Category Archives: commentary

Oh, Just Write It!

Is cooking conducive to writing? Discuss amongst yourselves.

I am not exactly cooking as I write this (by hand in a notebook, standing at my kitchen counter). I am popping popcorn (on the stove in oil, as God intended) (it’s JUST an EXPRESSION! Sheesh!).

I wrote that much and got stuck. Still, I got the urge to open the notebook and start writing as soon as I got the oil in the pot. I thought that was interesting.

You know, I think Wrist to Forehead Sunday is becoming even more deeply ingrained into my schedule than Lame Post Friday. Actually, this morning, I am more inclined to put the palm of my hand or my cold fingers on my forehead, because I have a dreadful headache. Partying too heartily on Saturday night, you ask? Well, I don’t know about that, but I did stay up later than normal.

Be all that as it may, what is a blogger to do when a post must be written (according to my rules, anyways) but her head is aching and she wants nothing better than to retreat into the TV watching and crocheting portion of the day (I got some new yarn especially for the purpose)? What I did do was eat the popcorn and think about it (Steven was hogging the computer anyways), then pour myself some blue Gatorade (for some reason good for headaches) and get onto the computer to Write The Damn Thing Anyways.

We did go for a most enjoyable walk with Tabby earlier (before the headache had kicked in). It was still cool out, not too sunny, which was good since I had forgotten my Crazy Old Lady hat. We stopped and chatted with some neighbors who were having a garage sale (didn’t buy anything for once). We discussed our respective flood experiences, what we’d heard about who lost what, and had anybody gotten any money from insurance or the government yet. We concluded that we had been more fortunate than some others.

Well, look at that, word count over 300. I call that respectable. Don’t worry (if you even were), I won’t be too lame in the coming days. We saw an awesomely cheesy movie last night (when I may or may not have been partying too heartily), and I hope to do some bloggable cooking today. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

No Potatoes

I don’t really know what that means. Louis Armstrong says it at the beginning of one of the songs on a CD I have, and since it is a non-sequitur there, I thought I would it would be appropriate as a headline on Non-Sequitur Thursday.

As you can guess, I ain’t got much.

I’m not really sure what Non-Sequitur Thursday is supposed to be anyways. I guess I just use it as an early Lame Post Friday. Sorry about that, but, you know what, I’m tired. It’s been a long week. A pedantic person would say the week is seven days long, as is every week since they invented weeks. That person would be quite right, but, you know what, being right is no reason to say something. There’s some half-baked philosophy I may re-visit on Lame Post Friday.

Lame Post Friday, that’s the day I’m waiting for. For one thing, it’s defined. Random observations and half-baked philosophy. What is Non-Sequitur Thursday but me being too lazy to write a real post. Right up there with Wuss-Out Wednesday.

Stand by for some more half-baked philosophy: I started this blog because I wanted to make myself write something every day. Does it count if what I write is dumb? How much effort is it required that one expend for writing to “count”? I put it in quotes, because it just occurred to me to wonder, what does it even mean for writing to count?

I will feel better if I answer those questions. Yes, it counts, no matter how dumb, and “dumb” is a judgement call anyways (we’ll save half-baked philosophy on “dumb” for another day). The effort of putting fingers to keyboard or around pencil is effort enough. For writing to count, it must mean something to someone, and quite frankly, most writing does (maybe something dumb, but let’s not re-open that can of worms).

Now maybe I’ll go eat some potatoes.

Not a Scooby Doo Plot

Spoiler Alert! I don’t really give much away this time, but it’s become a habit to include an alert.

I admit I DVR’d The Mummy on TCM thinking it was the black and white version. You know how I love old horror movies. When I found out it was the Hammer Films production from 1959, I figured it would still be worth a watch.

I already knew that Hammer had revitalized the horror genre in the late ’50s and early ’60s. What I learned from Ben Mankiewicz’s pre-movie commentary was that for the first few movies they made — Dracula and Frankenstein flicks — they had to be careful not to infringe on the copyrighted portions of movies previously released by Universal. After the success of the earlier films, Hammer was able to negotiate with Universal for re-make rights. The Mummy is the first of those re-makes.

That was very interesting to me. Now I want to see the older version more than ever, to see what they changed. And I may like to write a blog post contrasting the earlier, non-infringing movies with the re-makes.

The movie stars Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, veterans of previous Hammer films. Lee gets to be the monster this time, and he was not nuts about the extensive make-up, according to Mankiewicz. I can see where an actor might find it limiting, although Lon Chaney reportedly found it liberating. I wonder if George Clooney would like to try it. But I digress.

Cushing plays one of the archaeologists responsible for desecrating the tomb of… oh dear, I don’t recall the lady’s name. I may have written it in the TV Journal as I watched, but even if I did I am not at all confident in my spelling. It was some high priestess or other. There is a rather elaborate backstory about how the Mummy became her guardian. Someday I’ll have to look up some actual Egyptian legends to see how much Hollywood was really pulling our leg.

Speaking of leg, Cushing’s is broken, and his uncle has this nutty idea Cushing should return to civilization and get it properly set by a doctor. Of course he does no such thing. For one reason, he would avoid the Mummy’s curse and how would that have helped the movie? Later on he gets to walk around with a romantic limp that, quite frankly, I thought was going to figure into the plot more prominently.

Speaking of romantic, Cushing has a beautiful wife who, in one of those typical movie coincidences, happens to look JUST LIKE the lady in the tomb. Oh well, I suppose you could make up some rationalization about how Cushing is such a dedicated Egyptologist that he subconsciously fell in love with a girl who looked just like an Egyptian. Or something of that nature. I guess I don’t really have a problem with this sort of thing. It figures into the plot and makes the flashbacks easier to cast.

All the usual elements are here: warned against desecrating the tomb, desecrating the tomb anyways, leaving the Mummy’s first victim alone so that nobody quite knows what happened. At one point I said, “Oh, that would be a good plot: the guy that warned them does the killing himself and makes it look like the Mummy’s doing it.” Then I remembered that is the plot of almost every Scooby Doo mystery (although they didn’t usually deal in murder). I only steal from the best.

Cushing indulges in some typical stupid movie male activity. I know I usually rail against stupid movie females. In fact when movie males do it, it is brash or daring or refusing to play by the rules. As usual I must admit, if people in movies had any brains they would sit quietly at home and we would have boring movies (although I bet these days there is some yahoo with a webcam showing exactly that on YouTube). Cushing’s wife doesn’t do anything too stupid. Alas, she does not do much of anything else, either, the sad fate of many a movie female.

The movie does have what was for me a major “Waaaait a minute” moment, but to tell you that would entail quite a long plot summary and a major spoiler (alert notwithstanding). I enjoyed the movie. I think I am becoming a Peter Cushing fan.

Musings on Murderers

Hmmm… Kind of a gruesome headline. My Wrist to Forehead mood continues.

It’s not that I’m too lazy to write a blog post; I wrote quite a bit of one at work today. But it’s not ready yet, and I can’t possibly finish it now. I worked on my novel too, but I’d just like to mention that it is not going very well right now. That could be one reason why my wrist is on my forehead, but we’re not being analytical here.

Then again, why not be analytical on Middle-aged Musings Monday?

I did have one musing. It came to me while I worked. I was thinking about my novel and some of the true crime documentary-style shows we like to watch and a book I’ve been re-reading about Writing Mysteries: A Handbook by the Mystery Writers of America (Writer’s Digest Books, 1992). And it occurred to me: murderers do not have a great deal of imagination. If they had more imagination, they could think of better ways to solve their problems than by murdering somebody.

I feel sure I am right about this.

I believe most murderers believe they have a great imagination. Many of them think they are as clever as an analogy by that guy on Lizard Lick Towing (I never watch that show, but on the ads for it this redneck guy is full of “he’s as something as a something-something,” very down-home and distinctive. I wish I could think of things like that). In books murderers are pretty clever. In movies they are usually clever and lucky. So naturally, some of the real-life kind feel they must be the same.

Or does it happen the other way around? Because these people think they are so clever and imaginative (but are not), they think they can get away with murder (which they would not have to commit if they really were so clever and imaginative). I like that.

And that’s over 300 words. Happy Monday, everybody.

The Incredible Shrinking Blog Post

As a change from a post about Why I Can’t Write a Post, how about a post about Why I Can’t Write About This Movie. Having just thought of a good title, I see I must also keep this one short.

Spoiler Alert! Because even as I say I am not writing about this movie, I may inadvertently give something away. Perhaps one day I will do a post on why I feel so obligated to always give a spoiler alert.

I DVR’d The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) because I was certain a science fiction movie from the ’50s would offer the cheese content I desire. Will I ever learn my lesson about that?

It turns out the movie was part of a new feature on TCM (at least new to me; I don’t know how long they’ve been doing it), Essentials Junior. The Essentials, a feature I sometimes catch, shows the movies you must watch if you aspire to be a real cinemaphile (my computer says that’s not a word, but isn’t it?). Robert Osborne and a co-host of varying degrees of credibility discuss it beforehand.

Bill Hader hosts Essentials Junior, and he starts out by giving a plot summary. What’s that all about? I hate to be given a plot summary! And it seems really pointless in this case. I mean, we’ve tuned in, we’ve already decided to watch the movie. What do we need a plot summary for? As I expressed my feelings about this in the TV Journal, Hader went on to make some more substantive comments about the movie and the times in which it was made. However, I missed most of them, because I was busy writing about my disgruntlement.

Incidentally, the irony is not lost on me that as I sat there decrying plot summaries, most of my movie posts are just that.

That is really the most interesting thing I have to say about The Incredible Shrinking Man. The movie was not particularly cheesy. The effects were actually pretty good for their time. Oh sure, there was the occasional inconsistency in perspective. You’ll have that.

The problem I had with the movie — and I emphasize that this was only a problem for me, not a bad thing about the movie — is that it was deadly serious. It was, dare I say it, philosophical. And their philosophy was not half-baked! What can Mohawk Valley Girl say about a movie like that?

I promised a short post, so I’d better shut up now. Maybe this was another foolish post, but in my defense, at least this time it wasn’t all about me.

Still Think “Blog” is a Silly Verb

This is what I get for not running on a Saturday: now I don’t have anything to write a blog post about. Is anybody getting tired of posts about Why I Can’t Write a Post?

Personally, I’m not. I think it’s a funny thing to write a blog post about. And it is a challenge to think of something different to say each time. At least, I hope I think of something different each time. I don’t go back and re-read these silly posts.

I was reading through all my posts. I did it once when I had been blogging (still think it’s a silly verb) about a month. Then I started to do it again when I had been at it for a year. That time it took longer, because I only want to read so many blog posts at a time. I was almost caught up when I inexplicably stopped. Perhaps I should start up again. I can write a blog post about any startling conclusions I draw (although I am more likely to come up with some half-baked philosophy about it) (I always say, go with your strengths).

The fact is, I have spent today doing mostly useful things. For “useful” you can read “boring” or at least “unblogworthy” (my computer tells me that’s not a word, but I think it should be). I did have one Mohawk Valley adventure, but you know I don’t like to write about those so soon after the fact.

On the brighter side: one adventure today, one planned for tomorrow, still time to watch a cheesy movie tonight. I may have a much better blog next week.

Nowhere to Go But Up

I have not been running enough lately but did not feel I could use that as an excuse to not run today. Steven left for work at 6:20 a.m. I left at the same time.

I turned toward Steuben Street, thinking to go up that hill. Full disclosure: I could not remember the name of the street till I got to it and saw the sign. That’s how little I’ve been running lately, because that is a usual Saturday morning run for me.

As I turned down German Street the sun was right in my eyes. How annoying. At least I could see the sidewalk a few feet in front of me, so no danger of tripping and falling on my stupid face. At least, less danger. I’m so clumsy I guess there are no guarantees. However, I reached Steuben without mishap (making a mental note of the name) and started up.

Who remembered that the hill was so steep and long? Not me! Oh no. There were only a couple of opportunities to turn off. Should I take the first, easier one? No! I was going to be tough!

What the hell do I have to be so tough for? I thought that hill was going to go on forever. The sidewalk ends pretty quickly and there is no shoulder to speak of. Traffic is light early Saturday morning, of course, but I encountered a few cars and trucks. Most of them at least crossed the center line for me. I suppose I can’t expect them to slow down much as they are going downhill. I at least gave them the little thank you wave for getting over.

Since, as I mentioned, I have not been running enough, I could not quite remember how far up the tough girl turn-off was. Around this curve? No. The next curve? No. Oh dear. Lots of curves on this road. Was that a hoof print in the gravel? Any observation to distract myself is useful. I looked around for deer, which you occasionally see on that road.

I started looking through trees to my right. You can see the road you turn on to through them before you actually get to it, and that’s kind of an encouraging sight. No far nothing but trees. Darn. Wait, surely that was the turn off? No, just a driveway. Well, I was certainly toughening myself up, wasn’t I?

At last! I could see the road I wanted through the trees. Now it was only a question of where the damn turn off was. The sharper the angle, the longer till I got to the turn. Damn, it must be a V! At last I reached it. Aaah!

And remembered that after a very short down-slope the road goes up again. What’s that all about? I felt so ill-used. And annoyed with myself for forgetting that little detail. No matter, I told myself. It was not all that steep an up-slope, and it was a quieter, residential area. I admired a few houses. I didn’t think I remembered any dogs on this stretch.

Then I was on the down-slope again. Which I had forgotten was so steep! It’s a little scary going down a steep down-slope. My husband, Steven, tells the story of running down a hill when he was a kid and being unable to stop. I suppose if it was a race I might throw caution to the wind and see how fast I could get. As it was, I leaned back and took advantage of gravity without letting gravity take control of me (how’s that for a sound bite?)

It was actually a pretty good run. I even encountered my friend, Nicky and his person when I got back on German Street. Naturally I stopped long enough to pet Nicky (such a good dog) and exchange greetings with his person. As Tabby graciously walked my cool-down with me, I felt pretty terrific. I might even run another hill tomorrow.

Lame Lament

So here I am on another Lame Post Friday, feeling a little discouraged about this whole blogging business.

Oh, I can hear it now, the mean people saying, “So stop writing a blog! Nobody asked you to!” And then they say, with a sniff, “We’re not MEAN, we’re REALISTIC.” I explain, “Shut up” (an SJ Perelman reference I have used numerous occasions).

That parenthetical comment raises the half-baked philosophical question of where are the lines drawn between reference, homage and stealing somebody else’s stuff? I do hope the fact that I gave credit to Mr. Perelman absolves me from charges of plagiarism (which some people feel is the sincerest form of flattery).

My other philosophical question (half-baked, of course) is where is the line drawn between discouragement and feeling sorry for oneself? I believe the difference is one of point of view. I feel discouragement; you feel sorry for yourself (oh, not you, dear reader; I’m just giving an example).

I actually thought to write a non-lame (or perhaps semi-lame) post today. I was cooking something unexpected for supper and thought to write about that. Then I realized: far too much trouble for a Friday. I’ll save it for tomorrow or next week.

If boasting no other virtue, a lame post should be short. I’ll sign off now. Happy Friday, everybody.

A Walk for Tabby

I was unable to write my intended post today (no excuses, just the usual reasons). I see it has been two weeks since my last Pedestrian Post, so I submit the following.

I felt I owed our schnoodle, Tabby, something fun. Last night (Wednesday) we went to the laundromat, a new activity for us, as regular readers may recall. Tabby saw us loading the car and got all excited. We must be going somewhere fun! In her defense, that is usually the only time she sees us making multiple trips between the vehicle and the house.

She looked so happy, I wanted to cry. I knew she would forgive us as soon as we were back home, but still. I suppose the operative thing to have done would have been to take her for a walk immediately upon our return. Or even before we left, so she might be tired and sleep while we were gone. One can often see the perfect thing to have done after the fact.

Be all that as it may, Tabby and I went for a nice walk just now. Yesterday gave us the deliciously cool fall-like temperatures that I love (yes, yet anther reason it would have been a good idea to walk yesterday, will you give it a rest?). Today was warm but not stinking hot. I put on my crazy old lady had and sunglasses and off we went.

It was pleasant in the shade, especially when a breeze blew. We walked one of our usual routes, down to Church Street then over towards Tabby’s and my beloved Historic Four Corners. This was also good for me, because I saw how long it takes to get there. I intend to walk to the Herkimer County Historic Society (one of the four corners) later tonight for a program on Wicked Mohawk Valley (preview of coming attractions).

Tabby did her business before we got to the Four Corners, which was nice, because there is a trash can right in front of the 1834 Jail (another one of the corners). I had another bag in case of further need so did not scruple to get rid of what she’d done so far.

On down Main Street we went. As always I admired the historic looking buildings and lamented the closed businesses. I noticed Christ Episcopal Church is offering a free dinner on Sunday. That might be fun and tasty.

We turned at Park Avenue. Burrito Jones is still promising to come in on that corner, but we did not walk past it, so I could not observe current progress. A young lady passed us going in the other direction and said, “Hi, puppies.” There were two rather adorable dogs across the street in front of the Post Office, so perhaps she was talking to them as well. Or maybe she thought I’d like to be a puppy, too. You never know, I might make a good one.

Meyers Park was especially pleasant with the trees and grass making it a little cooler. We went up the shadier side of Bellinger Street. Some people never cleaned off the mud during the flood so now there are thick patches of dirt on the sidewalks. At least it’s a little softer than bare pavement.

We enjoyed our walk. I had been hoping for a little more excitement, since I intended to write a blog post about it, but one must make do. Now to get ready for the program at the Historical Society, Wicked Mohawk Valley. I ought to fit right in.

If You Like the Psycho-Biddy Genre

Spoiler Alert! I’m going to give away practically everything for the following movie, because I want to comment on what happens.

I wasn’t going to write about this one at all, because I ended up disliking it so much. However, I mustn’t be selfish. Some of my readers like to read my movie write-ups. And I think many of them particularly like the psycho-biddy genre.

When I saw Whatever Happened to Aunt Alice? (1969) on the schedule for TCM, I immediately set it to DVR. We subsequently discovered (but were not surprised, considering the title) that it was produced by Robert Aldrich, the man behind Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? and Hush… Hush, Sweet Charlotte (original title Whatever Happened to Cousin Charlotte?).

Aunt Alice stars Geraldine Page and Ruth Gordon. What a pedigree! How could we go wrong?

A better question is how could the script writers go so wrong? The movie opens promisingly enough with a funeral and Geraldine Page all set to be a merry widow. The next scene reveals to her and us that in fact she is left penniless. On to the murders!

The move wastes no time in getting to the murders. On must give them that. My problem is they don’t really explain what’s going on. I know from the description the lady kills her maids for their money and uses their bodies to fertilize her garden, but if that had not been the description, I think I would have gotten a little confused.

Another minor caveat, she’s not exactly fertilizing a garden. She gets her gardener to dig a big, deep hole, gets the maid into the hole and kills her, then plants a big old pine tree on top of the body. That old lady planting a big old pine tree (not a sapling, like a normal murderer would plant) is one of the most unbelievable parts in the picture.

Probably the most unbelievable part is how she gets the maids to work for her in the first place. According to this movie, there are plenty of lonely old ladies with large bank accounts willing to work for chicken scratch. Oh, and who are prepared to work for a raging virago. Seriously, Page is so mean I can’t believe she can get anybody to work for her.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Page was still killing the first maid. In general I have no problem with a thriller that gets right down to the killing. In this case, however, I could have used a scene where she gets the idea to kill the maid for the money. For one thing, they could have explained how the maid got so much money in the first place.

So there Page is, living in Arizona (also never explained) (at least I don’t think she started out in Arizona). At this point I usually make a little self-deprecating remark about how I ought to pay more attention to these things. I’m not sure it would have done any good.

Before Page offs the second maid (that we see; there were others in between), we see a little more of her method. Apparently she dangles her highly profitable stock market investments till the maid invests her own life savings. Without meeting the magic broker or signing any kind of contract. Well, I guess that’s not so far-fetched. People make a lot of stupid mistakes when they think they will get a large return.

Soon another tree is planted and Page is looking for another maid (we suspect now there have been other murders judging by the row of pine trees) (and can I just say, who plants pine trees in the desert, for heavens’ sake?). Enter Ruth Gordon, and we see some more of our killer’s evil method.

“I won’t pay you much,” she says smoothly, as if this were a minor glitch, like not having a vacuum cleaner. “So you won’t be able to save much.”

For God’s sake, who does that? Who makes it a job requirement that the employee have savings because the job pays crap? And who takes a job under those circumstances? Working, I remind you, for a mean, nasty old lady who treats you like dirt?

Then there’s this random beautiful chick who moves into the cabin next door with her nephew. This is a set-up right out of a romance novel: she’s a grieving widow and the nephew has really bad asthma, so the family sends them both to Arizona to heal their respective wounds. Only, of course, she’s not the main character and there’s no Mr. Rochester-type brooding mysterious guy for her to be suspicious of slash fall in love with (yes, you need to say “slash”). What a waste of a perfectly good set up!

She does get a love interest, by the way. It seems both our biddies have nephews. Page’s is married but I doubt that would stop him if Widow were having any of it. She’s not. She has some history with Gordon’s nephew, yet another thing not very well explained. It figures hugely into the plot, however, when they’re off canoodling while Gordon could REALLY use her nephew’s help.

I haven’t even gotten to the dog yet! Beautiful Widow and Asthmatic Boy (yes, it’s her nephew, but I think there are entirely too many nephews in this movie) adopt a stray dog. Of course anybody watching this sort of movie is immediately apprehensive on the dog’s behalf (unless you are an animal hater, in which case, stop reading now, we have nothing to say to each other).

Page is obviously (and not surprisingly) a dog hater. She is additionally concerned that the dog will dig up her handiwork, but come on! Each maid is six feet under with a pine tree planted on top. No mutt is going to dig that shit up without a backhoe.

I had a lot of other problems with this movie, but I think my post is running a bit long. Which, by the way, the movie did, too. I suppose it was entertaining, because I did watch it through to the end, but I didn’t like it. Still, if you like the psycho-biddy genre, it might be worth your time.