Yucky Salad with Bones

January 28 '08

The SAG Awards were Sunday night. You know an awards show isn't that big of a deal when it's on TBS. TBS is the channel that gets all the shows that TNT doesn't want. TNT is the channel that gets all the shows that real networks don't want.

Oh well, because of the writer's guild strike the SAGs were the first awards show on TV this season, so I watched. The show opens panning across the auditorium and we settle on Sally Field. She goes into this really awkward story about her first acting role in 6th grade or some such crap. She ends her spiel with, "I'm Sally Field, and I'm an actress."

If my television wasn't my only friend I would have punched her in the face as hard as I could.

We get a couple more random introductions from random actors: "I'm Doug Savant, and mom and dad.... I'm an actor" (knowing chuckles from all the other D-listers in the room). "I'm Ellen Burstyn and I'm proud to say... I'm an actor!"

I'm Bill Hubbell and you can all kiss my stanky ass!!!! Are you kidding me? Never again wonder why people make fun of Hollywood-- they freaking beg for it.

The show starts. Two quick impressions of young stars: 1. The girl from Hairspray has gained 100 pounds since they finished filming and 2. Zac Efron, the kid from Hairspray and the High School Musical things looks like a gay mannequin.

Blair Underwood tells me on tape how awful actors had it before the SAG was formed. Apparently actors were forced to work FULL days before! And technicians and extras could just go eat from the service table before actors could pick through all the good stuff!!! The outrage gets even worse, there is one tale of an actor having to actually pay for one of the whores brought to his trailer!!! The outrage-- it makes you shiver just thinking about it doesn't it? Thank God for SAG!!! (I know I wrote "the SAG" before, and I'm pretty sure that's right, but it just looked stupid. And while were talking here, what do you mean inanimate objects can't be gay? Look at a male mannequin next time you're in a department store and tell me they aren't gay.)

Funniest moment of the show is a clip from Boston Legal where Captain Kirk is at a urinal next to James Spader and he puts his head in Spader's space and says, "Nice velocity you've got going there." Now that's funny-- kudos to whoever wrote that-- you have my full support in your strike demands.

Javier Bardem wins another award for his supporting role in "No Country For Old Men". Oh my gaaawd, he was so phenomenal in that movie!!! Here was his acting technique: Use a haircut similar to Jim Carrey's in Dumb and Dumber and never change your expression or tone for 2 and a half hours while you kill people. (Arnold did the exact same thing 20 years ago and everyone laughed at him.) And most importantly, be from Spain. He must be an "important actor"-- he's from Spain! He was fine in that movie, but he's getting way too much credit as far as I'm concerned. I'd easily vote for Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Charlie Wilson's War" over Bardem, but what do I know.... I don't spend Tuesday afternoons lying naked in bed eating a pill variety pack like they were Skittles waiting for my weekly masseuse to arrive-- so how can I understand the craft? (Well I did once, but that's another post for another day).

Tina Fey wins a well-deserved best Actress in a TV Comedy award. Great, self-depricating speech where she compares her working with Alec Baldwin to Fred Astaire dancing with a hat rack. A cute, funny, smart speech, just like her.

Charles Durning wins a Lifetime Achievement award. Yup, Charles Durning, the guy from Evening Shade and The Sting. I'd make more fun of this, but the guy was one of the first on the beach at Normandy and the only survivor from his platoon. Wow. Then Denis Leary and Bert Reynolds talk about him like he's the greatest guy in the world. I hate my snarky self. Congratulations to Charles Durning-- well done.

Then the highlight of the show happens: An 87 year old insane midget takes the stage and pretends that he too has won an Achievement Award. Mickey Rooney who let you out of your cage?

Then to keep the insane-train of old people going, Ruby Dee wins for Supporting Actress in a movie for her role in "American Gangster"-- I'm sorry but this is laughable-- Amy Ryan should have won this award for "Gone Baby Gone". I met her character too many times at too many dive bars in Connecticut-- Ryan nailed it and she better win the Oscar.

Anyway, Ruby Dee-- who looks like your grandmother, only way shorter-- gives a nice little old lady speech and gets a nice little applause-- but then just starts babbling about her life in general, how she's helped publish a book and how her garage needs fixing up and it's just really, um... old. I'm pretty sure whoever escorted her off the stage had to stop after about twenty feet and gasp, "Oh my gosh, are you peeing?"

Julie Christie wins for Best Actress in a movie-- and after the last half hour she seems young and sexy.

Daniel Day Lewis wins Best Actor for "There Will Be Blood". He's just sooo intense... for this movie I'm pretty sure his technique was "every time you deliver a line, pretend you're pooping as hard as you can so all the blood in your body rushes to your head and makes your eyes bulge out". He gives a good speech and delivers a nice tribute to Heath Ledger-- but something about him just kinda bugs me. It's either the hoop earrings in each ear or the fact that I can't help thinking he's just trying to be Bono.

Then my new favorite moment of the show happens: Tom Cruise comes out to present the last award! It's very surreal-- I swear Tommy Boy has entered Mike-Tyson-Crazy Land. And he looks really pissed off at everybody! The usual freakily happy creepy-grin-guy has been replaced by "Me and my robots are going to win this war and let's see you laugh at me then" guy. Seriously, he looks like a guy talking to a girl who just dumped him. After the award is given out, he says, "that's our show, thanks and good night" and storms off without a grin! Awesome-- we might finally be getting to the robots!!!

Cut to the street outside the auditorium and we see a Robot-Limo pulling away quickly from the curb. In the back we hone in on a robot-woman with her face pressed against the window watching as a group of young Hollywood starlets race past the Robot-Limo on their way to party the night away. Our last image is of Katie Holmes wiping a solitary tear from her eye-- before turning her attention back inside the Robot-Limo to re-join her husband in the Robot-Chant.

Somebody please tell The Academy Awards to invite Mickey Rooney!

January 27 '08

Whaa? Two posts in a row?? Has the world turned upside down? Has the Pope renounced Christ, has Lindsey Lohan revirginized herself, has Ron Paul won the Republican nomination for President of the United States?

No, no, no and of course not, you big sillies. I'm just feelin' groovy and I've got some thoughts.

First, The Gilmore Girls rocks. I've been hearing forever how good it is, I've watched about 5 episodes so far and it's true. Although last night my enjoyment of it was rudely interrupted by the sound of my lovely eldest Meg yelling at her little sister to "Get out of the dryer!!"

Yeah, Mol and her little pal Lucy were taking turns in the dryer. I think they were playing asrtonaut, which is sort of clever for 6-year-olds, when you think about it. But of course playing in large household appliances is rarely a good idea so I had to put a stop to it. Well, Meg did, but I concurred. Because I'm a good mom, that's why. I totally agreed with my 12 year old's parenting decisions regarding the youngsters.

OK. Hey, Heath Ledger died. Did you hear about this? I'm totally being facetious, unless you're deaf and blind and housebound with no acccess to any media outlets which you couldn't see or hear even if you did have access to them, you know that Heath Ledger died. It is sad, it's always sad when a young person dies. Strangely, never-quite-lived-up-to-his-piotential actor Brad Renfro also died last week, of a drug overdose. He was the kid in the The Client, remember him? Heralded as the next Brad Pitt, but he never quite broke through. The fact that his death was completely upstaged by the passing of another, far more famous person the same age as him really seems like a cruel twist of fate. That's showbiz, I guess.

How totally freaking sad will the parade of dead guys be tonight on the Screen Actors Gild Awards?? I'm totally stoked, of course; this may be the only dose of Hollywood glamour I get to make fun of all spring thanks to this idiotic writers strike. Why do I say it's idiotic? Because it interferes with my enjoyment of prime time television, that's why. Like you care so much about the writers in Hollywood. Please.

Speaking of dead actors, I'm in the locker room at the gym the other day totally eavesdropping as usual, and I hear two women discussing Michael Landon, the bedwetting iconic actor of "Little House on the Prarie" and "Highway to Heaven". I know he did lots of other stuff, but I can't think of them right now and I don't feel like googling; it's Sunday and I'm experiencing a bit of a sugar crash from the two scones I ate an hour ago. Anyway, the conversation was as follows:

"Well, you know," one of the women says,

"He died of cancer. Lung cancer, I think it was. And actually, his family insisted he go through chemotherapy, which he didn't want to do. He actually felt that that's what killed him."

I resisted the urge to ask her where and when she was privy to a post-death interview with Michael Landon, and I feel good about that. I think I'm growing.

January 26 '08

Current fave song.

Totally digging this one right now too. I've never been a huge Springsteen fan, I just never got the appeal. Didn't hate him, but in high school it seemed all of my girfriends would've taken a bullet for the guy and I was too buy falling in love with Jimmy Buffett to care.

They all had that stupid pin of Brucie wearing that doofy outfit and looking over his shoulder all smarmy like "I'm so seggzy, you know you want it" on their jean jacket lapels...Nope. Come to think of it, I don't think I had a jean jacket, either. Wait, yes I did. BUT, what I'm getting at here is I freaking love this song.

January 22 '08

Not a lot of time right now, plus I about chopped off my index finger yesterday so it's hard to type, but Oscar noms came out this morning and that is simply too big to be ignored.

Most of the big contenders, bleh. I'll touch more on this later, I'm glad Juno got up because I really truly think it deserved it, it's fantastic. But Michael Clayton? Zzzzzzz.

I seriously slept through it. Not my kind of flick, I guess, meaning I don't like dull movies. My favorite movie of the year I only just saw; "Once". I mentioned it my last post, and it only got up for best song, "Falling Slowly", but damn that song is a hum-dinger. Plus it sums up the entire movie anyway; listen to it.

Two sinking boats, trying to find their way. That's the movie in a nutshell. Does that mean they'll be togehter, or does it mean they'll point each other in different directions? This flick is up there with "Before Sunset" for me; a small, perfect story that packs an emotional wollop ten times bigger than most overblown romances because it's so real.

I gotta go, be back later.

January 13 '08

So I did my most “Colorado-ey” thing in my six months of living here on Saturday. But in the end, it was far more of a “Minnesota-ey” thing.
I’ve played open-hockey at four different rinks so far in my Colorado life and I have to say, so far I’m less than impressed with the skill level.
I lived in Scottsdale for two years and Bristol, Connecticut for three years and the open hockey in both places was very good. Not Minnesota good, but still very good. Denver has definitely been a step down in the level of play. There are good players to be sure, but a severe lack of depth. Maybe there’s just too much skiing here—or maybe it’s just that hockey is still relatively new to the area.

In Phoenix most of the good players were obviously transplants from Minnesota, Canada, Michigan and the East Coast. But there are about 7 rinks in the Phoenix area now and I played with several high-school to early college aged kids who were very good—which surprised the hell out of me. I don’t know how you get enough ice time with no outdoor ice to get any good. It was kind of the same thing in Connecticut. There are supposedly some places to play outside, but I never saw any. There are a ton of rinks though and a lot of good players. And I actually noticed a distinct difference in the way the game is played out East as opposed to Minnesota—they shoot way more out there. In Minnesota most guys are stick-handle as far as they can or pass off before they shoot. Out East, guys are looking to shoot the second they cross the blue line. The more I played out there I sort of realized that that’s probably an effect of never playing outside. When you play pick up hockey outdoors, obviously shooting is never part of the game. You learn to pass and stickhandle a little bit better because that’s what the outside game is. Games out East up to five tend to go by much quicker because everyone shoots a lot more.

It’s funny too, in all the places I’ve lived, all the guys I skate with will eventually ask me where I’m from and when I say, “Minnesota”—they nod and look at me with a new respect. Rink rats are the same everywhere—they love hockey more than anything. And they all know that when you say you’re from Minnesota you might as well be saying you’re from Canada. When I tell guys I play with that “where I’m from there are outdoor rinks every mile or so”, they get a glazed over look in their eye like I’m talking about heaven on earth. And I guess for hockey players I am.

So anyway, I asked some guys at open hockey (it’s called “drop-in” here in Colorado, in Connecticut it was called “stick time”, Arizona had it right- “open hockey”) if there was any outdoor ice anywhere. I thought for sure there couldn’t be (January here seems to be a lot like March in Minnesota, 25 one day, 50 the next). Anyway, I was happy to learn that if you headed your way up the mountains you could find some outdoor rinks with hockey.

So this morning I hit the road and headed up into the mountains. It only took about a half hour and I was 30 miles up in a mountain town called Evergreen. And sure enough, I found my outdoor hockey rink with a game going on. I had choppers on and all the dudes skating were wearing hockey gloves, so right away I could tell they thought I was some kind of rube. That lasted for about a rush. HA! Silly Coloradoans! “This is how we do it in Minnesota boys”. Everyone who’s played hockey for as long as I have knows there are just some days where everything you try works. (It certainly helps when you’re the only one there from Minnesota). The toe move was working, every slide move was back on my stick a moment later—every head fake was bit on. The guys weren’t awful (that’s never fun) so it was just a complete blast. I even got a Mountain Dew out of one of those old school 1972-ish pop machines. You can never ever drink a can of pop as fast as you can after an hour of outdoor hockey.

The mountain setting was pretty spectacular, but it certainly had nothing on Lake of the Isles or Arden Park as far as beauty goes. And of course the speed of the game wasn’t what you’d find at home, but it was good enough. But when your slide move is working as well as mine was today, the surroundings just don’t matter. My first rush down the ice a bigger 40ish looking guy with a Canadiens jersey on Dee’d me up and I worked him over like a cell-mate. I gave him the forehand slide move between his stick and skates to the outside and as he turned his body I slid it backhanded between his legs and beat him to the inside. Later on Larry Robinson! You lay one rush like that down on any hockey rink anywhere and suddenly everyone is looking to pass to you the second they get the puck. Picasso, Beethoven and Einstein can have their thangs, any hockey player knows that when you pull off a rush like that you feel like you’re gonna live forever.

It wasn’t Isles or Arden or Lewis, but it was fun. I’d try skiing, but I think I’ll quit while I’m ahead. I really don’t think I could sit on top of Copper Mountain and say, “Well, this is no Buck Hill.”

-editor's note: This story reminds me of the time, way back when Miguel and I were living in the south and he invited me to go on a noon-time run with him and a colleague. When I showed up at the track the colleague looked at me like "uuuuugh, a girl" and he actually asked Mike right in front of me "Can she run?"

Oh no you didn't! That chapped my hide; needless to say I made this stooge pay for the next 5 miles, which I believe we ripped through with enough time left over in the lunch hour to shower and eat a three course meal. Mostly I just told this story in desperate attempt to show Billy "See? I did something athletic once!"

-k

Jan 12, '08

Some seriously good entertainment the last couple of days;

A) Avenue Q. Ridiculously great, I mean we've all heard how good it is, right? So much so that I thought no way could it live up the hype, and it totally did.

B) Once. WOW. I've heard from several friends how fab this flick is, and again, it knocked my socks off. Such a simple story, told perfectly and set to an absolutely, heartbreakingly great soundtrack. I am in love love love love with this movie. Go rent it immediately, I mean it.

I'm on my couch now, watching nothing and trying to get up the motivation to write something resembling anything before I go to bed, but maybe I'll just go to bed.

I just dropped the boy off at his pal's house for a sleepover and on the way home, Mol and I were listening the Beatles in the car. She made this observation:

"Mom. MOM." (Molly can't ever just say 'mom' once. She has to know beyond the shadow of a doubt she has my full attention, as if anyone within 2 miles of her has a choice.)

"Yes, Mol."

"That song ("She Loves You") started at 7:45 and it's still 7:45."

"Yeah, Mol."

"It was only one minute. Lots of the Beatles songs are only one minute."

"Yeah, Mol."

"But 'Hey Jude' is really long."

"Yes."

"Maybe in 'Hey Jude', they just, you know, actually thought of some more words."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Because a lot of their songs are just the same words over and over."

"I suppose that's one way of putting it," I say.

She thinks about this for a minute and then says,

"'Hey Jude' is too long."

I then explained to her that no one likes precocious children.

Not really.

Last night she came streaking into the room where "Once" was playing, shrieking that she cut her chin. I flipped on the light and sho' 'nuff, she did have a little cut on her chin, which was covered with some sort of lotion...and it was all over her ears and neck, too, along with some rather angry looking read streaks.

She shaved. Her face.

Now, you might be thinking right now about how she cut off all her blonde curls just a few weeks ago. You may be wondering what kind of a mother leaves her razor within reach of a child who clearly has a jones for going after herself with sharp implements, then running into rooms to screech hysterically at me about it when she's supposed to be in bed. My answer to that is, "Not a very good one".

Can we focus on the real issue here, which is first she chopped off all her hair and now she's shaving? It would appear I have on my hands a 6-year-old tranny.

January 9 '08

We're all sick, with some sort of unidentifiable stomach upset. I've felt absolutely pancaked for days, but I figured it was just stress. This morning I got all the kids up for school and Meg came downstairs and promptly puked. The other two immediately said their tummies hurt too, which probably isn't true but I'm too zonked myself to care. So everyone went back to bed.

Golden Globes canceled! How do you like that. Damnit! I came the conclusion about two years ago that I like the Globes better than the Oscars for the simple reason they serve booze. Well, that and the fact that the best entertainment around these days is on pay cable, not at the movie theaters. Why, just the other day on Cinemax I saw this movie, it wasn't real long but it was sooo good...this lady, she was this really tough kind of battle-ax businesswoman, right? But she had a hard time finding true love. So she rented this cabin in the woods to think about what she was doing wrong. As luck would have it, this really friendly lumberjack/handyman guy came by to turn on the heat for her, and boy did he ever. You can't see stuff like that at the movies anymore, you'd never find such a complex storyline in, say, whatever that movie is starring that one guy right now. You know the one I'm talking about.

Last night I was in the kitchen and from upstairs I heard Molly burst into tears, and Finny yelled "MOLLY!" all frustrated, and came stomping on down to where I was.

"What did you do to her?" I asked him, and lest you think it's unfair for me to immediately assume he did something to her, the boy spends an awful lot of his life plotting ways to make her go bananas.

"MOM." He says.

"All I said to her was 'I don't CARE which one of your feet is grosser'!"

That is so Molly.

I'm sitting in my favorite chair, in my favorite window, and I should get up and go wash the barfy towels but every time I lift my head up off the back of my favorite chair it feels like an unseeable force shoves it back down. I hate being sick.

Mary jeanne keeps calling me with hilarious pregnancy questions, hilarious to me because I've been through it three times. She is reading that insideous book "What to Expect When You're Expecting". I hate that book, it does nothing but fill pregnant women's heads with worries. I mean that book was published relatively recently and women have been having babies since like, 1876. It should be called "What to Expect When I'm Expecting" because it really only applies to the author's experience.

Here's my advice, if you're pregnant:

Eat whatever sounds good and stays down, even if it technically isn't food. And eat as much as you want, whenever you want. Don't worry about your weight, it'll come off eventually and don't exercise if you don't feel like it. Sleep all you want. If anyone tells you you "need" to exercise, sit on them. If your doctor tells you you're gaining too much weight, get a different doctor. Yes, all maternity clothes are horrible. The "cute" ones from the fancy stores all seem to think we only gain weight in our bellies, they don't take into account all the back fat. Just wear your husband's shirts and save some money.

All that disgusting crap that's happening and all those aches and pains you feel are normal.

The end.

January 4 '08

Happy New Year, my lovelies. Hope yer holiday season was swell. I do believe it's getting a little stale to say "Gosh, can't believe another year has come and gone", so instead I'll tell you a little story about how soy-based lotion puts my mother into anaphylactic shock.

Not really. But smoothing said lotion into her hands did make her ears turn red and buzzy, no small cause for alarm. Y'see, folks, the women in this family suffer from a strange affliction wherein various body parts puff up for seemingly no reason and quite often land us in the hospital intubated like a Christmas ham, so it's very important we identify whatever products cause our bodies to do this and avoid them.

That sounds like an allergic reaction, you may be thinking, and to that I say "Really, Einstein?"

Why would someone intubate a Christmas ham? might also cross your mind. You know what? I'm talking about my mom's health. Could you not natter on about food for five seconds? Dinner's in like, half an hour and calling that side of beef you ate earlier "lunch" was euphemistic at best. I went along with it but quite honestly, I'm starting to lose my patience.

Thing is, we don't know what it is. No doctor has ever actually been able to identify the cause of it or really say definitively that it is an allergic reaction.

Sometimes it happens for no reason, sometimes it happens directly after applying soy-based lotion, sometimes it happens when Robin Williams comes on the television. (Jdub just emailed to ask me which celebrity most inspired me to turn the channel at top speed; Robin Williams and Whoopi Goldberg tie for me. Yes, I know, he was fine in Good Will Hunting but that's because that was a great movie and a chair could've played his part.)

It seems to only strike after the age of forty, so while it's never happened to me, my days are numbered. Margy's had her face puff up, Mary has had her tongue swell up like a polish sausage twice and on a biennial basis my poor mom's lips will suddenly look like she's been attacked by Melanie Griffith's plastic surgeon.

A) My eventual cause of death will be to choke on my own tongue.

B) This will come as a comfort to many people.

I don't really like to think about either of those things.

The last time Mary's tongue started swelling, she drove herself to the emergency room but once there, decided the wait was too long and just took herself to the pharmacy for an antihistamine. She's been through this a few times, you see, and no longer goes into the adrenaline fueled panic that marked her earlier attacks. The problem is, as any medical website addict knows, adrenaline is a key ingredient in the bodies ability to protect itself and the surge if it helped stop the swelling. Her lazes fare attitude was actually harmful to her, but try as she might she simply couldn't work up the necessary excitement to get it going so instead wandered into Walgreen's and burbled through her swollen lips "Cab I hab sob Bebadwyl pweeb?"

I can just see her, stamping around in the parking lot trying to get herself all worked up over her restricting trachea and just not caring enough. My plan, and it is for her own good, is to go over to her house the next time she starts swelling and hide all her X-Files DVDs or tell her Dennis Prager has retired.

I'm actually at her house right now, tapping away like a useless lump while she prepares an Italian feast.

Mmm, spaghetti. Speaking of movies, I loved both Sweeney Todd and Juno. Peace out.