Ready to Fly

Posted on May 24, 2012 by

If a wave rolls down from heaven
With the turning of the tide
You’re pulled in all directions
Only for awhile

~ Colin Hay, “The Flying Song”

I’d tried before, many times. Flying. Here and there, I’d been able to concentrate hard enough to raise my body above the ground, for a bit of time.

Occasionally, I’d get this little contraption that allowed me to sort of sit and fly, as if life was a very realistic IMAX movie.

But this time, walking just wasn’t cutting it. I didn’t want to fly; I needed to fly.

So I did.

I didn’t have to concentrate with all my might this time. I just had to know I could do it. And I had to focus, yet let go.

Up, up, and away, I went! It was amazing, yet not about the rush. This was about the mission. But it still felt wonderful, the pink and purple wind against my skin.

Even when I touched down and walked again, I was filled with the knowledge that I was lighter; the Earth couldn’t hold me. I visited my grandmother, and we talked about getting together at church that night. I was happy to be in her house, until I noticed the refrigerator was different, and on the opposite side of the room. I remembered all the years of happy magnets on the old reliable brown refrigerator, the freezer below filled with Mickey Mouse ice cream pops. A brown refrigerator in a house that hadn’t felt as happy since my grandfather died, 17 years ago.

I realized things would never be the same. So I wandered around and managed to find that mystery house that’s been randomly appearing since 1995. Awesome! This is a cool house, filled with double-rooms and secret passageways. I couldn’t wait to show it to my boyfriend.

I found him in the basement, but was confused, as his face had two bandages on it, covering cuts. When I asked where he got the cuts, he muttered something about a fight. But I knew that wasn’t true. The cuts had betrayal written all over them, and as he admitted as much, then more and more, his face changed and I didn’t know him anymore.

I cried and pleaded for him to stay and work it out, but people came, people who hated me, to usher him away. I cried; I was angry. Devastated.

I could not go see my grandmother at the church now. I would have had to leave right then, and was in no condition to go. My heart was breaking; I wanted to vomit and shatter things until I could lie down in a pile of broken glass, just to feel something besides this emptiness hollowing me out from the inside.

And I was talking in my sleep. All at once, I realized everything, every bit of this turmoil, to be a dream.

Wishful thinking, whispered a voice belonging to something I couldn’t see.

Wake yourself up, said another.

Then there was not a voice, but a presence, that I could see. It wanted me to follow it. It told me without speaking that I had to continue. This heartache wasn’t real, but something else was.

So I followed.

The presence led me to a house I’d never seen. My grandmother was there, telling me that she’d go to church tomorrow, but tonight she and two other families were having an outdoor get-together, and that I should join them.

That they were teaching each other how to fly.

It had been so long since I’d flown, but my grandmother looked happy. I couldn’t bear to tell her about the weight crushing down on me, making it almost impossible to breathe, let alone fly.

But she didn’t seem concerned with my doubts. She just carried on, bustling about in an energetic and joyous way I hadn’t witnessed in many years.

So I thought, maybe I don’t have to talk to anyone. Maybe I can just be still, and breathe in the joy of this place.

As I sat and observed, all of the horror of the previous hours chipped, then melted, away. Until finally, I was ready to join everyone playing in the yard, young and old, laughing and soaring into the night sky.

First Dream

Second Dream

Third Dream

Fourth Dream

Posted in Apartments & Other Domiciles, Childhood, Dreams, Driving & Other Transportation, Family, Friends, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Romance, Superheroes/Villains, Supernatural :o, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Salem’s Lot & Sleepless Nights

Posted on May 19, 2012 by

I have terrible ambivalence when it comes to horror movies. I mainly love them, but I have a low tolerance for actually watching human beings mutilate each other. But sometimes it’s just awesome, even when I have to cover my eyes. “Saw III” literally helped me become a better person.

But I have been terrified of horror for literally as long as I can remember. Ghouls, mainly, when I was younger, scared the heck out of me. And even at five, I could tell that part of vampires’ power came from their allure. It was the not-quite-human, but resembling humans only in a “Human Sematary” kind of way, that always scared me the most. And don’t EVEN get me started on paintings with moving eyes. Hands down the most traumatizing and haunting images of my childhood.

Well, almost. Because when I was six, the most terrifying week of my life began. See, I was supposed to go to Adventureland. And you just don’t even know what that meant to me. After surviving my first roller coaster, I was hooked, addicted. But I had no control over when I’d get my next fix. So a plan for Adventureland was heaven for me. I was so freaking excited.

But it rained that day, so Adventureland was closed. So sad. And we needed a backup activity, because my mom was redoing our living room and dining room of the new house. We piled into my friend Laura’s house, and watched a movie — “Salem’s Lot.”

I’d never seen a full-length horror movie, and I was so scared. It never occurred to me to ask them to turn off the movie. First of all, that would have felt highly uncool. Second of all, I was entranced. Mesmerized by the horror unfolding in front of me. I’d read Eerie and Creepy comics, and seen clips of horror movies before, like the aforementioned moving eyes painting (I THINK it was George Washington — but a ghoul!). I was a bit traumatized by an episode of “The Adventures of Black Beauty” (fancy 1982 cable — Nickelodeon!) that had a ghoul, and now that I’m thinking about it, where did all the ghouls go?

Anyway, so I’d seen scary things. And in adult retrospect, “Salem’s Lot” wasn’t even that upscale a horror film. It was a made-for-TV movie, for crying out loud. But not until later in life did anything affect me quite so viscerally and mentally. There were so many things going on that spoke directly to my simultaneous love and fear of horror. Until that day, my scariest visual was the moving eye painting, but my scariest intellectual horror was one story in a horror comic book, not sure which one. It was similar in storyline to “The Vanishing,” but a bit different. Two guys plotted to commit some crime, steal a bunch of money or something, and one faked his death as part of the scheme. The non-fake-dead guy gave fake-dead guy a watch and some matches and was all, wait in the coffin and I’ll come get you at such-and-such time. The fake-dead guy gets buried alive in a coffin, and is of COURSE freaked out despite being all criminal-y and stuff, but he’s like, yay, the other guy is coming soon to end the horror. He lights a match. Not time yet. And waits.

And waits. And there in that tiny space, the terror mounts as it gets later and later and non-fake-dead-guy doesn’t come. I don’t remember if fake-dead guy finds a letter that’s all “Haha, got you!” or he just realizes, but his last match goes out; the darkness is incredibly final, and from the outside, you see coming from the ground, a word bubble: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”

I used to read it despite myself. It was so scary, but even at five, I was like “WOW that is a great story! Worth digesting fear for.”

“Salem’s Lot” had everything in a movie that operated off of my deepest innate fears, for a nonstop hour and a half. I was around others, and because they hid their faces behind pillows for protection, I could do that too, but it wasn’t really what I wanted to be doing. I wanted to be staring at the movie head on, letting my face fall where it may, the way I’d embraced the terror of the comic story a year earlier. I wanted to be able to take it all, handle it all, and work through the fear and as with the comic book, be able to put it down and walk away when I was done.

But I hid behind a pillow and watched others being scared, so there was no defeating the terror. It won that day. I had Been Scared Shitless, and the movie knew. That is how it felt.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt drunk when I came home, like how when you come home literally drunk, the place sort of has that ringing familiarity, or like after you come home after traumatic experiences, you can kind of look around and be like sigh, sob on your bed a la Buffy in “Innocence,” and get a little healing. I could endure the horror of what I’d just experienced if only I could just go home.

I stepped in the door, and the house looked entirely different. My mother is like a handyman superhero, who prefers Home Depot to any other store, and got a lot accomplished that day I was two doors away watching “Salem’s Lot.” The rooms looked beautiful, but they weren’t home. I knew when we moved from Hempstead to Merrick that it was all about Moving On Up, and I hated every bit of the process. I was young, but I knew that success in suburbia meant how pretty is this room, don’t touch anything. I came home that gray day and knew that these rooms were no longer havens to kick back in. This Was Improvement. No more tatters, no more faded colors because now things were 1982 peach, and you shouldn’t walk in there, because that was the living room. I felt imminently insulted that a * living * room was treated like a museum exhibit held off by ropes. Was this why suburbanites kept working their way up, to buy more space and close off rooms for show? I spent 5 and a half years without a room or even bed of my own. And I was just fine, because I had an apartment building of family and awesomeness every day. Now here I was, six years old, coming home to lots of rooms and not one but two (bunk)beds, and it was all very “Shining”-esque, as I became overwhelmed and indignant at the audacity of my parents, just like, telling me I had to go to bed.

How could I just “go to bed” now, in this new home, in my room that was way bigger than I needed or wanted, with three windows because “cross ventilation” is apparently a big coup in suburbia. Screw cross ventilation! Because, the hands-down scene in “Salem’s Lot” that ruined me for normal sleep henceforth, and still scares me to this day, was the scene when the little brother scratches at the window and it’s all vampires, manipulation, and preying on trust, in one scene, and meanwhile it’s like, that’s NOT HIS BROTHER!!!

Terrifying!

So I lay in my room, which felt ridiculously big and invade-able, with all the windows and stuff, and it seemed so stupid to me, like, Hempstead was dangerous? No. Everyone looked after each other in my apartment building, and lived close by. Here I was, trying to fall asleep, and the closest people were yards away, even my family, and again, I know they were trying to do right by me by giving me my own room, but it — well, read Ramona the Brave, and I can shave a few paragraphs off of this already-long blog. Bottom line, it is TERRIFYING to sleep in a new room by yourself. Especially when you are trying to be a good big sister, and keep repeating the scene in your head of an older brother who failed to save his little brother, and is haunted by him at night.

I felt that somehow, somewhere, what I’d seen that day in “Salem’s Lot,” was real, a little, at least. For my friend Laura, it was the green man that truly scared her. And overall, there was an ominousness to the idea of a town, a community, being overtaken by nearly invincible and insatiable creatures who wanted to take the people, body and soul, and not even just murder them — own them. Overtake them. Keep the visage, but force them to do evil. Force them to kill. Force them to haunt their loved ones.

I didn’t have nightmares, because I couldn’t fall asleep. I was scared of what was out there, and how vulnerable I was in my big bedroom with all the windows. I wanted to go home to my apartment building, to my extended family.

After hours of trying with all of my six-year-old might to be brave, I gave up. It was too much. I’d seen too many terrible things that day. I didn’t like that my beloved, tattered, terribly 70s, blue with yellow flowers couch was in the basement, despite being perfectly comfy and welcoming.

I prayed, yearned, tried so hard to somehow unsee the horror of that movie. After failing to ride out the storm, I meekly knocked on my parents’ door. I cried that I was sorry to overstep my suburban child bounds, but I could not stay in my room that night. I was too terrified. Of the movie, what I’d seen, the ghouls, the posters on my walls, because what if their eyes started moving. All of it.

I thought they’d be mad, maybe. I was failing them. I should have been grateful for my big room with all the windows. This was a waste of livable rooms, my crawling into their bed like I did when I was a baby not that long ago.

They didn’t me I was silly for being afraid. They didn’t me of all the hours they’d worked to give me my own room, with my own bed(s). They just saw how scared I was, and welcomed me into their own room, and took care of their daughter. They told me it was okay to be scared, but I was safe, and they’d protect me from the monsters as long as I needed. Turns out, I needed it for a week.

I never got used to the space, to the big room, to the bunk beds, to suburbia. I’ve never gotten used to fear. But what I learned that night, that week, and over the course of time, is that no matter how many flaming balls of horror life throws at us, if we need it, there will someone or something there in the night to make it all okay. Or at least help us make it to sunrise!

 

Posted in Apartments & Other Domiciles, Childhood, Entertainment, Family, Friends, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Movies, Supernatural :o | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Dreaded Jelly Omelet

Posted on May 12, 2012 by

So my little brother Eric turns 21 today! In honor, I am reposting a story that foreshadowed his shunning of eggs!

In the Summer of ’92, Eric was one year plus a few months. I was almost 17. My mom had gone back to work part-time for the summer, so three days out of the week, I got my domestic on. Watched Eric all day, and cooked dinner for the family. I loved the cooking part, and also cooked breakfast for Eric. It was a great arrangement, seeing as I’d always been fascinated by breakfast foods, but really didn’t like eating any of them, especially eggs.

And Eric was such a happy little eater! Every culinary delight I put in front of him, he ate cheerfully, grateful to me, his Big Sister The Provider.

Until one day. One day that the Cooking for Kids book got it all wrong. It sounded intriguing. I mean, just because I didn’t like eggs meant that a jelly omelet wouldn’t be outstanding! And perfect for kids!

But see, that was my problem. I’d transitioned out of that “I’m good with kids because I understand them” place and gone to the dark side of “I’m good with kids because I know what’s good for them.” Wrong.

Despite all the warning bells going off in my head, screaming that there was no way this was going to work, I went forward, and did my best with the recipe. I’m great with recipes! Although I’d never had anything come out this *color* before. It wouldn’t be false to say that the omelet turned out gray, or green, or blue, or the color of nightmares and death. Any and all would be an accurate description.

And God bless Eric. Most days, no matter what ridiculously ambitious concoction I placed in front of him (one day, there were crepes!), he beamed at me in thanks before tasting it.

Not today.

He gazed at the omelet in what can only be described as abject horror. Dismay, even. Then he looked up at me with a “Surely you can’t be serious!” expression of panic.

Because I’d gone to the Dark Side of Dumb Adults, I laughed.

“No no, Eric!” I cooed. “It looks a little weird, but it tastes GREAT!” and pretended to eat some.

His look was dubious, but Eric was a good sport. He tried the omelet. Then made the most awesome face, like a girl in a movie trying to be rebellious and swigging from a liquor bottle, or like a Survivor eating fly-encrusted brains.

“Really? It’s not good? Come on, try some more.” I coaxed.

Eric flat out refused. Which was really telling, because he was basically a human garbage disposal. To this day, I don’t know exactly what went wrong with the jelly omelet. Most people respond to this with, “Um, what went wrong was that it was a jelly omelet.” Touché.

So I will take this milestone birthday as an opportunity to publicly apologize for feeding you a jelly omelet, Eric. Also for the time when I left you on the bicycle baby seat in front of Deli-Boy and the bike tipped over and you fell to the ground. Also for the time when you were four and I served you chicken fingers at Red Lobster on a burning-hot plate, and you cried.

Happy birthday!!!

Click here to visit and like Eric’s awesome band’s Facebook page!

 

Posted in Books, Childhood, Family, Food, Miscellaneous, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Cupcakes, Wine, or Beer?

Posted on May 8, 2012 by

So we’re speeding towards that time of year
To the day that marks that you’re not here

~ Azure Ray


It’s been a year. Today, it’s been a year, since.

I’d never lived in any other state in my entire life, besides New York. My biggest move before a year ago was 260 miles to Oneonta. Upstate, but still New York.

I’m a native New Yorker,  and proud of it. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere, but why would you want to live anywhere else?

But a year ago today, May 7, I left. Goodbye not to sunflowers, but to great pizza.*

To real bagels.

To my grandmother.

To the place and person I called home for years.

A year ago today was probably the hardest day of my entire life, and while we may be discussing first world problems, for me, that is saying a lot.

But it needed to happen. And a year ago today, after saying goodbye and I love you to my family that stayed on Long Island, after hugging them, and after watching at least one of their faces contort into sadness I couldn’t believe was because of me, I left.

Long Island got further away as the van drove towards JFK. And looking back, I don’t know how I did it. It helped that my mother was there, being the champion and savior that she’s always been to me. On the worst day of my life, I must say that I had a great time chilling at the airport with my mom, eating and drinking and being merry. For tomorrow…

And who knew, a year ago today, what tomorrow even meant, after I’d thrust every “today” into question.

Because I was leaving. Like, for realz-realz.

I’d talked on the phone to my BFF earlier, said H&G to my grandmother, aunt, and uncle and cousins. Brb, New York loved ones.

Even after awhile planning, even after so many tears, even after…everything. My heart still did not stop breaking and shattering that day.

Even after my dad randomly asked, after all the everything, once I’d arrived in Colorado Springs: “Judith. Do you want any cupcakes, wine, or beer?”

In that moment, it was the best question that anyone had ever asked me. Because it meant that after the break up, and the move, and the traumatization of my cats,

and the plane, and the lack of Xanax, and the back-of-plane-seat“Mean Girls,” after freezing on a couch weeks before because who knew that breaking up could be so freaking cold?

After all of that, I was home, at least in that moment.

And so it’s been a year…

I don’t know. Why this happened, why this is. Why I am here, and not there. But I know that I am healing. I know that for maybe the first time in my life, I care about healing.

Maybe this test will never end. Maybe the lighter days will not begin.

But it’s been a year. Since.

And I’m alive and I’m okay. Cupcakes, wine, and beer have commenced. Not to mention yellow roses from my dad. Thanks, Dad!!!

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So here’s to the next year. High fives and daps all around. And a huge, huge thank you, to the people that have voyeured and applauded. At least one guy from a year ago, from the group that my awesome and beloved friend Hurl made? Didn’t make it. RIP Mike; thanks for helping me move to Colorado – we shall meet and greet IR(S)L soon <3 Miss you every day.

Just – thank you. Everybody. Thank you for keeping me alive. Next decade, onward! Ftw — wherever it may be.

*I’m a total pizza snob, but Townhouse Lounge where I work, despite being in Colorado, has some KICKASS pizza. Not sure when we start carrying it officially, but it’s great.

Posted in Apartments & Other Domiciles, Cats, Childhood, Driving & Other Transportation, Family, Food, Friends, Miscellaneous, Movies, Romance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Goodbye, Cigarettes.

Posted on May 4, 2012 by

Repost because while I was not successful in the attempt after this blog, I’ve gone almost a month without them, and it feels different this time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go climb a mountain! For added resolve and all :)

                

‘Cause I don’t know who I am,
who I am without you
All I know is that I should

~ Missy Higgins


As Jerry Seinfeld said, a breakup is like pushing over a soda machine. Smoking cigarettes is a relationship I honestly never wanted to break up. I do wince at pictures of blackened lungs, but my rebellious spirit really responded to the past decade’s or so vilification of cigarette smokers. I’m finally quitting, hooray, but it’s pretty emotional.

I know I shouldn’t smoke. But I’ve seen the light of the dark side of smoking, so it’s not as easy to leave as it may seem. Cigarettes feel like a friend. When everything is bad in the world, a smoke can make it better for a tiny bit of time. Sometimes, that feels like enough.

When I first learned to handle a cigarette, I felt a step cooler for the guy who taught me how to do it, that I was crushing on.

When I first learned to inhale, I was able to comfort myself in my car between college classes as I worried about the ambivalence of a different boy, and our subsequent breakup.

When I first learned that cigarettes squelched my appetite and made me feel jolly, I spent a summer trading Marlboro Lights and Metabolifes for junk food, and got slim, for me.

When I got my first boyfriend after various lonely attempts at Life Improvement including, but not limited to, the Metabolife/Marlboro summer, I freaked the fuck out and packed on the pounds.

When I lost that same person that I thought would be by my side forever, I smoked, and I smoked, and I smoked. And maybe it was bad for me, but God knows, did I need it.

When I spent the next seemingly endless year or so feeling that truly, it was my destiny to be unloved forever, cigarettes helped me say screw it, what else is out there. When all else failed, I could light up a smoke.

Cigarettes have been my constant for the past 10 years. 16 years, if you count non-inhaling posturing. They have been a shield, a shelter, a friend. I have new friends now. A better life, without smoking. I think. But no more smoking is a goodbye to an extremely treasured safety net.

Saying goodbye to cigarettes SUCKS. I don’t want to. But life is better now, and if ever there were a time…

And I think I can…I think I can…eventually I’ll know I can. I hope.

Posted in Body Image, Food, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Romance, Women | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Intentionally Cheesy Movie Night 10: Two of a Kind

Posted on May 3, 2012 by

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Right off the bat, you sort of know what you’re getting into with this movie, because there are John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John on the root menu, smiling, with matching feathered hair and Olivia Newton-John in blue ’80s sunglasses. So brace yourselves.

I’d like to mention real fast that I was SO excited to see this movie when it came out. I was eight, and I loved “Grease,” and thought Olivia Newton-John was so pretty and sweet and had the most beautiful Australian accent! She reminded me of my mom. Not that my mom has an Australian accent (too bad). But all this is to say that when I saw this, on a near-empty airplane back when I still loved to fly, as an eight-year-old who loved all movies for the most part, even then I realized that this was not so good.

“Two of a Kind” opens with clouds and the “Hallelujah” chorus. Angels are playing golf and fighting about fried chicken. Anyway, they continue to fight as they arrive in the presence of that lady from “Poltergeist” who was one of those paranormal researchers, and I guess this lady existed in the ’80s to pal around with the boys, while providing much-needed feminine guidance.

Now here is God, who happens to be voiced by Gene Hackman! And he’s really mad, because everyone’s so crappy and he wants to start the world all over and he’s gonna flood the place, even though he promised not to. And the angels are like noooooo there are good people, and Gene Hackman is like, “Show me one good person.”

Oh I’d just like to point out that we never actually SEE Gene Hackman, or the movie would automatically be a little bit awesome. We just hear his voice. So he is saying to find one good person, as we –

– CUT! To John Travolta fully ON, like he is the complete mack DADDY in his purple shirt and blue sunglasses from the root menu and tight black pants and feathered hair. He is very, very dreamy, as should be obvious. And he is outside the Museum of Natural History, and Olivia Newton-John is singing on the soundtrack.

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Here are loan sharks! Since it was the ’80s and all. There are two, a Nice Loan Shark and a Mean Loan Shark, who is in charge. Mean Loan Shark holds up this really weird knife to John Travolta right in the middle of the day and I can’t even explain to you how fluffy Travolta’s hair is.

ONJ is singing about “desperate times!” on the soundtrack.

Oh, well, sure. John Travolta is an inventor – you know what, screw this. His name is Zack, and ONJ is named Debbie (obviously). So Zack is an inventor and that is going to be his Emotional Character Development vehicle, so just get used to this inventing, because it’s not going away. Remember in the ’80s, when everyone was an inventor, like Zack, and the dad from “Gremlins,” and that one dude who looked like Weird Al and came to my school that one time. I’d like to be an inventor. Anyway, Zack has a voice-activated pet food machine so he can act all cool when he feeds his…cat…and there is an automatic nutcracker for all of his important walnut needs throughout the day. Zack also has a rocking chair, but/therefore busts out with some rockin’ behavior, as he puts a Journey-esque record on, and gets his groove on in his tight pants.

New scene! Zack has a gun and is wearing a blonde wig and a mustache and says the word “foxy.” Because he is a scammer who robs places.

And he is also wearing a jean jacket with jeans.

Oh well here is where fate works its magic, because Debbie is a bank teller! And Zack is all, “Look at my gun,” and Debbie says she only has $600, so Zack makes her get more. There is some cute banter, as normally happens when a man holds you at gunpoint to rob you.  Well I say that sarcastically, but there was that one time on “Dawson’s Creek” when Joey got mugged, in one of the most astonishingly awful episodes ever created of television. But see, Zack’s mustache is falling off. Which is about as funny as this movie gets, at any point in time. So Debbie waltzes away all aflutter and comes back with a bag and her phone number written on the bag as she gives him a coy look and this other lady presses the “POLICE” button.

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The angels are back, begging for a little more time to get Zack to shape up, and Gene Hackman quotes Richard V.

Oh-ho-ho, Debbie gave Zack fake money AND a fake number and Zack is MAD!

Debbie goes home and she of course also has a cat and she tells her mom she got fired and her mom is like, “Again?” And the landlord shows up and he is drinking in the middle of the day, and is also the guy from “Just Shoot Me.” He wants the rent, so Debbie grabs some cash, because you see, she stole the bank money herself!

Oh, Debbie doesn’t live with her mom, just a weird-sounding roommate who is wearing a suit jacket with the sleeves rolled up.

The loan sharks show up to Zack’s place and he “Home Alones” with his doorbell that sounds like barking dogs, one of whom is named “Vinny,” to sound tough, while Zack escapes through the window and Mean Loan Shark throws Nice Loan Shark through the door. Nice Loan Shark admires all the inventions, and long story short, he has Deep Feelings and isn’t Just A Bad Guy.

Zack has managed to change clothes and do his hair and GTAs a cab.

Car chase in Manhattan! “E.T.” playing in a movie theater — awwww! Zack jumps on the roof of a van! Debbie wearing one of the better ’80s outfits, a turtleneck white baggy sweater and black leggings! And Zack flies through the air and lands on top of her, killing them both!

I’m totally not kidding.

So not only did the angels fail to find a good person, they found a bank-robbing doofus who killed Olivia Newton-John, and then have the unmitigated GALL to ask Gene Hackman to bring Debbie and Zack back to life, and so Gene quotes “The Merchant of Venice” and here is where I am hit with that copper taste of fear in my mouth ™Stephen King, because I realize that they are going for some kind of unironic Shakespearean angle with this movie. You see, Debbie and Zack have to sacrifice their LIVES! For each OTHER! And Gene’s like, you get 2 days, but lets himself get haggled to seven.

Oliver Reed! How about that! He’s playing the devil, but like a vaudeville devil, so just assume that any time he’s lurking around, that there are plenty of hijinx and guffaws.

I am starting to think, based on this cast, that the makers of this movie had terribly scandalous blackmail info on everyone involved. There’s no other explanation, because, dude! Awesome cast! But anyway, Oliver Reed and an angel make a bet over whether Gene Hackman will flood the world again. And really, I’m thinking this whole flood thing is very lazy. Been there, done that, you know? There are plenty of other ways to destroy the universe, Gene Hackman.

Now there are randomly three ladies in bikinis, so of course the angels get all hummina hummina, and Poltergeist Lady has to go, “BOYS!” much like Edna Garrett’s “Girrrrls! Girrrrls!”

Uh-oh! The loan sharks are back, ’cause we’ve rewound time, and Zack steals the car all over again, sadly. Not the most promising start to his moral fibers’ keeping the world nice and dry.

So Zack doesn’t need to fly through the air killing himself and Debbie again, because the angels use a bus to block the loan sharks. Why didn’t they do that before, I wonder, but no time to wonder! Because we must cut to the riveting scene of Debbie reading an article in the New York Post about Zack’s robbing the bank.

Oh, Debbie is an actress, which explains so much. And really, how to describe this scene…this acting class is like therapy or something, because Debbie is standing on the stage, trying to emote and yell at Zack ’cause he made her feel all helpless. And she’s really bad, and the acting teacher is really creepy, and then all of a sudden for no reason whatsoever, Zack is in her acting class in the back of the room! And Debbie starts screaming and freaking out so of course the teacher is like “Yes! Drama! That’s it!” and the other actors are crying, as IF a room full of actors cares that much about another actor’s pain.

Apartment. Now, riddle me this, please. WHY WHY WHY did they bother to establish that Debbie’s a Struggling Actress who doesn’t make rent, and her relief at finally having money, only to have her spend a ton of money on a new entertainment center and assorted crap! But no time to wonder, because Zack is in the apartment! He tells Debbie to go get the money and they have Sexual Tension. But she’s all, “I have none left,” and he’s all, “Liar!” and starts burning all her headshots, and I also don’t understand why she has this portfolio of her in all different poses, but they are all black and white and loose, because are they actress pics, model pics, what! But Debbie does not want her confusing pictures burned. “No! Not those!” Debbie cries, and admits she really has $8,600 left.

Now instead of hurrying the strange man with a gun out of her apartment, Debbie petulantly throws a bunch of cash at Zack, and he says she has some set of balls, unlike him, due to all the tight pants.

And now we get some really weird business involving Debbie’s doorknob. I kind of would like a psychiatric evaluation of the person responsible for this movie, who thinks that nothing says “Let’s get naked!” like when a guy holds you up at gunpoint, not once but twice, then steals your doorknob, and now the “Just Shoot Me” guy is back for comedic effect, because nothing is funnier than a woman’s spinectomy ™TWoP.

So now Debbie is trying to sell Zack all the dumb crap she blew the money on, and Zack’s like, “Listen lady, I’ve got my own problems,” and tells her about the loan sharks and waxes poetic about his inventions, and here are the blue sunglasses again, only they are EDIBLE, and that may just be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. Debbie says they taste like “shit” (OMG Olivia Newton-John cursing!), but now Zack’s not just a gun-toting criminal; he’s a gun-toting criminal with a softer side because nothing says sensitive like edible sunglasses, and it is for this reason that Debbie invites him to dinner. Unfortunately, Zack does not GTA another cab; rather they just hail one like normal people and Poltergeist Lady is driving the cab, which Debbie directs to the Plaza. Because the only thing smarter than inviting a violent criminal to dinner is inviting a violent criminal to dinner in a hotel.

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Super insipid scene. Debbie used to work at the Plaza as a waitress. But she is an ACTRESS! With DREAMS! ARE WE ALL VERY FREAKING CLEAR ON THIS FACT AND CAN WE PLEASE MOVE ALONG???

No. Because Debbie really wants this one role in a Broadway play; it’s down to her and two other girls, and it really MUST be a musical, because no way is Debbie good enough of an actress to do straight theater on Broadway.

If I try to recap this next scene, my nerves will be even more shot than they currently are, so I’ll just give you a few keywords: Oliver Reed. Loan sharks. Brian Dennehy-esque angel warning Oliver Reed that if the world ends, they’ll both be out of jobs. Boobs. Ass. Rewind. Fast-forward. Food fight. Pie in the face. Oliver Reed singing, hooray!

Now Zack is at Debbie’s and she is making tea, and Zack apologizes for leaving her at the Plaza and Debbie lets him in because he smells bad and she calls him really weird and he asks for a towel. GREAT SCENE.

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“Just Shoot Me” guy is back, so Debbie slams the door in his face so she can go tend to Zack, who is reading in bed, shirtless. He’s totally Gift of Fear-ing Debbie all over the place, saying he’ll sleep on the couch, but not, then LYING to Debbie and saying her cat got out so he can put on “romantic” music and ask her to dance while I vomit in my mouth.

They dance and kiss. Gross. And just when you think it can’t get grosser, you’ve got voyeur angels watching Zack push Debbie onto the couch, then turn off the light. She tells him to stop and THEN he pulls the bullshittiest of all bullshit maneuvers that no one should be falling for past the age of 22, and tells her that they don’t have to have sex. And when she takes him up on that, he POUTS and they have a conversation where they keep saying “make love” and it is highly disturbing, and then as if he wasn’t evil enough, he gives her the “We have time” speech, but they are interrupted by Roommate and Boyfriend, so Zack and Debbie go on a carriage ride because we’re past the lying and the guns and the robbing and all that and have moved into Carrie and Big territory (though I guess the two relationships are not entirely dissimilar), and Debbie actually asks Zack, “What are you thinking,” and also an angel is driving the carriage.

Montage! Debbie singing on the soundtrack! Fried chicken! Ferry! Digital watch! Windbreaker! Hot pink! Edible sunglasses! Song about “the second time around” and it’s REALLY bad but I think I’d like to sing it at karaoke! Fencing! Portraits! High tea! Magic tricks! Carnations! Serious moment! Tender kissing!

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Back to Debbie’s apartment! She missed the call about getting a final callback! Spontaneity is punished. And so obviously, Debbie yells at Zack. Because he was so the paragon of responsibility before this happened. This is why I don’t date Batman. You can’t think you’re gonna change someone, Debbie.

Of course, the spying angels are very upset by this bitch fit of Debbie’s. And Oliver Reed’s trying to make a deal with Mean Loan Shark and calls him Sunshine! Shout out! While an angel throws marshmallows off a building.

Back to the less Dada-esque, but more boring scene of Debbie blaming Zack for losing her bank job, and then Zack makes me wish I had marshmallows of my own to throw, because he’s doing that whole tiresome “poor me” routine that people do when they want their exes to forget the past and love them again.

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Here is Mean Loan Shark, holding Debbie and Zack at gunpoint while the door is wide open and instead of having sex with him, Debbie says they have 10 dollars left. Nice Loan Shark believes Debbie and Mean Loan Shark foams at the mouth, he’s so angry, and Nice Loan Shark puts a gun in Mean Loan Shark’s mouth because Zack and Debbie’s deep moral fiber has helped inspire Nice Loan Shark’s frog to triumph over his scorpion.

Now there is a REALLY contrived scene that I refuse to recap; just know that Zack doesn’t trust Debbie implicitly with his life after one week of violence and deception, and Debbie gets so upset that she sings a ballad: “So don’t! Say you’ll be there for me! If you don’t care for me!”

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Montage! Zack’s apartment: destroyed! Inventions: gone! Pictures: lopsided!

Oliver Reed is dressed like Captain Kangaroo in this truly remarkable pink suit.

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Zack is having one of those movie epiphanies about What Really Matters In Life as he rides the carriage with the angel. He says he loves Debbie, to erase any remaining doubt that he is unbalanced. No offense to Debbie per se; just saying it’s been like, two minutes since they met. Also, aforementioned Gift of Fearing. He brings roses to Debbie at her new waitressing job, and I have NO idea when she got that, or when she had time to go through all the training that would allow her to have her own tables already.

Also, there is a lady wearing pink and gray.

Mr. Carosi from “Saved by the Bell” is lurking around (natch), and Debbie gets held at gunpoint (Drink!), and Zack helps the cops because he is already wearing tight blue pants, so when in Rome.

Thunder!

It’s almost midnight!

Zack starts leaping cars and buildings and climbing fire escapes because it is the ’80s.

Rooftop wrestling! Requisite ’80s hanging-from-a-building/cliff scene, only here it is a building, just so we’re clear. The gunman shoots Zack, but a cop kills the gunman and it is midnight and it is like “West Side Story,” to go with the Shakespearean angles, and you think that Zack is dead, due to being shot and having no pulse. Debbie cries and says she loves him because they totally deserve each other and her love brings Zack back to life, via Gene Hackman. And Zack’s been taking comedy lessons from Turbo and goes, “What happened?”

Oliver Reed and the angel tip their hats, since they now still have a purpose on this planet, and Zack carries Debbie in his arms and her pants are white and completely spotless.

Oh…there is a Shakespeare book on the ground and the angel tosses it to Zack. Yeahhhhh. And then the angel vanishes.

The ending is amazing, both in acting and dialogue:

Debbie: WHERE’D HE GO!
Zack: I DON’T KNOW.
Debbie: (Sigh.)
Zack: God, this has been a crazy week!
Debbie: Sure has!

FREEZE FRAME!

~ THE END ~

Posted in Women, Music, Movies, Celebrities, Romance, Childhood, Cats, Apartments & Other Domiciles, Intentionally Cheesy Movie Night, AcTING!, Entertainment | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Ask The Waitress: “Officer, He Swore He Was 21!”

Posted on April 25, 2012 by

Q: Is “Dude. Seriously? These are our parents, ” a valid ID in the state of Colorado?

 A: No :-/

So I don’t mean to be a hardass, but is it truly a hardship to carry a valid form of photo identification on oneself if one plans to drink in at least the United States? Now, I don’t mean to get all Big Brother about things.

BUT! You’re going out and you want a beverage of an alcoholic nature, and you look like you could still be of potentially childbearing age (or thereabouts if you are a man)? Bring an ID, because that’s just how it goes.

The base line where I work, age-wise, is if you look under 40, I have to ID you. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. It’s literally the one thing I could get fired for, not checking.

I do get the other angle. There’s a place that my mom likes, but hates that it IDs everyone, no matter what, including my parents, who are now both in their 60s. And I could see that; so can the place where I work. So we have the looks-under-40 rule.

If you’re for real, and you’re cool, and you come in frequently, (and especially if you are nice and tip well!), we’re not going to throw you against the wall and fingerprint you before handing you a Fat Tire. At least not every single time ;)

And while I did not visually witness aforementioned woman getting mad over having been asked for her ID, I glanced at her, and she looked 25 at most. Easily could be younger, and in towns like mine, undercover people do elaborate stings! So I’d have checked her, myself.

So why do people get so mad! It’s a compliment!

I am not lacking in empathy. Even just within the past year, I’ve been denied access to (Denver!) bars, depending on the paperwork of my fellow parties. And I’ve been legal to drink for almost 16 years.

But it’s the law. And not one of the laws I’m willing to get all up in the face of. Photo identification takes up almost no space. If you forget it, that sucks, and I’ve been there, but glowering at your server or bartender and acting as though s/he should risk a job just because you can’t get it together to bring ID with you out to the bar? Or worse yet, because you’re too tired to reach into your wallet and pull it out? No.

ID,  or it’s Dr. Pepper for you! Sawry, sawry. Next time, come prepared!

Posted in Coffee, Going Out, Miscellaneous, Restaurants, Work | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments