Author Archives: mohawkvalleygirl

DVR Cheese II

Spoiler Alert! Just in case anybody missed yesterday’s.

As I said, Steven and I began watching The Power of the Whistler in hopes that it was a sequel to The Whistler. The movie begins with the same mysterious shadow and whistling. Well, that meant either it was a sequel or the same movie re-released under a different title. I was worried for a minute. Then I saw that the names were different. And that The Power of the Whistler was not directed by William Castle. So it didn’t have the same cheesy bonafides. Still, we could give it a chance.

Same Whistler voiceover to begin with. He introduces this guy going into a restaurant and sitting at the bar. Seated at a table nearby are two girls, one with date. Single girl, a gorgeous blond, has just beaten the other two soundly at gin and offers to tell their fortunes. The other girl, a cute but not as exciting brunette, declines, saying she likes to be surprised. Her date says he knows his future — kiss-kiss (don’t worry; they don’t spend the whole picture doing that).

So the blond says she’ll predict for “that handsome stranger at the bar” (I didn’t think he was such a much, but I suppose we can’t all be George Clooney). Twice in a row she pulls the ace of spades followed by the two of clubs. Death within 24 hours! Naturally she follows the guy out of the bar to tell him. Talk about meet cute! It gets better: he has amnesia and has no idea who he is. What’s a girl to do? Try to track down the mystery, of course, with clues found in the allegedly handsome man’s pockets.

We were about 20 minutes into the movie when I made the note, “We haven’t heard anybody whistling and nobody’s dead yet.” Shortly after that, things started to get a little more interesting, building up into creepy then scary. I don’t want to give too much away, but I will warn you: animals are injured (of course, I hope they were only acting, but this was back in the day). Animals getting killed is always creepier than people. I mean, when people get killed in a movie, the other characters tend to do something about it. When an animal gets killed — even a beloved pet — the characters just get upset and the audience takes it as a portent.

The solution to the guy’s identity is actually pretty clever, and it is arrived at by logical steps taken by the characters not who’da-thunk-it coincidences. The brunette (it’s blondie’s sister) and her boyfriend return in small but pivotal roles. Neither girl is a completely useless movie female (you know, the kind that does nothing but scream and get rescued), so I liked that. And the climax was suspenseful.

We never did hear any whistling. The Whistler comes back at the end as a voiceover wrapping things up in a vague kind of way. I thought it was kind of funny that in the first movie he (apparently) went around shooting people in a helpful fashion, but in the movie titled The Power of the Whistler he is only a framing device.

On the whole, I liked Power better than I liked The Whistler. It moved faster and there was more to it. But neither movie was a waste of time (I suppose for me no movie is a complete waste of time, because I can get a blog post out of the dullest). In conclusion I would say, if you see a mysterious shadow and hear whistling at the beginning of a movie, you might want to give it a chance.

Cheese from the DVR

Spoiler Alert! I may ruin not one but two cheesy thriller movies with today’s and tomorrow’s posts. Then again, I think most reviewers give away too much, and theatrical trailers sometimes give it ALL away. People are still watching movies. I can’t destroy too much.

Every Saturday morning I scan the listings for TCM for the weekend. Perhaps I will subscribe to their program guide and do this by the month including weekdays. Then again, how many movies do I have time to watch? Not enough, I tell you! (With a wrist to my forehead, of course.) (But I digress.)

Two Saturdays ago I DVR’d a promising entry called The Whistler. Something about some guy hiring a hit man then wanting to call if off. It was when I saw that it was directed by William Castle that I reached for the remote. As cheesy as Ed Wood and more prolific. I suppose personally Castle was less colorful, or maybe Tim Burton would have made a movie about him, too. (As a side note: I just remembered that the sadly overlooked 1992 movie Matinee, starring John Goodman and Cathy Moriarty was inspired by William Castle. So there, Burton; you missed a bet.)

I had not had a chance to watch The Whistler before the following Saturday, when I noticed a listing for The Power of the Whistler. It must be a sequel, I thought. The description when I hit “info” did not say so, nor could I find it in Steve’s Leonard Maltin book (which is almost a cheesy bonafide in itself). But really, what else could it be?

Steven and I watched both movies last Sunday. The Whistler opens eerily with the mysterious shadow of a man and the sound of whistling. Voiceover narration introduces the story. I am not a fan of voiceover narration, but sometimes we must live with these things.

The main guy hires a hit man using an intermediary and only gives the guy a name and address. Then we find out that the name and address are HIS OWN (see, that’s why I needed the Spoiler Alert). It seems he has been having dreadful mental problems which have been effecting his unnamed business (movie people are often employed in Business the nature of which is never fully explained; I think that is because movie writers have never had a real job, don’t quite know how the rest of the world works, and can’t be bothered doing research) (I would have loved have been a movie writer during the studio era) (although it didn’t do William Holden much good in Sunset Boulevard) (but, once again, I digress).

Where was I? Ah yes, main guy’s mental problems stem from the unvoiced belief of his friends that he was responsible for his wife’s death. It’s a complicated backstory, and I don’t know as the details are all that important. When he finds our via telegram (it’s a OLD movie!) that his wife isn’t dead after all, he wants to live again (all you husbands out there just be quiet; I know what joke you were about to make). Unfortunately, the middle man has been killed and the actual hit man is elusive. What do do? What to do?

Cut to the hired murderer, who is the most interesting character in the picture. He’s reading a psychology book (I stupidly did not write down the title and I already deleted the movie from my DVR) and decides he is going to try to scare the guy to death.

And then a bunch of other stuff happens. Hey, alert notwithstanding, I don’t what to spoil EVERYTHING!

Where is the Whistler during all this? Around, apparently. We occasionally hear whistling and see a shadow. At least one guy is opportunely killed, and the hit man says he is not responsible. The Whistler also has a final voiceover at the end.

The convoluted plot made for some interest, but I was not sorry to pause the movie some twenty minutes before the end and take the dog for a walk. In other words, the suspense wasn’t killing me. I did go back and watch the end, though, so it didn’t completely lose me. It was a short movie (it had that going for it), so we continued the movie watching portion of our evening with The Power of the Whistler, which provides the subject for tomorrow’s blog post. Stay tuned.

Ooh La La!

I believe I mentioned auditioning for Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the Gay ’90s Melodrama being directed by my husband Steven for Ilion Little Theatre. Well, Steven is having a little bit of trouble filling all ten roles. Today at work I tried to help.

I didn’t start out trying to help. At first I was just making conversation.

“Steven is having trouble filling all the girls parts in his play,” I said to a guy who came to see Harvey and has expressed an interest in future plays.

“Sally is a girl,” he said immediately.

“Well, there is the part of the French Maid,” I speculated.

He expressed an immediate interest in seeing his co-worker in a French Maid outfit. “But don’t tell her I suggested her.”

“But I’ve given you a mental image that you will enjoy for the rest of the morning,” I said. I went and found Sally. “Would you like to play the part of the French Maid in Steven’s play?” I asked.

“I think Harry would be better as the French Maid,” she suggested.

“I’ll ask him,” I said. “In the meantime, we both have a mental image we can enjoy for the rest of the morning.”

Much later I saw the two of them talking, so I approached them. “I asked Sally if she wanted to play the French Maid and she said you would be much better,” I told Harry. He immediately started speaking French. I thought about going all Gomez Adams on him, “Tish! You spoke French!” but we were at work after all. “You know, I didn’t even tell Sally it was your idea that she do it. Oops.”

So we all got a good laugh, and I told them I was going to write a blog post about it. “But I won’t use your real names.” In case they felt weird about my vast readership picturing them both in French Maid outfits.

“I want to be Harry, and she can be Sally,” Harry immediately said, solving my problem. You see, I had been trying to think of aliases and I was worried a clever reader would trace them to their source.

By the end of the day I had at least two other votes for Harry as the French Maid, and I believe he is considering the role. While I was discussing it with him, two other co-workers walked by.

“Or maybe Tom should be the French Maid,” I said, just to widen my search (his name isn’t really Tom; I made up that alias just now all by myself).

“Huh? What? I heard my name.”

I tried to explain. “My husband needs more actors for the play he is directing.”

“You can probably get a lot of help with that around here,” the other co-worker said. “Lots of drama going on.” I believe that is the case in many places of employment.

Of course I don’t usually blog about work, because this isn’t that sort of a blog, but I thought the story about the French Maid search was pretty funny. And the search continues. Maybe I should ask my boss or maybe the plant manager…

Dirty Work at the Crossroads will be presented by Ilion Little Theatre Oct. 19, 20, 25, 26 and 27 at 8 p.m. with a matinee Sunday Oct. 21 at 2 p.m. For more information visit their website at http://www.ilionlittletheatre.org or “Like” them on Facebook. Now I know you all want to come and see who finally plays the French Maid.

Where’s That Wisdom?

Middle-aged Musings Monday is supposed to be easy. My idea was to have another day where I could write any old thing and kind of let myself off the hook. Ease into the week, I believe I said in the premier Middle-aged Musings post. After all, sometimes it is enough effort to get through Monday at all, let alone entertain and inform. Ahem, I hoped to still entertain.

Can I just say, IT’S NOT WORKING!!! I have no musings, middle-aged or otherwise. And I have the worst case of Writer’s Blank I have suffered in a long time. I am also suffering from the related malady, Cross Out Or Erase Everything As Soon As I Write It. And I am composing at the computer, so no wide X’s I can just read around later and say, “Oh, that isn’t so bad.” When I erase it, it’s gone.

I had thought I could go running and blog about that (I won’t say “write about it,” because I cannot so dignify my meanderings today). I figured it would combine running commentary with middle-aged musings. I even had a title, “Musings on the Move.” I may have used that title before. I believe I have observed more than once: I am not above repeating myself.

I did run. The weather was nice and cool, although the sun came out near the end of the run and that was a little hot. It was no problem, really, since I did not run very far and I certainly did not run very fast. I thought if I wrote a blog post about it I could call it “Go Play in Traffic,” because there were a lot of cars on the road. I did not cross any busy streets.

I tried to muse as I ran, but I didn’t come up with anything. You know, I thought I was getting pretty old. Shouldn’t that wisdom thing have kicked in by now? There’s a musing for you, although I didn’t think of that while I was running; I thought of it just now as I was reflecting on how I couldn’t think of anything.

I see that I am over 300 words for today. A respectable post if only I would have thought of something intelligent to say. It seems I am always craving my readers’ indulgence as I write yet another stupid post. Oh well, they say no life is wasted because you can always stand as a bad example to others. If nothing else, you can look at this and say, “Huh. At least I didn’t write THAT!” Happy Monday.

I Stink and Am Merry

The Little Falls Garlic Festival boasts the motto, “Eat, Stink and Be Merry.” I like it, but I also think it is a little silly, because I like the smell of garlic. I suppose they refer to garlic breath. I guess that’s different.

I missed the Garlic Festival last year so was pleased when my sister Diane and her daughter Camille drove over from Liverpool specifically to attend. It’s not a far drive from Herkimer to Little Falls. It was not even too difficult finding a parking space.

We paid our admission and got our hands stamped in case we left and desired re-entry. I said it was like we were going to a bar or a club, a thing I have not done in ages.

We strolled around the booths, trying free samples of garlic and dips made with garlic. I never realized how many garlic farmers this area has. I also had not realized how many varieties of garlic there are.

“I just go to the grocery store and buy garlic,” I said.

“Don’t buy that junk!” a vendor said. “That’s shipped over from China! Buy enough here to last till next year.”

I didn’t quite do that, but I purchased a lovely braid of garlic which is currently hanging in my kitchen. When it is gone, I shall make every effort to replenish my supplies through a local vendor.

Our fun was cut short by a storm. We had been a little afraid it would be but had made up our minds to enjoy the festival while we could. It had started to sprinkle and the wind had started whipping as Diane purchased her garlic. I was relieved that the bill she was using to pay and the bills the young man had gotten out for her change did not fly away in the breeze.

The deluge hit at Diane completed her purchase. She and Camille had carried umbrellas and I had my crazy old lady hat, but nothing did us much good. Our backs were soaked well before we reached the car.

I was laughing. “Shawshank Redemption!” I said, throwing my arms wide and looking up, like Tim Robbins does in the movie. Camille was less amused, but her discontent stemmed from the fact that the storm had hit before she had been allowed to buy anything.

My main regret was that we had not been able to hear much of Common Threads, the band Steven and I had enjoyed so much at the last event we attended at Canal Place. They had started playing at two, and the deluge hit not long after that.

It was still a fun time. The Little Falls Garlic Festival is a great event. I highly recommend you watch for it next year. I certainly will.

Red-Headed Run

Not to be confused with red-headed stepchild, which is actually an expression I have never used. I say bastard stepchild in those situations, but that’s neither here nor there (I like that expression).

So I mentioned yesterday in passing that I dyed my hair. The box calls it auburn, but I think most people use the term red. Yes, I used a box. No doubt it would have been a good idea to go to a professional, but this was more in my budget. I’ve had good luck with boxes before, back in the ’90s, when I dyed for entertainment and didn’t have much grey. For the past few years I have embraced the grey, but then I thought, “Oh, what the hell.”

That is not what I meant to write about. I meant to do my usual Saturday Morning Running Commentary (I just suddenly decided to capitalize it, like it’s a Thing like Middle-aged Musings Monday or Lame Post Friday). The title Red-Headed Run came to me while I was running, so here we are.

I’ve mentioned in previous running commentaries how I think other people are looking at me and thinking this or that about “that old lady running.” Well, here I was with no grey hair. Surely I looked less old. No doubt I flatter myself. Probably nobody was looking at me this morning and thinking, “What a great hair color!” I’m not so sure anybody noticed me running with the grey hair either, but at least it makes for something to think about while running.

In fact, I started my run early enough that the streets were pretty bare. I did see a group of young people walking toward me on the opposite side of the street. They looked like 20-somethings, but I can never accurately guess ages. I wondered what they were doing out so early. Then as we crossed paths I heard one of the girls say, “Some people have slept already,” and I got it. They were not out early, they were out late. Ah, youth.

The run was actually a pretty good one. Regular readers know I started running again last weekend after a two week hiatus. Then, typical me, I didn’t run on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday. In my defense, it was quite hot and humid, and I had auditions for Dirty Work at the Crossroads to worry about (I got cast). I have a number of things I ought to be getting done this morning, but I decided running (and writing a blog post about it) would be a priority.

The weather was not too hot. Some humidity, but not enough to effect my breathing. I was over half-way through the time I had set out to run for before I even looked at my watch. It was then that I realized: this run didn’t feel bad. My legs were not complaining at all. My back twinged a couple of times, but nothing too bad. I know running can hurt your back. However, being overweight can hurt your back, too, and running helps keep my weight down. I say, pick your pain and this was really more of a twinge than a pain.

I ran the sidewalks of Herkimer and admired other people’s houses. I saw a few screened in porches to envy, a few flower gardens to imitate next year. I saw one dog, but did not cross the street to pet him. For one thing, his owner was trying to get him to sit and the dog was not cooperating. I did not want to encourage canine insubordination.

I ended up running longer than I had run on Monday, and I must say I felt pretty good about it. As I walked my cool down with Tabby, I felt really good that I had gotten my run done. Whatever else I did not accomplish with the day, at least I had done that. Then I thought, I feel pretty good physically, too. Isn’t that awesome? After all the perseverance runs I write about, I finally write one without a single complaint (unless you count the twinge in the back) (and I don’t). Must be the red hair.

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lame

Why does writing for Lame Post Friday become increasingly difficult?

Actually, I think I’ve just incorporated the two elements of Lame Post Friday: Random Observation: it becomes increasingly difficult to write Friday Lame Posts. Half-Baked Philosophy: Why?

And that’s pretty much as far as I can go with that.

Here’s another random observation, though: it often threatens rain long before it actually rains. Which raises the half-baked philosophical question: What exactly is the “it” referred to in the previous sentence?

Random observation number three: I have now asked two half-baked philosophical questions but made no attempt to answer either one. Related philosophical question: Why not? Related observation: Philosophy often raises questions which it does not intend to answer.

This is becoming an increasingly silly post (random observation number five!). Is that a problem? (philosophical question four; if this was a game, random observations would be ahead)

I do have some Mohawk Valley adventures planned for the weekend. I’m having a personal adventure now, but I think it would be really lame to recount how I’m dying my hair. Wait a minute…

Oh Oh, Auditions!

I was unsure whether to hyphenate oh-oh or put in exclamation points, Oh! Oh! or use the comma. I may change my mind by the end of the post.

Yesterday my husband, Steven, held the first night of auditions for Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the Gay ’90s melodrama he is directing for Ilion Little Theatre. You might think that since I am sleeping with the director, I would approach these auditions without nerves, and so I did, uh, didn’t. Not too much, anyways.

It is a short drive from our house in Herkimer, NY to Remington Avenue in Ilion where the theatre is located. This is a good thing, especially since we almost forgot the scripts. I knew if we had forgotten anything else I would be easily able to retrieve it while Steven stalled. In fact, we were cool.

Some people were already waiting for us when we arrived. Soon we actors were filling out our audition sheets. I put all wise-ass answers on mine. Like I said, not too many nerves. Several people were a little confused by the last question, “Is there anything else you’d like us to know?” When I typed up the audition sheets I was thinking of things like, “I know stage combat” or “I’ll work backstage if not cast” or “I can tap dance.” Um, I don’t think there is any stage combat or tap dancing in the show, but we will have a backstage.

At last it was time to be on stage reading the scenes. I was at a slight advantage since I read the play last weekend. People caught on to the characters and situations pretty fast, though, and it was entertaining to watch. At auditions I always like to see other people read a scene before I read it, so I can steal their good ideas. After all, plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery.

Some really talented people showed up for auditions, but I’m afraid not enough to cast the show. The second round of auditions is tonight, so I hope Steven will get a few more people. I’m sorry I did not write this post last night and post it right away. If I post it within the next twenty minutes, people will have exactly one hour to read it, decide to audition and show up. Now how many readers do I think are going to tune right in and act on what I write? How many local readers do you suppose I have? As the great Fats Waller said, “One never knows, do one?”

Auditions continue tonight, September 6 at 7 p.m. at Ilion Little Theatre, The Stables, Remington Avenue, Ilion, NY. For more information visit their website at http://www.ilionlittletheatre.com or their Facebook page.

The Red Apple Delivers

A local restaurant recently made a comeback, so I thought I’d give them a shout out.

The Red Apple on Main Street in Mohawk suffered a fire. They were boarded up and blocked with stern yellow tape for what seemed like the longest time. The OPEN sign perched mockingly in one window. Well, why wouldn’t it be there? When there is a fire, the operative thing to do is GET OUT, not worry about turning the sign over to “Sorry, We’re Closed.”

I drive by the place almost every day after work and was pleased to see first when clean-up had started and second when they had re-opened. After they helpfully left a menu on our front porch, I suggested we order delivery.

From the appetizers we selected Crab Rangoon with Cheese Wontons and Fried Scallop. The rangoon we usually get but had never tried the scallops. For our entree we went with General Tso’s Chicken. That is one of my favorites, although I’m never sure exactly how much you’re supposed to pronounce the T. A friend of mine just asks for “The General’s Chicken,” really a very sensible way to order it; I’ve never seen another general on a Chinese menu.

Our dinner arrived in due course. Steven tried unsuccessfully to keep Tabby from greeting the delivery guy (I was no help; I was busy doing an anacrostic puzzle). The food did not disappoint. The scallops were yummy, and the crab rangoons were some of the best I’ve had.

Another menu was included with our order. I looked at it and saw another dozen or so things I’d like to try, particularly from the Thai Style Cooking section. Oh dear, just when I was thinking I ought to cook for myself a little more often.

Red Apple is located at 10 E. Main St., Mohawk, NY, telephone 315-866-1788, fax 315-866-1833. They are open seven days a week: Monday through Thursday 11 a.m. to 10:30 p.m., Friday and Saturday 11 a.m. to 11 p.m., and Sunday noon to 10 p.m.

A Great Spot for Breakfast

To celebrate our day off together on Monday, Steven and I went to breakfast at The Knight Spot on Frankfort, NY.

I know I have written about The Knight Spot before. It is a favorite of ours for breakfast, lunch, dinner or the occasional afternoon ice cream sundae. As we waited for our breakfast menus I read the desserts on the board on the wall near us and considered ordering pie for breakfast. Or possibly deep fried cheesecake. And of course they have all those wonderful flavors of Gifford hard ice cream. No, no, we were there for breakfast.

I ordered my favorite breakfast sandwich of sausage, egg and cheese on a hard roll. Steven ordered fried eggs with bacon and Italian toast.

“I only ever get bacon when we go out for breakfast,” he observed.

It’s true. We used to almost always have bacon in our refrigerator. We stopped buying it so often when Steven was diagnosed with high cholesterol. Now it’s a special treat. I don’t mean to say we eat healthily all the time or even most of the time. But we eat less egregiously unhealthily than we used to. That said, Steven enjoyed his bacon.

The whole breakfast was enjoyable. The Knight Spot has that hometown atmosphere that many area restaurants share. You get the feeling that many of your fellow diners are Regulars, that some of them probably went to high school with the waitress and everybody is ready to be friends. Of course none of that may be true, but it doesn’t matter. The place feels friendly, and the food tastes good.

The Knight Spot is located at 264 E. Main St., Frankfort, NY, phone 315-894-5054. They are open seven days from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. You can “Like” them on Facebook. I did.