I am in love with Glee. We look forward to Wednesday nights with the – well – glee once reserved for Thursday and The Office. The presence of Jane Lynch drew me in, but I stuck around for the demented fun. It was only a matter of time before Kristin Chenoweth crashed the party. I will never understand how such a big voice comes from such a teeny woman.
My mom used to buy me Broadway soundtracks (on cassette tape. I’m that old.) and subscriptions to The New Yorker in an effort to inject some culture into my life, or possibly turn me into a gay man. Who knows? But those big Broadway numbers with perfect crazy harmony still make me all kinds of goofy happy. So Kristin Chenoweth and Lea Michele absolutely tearing up Maybe This Time from Cabaret (incidentally, has there ever been a weirder, darker musical)? OMG, the best thing on network TV ever. My very very hetero husband, who has suspiciously made it a point to linger in the living room for the past two or three weeks during Glee, and my eleven year old son both sat there glued to the screen. Frickin’ Cabaret of all things! I don’t know, maybe all of us recognize that talk. That talk we give ourselves over and over again. Trying so hard to convince ourselves that this time is the time that it will all be different. Not believing a word of it, but still hoping against hope that this time, it’s all gonna change. That it’s our turn now. That’s kind’ve universal, isn’t it? That need to believe that things will get better.
So for three short minutes, we sat in the living room, completely silent (no small feat in our house), listening to a broken doll of a girl singing her heart out for her last chance at happiness. It was perfect. “Wow,” Ethan whispered when the song ended. I don’t know whether he was in awe of Michele’s and Chenoweth’s vocal abilities or oddly moved by the hopeless optimism of the song, but yeah kid, wow.
This morning I found myself with the oddest whim to watch Miller’s Crossing. There I was, eating Lucky Charms, when the thought hit me: You know what I really need right now? Obviously, a twenty year old gangster/noir/morality fable.
Miller’s Crossing is far and away my favorite of the Coen Brothers’ offerings. I was around twelve when it came out, and for whatever reason it captured me, becoming another in a long line of vaguely inappropriate films that I begged my parents to see. (I had surprisingly indulgent parents when it came to movies. Within that year alone, they took me to see Godfather III, Miller’s Crossing, and Cape Fear. Coppola, Coen, Scorsese…thanks mom & dad. You guys truly were the best.)
The basic premise revolves around a Prohibition-era gang war, a Dashiell Hammett tapestry of double-crosses, love affairs, deception, lies, and blood. It is stunning: visually arresting with crisp dialogue and an engaging anti-hero hero in Gabriel Byrne’s Tom Regan. In keeping with personal tradition, I like my heroes flawed with hearts surrounded by steel bands-men who lie, steal, cheat, and kill but have oddly ethical notions of loyalty and honor. Men with the potential to be so very good who nevertheless make tragic choices. They’re my kryptonite.
And my God (I mean that with all due reverence), that scene. That march through the woods with John Turturro begging for his pathetic life. It remains one of my favorite cinematic moments ever-right up there with To Kill A Mockingbird’s courtroom scene and Butch & Sundance’s last stand. It still gives me chills every time I see it. Dead perfect.
In lieu of a real post this gorgeous Friday morning, I bring you some of my favorite Dylan. Tell Me Momma is not terribly profound, but damn if it’s not a tight little song. And I’ll even forgive him the use of the squishy phrase “making baby love”. Nobody else writes or performs a kiss-off song with the appropriate snarl and bravado. Doesn’t matter what kind of sour mood has befallen me on any given day, this song will have me bouncing with glee. And the amazing little riff that starts at the 3:15 mark is probably my absolute favorite 15 seconds of rock music. I will bust into an delirious ear-to-ear grin every time just from the sheer f*** you joy of it all. Oh yeah, lest I forget, the band in this particular recording which is from the BRILLIANT Royal Albert Hall Concert (Seriously follow the link. This concert is epic, and everybody needs to know it.) is no other than The Band. A thousand thanks to my brother for bringing Dylan into my life when my schoolmates were listening to Paula Abdul.
I believe the proper scientific name for people such as Kristina and myself is “Book Slut”. roughly translated, we’ll do any amount of cheap and dirty deeds to get our hands on a good book. Not really, but it does mean that we can never get enough – books, that is. Get your mind out of the gutter. Geez, perv much? Both of us carry bulging totes crammed with at least 3 to 5 books whenever we travel more than an hour from home. My current deepest desire is a Kindle so that I will no longer have to lug around 20 odd pounds of books anytime I go somewhere-but only if I can also have the new book smell in a can.
I adore mysteries, likely due to the fact that I absolutely revered Nancy Drew when growing up. I always have one on hand for when I need a break from heavier reading. And I have my personal favorites which, lucky you, I’m willing to share. So here is my go-to list for cheap thrills, perfect for summer:
The Jack Reacher Series by Lee Childs
Oh my God, do I love these books. They are my crack cocaine. My dad & I await each new installment with the giddy anticipation usually reserved for Christmas. I have happily approached strangers in public when I spot a Lee Childs tucked under their arm or peeking out of their bag. Jack Reacher is an ex-Army MP who drifts from one town to another and has a talent for landing in the wrong place at the wrong time. He efficiently doles out justice to the numerous bad guys who are unfortunate enough to piss him off. Jack Reacher is bad-ass, someone you definitely want in your corner. The series is thirteen strong: fast-paced, tightly scripted, and entertaining as hell. The first entry is Killing Floor.
The Maisie Dobbs Series by Jacqueline Winspear
First of all, I just love the design of these books. They’re gorgeous, and yes, I judge books by their covers. Maisie is a young girl in service whose employers notice her intellect and arrange her education. Her studies at Cambridge are interrupted by World War I and after serving as a nurse on the front in France, Maisie returns to England and uses her gifts as a private investigator. Many of her cases deal with the aftermath of the war. Maisie herself suffered great loss which has left her shell-shocked and leary of human connection. The six books are rich in post-WWI era detail and Maisie is an unusually strong and confident heroine. Start with Maisie Dobbs.
Gaslight Mysteries by Victoria Thompson
The eleven mysteries in this series follow Sarah Brandt, an upper-class woman who works as a midwife among New York’s immigrant population much to her family’s chagrin. Her work brings her into contact with Detective Frank Malloy who is initially disdainful of her assistance but comes to rely on her discernment and powerful society connections. The novels border on sentimental at times, but Thompson’s knowledge of late 19th century New York City makes this a worthwhile historical series. Each novel is named for a landmark or neighborhood, and well, I am a complete sucker for turn-of-the-century New York. Begin with Murder On Astor Place.
Shutter Island by Dennis Lehane
This book. Oh wow, now this one here. This one will fry your brain. It is one of the few books that upon reading the last sentence, I muttered WTF and immediately turned back to page one. A total mind trip. Dennis Lehane is the current golden boy of the contemporary crime novel, what with Mystic River and Gone, Baby, Gone both adapted into award-winning movies. Shutter Island, helmed by no less than Martin Scorsese, is in the works for this fall. U.S. Marshal Teddy and his new partner Chuck arrive on Shutter Island to investigate the escape of a dangerous female patient from the island’s hospital for the criminally insane. A strong storm leaves them stranded and no one or nothing is what it seems, not even Teddy himself. It is twisty and dark and unbelievably heart-wrenching. Great stuff, this. And I’ll leave you with the trailer for Shutter Island. If it’s just half as good as the book, it will be worth watching. (If nothing else, the cast is absolutely pitch-perfect).
What about you? Any recommendations for the perfect summer mystery?
Luc and I are notorious for saying “we should_____” in the middle of our conversations. Usually it’s done in that tone of voice that lets you know two things: 1. we think we are the funniest people in the world and 2. that we are the only people to have the idea that we just came up with.
We are so bad about it that I would willingly bet you a cup of Starbucks that we say it at least once in any given conversation we are having; be it email, Twitter, text, actually on the phone with one another, in person or through the comments sections of our posts.
Various things that we have said we should do include the following:
… Twitter only using song titles
… bring about world peace
… frost Pat’s hair (per the conversation he had with Sharon)
… start a blog
… compete to see who can find the ugliest Christmas sweater
… use all of David’s made up words in Staff Meeting
… go to New York in a year or two
This is merely a sampling of our combined brain activity. The list is honestly endless. I don’t know if we are codependent or can’t think of better transitions to use in conversation (something like ‘boy, sure is pretty weather we’re having today’ would suffice).
Sadly (and sometimes intelligently) we don’t always follow through with our wonderful ideas. However, we’ve decided to hold ourselves accountable and have opened a 43Things account.
In an effort to show we are deeper than our own individual levels of narcissism, our second item is actually devoted to doing something constructive for someone other than ourselves.
Feel free to subscribe to us and cheer us on! Let us know if you have a 43Things account and we will gladly do the same.
One incredibly productive use of my abundant free time has been spent watching a few episodes of 30 Rock each day on Netflix streaming and then harassing Tina (co-author of this blog KrisTINA not Tina Fey) while she tries to work by emailing her constantly with my favorites lines. Since I am too lazy to think of an actual post these days and since my entire personality is basically a collection of pop culture quirks I’ve co-opted over the years anyway, I might as well play to my strengths. Here are some of the funniest lines from 30 Rock…a completely subjective list of course.
Tracy Jordan: What is this, Horseville? ‘Cause I’m surrounded by naysayers. Wordplay! (Kristina’s personal fave)
Cerie: Did he just talk to me like I’m ugly?
Jack to Liz: What did your mother mean when she said you were a beautiful genius? Was she taunting you?
Kenneth: I’m a real good sex person. I do it all the different ways.
Dot com: What is the world’s only egg-laying mammal?
Tracy: The Easter Bunny!
Jenna: You know, I’ve always reminded myself of Grace Kelly.
Liz: Why are you wearing a tux?
Jack: It’s after six. What am I, a farmer?
Jack: I get my hair cut every two days. After all, your hair is your headsuit.
Republican Congressman: I can’t support that. Dam is a swear word. I’d support it if instead of a dam we called it a God finger.
Jack: Are these people your family? Why are they all smiling? Who’s being ostracized?
Kenneth: Science was my most favorite subject, especially the Old Testament.
Why so forlorn, Betty?
This is how I feel after finding out that season 3 of Mad Men doesn’t start until August. August? Fortunately, season 2 DVDs (very nattily packaged in a crisp shirt and tie, no less) comes out on July 14.
If you are not watching it, get on board. It is the best damn show on TV, period. Beautiful and meticulous with wonderfully concise writing. Nothing is wasted here. There are no throwaway lines or scenes. Everything, and I do mean everything, counts. Repeat viewings are mandatory in order to catch all the gorgeousness. Meander on over to amctv.com to check out cool behind the scenes stuff.
And simply because he can wear the hell out of a suit, here’s Don Draper himself.
I really don't recall Don Draper ever smiling.
All photos courtesy of Carin Baer & AMC.
I promise I will stop posting about movies I want to see. But The Boat That Rocked? I swear it’s like some guardian angel reached into my brain & made a sweet little film full of my favorite things.
Governments loathe people being free.
Young men and young women will always dream dreams and put those dreams into song.
Cannot wait!
I have family that live in Louisville KY and every year my internal homing device starts sending out signals that it’s time for a visit. We used to go every year at Thanksgiving, and while the alarm is sounding quite loudly come November, it also sends out slightly weaker signals around May.
My grandfather was not saved for a majority of his life, and every year had a knack for picking the Kentucky Derby winner. In watching them parade around the track, he’d name the top runners for the first, second and third spots. Every freakin year he was dead on. As a kid I used to beg mom to take us to the track so we could make some money. At that point in my pentecostal life I hadn’t figured out why betting was wrong.
I’m not a fan of horses. I rode one at Reboot and it was slightly less than enjoyable. I know nothing about horses or racing, but none the less one of my dreams in life has been to attend the Preakness, Kentucky Derby and Belmont Stakes, in hopes of seeing a horse win the Triple Crown. (Other secret desires that are related: to have a mint julep, wear a big hat and sing My Old Kentucky Home while being in Kentucky).
My grandfather has since passed on, and with the Derby being held every Mother’s Day weekend (and it being her father who excelled at gambling) I tend to get a little nostalgic around this time of year.
Enough of the sensitive stuff. I am a Mental Floss junkie. This morning they had an article relating to the Derby, and more specifically for naming horses. No one trusts my naming abilities (since I want to name a boy Fletch) and I’ve always been intrigued with the names that fly around the track and make millions.
While reading about the restrictions in naming the horses (only 18 characters, including spaces and punctuation!) I read the following, and have laughed and laughed. Then laughed some more:
And so, I raise my Mint Julep (ahem…McD’s tea, I’m at work) to Mental Floss for the laugh, Kentucky for the beauty and the sport, Mother’s Day for the nostalgia, and my grandfather – who I wish I’d known better as a youngster…because it’s now that I’m beginning to see how cool he was.
