"More Movie Reviews"

     I went to see "Before Midnight" yesterday.  It was right up there with my least favorite movies of all time.

     I hate, absolutely hate, a movie that is nothing but talking, talking, and more talking.  That describes this particular movie in a nutshell.  There was zero action, a miniscule fragment of scenery, and the two lead characters engaged in a conversation that I though would never end.  In a way it reminded me of "The Descendants", a film in which the characters walked and talked for two interminably long hours.  To that movie's credit however, was the beautiful scenery (and I don't mean Clooney!).  Michael Clayton was another movie of the same vein.  Ceaseless talking.  My ears were bleeding and begging for mercy by the time I left each of these films.  After seeing movies of this caliber, it is a pleasure having no one home waiting for me besides Buddy.  I love it that he can't talk...

     Here is a sampling of the worst movies I have ever seen:

Carnal Knowledge 

Barbarella

The English Patient

The Blair Witch Project

To the Wonder

Before Midnight

     I was only sixteen when Carnal Knowledge was released.  After more than forty years, it still stands out as THE worst movie I have ever seen.  It is the only movie that I have ever walked out on.

     Barbarella was another loser.  The only good thing about seeing it, was that I was eighteen years old, and at the Drive-In with my adorable boyfriend Bruce...

     I was deeply disappointed in The English Patient.  I hated it.  When it came out on video, I actually rented it, because I couldn't believe that I hated it so much.  I did.  My children have never let me live that down, either.  Each time I declare my distaste for a movie, they ask me if I plan to rent it so I can be sure...

     The Blair Witch Project was not my movie of choice.  I merely went to appease the spouse.  It was awful.  Both of us emerged with splitting headaches from the constant motion of the film, from the camera man constantly running.

     I gave my review of To the Wonder after I saw it, about six weeks ago.  To its credit, it had eye candy, i.e., Ben Affleck.  That's about the only good thing I can say about it.

     I harbored nothing but disdain for the characters in Before Midnight.  They were crude and annoying, and the film definitely showed more of her than I wanted to see. Actresses of a certain age should keep their blouses on...

    

"Cable Catastrophe Continued..."

     My moving saga of dealing with inept people rages on-after more than a month.  I received my cable bill on Thursday.  Normally, I wouldn't have opened it until I knew it was due, but my intuition signaled to me that I not wait this month.  My bill, for one month, was $265.00!  I immediately scoured the bill's details, in search of the additional cost.  Sure enough, I found it with relative ease, and digested it with much angst.  There was a "service charge" of $110.00 added to my regular bill.  I got on the phone immediately, with my curiosity and fury competing emotionally.  The Customer Service Rep I spoke to indicated that the fee was for "non-returned equipment".  I expressed to him that I retained my old equipment, to which he replied "mm-hmm".  Fury won the emotional battle, as I expressed to him incredulously that he sounded as if he didn't believe me.  He didn't.  He went on to explain that the company always provides new equipment to customers when they move.  (Not surprisingly, the right hand doesn't know what the left hand is doing.  Read on.)  I clearly expressed to him that someone from his company instructed me to disconnect my equipment myself and bring it with me, which I did.  "Mm-hmm", he replied, nearly irritating me beyond reason. I assertively informed him that I'd be damned if I was going to pay it, therefore he had better get his supervisor on the phone.  He put me on hold for a few minutes, and then finally came back on the line to tell me my account would be credited.  Ha!  I knew that going in.
     Did I tell you that my router hasn't been working?  I imagined I was going to need another useless technician come out and hook up a new one.  However, I managed to figure the issue out myself, despite being technologically challenged.  The original technicians (that's right, two of them failed to get it right) never connected the router to the modem.  I'm sure I don't know what they were doing here for thirty minutes, but it apparently wasn't hooking up all of my equipment properly.  Fortunately, I have a couple of extra ethernet cables on hand (two of my flea market bargains at $ .50 each).  Finally, everything is in working condition.  Now I can only hope that next month's bill is correct.  What are the odds?  I don't believe they are in my favor... 

"Buddy's Diet"

     Buddy and I are both on diets.  The vet had indicated that Buddy, at 116 pounds, was overweight (as if I didn't know that, what with his increasingly rotund appearance, coupled with my diminishing ability to control him physically!).   As for me, I have my own personal "ceiling", and I had reached it.  Last summer.
     Our diets began in earnest on April 10th, my first day back at work, as we incorporated a thirty minute walk into our morning routine.  For Buddy, the walk has a dual purpose.  He definitely needs the exercise to better manage his weight, besides which I figure the long walk will tire him out so that he will sleep in my absence.  For me, the walks also serve a dual purpose.  I need the exercise too, especially given my advancing age, for weight control, and my mental health.  Wait-that's three.  Well, suffice to say that walking is beneficial to me in myriad ways.
     Initially, I did not decrease Buddy's food intake for the first six weeks, despite the Vet indicating that I should.  A couple of weeks ago, twenty something son #2 intimated that I could probably decrease Buddy's intake of dry food by a cup per day, at least.  (Him I listened to...he too works with animals.)  I took Buddy to the vet on Thursday, and he had lost fifteen pounds in just over two months!  The vet was amazed, and considered Buddy's weight loss to be remarkable. I was beaming with pride as Buddy showed off his new svelte physique.
     I decreased my own food intake immediately once I began my own diet.  A few pounds have come off, albeit much more slowly.  In fact, over the last year, I have lost a mere eight pounds.  What the fudge!  I'm now dejectedly contemplating incorporating "Beneful" into my diet...

"Proclamation of Emancipation"

     It's graduation time!  Every June, multitudes of high school graduates decorate their cars with streamers, and go joy riding through the city, gleefully expressing their ecstasy at having been, shall we say, emancipated.  In addition to decorating their cars, they write on the windows: Class of "whatever year" it happens to be, along with sometimes questionable declarations.  I saw one "Proclamation of Emancipation" yesterday that nearly floored me. It said:  "Class of 2013! WE OUT ! ".   There it was, in big, bold letters, written on the windshield, for all the world to see. (Okay, maybe not all of the world, but anyone and everyone in my town).   All I can say is, I'm glad my children didn't attend that particular high school.

     I know I keep harping on this, but proper grammar and correct spelling are extremely important to me.  With so much business being conducted in writing, it is amazing to me the number of errors I see in both! 

Personally, I can take what seems to be forever to write an Email (or a paper for school, or a blog post).  I read and reread until I can't stand it anymore, and I'm not afraid to use a dictionary.  (Daniel Webster is my friend.)  It's tough being a perfectionist, but worth the effort, I believe.  After all, I'm not writing in my journal, or sending text messages.  Many people at varying levels read what I write, and I want it to be right!

"Bargain Hunting"

     My thirty-something son lives in a more upscale town.  Now, it's not Beverly Hills, mind you, but it's far more upscale than my town.  How do I know this?  Well, aside from the multitude of mansions perched on vast properties, or the BMW's and Jaguars parked in long, winding driveways, that would be the ATM machines.  I recently went to a flea market up there (it's in the mountains of New Jersey-although they are probably more like foothills to those of you from California!), but  I had to grab some quick cash along the way.  I swiped my card, hit withdrawal, indicated savings account, and then...the ATM asked if it was savings #1, #2, or #3!  I have never seen this in any ATM machine that I've visited previously!  I pondered that a minute, briefly confused (I'm not particularly dumb, just economically challenged!).  I'm lucky to have one savings account-and there ain't much in it!  (I know ain't isn't a real word. However, sometimes using it just feels right.)  I  tremulously indicated savings #1, and out popped my cash.  That ATM probably hasn't registered a balance like that-ever!

     Going to estate sales, moving sales, and flea markets in upscale areas has it's advantages.  The first time I attended an estate sale in that town, I assumed that anything the people would be selling would be out of my price range.  However, quite the opposite is true.  What I'm finding is that the sellers are actually more interested in getting rid of the merchandise, rather than making any real money off of it.  (I guess if they have three savings accounts, they don't need the little bit of green that people like me are going to spend!)  I've found some real bargains in that area.  If I remember correctly, I told you about the estate sale I attended last summer.  I got about fifteen paperback books and a pair of kitchen curtains, all in mint condition-for free!  The other items I purchased were frightfully inexpensive.  

     As you know, I moved recently.  I had been looking for an accent table for my bathroom.  I didn't know exactly what I wanted, but I would know it when I saw it.  I found it that day at the local Flea Market.  It is adorable-antique white, with beautiful scroll work edging its face.  If the vendor had seen my look of sheer delight upon catching sight of it, she may have upped her price.  I would have given her twenty dollars for it-but she only asked for five...I snatched that table and ran (as much as someone flirting with sixty can run).  So-if you enjoy these types of scavenger hunts as much as I do, don't avoid the "richer" towns.  The bargains are plentiful.

"You Say Tomayta..."

You say tomayta
I say tomotta
You say sikayda
I say chicahda

     I have always pronounced the word cicada: "chicahda", and quite frankly, was stunned when I heard the more common pronunciation of "sikayda".  Actually, my BFF was the first person I heard pronounce it that way.  I didn't want to be rude and tell her she was pronouncing it incorrectly, so (wisely) I kept mum.  Then I watched the news, and sure enough, the newscaster pronounced it "sikayda" also.  So I was compelled to "Google" the word, to see which pronunciation was correct.  There are a number of variations, all depending on where you come from.  The way I pronounce it is rooted in the Italian version of  “cicala” (“chi-kah-la”).  I, in my stubbornness, will continue to pronounce it "chicahda", even though I am not Italian. I am Polish (partly), and that version would probably be "chicahdahski".  (I wouldn't go that far, even if it was a real word!)

     Yesterday, thirty something son and I went cicada hunting.  I had seen a few isolated fellows flying around my neighborhood, but I hadn't heard the unique and deafening roar of the multitudes.  We were not disappointed, as we found a wooded area near his home, and stopped to observe this wonder of nature in progress.  We actually saw them before hearing them, as many were flying erratically, like drunken dive bombers.
     I am, as always, awed by nature.  I find this particular phenomenon to be particularly intriguing. We watched, and listened, and took a few photos, lucky enough to catch two while mating, their interlocking wings like two drawn curtains, partially covering them, as if for modesty's sake.  We even stopped to save one that was stuck on his back, flailing about in a small puddle. (I was trying to make up for all of the spiders I've been sucking up in my vacuum, but that's another blog post.)

     By the way, the last time the cicadas emerged, I was 41 years old.  Next time it happens, I will be 75.  The fifty something freshman has done something we women hate to do-I just admitted my true age (you do the math).

They are difficult to see by the leaves, but there they are...

"The Exterminator"

     On my early morning walks with Buddy, I have been noticing the neighborhood trees, particularly the trees that were aggressively trimmed after the recent hurricanes and ice storm.  Strangely, many of the oak trees have little sprouts up and down their entire trunks.  They are thinner than a pencil, each with one or two leaves on them.  They are not like anything I've ever seen before, as most oak tree branches are toward the tops of the trees.  I am curious to see if these little sprouts will ultimately grow into branches, as I imagine they will.  I also am wondering if this is nature's way of compensating for the extreme branch elimination which the trees endured.  I wonder that many of them even survived, as often half of their upper branches were cut off, leaving them decidedly lopsided.  I understand why this was done, with all of the power lines in jeopardy.  I just hate to see nature maimed by the human hand.  I am patiently awaiting nature's response.

     Speaking of nature, there is a giant maple tree directly in front of my apartment. It is an absolute joy to see, with all of the green leaves, birds, and squirrels.  It is a big improvement over my view from the last place.  The catch is, with trees come insects.  The other night, I was sitting on the sofa watching a movie, minding my own business, when something compelled me to look over my right shoulder.  Much to my horror, a tiny black spider was staring at me, so close that I could see his mouth watering.  I tried to squash him, but failed, as he was one of those that jumps more quickly than a Mexican jumping bean. Reluctantly, after having moved the sofa, I abandoned my futile quest.  Within minutes, I encountered a stink bug moseying across the living room floor.  I grabbed my trusty vacuum and sucked him up pronto.  In the bedroom, which is the last place I want to see any insects, was a small silverfish.  Him I was able to catch.  I hate killing insects.  Call me crazy, but I always say I'm sorry when I swat one.  (My thirty some-thing son will catch spiders, and release them outside.  I'm not that brave.)  My BFF intimates that the overabundance of insects is the price I have to pay for having a tree so close to my window that I can almost touch it.  I'll take the insects.  I can squash a spider or call an exterminator, but I can't exterminate bad neighbors, much as I might have liked to.  I relish the peace and quiet, which is interrupted only intermittently by the roar of my vacuum.

"House Arrest"

     I have to disagree with Governor Christie.  We are not "stronger than the storm".  What we are is resilient. Remember the "unsinkable ship"?  

     I am glad to see that our beautiful Jersey shore is making a strong comeback.  Can't wait to get there.

I long to go to Ocean Grove.  The problem is, Buddy has me under "house arrest".  He lays on the guilt every time I head for the door.  He is alone so much while I am at work, I feel too guilty to leave him at night or on the weekends.  If I were to get a second dog, maybe I could get my life back...