Here is my cliff notes review of last nights Oscars:
Favorites
Cate Blanchett's obviously excited reaction for Marion Cotillard winning, even though it meant Cate hadn't.
Diablo Cody, who reacted just right. I doubt she expected to win; only in Holly-owood could a former stripper win an Oscar.... oh, wait......
Jack Nicholson. Nuf' said.
Amy Adams. Sorry, her ultra-cutesy Betty Boop hands went perfectly with the song. Every time she did the hand twist, I saw Disney's Snow White. Perfect.
Cameron Diaz stumbling over "cinematography" and her recovery "I can do this..."
The winner of the Documentary film "Taxi to the Dark Side" who kept his speech short and direct, rather than getting on a soapbox. Good thing Michael didn't win..
In spite of the whole "keep it short" impetus, I think when there are two or even three winners, time could be extended by a few seconds to allow each at least time to say "thanks mom!"
John Stewart's best line of the night was about the Vanity Faire party allowing the writers to attend; "Don't worry, they won't mingle."
And the best moment was John Stewart, or whoever made the call, bringing back Marketa Irglova so she could say thank you. It was pretty obvious that Conti cut her short.
Not-Favorites
"Norbit" being nominated for anything. I'm not black, and I felt degraded when I saw the trailers. If I was black, I would probably smack Eddie Murphy. Twice.
The brevity of the Technical Awards. Maybe they could just have a separate nights show presenting those, so those of us who also have ties and skills in technical areas could enjoy seeing who got what.
Cate not winning for "Elizabeth: The Golden Years". She owns that role. If Cate did nothing but play Elizabeth in films covering her entire 44 year reign, I would applaud it. Besides, I have a huge crush on her.
The bee segment. I agree. I would rather watch 'The Swarm" than "Bee Movie". OK, maybe not. Close though.
The pacing. I didn't think it was staid, as much as I thought every one of the presenters, and even Stewart, were going a little slower just in case they didn't get enough rehearsal .....
The "In Memoriam" feature. I hate it because it always effects me. This years worst for me was the loss of Heath Ledger. He was talented and pleasant and looked to be another of the new stars, and his loss diminishes us all.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
I still think these were funny
In fact, funny enough I would probably do them again. Consequences be damned...
My mother is a very petite 5' 1" and a whopping 105 pounds. She is also pretty high-strung. When I was in high school, the house we lived in had a very nice front entry, and a huge bay window next to the door. There was just enough space between the edge of the door, which opened away from the window, and the edge of the window itself for me to stand with my back flat against the wall, hidden behind the gathered drapes if they were opened.
Every day my mother had the same routine when she got home from work; open the door with her right hand (silly one-handed people) purse clutched in left. Take the keys out of the door and step inside, turning to push the door shut.Then it's down the hall to her room, into her closet, keys in a tray, purse on a hanger, suit jacket or sweater on its hanger, and then maybe changing into casual clothes.
So there she is, stepping inside the front door one afternoon, keys in one hand, purse in the other, oblivious to a six foot tall son standing inches away. OK, hiding behind the drapes. A tiny touch on the neck as I say "Hi mom!" loudly alomost in her ear. Wheeee! Keys flying one way, purse the other! If she was a Toon her eyes would have popped out of her head. A very satisfying shriek, and off I scamper through the living room, laughing like a mad thing, pursued by my mothers lilting dulcet theatre-trained tones.... "God damn you....bastard...". For my mother, that was intense language; if she was furious, you might actually hear "Shithead".
Of course no one could take that lying down; so I stop just around the corner of the wall that goes down to the right in the hallway that leads to all the bedrooms, the den, the bathrooms etc. It's basically a big "L" shape, with the foot of the L pointing out to the front of the house; my mothers bedroom, walk-in closet and master bathroom at the back corner of the L, then a bathroom, my brothers bedroom, my bedroom down the outer edge, the den and my grandmothers room on the inner edge, and the two car garage which was a playroom, and my workshop area, at the top. Ok, anyway, there I am lurking around the corner. Just before she comes around I lean out and say "Hi Mom!" again. Yipeee! A Double! Keys and purse are airborne again! "Bastard!"
Off I scurry again, mad delight lighting my eyes. She has had to turn around and pick up her stuff. She can't see where I am going. Now I can hear my grandmother calling her name, to see what the hell is going on, and my brother saying "Mom?" As she approaches again I can hear her muttering darkly. About what you would hear if Yosemite Sam's mom was pissed. Not sure she is speaking any human tongue, but I am probably lucky I have not been reduced to a grease spot. My grin is manic by now; I can hardly wait. Sure enough, the closet door swings open on to darkness, she reaches in to turn on the light, and I reach around the door to grab her wrist. "Hi mom!"
She could not have bounced about more if I had touched her with a live power line; her hair is all but standing on end. I am capering about inside the closet in a frenzy of personal enjoyment. Of course, my now highly pissed off mother.... is in the doorway. The exit. The escape path. Whoops. Short of just running her down, I am not going to escape unscathed. I don't. Pelted by her itty fists and her invective, which is mostly a string of "God damn hairy bastard rotten son of a bitch shithead monster grrr echhghge akfiefo ewwiofe" and as I laugh hysterically down the hallway a shoe ricochets off the wall. Into my room with the speed of glee, and lock the door! I think idly about moving the furniture in front of it as well, as I hold my aching sides. I think she is describing each and every way in which she plans to murder me, from the other side of the thin barrier. Hard to tell, as I am still laughing so hard tears are running down my cheeks. It's my first Trifecta!
This was followed, a safe interval later ( a month?) by my clearing every single item out from under the counter in the double-wide cupboard area next to the sink. Every Saturday, again a very predictable routine. Out she comes to the kitchen in her robe and jammies. Coffee cup down from the hangers, on the counter to the side of the sink. Water in the kettle on the stove, and fire it up. Instant coffee set down by the still empty cup. A bowl for cereal, a box of cereal, and finally the milk out of the refrigerator. Coffee crystals in the cup, jar back on the shelf. Cereal (almost always Grape Nuts) in the bowl, and back to your shelf you cereal box. Then the milk added, jug back in the refrigerator, the water is almost boiling, TADA!
There I am curled like an alien inside the cupboard, one door barely ajar. I can hear every step of the process, and her little ankles are inches away. There it is, the moment! I brush the door wider and grab both ankles. Her entire body vibrates as she jitters in place, trying to run while both her feet are pinned to the floor. The cereal box has gone flying, spreading a rain of Grape Nuts about the kitchen ( you can't vacuum milk, I have SOME sense....) the bowl is rattling about on the counter, singing it's hard plastic song, and I am howling with laughter again. Of course I also have no escape path again, but I knew that going in. I sort of failed to see however that with the knobs on the outside, there was no way I could hold the cupboard doors shut. Especially since once I start laughing, a three year old can beat me at arm wrestling. I have no strength at all when I start laughing.
So the cupboard doors are both wide open, I'm being kicked by angry little mom feet, a string of complete gibberish is pouring out, and I could not be having more fun.
Until Laura, that is. Also petite, she was about 5' 3" , with some surprising muscle hidden in the curves. And a temper, when roused, that would cow a par-boiled badger. My apartment in Redwood City had a walk in closet near the front door. The breaker panel was inside there, against the back wall. For several months, completely at random, the breaker that controlled all the main lighting would trip. Maybe once every two weeks, then three times in one night, then not again for a month... I replaced the breaker itself once, and still had the problem. Twice when we got home, Laura found the lights dead. The second time she went on a snarly little rant about my crappy apartment, my failure to fix the thing ( I had) how I should call a professional then.... Yes, dear, of course dear, whatever you say dear... (grin).
The next night, off it goes again. It's December, overcast and very dark outside. Laura is due any minute. So there I am, lurking. Sure enough, she opens the door, flips the switch, and nothing happens. And of course the muttered "stupid boyfriend crappy lighting damn landlords blah blah blah..." when she opens the door and reaches for the switch, I grab her wrist lightly and say "Booo!" Did I mention she was muscular? Out of the closet I come, towed on the end of an itty bitty arm attached to a vibrating in surprise little body. I fell on the floor laughing while she stood over me fuming, swearing, steam all but coming out of her ears. Wheee! Not as funny as my mom, but pretty good all the same....
Of course I have also paid a fairly serious price for a few stunts. Pinning one girlfriend to the bed and tickling her by dragging my hair back and forth over her got me a black eye, when her head came up while mine was swinging back... my friends at work refused to believe Lyn had done that, and that I must have been in a fight and won.
Then there was Margaret. Did I say Laura had a temper? Nothing beats black Irish. Scott Breedlove and his wife Blossom were down for the weekend, and we were engaged in our regular game of "Boys vs Girls for domination of the world" Uno match. We played to a thousand points, and used a modified deck, with all the action cards, the zeros ,ones and twos added from a second deck. A certain amount of drinking and ... ahem..... smoking accompanied the game. Well, truth to be told it usually started before dinner, and continued all night. Whatever.
On the fateful hand, I was dealt seven Draw Four cards out of a possible eight. Scott B got the other Draw Four, and I think three Draw Twos, a Reverse and a pair of Skips. Margaret never got to play a single card. Blossom played two. I hit Blossom once with a Draw Four, Scott got her once, and Margaret got hit with everything else. On Blossom's deal. I was actually feeling a bit bad, but the truth is that the girls never once pushed us over a thousand points, or even over 600. They rarely won more than one or two hands the entire night. This was just so overwhelming it was absurd. Added to that was the growing look of utter shock on everyones face, as I continued to roll out nothing but the Draw Fours. Even Scott was stunned.
I tried to say "Sorry" to Margaret when Scott went out, but instead of counting her points, or even responding to Blossoms offer to count them for her, she threw her cards down on the floor. I was thinking to get her laughing, but chose the wrong tactic (there was no right one.... but I chose poorly). "Margaret, are you mad at me?" with a dopey little grin, as if to say hey, how could you be mad, it's only a game.... and she swatted at my head. I pulled back out of range, and I made another bad choice. I decided to bait her a bit. So I kept leaning a little closer, pullling back a little later, as I asked three times "Are you trying to slap me? You wouldn't slap me, would you?" Each time the hand came a bit closer. I suddenly realized she wasn't playing, she was seriously pissed, and I made my third bad choice. I would let her actually slap me, and then she would cool down.
Wrong plan. This time the wind-up nearly turned her 180 degrees. The hand came at the end of a fully extended arm, and Margaret was 5' 7" and 140 pounds. Not a tiny girl. I was leaning way in, and there was no way to get away fast enough. I caught the whole hand across the side of my face.
The sound was like a pistol shot; my head snapped all the way over my right shoulder, so far that I could see Blossoms face, with eyes the size of saucers. My contact lenses came loose. I snapped my head back, looking at Margaret with a combination of anger at her for nailing me, and at myself for provoking it, and shock. There was a good full second of stillness, and then she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, her head buried against my body, and a constant stream of "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that you were teasing me and I was mad and I shouldn't be a poor sport and please don't throw me off the balcony or draw and quarter me....".
It took a few seconds for the ringing in my head to stop, and about that time my shocked nervous system cautiously sent the first message along. "Ow. Shit. Owwww! Christ, how hard did you slap me? Owww!" After prying her loose, and assurring her that I probably wouldn't kill her, I walked in to the bathroom and turned on the light. If I ever needed Margarets fingerprints, I could have taken them then. Her hand was perfectly outlined in red on my face. Ow.
Scott and Blossom were still frozen in place, like deer caught inside your... refrigerator. I started laughing, which I'm sure they all thought meant I was totally insane, then apologized to Margaret and tried to explain I had actually thought it would get her laughing when I teased her, and how amazed I had been at the hand..... we finally picked up all her cards, and I think she had about 500 points all by herself. I had dumped at least 20 cards on her, and I think Scott nailed her for 4 more. We had to wait to start the next hand while I held an ice pack on my face, which felt sunburned for about 10 minutes at least.
My mother is a very petite 5' 1" and a whopping 105 pounds. She is also pretty high-strung. When I was in high school, the house we lived in had a very nice front entry, and a huge bay window next to the door. There was just enough space between the edge of the door, which opened away from the window, and the edge of the window itself for me to stand with my back flat against the wall, hidden behind the gathered drapes if they were opened.
Every day my mother had the same routine when she got home from work; open the door with her right hand (silly one-handed people) purse clutched in left. Take the keys out of the door and step inside, turning to push the door shut.Then it's down the hall to her room, into her closet, keys in a tray, purse on a hanger, suit jacket or sweater on its hanger, and then maybe changing into casual clothes.
So there she is, stepping inside the front door one afternoon, keys in one hand, purse in the other, oblivious to a six foot tall son standing inches away. OK, hiding behind the drapes. A tiny touch on the neck as I say "Hi mom!" loudly alomost in her ear. Wheeee! Keys flying one way, purse the other! If she was a Toon her eyes would have popped out of her head. A very satisfying shriek, and off I scamper through the living room, laughing like a mad thing, pursued by my mothers lilting dulcet theatre-trained tones.... "God damn you....bastard...". For my mother, that was intense language; if she was furious, you might actually hear "Shithead".
Of course no one could take that lying down; so I stop just around the corner of the wall that goes down to the right in the hallway that leads to all the bedrooms, the den, the bathrooms etc. It's basically a big "L" shape, with the foot of the L pointing out to the front of the house; my mothers bedroom, walk-in closet and master bathroom at the back corner of the L, then a bathroom, my brothers bedroom, my bedroom down the outer edge, the den and my grandmothers room on the inner edge, and the two car garage which was a playroom, and my workshop area, at the top. Ok, anyway, there I am lurking around the corner. Just before she comes around I lean out and say "Hi Mom!" again. Yipeee! A Double! Keys and purse are airborne again! "Bastard!"
Off I scurry again, mad delight lighting my eyes. She has had to turn around and pick up her stuff. She can't see where I am going. Now I can hear my grandmother calling her name, to see what the hell is going on, and my brother saying "Mom?" As she approaches again I can hear her muttering darkly. About what you would hear if Yosemite Sam's mom was pissed. Not sure she is speaking any human tongue, but I am probably lucky I have not been reduced to a grease spot. My grin is manic by now; I can hardly wait. Sure enough, the closet door swings open on to darkness, she reaches in to turn on the light, and I reach around the door to grab her wrist. "Hi mom!"
She could not have bounced about more if I had touched her with a live power line; her hair is all but standing on end. I am capering about inside the closet in a frenzy of personal enjoyment. Of course, my now highly pissed off mother.... is in the doorway. The exit. The escape path. Whoops. Short of just running her down, I am not going to escape unscathed. I don't. Pelted by her itty fists and her invective, which is mostly a string of "God damn hairy bastard rotten son of a bitch shithead monster grrr echhghge akfiefo ewwiofe" and as I laugh hysterically down the hallway a shoe ricochets off the wall. Into my room with the speed of glee, and lock the door! I think idly about moving the furniture in front of it as well, as I hold my aching sides. I think she is describing each and every way in which she plans to murder me, from the other side of the thin barrier. Hard to tell, as I am still laughing so hard tears are running down my cheeks. It's my first Trifecta!
This was followed, a safe interval later ( a month?) by my clearing every single item out from under the counter in the double-wide cupboard area next to the sink. Every Saturday, again a very predictable routine. Out she comes to the kitchen in her robe and jammies. Coffee cup down from the hangers, on the counter to the side of the sink. Water in the kettle on the stove, and fire it up. Instant coffee set down by the still empty cup. A bowl for cereal, a box of cereal, and finally the milk out of the refrigerator. Coffee crystals in the cup, jar back on the shelf. Cereal (almost always Grape Nuts) in the bowl, and back to your shelf you cereal box. Then the milk added, jug back in the refrigerator, the water is almost boiling, TADA!
There I am curled like an alien inside the cupboard, one door barely ajar. I can hear every step of the process, and her little ankles are inches away. There it is, the moment! I brush the door wider and grab both ankles. Her entire body vibrates as she jitters in place, trying to run while both her feet are pinned to the floor. The cereal box has gone flying, spreading a rain of Grape Nuts about the kitchen ( you can't vacuum milk, I have SOME sense....) the bowl is rattling about on the counter, singing it's hard plastic song, and I am howling with laughter again. Of course I also have no escape path again, but I knew that going in. I sort of failed to see however that with the knobs on the outside, there was no way I could hold the cupboard doors shut. Especially since once I start laughing, a three year old can beat me at arm wrestling. I have no strength at all when I start laughing.
So the cupboard doors are both wide open, I'm being kicked by angry little mom feet, a string of complete gibberish is pouring out, and I could not be having more fun.
Until Laura, that is. Also petite, she was about 5' 3" , with some surprising muscle hidden in the curves. And a temper, when roused, that would cow a par-boiled badger. My apartment in Redwood City had a walk in closet near the front door. The breaker panel was inside there, against the back wall. For several months, completely at random, the breaker that controlled all the main lighting would trip. Maybe once every two weeks, then three times in one night, then not again for a month... I replaced the breaker itself once, and still had the problem. Twice when we got home, Laura found the lights dead. The second time she went on a snarly little rant about my crappy apartment, my failure to fix the thing ( I had) how I should call a professional then.... Yes, dear, of course dear, whatever you say dear... (grin).
The next night, off it goes again. It's December, overcast and very dark outside. Laura is due any minute. So there I am, lurking. Sure enough, she opens the door, flips the switch, and nothing happens. And of course the muttered "stupid boyfriend crappy lighting damn landlords blah blah blah..." when she opens the door and reaches for the switch, I grab her wrist lightly and say "Booo!" Did I mention she was muscular? Out of the closet I come, towed on the end of an itty bitty arm attached to a vibrating in surprise little body. I fell on the floor laughing while she stood over me fuming, swearing, steam all but coming out of her ears. Wheee! Not as funny as my mom, but pretty good all the same....
Of course I have also paid a fairly serious price for a few stunts. Pinning one girlfriend to the bed and tickling her by dragging my hair back and forth over her got me a black eye, when her head came up while mine was swinging back... my friends at work refused to believe Lyn had done that, and that I must have been in a fight and won.
Then there was Margaret. Did I say Laura had a temper? Nothing beats black Irish. Scott Breedlove and his wife Blossom were down for the weekend, and we were engaged in our regular game of "Boys vs Girls for domination of the world" Uno match. We played to a thousand points, and used a modified deck, with all the action cards, the zeros ,ones and twos added from a second deck. A certain amount of drinking and ... ahem..... smoking accompanied the game. Well, truth to be told it usually started before dinner, and continued all night. Whatever.
On the fateful hand, I was dealt seven Draw Four cards out of a possible eight. Scott B got the other Draw Four, and I think three Draw Twos, a Reverse and a pair of Skips. Margaret never got to play a single card. Blossom played two. I hit Blossom once with a Draw Four, Scott got her once, and Margaret got hit with everything else. On Blossom's deal. I was actually feeling a bit bad, but the truth is that the girls never once pushed us over a thousand points, or even over 600. They rarely won more than one or two hands the entire night. This was just so overwhelming it was absurd. Added to that was the growing look of utter shock on everyones face, as I continued to roll out nothing but the Draw Fours. Even Scott was stunned.
I tried to say "Sorry" to Margaret when Scott went out, but instead of counting her points, or even responding to Blossoms offer to count them for her, she threw her cards down on the floor. I was thinking to get her laughing, but chose the wrong tactic (there was no right one.... but I chose poorly). "Margaret, are you mad at me?" with a dopey little grin, as if to say hey, how could you be mad, it's only a game.... and she swatted at my head. I pulled back out of range, and I made another bad choice. I decided to bait her a bit. So I kept leaning a little closer, pullling back a little later, as I asked three times "Are you trying to slap me? You wouldn't slap me, would you?" Each time the hand came a bit closer. I suddenly realized she wasn't playing, she was seriously pissed, and I made my third bad choice. I would let her actually slap me, and then she would cool down.
Wrong plan. This time the wind-up nearly turned her 180 degrees. The hand came at the end of a fully extended arm, and Margaret was 5' 7" and 140 pounds. Not a tiny girl. I was leaning way in, and there was no way to get away fast enough. I caught the whole hand across the side of my face.
The sound was like a pistol shot; my head snapped all the way over my right shoulder, so far that I could see Blossoms face, with eyes the size of saucers. My contact lenses came loose. I snapped my head back, looking at Margaret with a combination of anger at her for nailing me, and at myself for provoking it, and shock. There was a good full second of stillness, and then she threw herself forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, her head buried against my body, and a constant stream of "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that you were teasing me and I was mad and I shouldn't be a poor sport and please don't throw me off the balcony or draw and quarter me....".
It took a few seconds for the ringing in my head to stop, and about that time my shocked nervous system cautiously sent the first message along. "Ow. Shit. Owwww! Christ, how hard did you slap me? Owww!" After prying her loose, and assurring her that I probably wouldn't kill her, I walked in to the bathroom and turned on the light. If I ever needed Margarets fingerprints, I could have taken them then. Her hand was perfectly outlined in red on my face. Ow.
Scott and Blossom were still frozen in place, like deer caught inside your... refrigerator. I started laughing, which I'm sure they all thought meant I was totally insane, then apologized to Margaret and tried to explain I had actually thought it would get her laughing when I teased her, and how amazed I had been at the hand..... we finally picked up all her cards, and I think she had about 500 points all by herself. I had dumped at least 20 cards on her, and I think Scott nailed her for 4 more. We had to wait to start the next hand while I held an ice pack on my face, which felt sunburned for about 10 minutes at least.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Nope, not going there
I thought today I would write some funny anecdotes about ex-girlfriends.
Fortunately, I saw some emails from ex girlfriends. I then realized ( I is slow ) that I am still in touch with several, going back as far as High School. While I am still friends with all of them, the rational part of my mind (yes, all of you; I do have a rational part. It's tiny, and hides a lot in fear of the rest of my minds contents) said
"Uh, boss?"
"Yes?"
"Is that a good idea?"
"I don't see why not. They all still like me."
"True. But you see, what you think is funny does not always match too well with what other people think is funny. The Bucky Bee thing? Funny. The jump out of the closet in the dark and grab her? Not funny."
"Oh. Right"
"Plus, they would compare notes."
"Oh shit......Nyarlathotep! Run!"
Sooooo..... I think I'll just amble away from that one, mental hands in pockets, whistiling idly while trying to glance surreptitiously over my electronic shoulder, to see if there is anything inbound with my name on it, like a bowling ball.
"So, you thought my sitting on your brush was funny, did you? Steeeerike!"
Of course I could always trash the two who don't talk to me any more, but where is the fun in that? I mean if they won't ever see it, it's just me being a jerk. Plus, women always stick together, so I would get roasted that way too. (gr) Sigh. I'm afraid that the idea confirms my worst nightmare; my tombstone is almost guaranteed to say;
It seemed like a good idea at the time...
Fortunately, I saw some emails from ex girlfriends. I then realized ( I is slow ) that I am still in touch with several, going back as far as High School. While I am still friends with all of them, the rational part of my mind (yes, all of you; I do have a rational part. It's tiny, and hides a lot in fear of the rest of my minds contents) said
"Uh, boss?"
"Yes?"
"Is that a good idea?"
"I don't see why not. They all still like me."
"True. But you see, what you think is funny does not always match too well with what other people think is funny. The Bucky Bee thing? Funny. The jump out of the closet in the dark and grab her? Not funny."
"Oh. Right"
"Plus, they would compare notes."
"Oh shit......Nyarlathotep! Run!"
Sooooo..... I think I'll just amble away from that one, mental hands in pockets, whistiling idly while trying to glance surreptitiously over my electronic shoulder, to see if there is anything inbound with my name on it, like a bowling ball.
"So, you thought my sitting on your brush was funny, did you? Steeeerike!"
Of course I could always trash the two who don't talk to me any more, but where is the fun in that? I mean if they won't ever see it, it's just me being a jerk. Plus, women always stick together, so I would get roasted that way too. (gr) Sigh. I'm afraid that the idea confirms my worst nightmare; my tombstone is almost guaranteed to say;
It seemed like a good idea at the time...
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