RoaringSheep

Sit and Swivel

I got sucked into watching Bridget Jones's Diary on TV this morning.  I loved the book, and the movie was quite all right as far as chick flicks go, but eventually I realized that the majority of the commercials on during this movie were for weight loss products.  Coincidence?  I think not.

I did learn about a new exercise product that promises a loss of four inches from your waist after 30 days of use.  For the life of me, I can't figure out this Red Exerciser thing.  Basically, you sit on the red disk, which looks a bit like the top of a bar stool suck on the base of a director's chair, and swivel from side to side.  Apparently, there's resistance in the swiveling mechanism, from whence you derive all of the slimming and toning benefits.  I did not rush to the phone with my credit card handy.  I sat on my fat ass and thought of a better way to get this same benefit.  Go to a bar.  Sit at the bar, on a bar stool that swivels.  Drink Diet Coke.  Smoke cigarettes.  Swivel on bar stool.  There you go -- the caffeine and nicotine will keep your metabolism revved up, you'll be swiveling, and you'll be fit and thin in no time.  For the single and flabby, the possibility of meeting a new paramour at the bar also exists.  Perhaps the entire bar could get into the act, and this could be a group exercise event, not unlike a spinning class.

I have to go.  I need to find myself a publisher for my new weight loss book.

American Hardcore: The Movie

I loved the book, I liked the movie soundtrack, and now I've finally seen the movie, American Hardcore.  I've actually had the DVD from its first release date.  I just haven't been able to bring myself to watch it.  I was afraid that I'd be disappointed.  The movie is what it is.  The sound and video aren't great in the live performances from the 80's because they were all amateur in just about every sense of the word.  I wish that they'd shown full songs being performed, though, because the way that little bits of live performances were thrown in here and there only made them all seem the same.  I don't know if that was what we were supposed to think -- that all hardcore sounds the same -- but I don't think so, because the producers of the movie obviously cared enough to make distinctions in the present day interviews.  I guess it's just a matter of what they had to work with in terms of original footage of the bands.

Rather unexpectedly, I found myself feeling rather depressed at the end of the movie.  I wanted it to go on longer and to see more people and bands, but that just left me feeling mildly disappointed.  The depression part was from the sad realization that everyone in the scene has gotten old.  We're all old and grown up.  That's not earth-shattering news to anyone who can do basic math, but it's different to say, "I wonder whatever happened to (insert name of band here)?" versus actually seeing them now.   In my memory, the guys (and it was mostly guys) are all still young, thin, and angry.  In reality, they're old, fat (mostly, with some notable exceptions), and (most) seemed to be somewhat resigned in their attitude toward life in the present.  On the one hand, I'm also old, fat, and too tired to do a lot about the things that I find incredibly disturbing about the world today, so I have no right to complain.  On the other hand, I was somewhat happier thinking that some people who really influenced me with their music had continued to fight the good fight.  It's sad to see that the real world got to them, too.

Although a lot of the people interviewed said that they got into hardcore because they didn't like where the United States was headed during the Reagan years, there was no explanation of why hardcore died out before the end of Reagan's second term (which was, of course, followed by a none too different first Bush presidency).  I'd love to see that question answered.  I'd also love to see a Where Are They Now? type movie which explains what people who were influential in the scene are doing now.  They did allude to that for some people, but they didn't really go into great detail about most interviewees' current lives.  *That* is a movie that I'd love to see.

I guess all this disillusionment will be worth it if, after I wallow in my depression for a bit longer, I get up off my ample ass and doing something about what I think is wrong with the world.

All Tomorrow's Parties

Between working at work and working at home, my life has been dullsville, hence the lack of recent posts.  However, that all changed a couple of weeks ago when a party invitation entered my life.  It was a Care Bears party invitation, no less.  I really dislike the Care Bears, but it was for a little girl's sixth birthday, so I sucked it up.  I'm the adult here, or at least I have to pretend.  I attempted enthusiasm, and it wasn't so bad. . . until I opened the card.

What was written inside the card made me feel uptight.  Most people who know me in real life think of me as being fairly easygoing and having a good sense of humor.  In fact, I've made a career of playing good cop to my boss's bad cop for the past few years.  That said, I do have a serious side, and I can be very tightly wound when provoked.  And the card set off the sirens in my head.  Despite the fact that the birthday girl lives a couple of miles from my house, this party was set at a residential address 15+ miles from our house, with no explanation of whose house it was or why the party was there.  The invitation also listed a starting time for the party but no end time, which had me quivering at the thought of spending hours with my daughter's classmates' parents.  I RSVP'd yes, because DD really wanted to go.  I figured that maybe I'd get some info out of the birthday girl's parents when I called them but I never got a live person and finally just left a message on their machine.

In retrospect, I made a mistake that I have been destined to make over and over in my life until I finally learn from it.  I talked to my father about the party.  It was out of necessity, as I needed to work out the logistics of what to do with my three year old during said party, as it wasn't clear to me whether I was going to have to stay at the party and I think it's incredibly rude to drag along uninvited children to any sort of organized social event.  After talking with my dad, I became convinced that these people were going to tell me to drop my five year old off at this strange house and come back in a few hours, at which point I'd arrive to find the house vacant and later learn that all the children had been herded into a box truck and sold to pedophiles over the internet.  This explains a lot about why I am never, ever get a good night's sleep.  But I worked it through.

On Saturday, I loaded DD into the car.  She was very excited.  I helped her dress herself for the party, and she'd put together an ensemble that screamed that she was excited.  (Think hot pink.)  I, on the other hand, decided to hand my child over to these people in a blase outfit of khakis, a golf sweater (I hate golf, let's get that straight.  I like the sweater.), and trainers (Okay, I don't run, either.).  I thought about wearing the pastel cotton turtleneck sweater, jeans, and chunky heeled boots get up that all the other moms wore at the last party, but I dared to be different and went with the risque selection of khakis.  As we set off on our 15+ mile journey, I felt quite thankful that I'm still married to my children's father, as I needed to cross state lines to get to this party and a restrictive child custody agreement would have presented quite a complication.  I also congratulated myself for not having done anything to cause the criminal justice system to prevent me from ferrying my child to this mysterious party out of state.  I can't imagine having to explain to my child (or to the party givers) that my criminal past or ugly divorce would keep my child from licking the frosting off of a piece of cake in another state.

When we arrived at the party, we were greeted by the tall dad, as mentioned in a previous post.  Yes, he was the birthday girl's dad.  He gave me the scoop on the party, all the details about what the plans were and when it was going to end.  Why this couldn't have been written on the invitation, I don't know.  I imagine this couple must have eloped, because there's no way anyone would go to a wedding with such sketchy info on the invitations.

I had the option of staying or leaving, so I left it up to my daughter, who pretty much immediately wanted me to leave.  So I got to say hello and good bye to all the other parents.  There weren't a lot of parents I knew, as apparently most of the others had some reason (on probation?  custody agreement? a life?) why they didn't want to travel so far for a little kid's party.  But there were a few parents who I trust who were sticking around, so I felt comfortable obeying my child's directive to leave.  And I had two hours to myself.  I ran errands.  When I got back to the house, I caught the end of the entertainment, the pinata, and, mercifully, the goodbyes.  I'm still not clear why we had to travel so far so that my daughter could eat pizza and cake in a garage, but she had a good time and I survived.

The best part of the whole day. . . as I was driving away from the house to run my errands and leave the kids to party with the very tall dad and his wife who is obsessed with how tall he is, I called my husband:

Me:  Hi, I'm leaving the party.  I don't think they're going to sell the kids.

DH:  Well, that's good.

Me:  Yeah, I got the scoop from the dad.  You know, sweetie, he is taller than you.

DH:  Uh-huh

Me:  But you have more teeth.

DH:  (hahahahahaha)