life according to me

Category: San Diego

Indiana Jones & Film Critics

My menfolk know I’m a sucker for Indiana Jones. I always have been. Sure, Harrison Ford has something to do with it, but I’ve always been easily swayed by anything related to Raiders of the Lost Ark and all that followed. I get a sappy grin on my face and know that no matter how many times I’ve seen any of the movies, if the opportunity arises, I’ll plunk down and watch. I love the corny humor, and the “no way could that actually happen” adventures Indy and his side kicks become involved in.

If you’re shaking your head on this one, here’s my thinking — and it is relatively similar with respect to books and music and food, of course: if I like it, then it’s good, but I won’t argue. What’s the point? Isn’t beauty in the eye of the beholder?

I can sit and watch No Country for Old Men and enjoy it as much as I enjoy something like The Holiday or Amazing Grace, or Four Weddings and a Funeral, or Citizen Kane. In other words, I’m all over the place when it comes to anything I say I enjoy. But as much as I can say I have a wide range of movies I enjoy, only some rate watching over and over. The Lord of the Rings trilogy fits into this category, and so do the Indiana Jones films. No, they have nothing in common other than I enjoy them.

So when I read Union-Tribune Arts Critic at Large, Lee Grant’s review of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull last week, you’d think it wouldn’t bother me, being the magnanimous person I am with respect to others’ opinions being sacred. Right?

Wrong.

Movie critics drive me crazy. They remind me of disgruntled wannabes, whether they never made it as an actor, or screenwriter, or had fantasies about being the next great director. Hell, half of them can’t even write, yet they are paid to write about movies they frequently don’t enjoy just to crap on everyone else’s entertainment parade.

“The film is a disappointment, as dull as a bunch of 60-year-old guys sitting around and, for fat paychecks, coming up with something to recapture their youth and the blockbuster movies made a generation ago,” Grant grumbles, most likely annoyed that the fat paycheck he mentions won’t be going into his own pocket. And if George Lucas and Steven Spielberg want to make a movie they know people like me (and my boys who grew up on those blockbuster movies Grant mentions) will enjoy, why not? I’ll probably purchase the DVD when it comes out, too. Why? Because it’s guaranteed to make me smile which comes in pretty handy some days.

Returning to my rant…

Grant takes the time to mention in his review that “the film is set in the late-1950s and we know that because the initial soundtrack music is Elvis Presley’s ‘Hound Dog.’” Oh really? Clearly a significant piece of information. I’m thinking it was smart to set the film in a later decade considering all the actors had aged quite a bit and nothing is more annoying that trying to make us all think they haven’t.

But I’m ahead of myself here. Friday, six of us (including a nephew, my mother, and one older) son piled into two cars, headed to a favorite sports bar to eat, graffiti up the paper that’s spread on the tables for just that purpose, and then went to see the latest of Indy Jones. Outside of having to stifle snickers about the young woman sitting behind me having to rely on her date to explain what was going on and who the characters were, the movie was everything we thought it would be: a fun trip down memory lane with a few new things thrown in for good measure. We had some time to talk about the movie afterwards at Cold Stone while slurping on ice cream in the very winter-like weather we’ve had in Paradise this holiday weekend, but only comments about the parts we liked. My middle son knows everything there is to know about the older Star Wars movies and all things Indiana Jones, so he was in rare form talking to the two younger boys non-stop.

Hell, he’s the one who should have written the film review, not Grant, whose ideas must have taken an entire three minutes to put to paper. Does one lose one’s credibility as a critic if one doesn’t slam a beloved character? Why not just avoid writing about it at all?

I don’t need a film critic to tell me that Indy’s “iconic bullwhip [is] now used with a little more difficulty,” but that “he’s not a guy you’d trade in for a fresher model.” Well, not yet, anyway. Hmmm…maybe that’s the bigger issue. Mayhaps Harrison Ford is a reminder to some that they, too, are aging.

Like this is new information? I get it, okay?

Grant drones on with his attempt to mimmick a turd found in the punchbowl before the party starts by judging that Cate Blanchett is “struggling” in the role of Agent Spalko, and that “those big, bad Russians seem dated.” The film did get a rise out of members of Russia’s Communist party, however, evidently offended that their youth may be negatively affected by how Russians are depicted, accusing the West of tricking them. Now that’s completely hilarious.

Am I missing something, or did Grant actually go to this movie thinking that any of it was supposed to be believable. Really? Scary to think he might me in sync with the offended Russians on this. Isn’t the point of movies like Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull part kitschiness? The characters are generally exaggerated, and reminiscent of those found in films from an earlier era. I don’t want Indiana Jones to be realistic, or believable, or anything other than what it’s been.

But what do I know? I’m not a film critic. I’m only someone who’s spent a lifetime loving movies in all shapes and sizes.

Well, and Indiana Jones.

Okay. So, Harrison Ford, too.

He’s looking pretty nice for 65.

May 26, 2008
Friday in my world.

Welcome to my Friday Follies. I figured it was a great way to cover what competes for attention in my brain. You know. In case anyone is actually interested. And since Friday is only so long, I can’t exactly include my entire list.

Question of the Day/Week/Month/Lifetime: Would any of the unthinkably serious crap that is taking place in the world right now be happening if women ruled? Seriously. Clearly, I’m not opposed to men in general. I’m quite fond of four of my own, all of whom are quite pleasant humans. But I will never, ever understand what possesses some to be so consumed with a desire for power, that they destroy what and whomever lies in their path. It makes absolutely no sense. I would say, “Nuke ’em ’till they glow,” but Greenpeace would revoke my membership and I’d have to take my sticker off my Mac.

Now I’ve heard everything: BBC News is reporting today that we can now blame the obese for the planet’s energy woes. I can officially expect the BBC to pick up some of the crap I write since they have decided to bring attention to this illustrious study and call it news.

For the shopper who has everything and can’t resist yet another… um…thing: The ultimate cake server. My VBF handed it to me unopened the other day on our morning walk saying she didn’t want it. I think it was something she received at a dinner party? Lo and behold, a wonder of design revealed itself after I was done fighting with the packaging. Just chuck the magnetized heel, and you’ve got a swanky brushed stainless cake server that may or may not fit in your utensil drawer. My VBF is sooooo getting this back.

For summer travel plans: Consider Paradise your destination. Palm trees, fish tacos, an excellent ball park with a less than stellar ball team, and no more spine-wrenching plunges into bathtub-sized potholes! An end to days of signs warning of sewage spills at the bay? Standard & Poor has finally given our fair city an acceptable bond rating again. We will now get to use plastic to pay for street repairs, faulty sewer lines and broken water mains. Party on! Maybe they can also do something about our pump prices?

My gentle menfolk: I am willing to act like I’m somewhat interested in anyone who can convince me that a person interested in the arts needs to take advanced mathematics. But I think I’ve heard it all before. The RTR will be bypassing pre-calculus for statistics as a junior next year since it’s the lesser of two evils and he has to take a third year of math. The MoH has concocted a bribe — monetary — if the RTR can squeak by with a “C” in Algebra II and Spanish. He does have an “A” in PE, however, which is huge when one considers that actually moving his now more than 6′-tall lankiness is not something he enjoys. And that he has a swim coach who makes the entire class do 45 laps — yes, that would be 45 — to compensate for kids caught sneaking into the locker room early. Maybe the RTR needs to swim with me this summer. And pigs will fly.

My Tiny Paradise:

I saw this guy early this morning when I should have been sleeping in. My VBF had an early appointment so I didn’t have to stumble out of bed at dawn’s crack to walk. Do you think I could actually sleep? Um. No. So of course I got up and thought…Hell. I can take macro snail shots while enjoying my coffee! He looked so cute, I couldn’t bring myself to chuck him over the wall into the early morning traffic. Which probably saved me a law suit now that I think of it. Gawd forbid that I hit someone’s Maserati with snail guts.

On the menu? Feh. I never have a menu. But my friend Gina always does. *sigh* In my next life, I’ll be as organized. Our meals are all mushed around in my head with all this other crap I think about. But I have finally edited the photos from our latest dinner party featuring Rick Bayless’s Mexican cuisine and will be getting around to doing that mammoth post today. And I’m thinking next week is going to be Indian…Tiki Masala, anyone?

Me & my mom: Things are great! We’ve only had 3 arguments, 5 disagreements, uttered 49 sighs of exasperation, clucked our tongues 89 times, and been disgusted with one another once or twice. Don’t get me wrong — that’s all normal — at least it has been since I was In High School. We have our laughs and snorts, too. We’ve been on a few field trips, (Wally World, Target…) have drunk umpteen gazillion pots of coffee, analyzed the state of the human condition at least 14 times, moved my bedroom around, and jeered each other’s candidates with gusto. Her cat finally ventured down the stairs by herself today to be greeted by my hissing pretentious attack cat, and the doggo has stopped following my mom up and down the stairs, realizing her favorite person isn’t going anywhere. Her hips thank her. The dog’s. Not my mom’s.

I’d say that’s enough folly for a Friday.

Don’t you?

I feel so much better now.

May 16, 2008
Unfocusedness

I figured it was time for one of my ADD posts. It should match my brain about now. So much for Wordless Wednesday, right?

Le Blog: The orange is so not staying so hold on to your shorts. But I do like the layout. I just needed to find something that would run. Internet Explorer SUCKS and IE6 is not loving WordPress 2.5 or something. Well, that’s what I’m thinking, so to make sure I completely ignore Abraham Lincoln’s sage advice about not being able to please all the people all of the time, I’ve become a theme switching maniac. It won’t end anytime soon. But doods. Could you PLEASE upgrade your web browsers? It’s so not challenging. Give it a go. Hell. Splurge and download Firefox. It takes a few seconds. Firefox is terrific.

American Noodle: Has anyone figured out that Jason doesn’t WANT to be on the show? He’s over it. It’s a game. David Arche-what-ever his shucky darn name is has turned into a male version of Mariah Carey, whom I less than enjoy listening to. I’ve never quite adapted to that whole up and down the register wailing that goes on in her songs. I do get that I’m beyond ancient, and that I am no authority on anything but what I believe sounds exceptional, but still. He’s got a good voice, but the judges are just pandering to whomever the Tweeners will choose. I’ve lost interest in his voice and his no longer believable “who me?” look of surprise when they sprinkle him with their judge-ness. They just want to be recognized as someone who gets credit for his inevitable famousness. The RTR actually got up to take a shower last night when David A was singing because he just can’t stand the hand waving squealing females in front of the stage any longer. David Cook deserves to win. Period.

Hell’s Kitchen: Are these people for real this year? O. M. G. Do any of them actually know how to cook? I can’t figure out why we actually are spending time watching this disaster. It reminds me of why I don’t like reality shows. But hey, it’s family time. We have to watch something while we’re eating dinner (yes, that late sometimes…). and we can make fun of the nonsense together and the talking doesn’t exactly interfere with the show. Who knows?

Vacation: Finally booked an apartment near the Campo di Fiore for the first four nights of our time in Rome this summer. I’ve got plans for that kitchen. Now, on to the Amalfi coast…I would love to stay in a little pensione…maybe schedule a trip to Capri…so many decisions, but moving along on the plans and starting to get excited. Finally.

Politics: I am so tired of all the crap the talking heads are throwing around about the candidates. It’s beyond annoying and I’d love to market some personalized corks for each of their mouths. Big ones. Wouldn’t that be swell? I’m even more tired of people who don’t take the time to find out what they can about candidates, instead believing what the pundits say. How can anyone at this point in time actually think that the decision we’re going to make next November can be taken that lightly. Aren’t things screwed up enough in the country? Hell. In the world? I’m sooooooo looking forward to paying even more money for gasoline. Aren’t you? Yowza. I’m so cranky about it all, I can’t sit down long enough to articulately write anything specific about it. I’m disgusted. And I don’t want to hear Hilary dropping her ing endings or swilling beer with locals. It’s lame.

Homefront: My mom is settling in here in Paradise. We went on a field trip down to the grocery store yesterday. You know, to show her some places to be familiar with. And while we were there, a rather distinguished elderly man, tall with a nice grey suit, stopped us while we were involved in a brainless discussion on what type of catfood our cats might like, and proceded to tell us four jokes. He was cute. But it was bizarre. Seriously. Then my mother ran into a woman she used to work with years ago and they talked for five minutes or so about life changing decisions like moving and giving away everything. When they were finished, Mom asked me, “Where are we going next?” and a man approaching her from behind leaned over her shoulder and said, “To the liquor store,” and she cracked up because I had just asked her if she wanted some Miller Lite. While in the checkout lane, the checker, someone I see regularly in the store blathered at us the whole time, and then told Mom she was gorgeous and that it was too bad his dad had just remarried. That he and his brother didn’t even like the new wife.

Totally. Hilarious.

Dooce: We used up an ENTIRE morning trying to figure out when you were going to be on the Today Show today. It TOTALLY cut into my blogging time. And when you were finally on, were you thinking you’d like to smack Kathy Lee Gifford as much as I did? What is up with women who “don’t like computers” because they can’t figure out how to use them so blame it on the computer. Huh? And you did want to pull her hair over the comments she made about Leta, right? I did. But Heather, your highlights and cut are looking terrific, girl. Way.

And like I said. ADD.

May 7, 2008
Open up that golden gate…

Some time last summer, my mother decided she needed an adventure. A permanent one. She figured that before she was too old to actually do something about it, she would relocate to the East Coast. Maybe that doesn’t sound like an adventure to some, but when you’ve lived in one place for over 40 years, and you’re not planning on returning, it’s an adventure. She’s always had wanderlust, and if someone asked me to sum her up in one rich word, I’d say she’s a dreamer. And that’s not anything to be ashamed of.

I am, too.

How does one live any time on this earth without dreams? Without wonderings and urges or hopes to go places different than what she knows best, or become someone other than who she is now?

I can’t imagine.

But I’ve also learned that most often, dreams require work, and sometimes, the timing of all that’s necessary to make them come true is wrong. It takes amazing strength to admit that maybe, you’re just not strong enough to make it work. You’re tired.

Lonely.

My mother, who turned 70 late last year, has, with the help of her sister, once again packed up her little white car, bundled up her cat, Emily, and yesterday set out for home from upstate New York.

She’s outfitted with a trip itinerary courtesy of her brother-in-law, a cell phone, and two daughters and a sister who are at computers, keeping watch of weather, and looking for motels along the way.

Amazing, isn’t it?

I think she is.

Anyone who likes to wander,

ought to keep this saying in his mind:

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder”

of the good old place you leave behind.

When you’ve hit the trail a while

seems you rarely see a smile;

that’s why I must fly out yonder,

where a frown is mighty hard to find!

California here I come,

right back where I started from.

Where bowers of flowers bloom in the sun,

Each morning at dawning

birdies sing an’ ev’rything:

A sun-kiss’d miss said, “don’t be late,”

That’s why I can hardly wait,

Open up that golden gate,

California here I come.

You go, Mom.

May 1, 2008
Food, Art, and Heat in Paradise.

How was your weekend? Lovely and everything you dreamed of? I certainly hope so — especially if you are one to have weekends off. I’ve lived in both worlds: working nights with never a weekend day off, and working the daily grind with every weekend off — that is if you consider having to plan lessons and grade umpteen gazillion papers down time. Um, no.

So what did we do this weekend? Shucks. I thought you’d never ask.

(more…)

April 28, 2008
Sunday thoughts on fish wrap and left over cake.

It’s so quiet this morning. It rained in Paradise last night and the clouds are still dark and heavy with their moisture, blocking a sun that is trying hopelessly to shine. When the weather is like this, it always adds to the quiet, the cars on the street beyond our back wall not making their usual noisy early trip to where ever they venture on a Sunday morning.

The RTR is still at his cousin’s house, and the MoH is at an early morning draft session for a friend’s fantasy baseball team. Now you, too, know where to get a stand in when you just can’t schedule the time to draft your players for the upcoming season. The line forms to the left, please.

When I slid the paper from its plastic wrap today, entertaining the idea for the second time this week of lounging on the sofa with my coffee and actually reading it, I couldn’t help but notice the way it was organized. There was a huge “sale” advertisement wrapped around the entire paper, which is unusual, so of course, I had to investigate, wondering what the thinking is about how a Sunday paper is organized from one week to the next, and who makes that decision.

The “Baseball Preview,” a special section was immediately following the mattress advertisement, and sporting a huge image of the San Diego Padres’ logo formed with pennies, nickels, and dimes. The headline questioned the spending strategy for the Padres’ payroll over the past few years. Clever. The Arts section follows, then Passages, which has people focused stories about life, celebration, marriage, and obits. Then Insight, which has all the editorials, then the huge section of Classifieds.

The main page of the paper is buried at the very end. It’s what they usually do when something has happened in the world that might spoil a reader’s Sunday morning. After all, this is Paradise, and people don’t want to be bothered by what’s going on in the world. Or, better said, the publisher of the paper doesn’t think we do, and coddles those who take the time to complain about it.

So I haven’t read the paper. I might take a peek at my horrorscope, scan the classifieds for the perfect job that I could entertain myself about actually wanting for two seconds. Scan the photos of houses on the front page of the Real Estate section and restrain myself from calling to make an offer on the cute Spanish-style “replica” home in Coronado that’s selling for $3.5 mil.

Okay, so maybe not.

Because today is that day. The one where I spend quite a bit of time looking at and reading about other’s baking. This month, the challenge we were posed was anything but. It was a delight and the results were excellent. And if you’ve already looked at the photo and find yourself in the category of those who can’t suppress a thought such as, “I don’t like coconut,” do me a favor and try. Clearly, I do enjoy coconut. I also enjoy the blackberry jam, lemon curd, and mascarpone cream that is inside. What I enjoy most is putting it all together. I love the process. It’s soothing.

Although I enjoy a good cake, I don’t often bake it for the simple reason that there is far too much left over if I haven’t invited the neighborhood which I wouldn’t do because they’d think me odd. And so would you if you didn’t know me and I asked you to come sample my cake. It is a bit more appealing than the idea of my showing up at your door with leftover cake, imploring you to take it off my hands, though, isn’t it? So sadly, you can see that the cake becomes a waste of food. I am getting smarter about all of this, however, so did sample the cake, and sent the rest home with my middle son who promptly put a stickie on it telling others not to eat it.

I guess it caused a bit of a rucus with his father’s female companion, who from what my son has told me is a bit contrary to begin with. The last time my son took something home, his father ate it before he could, so this time, he thought a sticky might solve that problem. I get it.

But the idea of the cake with a sticky on it is hilarious.

He must have ended up with my ornery genes…

March 30, 2008
What time is it?

It’s not quite midnight here and it’s lovely outside. When I open the back door, the air rushes in and I can smell the jasmine blooming on the fence between our neighbor’s house and ours. It’s warm out and the sky is clear. I can see constellations I don’t normally see.

It’s beautiful.

But I’m tired and need to be in bed.

Spring break is over for the RTR, and there are three weeks still to finish the Moh’s busy season. A lifetime, it seems.

I’ve been trying to book our flights to Italy for our summer vacation, but it figures that using points for one ticket and trying to book the others at the same place is more than what I’d thought it might be.

What is up with all the companies that just presume to take us to the cleaners? I should know better.

I hate that. And I hate very little.

But I’ll persist in much the same way that I persisted last November during NaBloPoMo when I was writing letters. I just received a letter stating that April’s theme for NaBloPoMo was “letters.” Hmmm… might I have been famous for writing all my letters diligently last November and now others have gotten the idea? And since when is NaBloPoMo something that happens outside November?

Whatever.

Olga…I know I need to do my six word thingy, but I’m lacking energy at this moment. I’ll do it, surely.

It will be something like, “Day late and a dollar short.” That should do it.

Cheers.

And good night.

March 23, 2008
American Idol Short Timers

I’m throwing in my two cents on which people are going to get voted off American Noodle tonight, because I can imagine that you just may want to bump up your thinking about my ability to just know things. I can’t use this remarkable skill for anything that would make a difference, however, such as winning the Lotto, investing my new wealth in highly intelligent ways that would quadruple my winnings nearly over night.

You know.

Like when viral traffic is driven to your site after you show lame photos of celebs in compromising situations, or tell completely hilarious stories about what your little kids say about body parts and that sort of thing. *heart you, mel* Okay, so maybe not quite viral. But still.

Then I could be added to the list of the world’s richest people, causing them to look over at me when we are all lined up for our photoshoot and wonder…“How did she get here?”

You’re not falling for this?

Fine.

But here are my pix: In the list of “Boys,” 1) Luke (how he has made it this far is beyond me…) because he is the epitome of what Simon loves to call “cabaret” and reminds me of someone who takes the stage in a decent sized Vegas casino in the afternoon before the real action starts. But he is handsome, so if he isn’t booted off tonight, it’s because he keeps getting the hunkster vote. 2) David Hernandez. He sounds great when he’s on key (I know…), but gets lost in the mix. Well, that is until people found out what his day job used to be. That will probably get him votes since it has nothing to do with singing. Or, I’m thinking some members of the audience were really entertained about his bit on having boogers in his nose during his little pre-singing video on Tuesday.

And for my pix on the “Girls,” 1) Kady. I honestly think the only reason she wasn’t voted off last week is because she looked almost exactly like Alaina who could actually sing. 2) Amanda has to be off. I know it’s nice to keep a rocker around, but the person needs to be able to sing and she’s already got the attention she needed to hook up with a band who needs a lead. Plausible? Nah — I’m just making it all up. But it’s funny watching her not smile, like if you’re a rocker chick, it’s against the rules.

Okay, you heard it here. Place your bets at the door on your way out.

And take a second to admire our sunset this evening. I haven’t seen one quite like this in quite a while, thanks to the RTR who knows his mom loves a colorful sky and yelled from downstairs so that I wouldn’t miss it.

Nice kid, huh?

March 6, 2008
Wordless Wednesday Contrasts

If you haven’t been reading my blog for any length of time, then you need to know that my idea of Wordless Wednesday is to write less than four or five pages in a single post and add photos. That would be today, even though the orange glow of the setting sun on the houses across the street reminds me that this is easily categorized as better late than never.

Whatever.

I have a foodie blog friend who lives in Ohio who often mentions their weather in less than loving terms. Suffice it to say that her description of mornings finding her car door frozen shut have been quite colorful and completely hilarious.

I have been hounding her for photographs of her home town all winter, and yesterday I received them. Oh. My. Goodness. I had a clue because my mom recently moved to upstate New York and has sent me a few, but she isn’t out in her car. No sirree.

So… I ran outside and took a few of my own photos to warm her up. I figured since most of you live in places much more…um…FRIGID than I do, I’d warm you up also.

It has been in the mid-seventies for two days now. Even I like it which is semi-miraculous considering the grumpster I am about Paradise and sunshine.

We slept with our windows open last night, and today?

Today I put on my shorts, went for a walk, and sat down by the beach waiting for the RTR to finish up with his math tutor (news at eleven…) and watched the surfers.

Totally excellent. Dude.

February 27, 2008
Funny how things work out…

Ahhhhh…the glories of working with enormous corporations that have us all by the short hairs. I’ve been scratching my head today, truly wondering what the hell is going on. Wondering whether someone put a whammy on me, or if my stars aren’t lined up correctly, or my horrorscope was not great today.

Or is it just that as much as giant companies like to project that they provide customer service, and are smiling, helpful, and just love us to death, that they’re just full of horse shit.

For TWO DAYS I have been trying to purchase a new phone for the MoH. Actually, today would be the third. It was to have been a Valentine’s Day present to help him with organization. I’ve been looking at the PDA’s and thinking that the Palm Treo 700wx Smartphone would be just the ticket. He’d have wireless access when clients don’t and his laptop is then not a help. Sounds great, right?

Day One: I ventured to the mall and the Verizon kiosk and asked the young lady if she could help me. (Quite the switch from the normal situation where I have to dodge the salesperson who wants to sell me a phone each time I walk by every other time I’ve happened by in the past…) She clearly hadn’t been working there long, so had to rely upon a young man who was also there. I should have known better. It was my car pool pick up day, and I never, ever thought it would take as long as it did to attempt to purchase a phone. Just call me Pollyanna.

Really.

So I needed the MoH’s social security number. Sure. That would be something I carry around. I don’t even carry mine around. Not a great idea in this day and age. So I did call the office to get it and things began to move along until we came to another roadblock. If the PDA was purchased and activated, his cell would no longer work. Picture being at a client’s and not being able to access anyone or anything and not know why. Not quite a Valentine, right? So…

I’d purchase the PDA, and then I’d go back after Valentine’s Day to have it activated, yadda, yadda, yadda.

They didn’t have the Treo I wanted in stock. Coincidentally, however, an associate (why do they call them that?) was soon to arrive and he would have one. Could I please wait?

(more…)

February 15, 2008