversary of my marriage to Will. It was made more difficult by the sense of obligation and my lack of enthusiasm for such obligations and by the fact that I feel inferior because of it. Dee has been especially chatty about her father these days and the older girls have planned a commemorative picnic for next week to honor Shelley’s passing, and I am left feeling terrible because I am okay with not doing these things: talking about the past, creating shrines, “celebrating” anniversaries. My mom is planning a birthday party for Dad at the end of the month. August is a month of birthdays in my family. More family members had August birthdays than any other month and there was always a get-together. 

Anyway Rob and I talked about it and agreed that the past simply is and that it’s unproductive to feel obligated to it unless we derive some sort of comfort from it. I find grief exhausting enough when it is roused from its slumber by random circumstance without purposely poking at it like a child with a stick.

I also had sibling issues and updates. When I told Rob about them his comment was,

“I should have vetted your family more thoroughly.”

But that is a two way street.

I wrote a few 50 Something pieces although I am still unsure about my involvement there and the mom0sphere in general. They are both good pieces. The one on health care is my favorite.

And finally, I need to acknowledge the Lovely Blog award I received from Silverstar. I am rarely honored  with such things. I am not edgy like my friend Lora who gets the coolest awards and I am not charming enough to inspire cuddly awards, nor am I brave enough to ask and receive. I toil away in anonymity with just my few dear, gentle readers for company.

Thank you, Silverstarlovelyblog15.

Bad Examples


Raising a child with the aim of her one day being someone that others will not shun is hard enough without the steady stream of adults in the world who behave in ways that would elicit cold, disapproving stares were it a child doing so. I read a lot and in the course of my reading, I’ve stumbled upon a plethora of anti-child rhetoric which would lead a person to believe that children should never be seen in public before they are school age and afterwards only as necessary until they are old enough to be put to work in the service sector.

The legions who believe that children are nuisances who should be barred from public eateries, air travel and shopping centers are quite vocal in their disdain and in their condemnation of the poor parenting skills of others.

What I don’t read a lot about is how the bad behavior of adults makes the world a difficult place for parents to raise decent children who don’t have a sense of entitlement and the manners of those raised by persons of questionable character and residence.

At the post office today, Dee and I were in line between two elderly women about the same age as my mother, who is in her late 70’s. Both were waiting on a frazzled counter person trying to juggle multiple customers while a horde of her co-workers ambled back and forth stage left with seemingly little to do but no interest in helping her deal with the increasing queue.

The first lady was there to pick up a registered letter and the contents of a post-office box only to discover she wasn’t on the list of those allowed to pick up mail from the box nor would she be allowed to sign for the letter because she didn’t have her i.d. on her.

“I’ve been picking up the mail here for 35 years,” she informed the postal worker with a tone that implied she should simply be catered to for longevity’s sake.

“Ma’am, these are the rules. They’ve been in place for over a year now, and I need you to take this form home to get it authorized by the box holder (her husband) and you’ll have to go get your i.d.”

And then followed the tantrum as more people lined up behind Dee and I, and my daughter watched this grandmother-type pitch a fit worthy of any two year old.

She stepped back to allow her friend behind her to mail a letter and then launched at the postal worker again before storming out and muttering loudly in the best imitation of a 16 year old girl I have ever seen.

“Now I’ll have to wait another half-hour in line,” she said to no one and everyone.

Of course, she didn’t wait in line. She waddled like a disgruntled duck out to her car while the woman behind the desk tried to attend to the two gentlemen she was helping previously, and when she came back she cut the entire line with her i.d. in hand. 

By now the postal worker clearly wanted this old woman gone, so she said nothing about the queue jumping – which is insanely bad form – and gave in to the woman’s demands that she be exempt from the rules because “I’ve been coming here for 35 years.”

I didn’t say anything. I have dealt with women like her often enough to know that they cannot be reasoned with nor can they be shamed into behaving decently. The line behind me was made up entirely of middle-aged men who were trying hard to pretend that they were not being held up by an aging pageant queen with entitlement issues.

Naturally, the instant she got her way she began purring like a kitten and was “please” and “thank-you” polite. When she turned and faced me for a moment, she smiled a bit and I averted my eyes. 

Afterwards I seized the teachable moment to point out the woman’s bad behavior and choices to Dee who was perplexed by the line cutting more than anything. Jumping queue is a supreme “don’t” among the elementary school crowd and one of the first rules they grasp and self-enforce.

I am tired of hearing about rampant hordes of unruly children when it is mainly adults I see in the public arena who shouldn’t be allowed out without supervision.