Category Archives: humor

More Dirty Work

I believe I’ve mentioned some of drama surrounding Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play my husband is directing for Ilion Little Theatre (drama in the theatre? Say it ain’t so!). Well, the latest update includes good news and bad news and good news.

The good news is we have a hero. A young man was referred to us by a former president of the group (who, by the way, would have made a dandy hero himself but is too busy with work and family commitments). So far our new hero has been at one rehearsal (which I was not at), and Steven thinks he’s going to work out just fine.

I’ve heard good reports about him from others, too. My friend Phyllis says he’s a real nice guy. She told me her son said there was just one thing against him. I thought, “What? He can’t take direction. He’s a know-it-all. He says ‘um’ a lot.”

“He’s a Washington Redskins fan,” Phyllis said.

“The whole thing comes to a grinding halt,” I declared, with gestures. I was just kidding. I don’t even know what sport they were talking about.

I don’t know if any of your civilians know what it is like trying to cast a community theatre play when not enough people show up at auditions. It is stressful. Some people are very helpful with suggestions. But then you have to contact the people they suggested. And wait for them to get back to you. And get them the script. And let them read it. And think about it. And then they have to get back to you. All the while you are in suspense. The clock is ticking. Rehearsals have started. Opening night is imminent. What will happen?

So it was a great load off our shoulders when we got our hero.

And then we lost our French Maid. A very short time before Tuesday’s rehearsal, Steven got the email. Another disaster!

I actually had a few helpful suggestions right away, but Steven was not in the mood for helpful suggestions. Sometimes one just needs a little space to throw one’s hands in the hair and say, “This really sucks!” I continued my activities of getting dressed and making my blog post.

Eventually Steven said to me, “Can we just write the character out?”

It is a small part. Two little scenes, one of which I am in. I looked at my script.

“Sure,” I said. “Instead of, ‘Fleurette, inquire of that yokel yonder,’ I’ll say, ‘I shall inquire of that yokel yonder.'” I showed him a couple other small changes. “I can totally rock this.”

The other scene was a little more complicated. It is just Fleurette and Mookie (the aforementioned yokel).

“We’ll make it Mookie and Leonie,” I suggested. “I’ll write a few lines. This can work.”

We went to rehearsal feeling better. We had some time at the theatre before rehearsal started (a good director always gets there early), so I sat down and whipped off the Mookie/Leonie scene. Of course, I was all kinds of pleased with myself after that.

So we began rehearsal with me verbally coaching Mookie and Leonie through the modified scene. We intended to skip the new scene. I would email the actors their lines before the next rehearsal.

Then we realized Fleurette has another little scene we had forgotten about. Oops! This turned out to be less of a problem than it seemed at first, due largely to the fact that the play is a melodrama. It is completely acceptable for actors to address the audience, themselves, or the ambient air. It was easy to change the dialogue into a monologue, and not too long a one for the actor to learn.

So that was our week in Dirty Work. We solved one problem, confronted another, solved that one. Bring on the next problem! I’ll write about it here.

Come On, Description Writers!

I first tried to watch The Hypnotic Eye (1960) on Friday, the day I wasn’t feeling well. I blamed my inability to watch it on my lightheadedness. When I managed to sit through the whole thing on Saturday, I realized it wasn’t me. It’s a dull, stupid movie.

As far as a Spoiler Alert is concerned, I feel I don’t need to give one to anybody who read the little description of the movie in the Guide on Digital Cable. It gives away everything, including the big reveal at the end! For all others, Alert: I’m going to spoil everything.

One doesn’t realize what a spoiler it is when one reads the description: a hypnotist causes beautiful women to deform themselves at the behest of his ugly assistant. As a starting point, that sounds promising. One could get some suspense out of a plot like that.

But, no, the movie is a mystery. We’re not supposed to know why these women are deforming themselves. Of course the hypnotist is under suspicion right away — why wouldn’t he be with the title being The HYPNOTIC Eye? But the assistant part is a little less obvious. And she’s not even very ugly till the very end.

Come on, description writers! We could have spent the whole movie wondering WHY he’s doing this. We would have felt clever for noticing the subtle signals the assistant sends him as he selects his next victim. Instead we sit there thinking, “She’s not that ugly.”

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The movie starts out cheesy enough for most palates. A beautiful young lady in a slip glides into a kitchen, pausing silhouetted in the doorway so we can admire her shape (if we like). She rubs some stuff from a bottle in her hair, then bends over the gas stove, burner on. And catches her head on fire! There’s wonderful shot where they show the fire superimposed over her hair. These days they would have used CGI to show her blistering skin, which some people would have liked better (um, I’m not one of them).

I thought it was a beauty treatment gone horribly wrong; the heat from the stove was supposed to activate something. But, no, the woman mistook the stove for the sink. That’s some good hypnosis!

Of course the cop on the case doesn’t know it’s hypnosis. There’s a whole bit with him and his colleague (not sure if that guy is another cop or a doctor or what) (you know how I never pay attention to these details) about how hypnosis is a valuable tool in medicine and psychology, but these entertainment hypnotists are nothing but charlatans.

And from there it moves slowly.

There is some suspense along the way. The cop’s girlfriend, in true movie female fashion, puts herself in harm’s way to try to catch the criminal. The big reveal — The assistant is really ugly! That’s why she hates beautiful women! — comes as no surprise, probably not even to people who didn’t read the little description. Why the hypnotist feels compelled to do the assistant’s bidding is never revealed.

In summary, this is a movie that could definitely have used robot heads, especially if you are unfortunate enough to watch it on a day when you feel too lightheaded to make up your own jokes.

Mums for Mom at Candella’s

I was going to title this one “Mum’s the Word,” but thought it would be unbearably punny.

Saturday my adventures took me to New Hartford. OK, I guess they weren’t very adventurous, but I can’t seem to find the word I’m looking for. Activities? Perambulations? Gyrations? Leads are hard.

Be that as it may, I went home the long way through Whitesboro (or is it Whitestown? Ought to know these things) and Marcy. This made it handy to stop at Candella’s Farm and Greenhouse on River Road, where I hoped by buy a plant for my mother for Easter.

I was immediately greeted by a mother and daughters (at least, they looked like family) and asked if I needed help. I told them I wanted a plant for my mother, preferably something she could later plant outdoors if she wanted to.

I admired a beautiful lily in an unusual shade of pink. The lady said Mom could plant it outdoors but it required a sheltered area without too much direct sunlight. I mentally reviewed Mom and Dad’s lawn. Then I considered some hyacinths. Since I’m Cynthia, I thought a hyacinth would be nice (get it?). I got her a nice pink one a couple of years ago, which I foolishly left on my kitchen table. Mom told me to go ahead and plant it in my own yard and she could enjoy it there when she visits.

The lady also showed me a mum of a new color. She said she had good luck with mums. I liked the look of those but picked an “old” color of burgundy with yellow centers.

Mom was pleased with her present, and I was pleased with my experience at Candella’s. As spring slowly arrives, I’ll have several choices of places to purchase plants for my own yard. I hope to hit them all. I’d better buy a new pair of gardening gloves.

Candella’s is located at 9256 River Rd., Marcy, NY. Phone number is 315-736-9792. You can visit their website at http://www.candellasfarm.com/ or you can Like them on Facebook.

A Not Lamentable Supper

Usually when I do a cooking post, I have cooked something unusual or made up a new recipe. However, I enjoyed tonight’s supper so much, I feel it deserves a blog post.

Steven had to work till 5:30 this evening and he had rehearsal at seven for Dirty Work at the Crossroads (the show he is directing for Ilion Little Theatre; perhaps you read some of my blog posts about it) (I have a small but pivotal role). Being a dedicated director, he planned to be at the theatre by 6:30.

“I’ll just grab something,” he said, when I asked him what he wanted to do for supper.

As 5:30 approached, I couldn’t help noticing there was not a lot to just grab in our refrigerator or pantry. We had some Heidelberg bread left over from Easter dinner (we left some for Mom and Dad and brought the rest home. Love that Heidelberg bread!). If we had some deli meat, which we often do, I could have made him a sandwich and had done with. No luck. We had some mozzarella cheese. I could make grilled cheese sandwiches.

The question was did we have any tomato soup. It is perfectly possible to eat a grilled cheese sandwich without tomato soup, but the last time we did, Steven lamented the lack of soup. I wanted him to go to rehearsal happy. Ah, we had the soup. Did we have enough milk, because tomato soup made with water is, again, lamentable. Yes!

I got the soup on. I sliced the cheese. It wouldn’t do to start the sandwiches too early. Of course it would be nice for Steven to walk in the door and hear me say, “Oh, supper is just about ready, sit down!” However, for Steven to walk in to me scraping black grilled cheese sandwiches out of the frying pan would be — you know, it’s a very good word — lamentable.

Of course he was late getting home. I threw the sandwiches on while he changed into his jeans. They didn’t take long. When they were done I cut each one into four slices, for better dipping.

I must say, it was a very satisfying supper. No doubt the Heidelberg bread deserves the credit. Can I just say: YUM! Still, I had to feel a little pleased with myself for thinking of it. And I hope that as a blog post, it was not too lamentable.

A Sick Day with Georgette

Yesterday when I kind of combined Non-Sequitur Thursday with Lame Post Friday, I had thought I was going to find some good, blogworthy topic to write about on Friday (today). After all, I didn’t have to go to work. I had big plans of things to do. The sky was the limit!

Oh, man, I’ve been sick. It started Wednesday with extreme light-headedness. Then I didn’t feel so bad on Thursday, so I thought, “Oh, it’s just my spring allergies kicking in. I can rock this.” Then I woke up this morning and thought, “Oh, no.”

I actually did leave the house, determined to function in my ill-feeling state. After all, I’ve worked ten hour days with a screaming headache. I could have a couple of Mohawk Valley adventures while experiencing light-headedness, right? Not so much.

If any of you are currently expressing horror that I drove my vehicle in a lightheaded state, sorry. It wasn’t really that bad. I don’t think I was a danger to myself and others. I managed to run my errands, one of which was, I believe, blogworthy in the usual sense. However, I will not write about it now, for reasons that will become clear when I eventually do write about it. If anybody remembers the preceding sentence, and, quite frankly, I’m not counting on anybody continuing to read after the second paragraph.

Anyways, when I got home, the light-headedness kicked in full force. I couldn’t do anything by lie on the couch and read a Georgette Heyer book. For a little variety, I went up and laid down on the bed and read, then napped a little.

And, by the way, how about a brief shout out to Georgette Heyer? She pretty much invented the Regency Romance. Nobody before or since has done it as well. Oh, well, maybe Jane Austen. It is so cool to think that there was a time when people felt obligated to be civil. Judging from some of the stuff I read on Facebook or hear in the streets, that is emphatically no longer the case. That could be a topic for another blog post. When I’m feeling better.

Lame Non-Sequiturs

I saw on the news Tuesday morning (WKTV out of Utica, NY) that somebody had declared it No Complaints Tuesday. My rebellious nature immediately asserted itself.

I will naturally complain about anybody telling me not to complain. After all, we can help improve things by complaining about what’s wrong. And if we can’t change things we can relieve our feelings by expressing ourselves. I have a lot of intelligent, thoughtful, CERTAINLY NOT whiny complaints, and I am sure you do, too, gentle reader.

That is the cue for somebody to sniff, “I never complain. It doesn’t do you any good to complain. I look on the positive side always.” Well, if that is truly what you say, I bet a lot of your friends complain about you as soon as you leave the room.

I wrote the preceding Tuesday morning but decided to save it for Non-Sequitur Thursday. I actually continued my Tuesday in a non-complaining fashion, I think largely because I had gotten it out of my system with that silly diatribe.

So today is Non-Sequitur Thursday, but it is also my Friday — that is, Lame Post Friday — since I have tomorrow off. Score! I can be random, half-baked and none of it has to make any sense (I KNOW some of you are saying, “So what else is new?” and what an obvious thing to say. Find some new jokes!).

I intend to spend a good part of the weekend watching cheesy movies which I will write about for your entertainment. I have some waiting on my DVR especially for the purpose. I might also hit some local retail establishments in search of Easter goodies.

Hey, why is it there a moon on my watch (how’s that for a non-sequitur) (and a random observation)? It can’t mean p.m., because I have my watch set to military time (if you want to annoy some people, tell them it’s 16:48 when they ask you what time it is). It’s not that I’m such a gung ho, prior service kind of veteran (but feel free to call me Sgt Q). It’s that this way when I set my alarm for 3:30 or 5 I know it will ring in the morning. Just another little bit of security when I go to sleep at night that I’ll get up on time in the morning. Maybe the moon has always been there. Or maybe my watch is mooning me. Wise-ass Timex!

Well, that is over 400 words. I think that is plenty enough silliness for one day (is that half-baked philosophy?) (I know “plenty enough” is a tautology, but I like the sound of it). Time to get on with my weekend. Happy Thursday, everyone!

Dirty in the Works

Yesterday we started rehearsals for Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play my husband Steven is directing for Ilion Little Theatre (ILT). Rehearsal was scheduled for seven o’clock. We arrived by 6:30 to set up the stage.

The stage was almost completely bare, the set from the last show having been taken down. Flats and lumber were piled up at the sides and back, because we aren’t sure what all we might need to build Steven’s set. Steven began placing chairs on the stage to indicate where some things are going to be.

“This is theatre magic,” I declared. “A minute ago they were just chairs. Now they’re a house, a river bank, a stump — OK, those are still just chairs.” The chairs were around an actual table — probably not the specific table we’ll ultimately use — that the Widow Lovelace serves tea on.

My remark struck me as very funny and I immediately decided to use it in the blog.

When I was in Harvey last year, I did not feel comfortable blogging about the rehearsal process itself. I felt somehow it should remain private, protected in a way. Some directors hold closed rehearsals — only essential personnel allowed in. That’s more usual in a professional or college setting. I’ve never known ILT rehearsals to be closed.

That said, I think I can say a little, in a general way, about our rehearsal last night. One observation I must make is, blocking rehearsals are boring.

Blocking, for anyone who doesn’t know, is movement on the stage. The director says, “You go here on this line,” and the actor writes it in his (or her) script. In pencil. Then they try it again. It isn’t so bad when you’re on the stage moving around and writing things down. Sitting in the audience watching can be deadly.

See, my big scenes aren’t till Act II. I was there last night to lend moral support for the first rehearsal. In view of that, I did not mention to anyone how boring I find blocking rehearsals. I hope nobody in the cast reads this blog. You guys aren’t boring! Don’t get upset! Oh, who am I kidding? Everybody doesn’t read my blog every day.

So for a progress report on Dirty Work at the Crossroads, I say: so far so good. One rehearsal down and it went pretty well. Further reports as events warrant. Till we get a little closer to production. Then this blog might become All Dirty Works All The Time. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Sorry, Readers

It’s another Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I don’t have a post written. I don’t have any ideas of what to write a post about. I don’t even have any humorous remarks about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today.

I almost had Wrist to Forehead Saturday. I took out an old spiral notebook and wrote a sentence. And crossed it out. I wrote another couple of sentences and crossed them out. I frowned. Started another sentence. Forced myself to write… each… word… Then when I was folding laundry I came up with the St. Baldrick’s Day idea. Saved!

I walked with my schnoodle Tabby to the post office to mail postcards yesterday morning, thinking that would be worth a post. My husband Steven joined us for another walk this afternoon. The highlight of today’s walk was the memorial for Ape, the police dog who gave his life protecting his human partner from the killer. At least, I don’t know if highlight is the right word. But I don’t feel I can write a blog post about that, or indeed, say anything else about the tragedy today.

Yesterday I had a couple of opportunities for Mohawk Valley adventures, in addition to our post office jaunt, but alas, nothing blogworthy ensued. I didn’t even watch a cheesy horror movie, although a couple good-sounding choices await on my DVR.

So boo hoo for me. And boo hoo for you the reader, as I blather on about these things. Oh well, I guess the blogosphere can survive one more stupid post from yours truly. Ah, here’s something apropos. In the old notebook I was writing in yesterday, I found a crumpled piece of paper with the following quote:

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometime courage is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”

I guess what I do doesn’t take a plethora of courage, but, yes, I will try again tomorrow. Hope to see you then.

One Cheese, Two Cheese, RATS!

When I closed yesterday I thought I might take today to come up with a rating system for my cheesy movie reviews. A Facebook friend suggested servings of cheese. I had thought maybe kinds of cheese — this one’s cheddar, that one’s Velveeta. That strikes me as rather qualitative and subjective. Then again, who cares about that? They’re my reviews, and any review is perforce subjective. Then again, not everybody likes the same kind of cheese.

For example, when I think “cheddar” I think dry, aged, classy, substantial, delicious. Others might think, can’t have it without crackers, gets lumpy when it melts, I’d rather have American. For another example, I find Cheez Whiz a delicious treat, whereas cheese snobs find it unbearably tacky and I daresay many refuse to try it. Hmmm. That one’s kind of a metaphor for the sort of movies I like.

But now I’m thinking, if I have to explain what I mean when I rate a movie “cheddar,” I may as well leave off the cheddar and just explain. Which is pretty much what I do now. I say, “Worth a watch,” or, “Good if you want a stupid movie to make fun of.” I don’t know that I’ve ever used it in the blog, but my ultimate pan of a movie is “It needs robot heads.”

This, of course, is a reference to Mystery Science Theatre 3000, in which a guy and two robots make fun of cheesy movies. Delicious show. I think if a movie needs robot heads, it’s not just cheesy, it’s dull. I did find one movie so dull even robot heads couldn’t get me through it. The next time I find myself without a feature on a Saturday afternoon, I may attempt it again and write about it.

Where does that leave us? One cheese, two cheeses, Rats! I never should have watched this movie! But am I rating how cheesy a movie is, how good it is, or how enjoyable? I think I’m better off sticking to my descriptions.

So now I’ve wasted a whole blog post deciding to just keep doing what I’m doing. Maybe I should have saved this one for Lame Post Friday.

Add a Robotized Dead Brother

Spoiler Alert! Actually, I’m not sure how much I’ll actually spoil, but I’m used to putting these in now.

I DVR’d The Awful Dr. Orloff with high hopes. Full disclosure: as I currently write this (in my new spiral notebook while on a break at work), I don’t quite remember the doctor’s name or if he was Awful or Horrible or some other adjective. The description said something about using his robotized dead brother to kill women in order to keep his wife beautiful. Kidnapping and/or killing women in order to make or keep another woman beautiful is, of course, a staple of the cheesy horror genre. Add a robotized dead brother and what’s not to like?

I had a bad moment at the beginning of the movie when I realized it was in French with subtitles. For one thing, foreign films have that cachet — ooh, it’s European, it must be classy! More importantly, I was not at all sure I could knit and read subtitles at the same time. I might drop a stitch and I never know what to do when that happens (I’m not that good at knitting). So I had to make more of an effort at this movie, especially when the subtitles and the background blended together. I persevered though, because lately it seems cheesy movies are hard to come by.

This one starts right out looking like a cheesy horror movie should, on an eerie, darkened street, with a beautiful but not very classy woman fleeing in terror from… it could only be the robotized dead brother. That cadaverous gait! Those wide, unseeing eyes! I’d run, too! He catches her, kills her and carries her away, in view of witnesses.

The time is probably the late 1800s: flickering street lamps, horse-drawn carriages. Of course, movies are known to play fast and loose with period. If anyone says, “Here we are in the year blahblah,” I missed it. At least the atmosphere is good, and I think a mad scientist plays better in a period piece.

Soon we meet the hero and heroine, a detective and an opera singer who have fallen in love. When he is assigned the case of the mysterious killer, the newspapers have a field day printing headlines about how he’s dallying with his girlfriend instead of solving the case. So, no intrepid girl reporter, much to my disappointment. No reporters at all, actually, just headlines. Sorry, journalism.

The mad scientist, it turns out, doesn’t know how to transfer the beauty from his murder victims to his deformed daughter — not wife as I was sure it said in the description (I couldn’t get back to the description on digital cable and check). He just keeps trying different experiments. There’s one boob shot when he slices a woman open. Oh, these French films!

The robotized dead guy, by the way, is not not a common or garden dead brother. He was executed for murders including parricide. I thought they guillotined convicts in France. At least, they did on some Frankenstein movies I saw (and wrote blog posts about). I guess I shouldn’t take those as historic fact. No matter, he was a bad man before he was dead and robotized and he’s a bad robotized dead guy now.

That doesn’t stop the mad scientist’s assistant from feeling sorry for him. At least, I don’t know if she’s an assistant. She’s a beautiful woman the mad scientist broke out of prison by making it look like she was dead. I guess she liked him well enough before, but now she thinks he’s mad as well as evil.

The detective’s girlfriend gets to be intrepid, going undercover to try to catch the killer. She’s not completely stupid about it, either. It’s not her fault her detective boyfriend fails to read the note she sends him because he thinks it’s from some random crazy woman. Oh well, it makes for more suspense.

It’s actually a pretty good movie. You just need a large capacity crane to suspend your disbelief. As cheesy entertainment, I say it is worth a watch. Once again, I think I need a rating system, like thumbs up or three stars. Maybe I could discuss a few possibilities on Non-Sequitur Thursday.