Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

Wrist to Aching Forehead

I checked. A mere three days ago I did a lame post about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today. It’s really too soon for another. Then again, it is Wrist to Forehead Sunday. And I have a headache. I want to write this post and not have it hanging over me for the rest of my day.

I don’t actually have a wrist to my forehead. For one thing, I don’t like to type with only one hand. I learned the two-hands-don’t-look-at-them method back in high school and I still find it fun and a little fascinating. Sometimes I just love to feel my fingers going to the right letters in rapid succession.

I really love writing a blog. It makes me write every day, and I love to write. And it is extremely easy to write. I don’t have to worry about what might this character do next, have I included enough clues but hidden them cleverly enough, is this what the teacher really wanted in answer to the essay question (oh yeah, like I ever worried about that one!)?

Some might say it is lazy, self-indulgent and not real writing (whatever that is). I say, oh, be quiet, it’s fun! You don’t have to read it. (Actually, I think it is the critic in my head who said it and she in fact does have to read it, because she is in my head and I’m reading it. I may have voices in my head, but I am not completely disassociative.)

Now I am being silly (say it ain’t so!). I intend to post this then go begin a marathon of watching old movies I can write blog posts about. When Steven comes home we may have a Mohawk Valley adventure that I can also write a blog post about. If only my headache goes away.

Let’s just chalk up today to another Blogger’s Sick Day. As usual, I will try again tomorrow. Thanks for reading!

Around the Town with Tabby

I would have like to do a Saturday Running Commentary, but I cravenly decided not to run. I have a show to do and a dog I’ve been neglecting. I decided a pedestrian post was more in order.

It was a beautiful day for a walk (or run, for that matter, but that ship sailed, quit pining), in the 50s, partly cloudy. I felt I didn’t need my knitted toque (rhymes with “spook”) or my crazy old lady hat. My schnoodle Tabby was completely happy to join me (most of you know my dog is a schnoodle; I just like using the word).

A block from the house, the sun came out from behind the clouds and I felt the absence of my crazy old lady hat. I was too far to go back and get it, though, so I sucked it up. I could always cross the street in search of shade.

Tabby seemed to feel the need to sniff every post, tree and sign, as well as several random patches of grass with no attraction visible to the human eye. A couple of times I noticed the attraction was a patch of poo, blending in with dead grass or fallen leaves. I tried to keep her away from those. She doesn’t need to be sticking her nose in other dogs’ poo.

“You know what poo smells like,” I tell her as I pull her away. Then I let her sniff the next harmless-looking choice.

When she pooed herself, I picked it up in a plastic bag. Now I was on the lookout for a trash can. I had taken the precaution of placing an extra poo bag in my sweatshirt pocket, in case I threw out this poo and she pooed again. Such a thing does not happen often, but one likes to be prepared.

Of course we walked by Tabby’s favorite, Herkimer’s Historic Four Corners. Naturally a dog of mine would be a local history buff (she also likes crime shows and jazz music). I don’t know why they moved the trash can that was in front of the 1834 Jail, but that wasn’t the only reason I like to walk that way. We continued down Main Street.

We had to walk around some yellow caution tape in front of Sam’s Grocery and Deli and Sacred Eagle Tattoo. It seems they are painting the storefronts. It certainly looks nice. I complimented the men working. I’m always glad to see people making improvements in our village.

I found a trash can in front of Basloe Library, another of my favorite spots. I remembered the guitar people would be playing. Every Saturday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. I would have like to go in to listen, but I wasn’t sure if they like cute little dogs in the library. Anyways, Tabby would have just wanted the musicians to pet her.

On down Main Street, sad to see closed businesses but encouraged by some signs of life. People were working in the store that is to be a Burrito Jones. I like burritos. I noticed a T-Mobile store I hadn’t noticed before. Doors at Pete’s Tavern were open, but Tabby isn’t 21 so we did not go in. Soon I could smell burgers coming from Crazy Otto’s Empire Diner and remembered I was hungry.

Turning the corner we went by Hummel’s Office Plus. They were having an open house, but for once Tabby did not pull me towards the door. She was more interested in sniffing every available lamp post. The beer lights were not yet let for the Belly Up Pub. Then again, it was before noon. I think they open at four. Not that I was looking for a beer (despite the earlier mention of Pete’s Tavern).

We walked for almost a half hour, and my legs were grateful for the exercise. I think Tabby enjoyed it, too, although I did not let her do all the sniffing she desired. And my post is a respectable length, if not as exciting as some. Well, I do my best. At least my dog is happy.

Will I Break a Leg?

This is NOT Lame Post Friday. I work tomorrow, and when I work Saturday, Friday is just not Friday. OK, all you folks out there who work every Saturday, just don’t start, I have already addressed your concerns in previous non-lame Friday posts (don’t remember exactly what I said, probably something lame).

That said, I don’t have a whole lot to blog about (see yesterday’s post on “In My Defense… I Have No Defense”). Well, maybe one thing. As soon as I type this in (composing at the computer, by the way, not handwriting in a notebook on a break at work) (just to give an accurate picture), I must quickly shower and blow dry my hair in preparation for tonight’s performance of Strike Story at Ilion Little Theatre, Remington Avenue, Ilion, NY.

I know I said yesterday that I already wrote about this, but I thought of a few more things to say. To reiterate, for those of you just tuning in, Ilion Little Theatre, forced to postpone Dirty Work at the Crossroads till May, asked a group from Little Falls to present Strike Story, an original Readers’ Theatre piece written by a Little Falls woman, on our stage as our fall production. They needed a Helen Schloss for the second weekend. Our vice president nominated me. How could I refuse? (Seriously, please tell me how to refuse these things should they arise in the future; I don’t have time to be in a lot of plays).

I’ve been a little stressed. Would I be able to find a black skirt to wear? (yes, by virtue of spending an hour rummaging around in the theatre’s VERY messy costume room, Steven found me one). Would I be any good at the part? (the Little Falls people seem happy enough). Could I work a ten hour day on Friday, do a good show, then get up for more overtime on Saturday? (we’ll find out — stay tuned!).

On the whole, though, I’m pretty happy I did it. I’ve never done Readers’ Theatre. It is much more stylized than any play I’ve been in before, and some of the speeches are pretty long. And we’re all on stage the whole time. It’s fun, and a challenge, to listen attentively and in character, and make subtle little reactions. You never know when an audience member may be looking at you.

What I really like, though, is that my character does NOT like a couple of the other characters. She gets to be pretty sharp at times.

“Can we have more acid on that speech?” the director asked in one rehearsal. Oh yes, I can give you more acid. I bet some of you readers didn’t know I like to be mean (just kidding; I’m sure you all knew) (and I don’t REALLY like to be mean; I’m acting!).

I see I am over 450 words, pretty good for me. Has this post been as lame as a Lame Friday Post? I’ll let my readers be the judge. As for me, I must get in the shower. Otherwise, I may stink up the stage (insert joke about my stinky acting, if you so desire).

For more information on Strike Story, visit www.ilionlittletheatre.org or the Ilion Little Theatre Club Facebook page.

In My Defense… I Have No Defense

I was totally going to have a Wuss Out Wednesday yesterday. Then I recklessly told everyone at Curves that I was going to write about voting. True, none of those women read my blog and so would not know if I reneged. Still, it seemed a perfectly good blog topic with an expiration date. I went for it.

So now here I am on Thursday with no name for a stupid post (too late for Middle-aged Musings Monday, too early for Lame Post Friday) and no post other than the one I have written many times before (but with variations, or do I flatter myself?) about Why I Can’t Write a Blog Post Today.

I have the Overtime Blues at work. On the brighter side, this leads to the Payday Greens, which in turn helps Financial Condition Red. Just to use a little colorful language, which they say goes over well in the blogosphere.

With the Overtime Blues comes not much time and being too tired for Mohawk Valley adventures. Last night I attended a meeting of the Board of Directors for Ilion Little Theatre. Not so blogworthy. Tonight I have a pick-up rehearsal for Strike Story, followed on Friday and Saturday by performances of same. Blogworthy, but I’ve written about it before. What else can I say? Perhaps I will think of something for tomorrow, so my Friday post will not be lame.

I could blather on… who am I kidding? No I can’t. I am out of words about having no words. But I am over 250 words, which I consider sufficient to call it a post. I have to go find some black pantyhose for my play. Hope to see you Friday.

It’s All About the Sticker

Yesterday at work, a co-worker was ranting on and on about why vote.

“Nobody has ever given me a good reason!” he declared more than once.

“I intend to write a blog post about it,” I told him, rising to the challenge.

“Nobody has ever given me a good reason!” I don’t think he was listening.

“Blog post! That’s a good reason!” Oh, I know there are a lot of reasons and anyone can feel free to give me a lecture on civic duty at any time via “Leave a comment.” I wasn’t trying to make a reasoned argument, I was trying to shut him up. It didn’t work.

Be that as it may, yesterday Steven and I voted. I was quite frankly hoping somebody would make a funny joke as we waited in line, because that is the kind of thing I like to include. However, there were no lines and no jokes. Well, I made a joke against myself when we couldn’t figure out at first which door they wanted us to go in. I get all self-deprecating at times like these.

They did not offer us “I Voted” stickers. I did not realize that until later, and it was of some concern to me, because I remembered that if I wore my “I Voted” sticker to Curves the next day, I would get put in for a drawing. I like to be put in for a drawing.

At Curves the next day (today), I sadly shared the loss.

“I didn’t even think about it till later,” I said.

“I looked for them, but didn’t think to ask,” another lady said.

“I asked; they didn’t have any,” a third lady said. “They said, ‘Those paper ballots cost us two bucks, we don’t have any stickers!'”

We all expressed our disappointment. The lady that owns Curves said anybody who voted could put in for the drawing, the stickers were not important. Then she found us all stickers that said, “I did it!” So we got our stickers after all.

If you were hoping I would say who I voted for or even express an opinion on the importance of voting, sorry. I think I have mentioned before: Mohawk Valley Girl stays off politics.

Happy Birthday, Tabby!

I have mentioned our beloved schoodle, Tabby, in many posts. I even seem to remember telling the story of how she came to us. If that is true, I shall now repeat myself in honor of her birthday: How We Got Tabby.

Back in 2007, Steven worked with a fellow whose mother worked for the Velvet Dog, a dog grooming place we still patronize (and sometimes blog about). The mother was fostering this little dog whose original owner could no longer care for her. She would have kept the dog herself but had “five dogs too many” as it was. Did Steven know of anybody in need of a dog?

“Steve needs a dog,” piped up Steven’s other co-worker.

“She’s a sweet dog,” said the first co-worker. They cleverly showed me a picture of her when I stopped in.

“Oh, she’s part poodle,” I said right away, and they explained “schnoodle,” schnauzer-poodle mix. It’s fun to say, and it turns out fun to live with.

Hmmm… this story does not seem nearly as exciting to me now that I’m typing it in. It is much more interesting to me to take Tabby for a walk and write about that.

Oh, but that makes me remember to say a word about her name. Tabby. Steven and I did not name our dog after a cat. Her original owner named her Tabitha. I think the only person who ever calls her Tabitha is a neighbor of ours, a very nice older gentleman. Obviously one would call her Tabby. Or Tabbers. Or Tabber-dog. Or, as my mother calls her, Tabbykins. More formally one may call her Tabby-Tababbby the Schnitzel Schnoodle, but I don’t think anybody has.

And now I’m getting silly.

For her birthday, Tabitha received Schnausages in a Blanket (Schnausages for a schnoodle! Steven is a genius!) and a squeaky pig. She likes them very much. She wagged her tail when I informed her that I had written a blog post about her. Happy Tabby’s Birthday, everybody!

Not Whistler, Western

In my quest to DVR movies to watch and write about later, I came across The Kansan (1943) starring Richard Dix.

Richard Dix, astute readers may remember, starred in the Whistler movies I have enjoyed so much. This one did not look like a Whistler movie, however. The word “marshal” in the description made me suspect it was a Western. Still, Richard Dix. It might be worth a watch.

Then I saw that it also starred Albert Dekker. Dekker was the subject of an episode of Mysteries & Scandals, cheesy show we used to enjoy during the early ’00s. He had a rather sordid private life and died under mysterious circumstances, either a suicide or a kinky sex game gone wrong. Of course, this has nothing to do with the movie, even as backstory. For heavens’ sake, the man was an actor. His personal life and death are separate things from any characters he may have played. Still, it added a little interest to our viewing.

Dix plays a stranger who happens to come to town just as a bank is being robbed. Apparently banks were always getting robbed in the Old West, which strikes me as odd considering almost everybody carried a gun and the tellers were NOT instructed to just hand over the money. Hard luck on depositors, since these were also the days before FDIC. But I digress.

It seems there is a shoot-out in which Dix saves the bank’s money but is himself injured. He wakes up in the hospital and is informed that the town has just elected him marshal. I guess this was also fairly common in the Old West. I seem to remember a similar thing happening to Cleavon Little in Blazing Saddles. Oh, and to James Garner in Support Your Local Sheriff.

Dix had been just passing through but decides to say a while after meeting the lady who owns the local hotel. I have to wonder what it is like to be so pretty that men change their entire career path before they even ask for a date.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that the new marshal in town soon discovers that things are not what they seem. It turns out the banker (Dekker), who was instrumental in getting Dix the marshal gig, is pretty much the main bad guy in town, although technically the law is on his side. There is a love triangle among the banker’s brother, the hotel owner and Dix, but this does not cause as many complications as I thought it would.

In pre-show commentary, Ben Mankiewicz said you could check off Western movie staples as you watch: stranger in town, cattle stampede, bar brawl, climactic gun fight. He left off hooker with a heart of gold, as did the movie, but I guess you don’t always have one of those.

It is actually a pretty entertaining flick. The plot moves right along and there is excitement along the way. I know I usually like to talk about bad movies in this space, the cheesier the better. However, I had a busy weekend and only had time to watch one movie. I thought it would be a little silly to turn it off because it was good. I’ll look for a bad movie next time.

Tribulations of a Theatre Junkie

This is a Wrist to Forehead Sunday post. Seriously, I have spent at least portions of the last three days inclined to burst into tears at the slightest provocation, and, really, I must admit, the provocations in my life are slight. I really do have a pretty good life: like my job OK, love my husband, have a great dog. And yet, it’s just not easy being me.

I think I mentioned in a previous post being a theatre junkie. Some people might use a less polite word for it, but I think junkie works just fine, thank you. I became secretary of Ilion Little Theatre Club, pretty much because somebody asked me to. I am in two performances of Strike Story next weekend, just because somebody asked me to. And I have been at the theatre for the past two days and will be there this afternoon, because… if you guessed somebody asked me to, YOU’RE WRONG! Nobody asked me to! I volunteered!

Some people would say it is not a wrist to forehead situation when it is your own stupid fault, but I disagree.

I am at the theatre to sell memberships and subscriptions. Last night I also attempted to sell raffle tickets. We are raffling four tickets for our next show. I am, unfortunately, the opposite of a salesperson. I think I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing: I smile, I tell the people what we’re offering, I tell them the price. They say, “No! In fact, you should pay me five bucks for standing here listening to you!”

OK, that’s not really true. People are very polite, and some of them did buy the tickets.

It’s really not that bad of a gig. I don’t know why my wrist is anywhere near my forehead over it, unless it’s that I have nothing to wear. Or that I would really rather be home in sweats, crocheting and watching crime shows on a Sunday. Or that right now it is hanging over my head: I have to be there in two hours. I have to shower. I have to get my stuff together. I ought to be taking care of a few more chores before I go… Oh yes, the wrist is on the forehead.

Well, it’s yet another post for the sake of posting something. I’m not even apologizing for them any more. Oh, well, maybe once more: I’m sorry to post lame again. I’ll try again tomorrow.

First November Run

I worked till 11 this morning, and while I was at work, I had a vision of a certain residential area I sometimes run in. I could see that it was a grey day outside. I thought about running under the grey sky, possibly on wet roads and sidewalks, looking around at houses. However, I told a co-worker, “I’m just as likely to make myself an egg sandwich and take a nap.”

When I left work, it was cold. Cold! Who said it could be cold? It’s still autumn, isn’t it? Since when does November have to be so cold? And that shows you what a difference a day makes, because Friday when I stepped outside and it was cold, I said, “Ah! That cold air is reviving me!” I had been literally falling asleep over my book during the 2 o’clock break, and it’s not a dull book.

So I got home feeling I had every reason to talk myself out of it. Then I thought, I want to take a shower anyways. Why not take a short run first? I’d either be sweaty and really need a shower or I’d be cold and a hot shower would feel twice as good.

My temperature doo-dah (that’s the technical term) said it was 42. Normally over 40 degrees I wear shorts and a t-shirt, but I thought since this would be the first cold run of the season, long legs and sleeves was the way to go. I had a pair of silky long johns I had worn under a skirt last night (so much more comfortable than pantyhose). I dug out a long sleeved ARMY t-shirt. I found a knitted toque (rhymes with spook). I was off.

Were you hoping that this was a fun run? That I reached the “I can rock this” stage and stayed there? That I got a huge endorphin rush? Yeah, well, that would have been nice. Right away I wished I had worn a sweatshirt as well as my long sleeved t-shirt. I told myself to keep running, I’d warm up.

Traffic was not at all bad. I crossed German Street very easily and headed toward the hill at Valley Health, which I have had it in mind to run for a few days now. As it felt surprisingly difficult to run, I considered running into the unknown park instead. A couple of small hills, that was more my speed. But that was not where I had pictured myself running while at work. I ran by the unknown park entrance, reminding myself that I do know the name of the park now but thinking, “Really, if they want me to call it Brookfield Park, they ought to put a sign at the gates.”

It seemed to take a long time to get to the hill by Valley Health. I did not feel that I was warming up. I was very aware of my hips. They felt huge. Here was the hill. Oh dear. I reminded myself of the trick an army friend of mine learned from our drill sergeant, who would know, “Just look at your feet and shuffle up that hill.” I made it. That didn’t seem to take too long, so I felt encouraged.

I saw a group of healthcare workers (they were wearing scrubs; I can’t tell nurses from aides from attendants etc.). They were talking loudly and laughing, so that was nice. I don’t think they were laughing at me, but of course you never know.

I continued my run, looking around at Halloween decorations that were still up. Some I had noticed before were gone already, but many people had at least left their mums and pumpkins out. Fall decor, I thought, can legitimately be left up from September 1 to December 1. Halloween stuff is really best in October. That said, Steve’s and my decorations are still up, and I enjoyed looking at other people’s as well. I do love Halloween.

I thought about the egg sandwich I had mentioned at work and it started to sound pretty good. I knew I had whole wheat English muffins as well as some cheese. Mmmmm… I remembered I had pepperoni as well. Even better. Then I remembered my enormous hips and rethought my menu choices.

As I got closer to home I thought I would prefer to run an extra minute over sprinting at the end. You see, I like to stop at the top of the minute and be exact when I put the time in my running journal. Sometimes I go a few seconds over, if for example I have stopped to pet a dog. That was not the case today. Two houses from my house I picked up the pace anyways. An extra minute is a long time at the shape I’m in right now (round and puffy).

It was really not a bad run at all. As always I felt good that I had run, and I made plans to run more often during the coming week. I enjoyed my egg sandwich, and I left off the pepperoni. Those hips are going bye-bye! Eventually.

I Was in the Mood for a Fiend

I think any movie with Vincent Price is worth a watch. Of course, you never know what you may be in for. I’ve seen him in the cheesy William Castle flick House on Haunted Hill and the stylish noir Laura, to name two of my favorites. When I saw something called Diary of a Madman on TCM, I reached for the DVR button on the remote.

Diary of a Madman (1963) is based on a story by Guy de Maupassant. I’ll have to read the story sometime so I can compare/contrast. However, I thought I would write this blog post before I did any such thing.

The movie opens on a funeral — always a good start for a horror flick. A “good man” is dead — at least, that’s what the eulogy says. One lady emphatically does not buy into that description. Several people meet, at the behest of the dead man, for the reading of his diary. That’s right, not the will, the diary. Didn’t you see the title of the picture?

Flashback to Vincent Price as a highly respected magistrate, going to see a condemned killer before his execution. The killer protests his innocence: it’s not him, it’s the demon that possesses him. Then he tries to kill Price. Well, I guess the demon tries to. Price kills the murderer first, so what do you suppose will happen to the demon?

That much we read in the description of the movie on the guide channel. To continue a plot summary would, I think, call for a spoiler alert. I don’t intend to exactly recount the plot, but just to be on the safe side, consider yourself alerted for possible spoilers.

The demon, it seems, does not so much possess Price as follow him around, taunting him and occasionally making him do things. And to my mind, not nearly enough things. Come on, the first guy the demon possessed — and this is just backstory — killed four people without motive. It takes forever for Price to start murdering!

When he finally does kill someone, he is not nearly as fiendish as we like our Vincent to be. There is a rather satisfyingly macabre bit involving a sculpture of somebody we don’t like much anyways, so that helps. Price was an excellent actor. He could play the tormented sufferer who wants to do right and it is a fine performance. I was just in the mood for a fiend.

The ending has a definite “Waaait a minute!” quality, but then, movies using a diary as a framing device often do. I mean, people are very rarely able to describe their own death in a diary before it actually happens (I didn’t spoil anything; remember? it opened on his funeral).

Perhaps they could have overcome the difficulty with a voice-over narration, something along the lines of, “This is what I plan to do. If you’re reading this, you’ll know it worked.” But they made no use of voice-over narration. Kind of silly of them, since Vincent Price had such a nice voice. Astute readers may remember my saying that I don’t like voice-over narration. True, it’s not my favorite. In this case, however, it may have enabled them to skip over a bunch of the boring parts before he gets around to killing somebody. Then they could have fit in a few more murders.

I guess it’s not the job of a reviewer to tell the movie makers how to fix the movie. I can see the director now huffing, “Fine! You go make a movie!” I guess they have a point. Reviewers ought to review the movie they saw, not the movie they wished they would have seen. Well, leaving aside the fact that I rarely do what I ought to (and brag about it), I’m not a real reviewer! I write a silly blog! Where do these movie makers get off, talking to me like I’m Leonard Maltin? They should just go make another movie. Maybe I’ll write about it next week.