The Decongestant Blues

I think Non Sequitur Saturday has a much better sound to it than Non Sequitur Thursday.

It was cold this morning when I walked to the post office with Tabby to mail some postcards.

Sometimes we call her Tabby Dog. That is more stream of consciousness than non sequitur. Sue me.

The next production for Ilion Little Theatre is now fully cast and rehearsals are going well, so I hear. I may stop by a rehearsal and say hello, just for material for another post.

I recently saw not one but two cheesy horror movies I could write about. The second was more of a philosophical love story, but I don’t despair of writing an acceptable post.

I may have said a few too many times that I mean to start running again. First the weather got too cold, then I got a cold, now I still have the cold AND it’s too cold. I know, I know, some people run with a cold and in the cold. Why don’t you just add some more guilt to my ills?

When I returned to Curves Wednesday I felt so terrific, I almost couldn’t wait to go in Friday. Then on Friday I realized, ooh, I have a lot of ground to make up. With the state my body’s in, I really can’t miss days of exercise.

Sometimes colds hang on and on. And sometimes what you think is going to help, well, not so much. And then you write a really stupid blog post and hope your readers will forgive you.

No Use Crying Over Lame Posts

Well here we are once again on Lame Post Friday and I am feeling even more lame than usual (insert peanut gallery type remark of your choice here).

I do have just one thing written earlier this week, a random observation about an old cliche:

It’s no use crying over spilled milk.

I’m not crying because I think it’s going to HELP! I am having an honest emotional reaction to an upsetting event. Can you please cut me a small break? I will look for the paper towels in a minute.

The problem is: before making today’s post I checked out Facebook, as is my usual habit. What should I find but a link to another blog I follow about, you guessed it, crying over spilled milk. They do say great minds run around in the same circles (wait a minute, that is what I say; “they” put it a little differently).

Only, that post was not lame. It was a heartfelt essay about a new mother coping with real problems.

So now here I am writing a post about how inadequate I feel writing my Friday Lame Post.

Only, let’s be honest: I don’t feel any more inadequate today than any other day. For Heavens’ sake, I KNOW there are better writers than me and writers writing about more important things than I write about. It’s no reason to stop writing.

I typed that last sentence and then stopped. Just to put a little irony in your diet (one of my favorite jokes). I will close with the link to my friend’s post, so you can compare/contrast and discuss amongst yourselves. Happy Friday, everyone.

http://megactsout.blogspot.com/2013/02/crying-over-spilt-milk.html

PK’s Saves the Evening

Sometimes things just work out.

Yesterday after work I went to Curves for the first time in a week (as regular readers know, I gave blood on Friday then got sick) (in case anybody is worried, I called the 800 number and warned Red Cross my blood might be bad). Oh, I was glad I went. I’m still not feeling 100 percent, but it felt good to sweat. I went home stinky but happy.

Steven met me at the door (Tabby had run out the door, met me at my vehicle and was running up and down the backyard, sharing her joy with the neighborhood).

“We have no power,” Steven said. Oh dear.

It was not dark yet, but it was a gloomy, rainy day, so it was not easy to see things in the house. Steven had not called National Grid (still want to call them NiMo), because the phone was not working without electricity (which is odd, because I remember, many years ago, the lights being out but still being able to make phone calls). Luckily I had my cell.

We groped around with the aid of our one flashlight till we found the number on our bill (which we DID pay, so that is NOT the solution to why the lights were out, anybody who was thinking that) (you know who you are). While Steven made his frustrating way though the automated line I wondered what to do. Too dark to read the paper. Bad idea to stand in front of the open fridge and look for something to snack on. Couldn’t even heat some coffee on our gas stove, because it has electric ignition.

At last Steven reported that crews were on the job, estimated time of restoration: seven o’clock.

“It’s not even five!” I said, wondering if they had estimated conservatively to be on the safe side or optimistically to soothe irate customers (which obviously would not work in the long run, but I would not necessarily expect a big company to think about that).

Luckily the hot water was working (I mentioned I was stinky, didn’t I?). I suggested I shower and we go out and get something to eat. We had to eat in any case, and this would pass the time while the power got fixed. I regretted that we couldn’t take Tabby, but I figured she could just nap in the dark while we were gone. Dogs are more easily entertained than I am.

I had actually been thinking about PK’s Pub earlier in the day and wondering when I would have the opportunity to dine there again. It really seemed too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Steven pointed out all the lucky houses that still had power as we drove to King Street. I was relieved, because if PK’s was out of power too the whole thing came to a grinding halt.

We were able to get my favorite tall table near the bar. I do love to sit at a tall table. We told the bartender our sad tale that had brought us there.

“Sounds like it worked out for you,” she observed.

I had to admit that was true. It was a lovely dinner. I tried the Chipotle Ravioli. Quite unusual and very tasty. Steven had the grilled chicken platter. The vegetables were done to perfection, he said. He got an Almond Joy pie for dessert. I virtuously refrained from ordering a dessert, then ruined it by having another glass of wine when the bartender asked me did I want one. Then the waitress brought two spoons (I MIGHT have suggested that she do so), so I was really not very virtuous at all. In my defense, the desserts at PK’s Pub are out of this world. They are all homemade and often highly unusual.

We left shortly before seven. The bartender said, “If the power’s still not on, come on back. We have plenty of wine!”

The lights were on, however, so such drastic action was not necessary. I almost feel I ought to thank National Grid. It was a most serendipitous outage.

PK’s Pub is located at 221 King St., Herkimer, NY. Phone number 315-866-3494. You can also Like them on Facebook.

Taking Liberties with Miss Marple

When I DVR’d Murder Ahoy starring Margaret Rutherford from TCM, I was hoping for a star-studded Agatha Christie extravaganza, maybe in a “Love Boat” type of setting. It was not that, but it was an enjoyable movie and not without certain points to ponder (you know how I hate to do just a straight review).

My first point of contention came during pre-movie commentary when Ben Mankiewicz kept referring to the main character as “Mrs. Marple.” It’s MISS!!! She is an old maiden lady, gossipy and harmless. It is perhaps a small point, but I think it is telling. Mankiewicz certainly never read a Miss Marple book and I question how many Miss Marple movies he has actually seen.

In fact, I know he’s never read a Miss Marple book, because he said “Mrs. Marple” was featured in 20 short stories by Agatha Christie. In fact, she was also in a number of novels (I didn’t look up how many, but you needn’t shake your finger at me; I’ve probably read them all).

Oh, I know, I’m carping. I don’t expect Ben Mankiewicz to have watched every movie TCM possibly shows, much less researched them all himself. I know he has a staff for such things. But I still think it is perfectly legitimate for me to point out: It’s Miss Marple, not Mrs., and she was featured in novels as well as short stories. OK, I’m done. For now.

Murder Ahoy, Mankiewicz tells us, was not adapted from a Christie story but is an original mystery based on the character. Well, I don’t mind that. Sometimes a novel doesn’t translate so well onto the screen. An original screenplay is at least written for its medium.

In the novels, Miss Marple solves mysteries mainly through her extensive knowledge of human nature (idea being that a maiden lady has more leisure to observe these things than, for example, a married lady with half a dozen kids to look after). Somebody would remind her of somebody she used to know and that would give her the key.

I believe this sort of thing works better on the page than on the screen. No matter, because this Miss Marple doesn’t seem to work that way. For heavens’ sake, she has laboratory equipment so she can detect the poison in… well, you know I don’t like to give everything away.

The written Miss Marple also stuck close to her little village of St. Mary Mead, with a few exceptions. Purists feel she was at her best at home, but I have no prejudice either way. This Miss Marple, as you probably expected, goes on board a ship to solve the mystery.

I have to say that the liberties taken with the character of Miss Marple did not bother me one bit. Dame Christie herself was the first to point out that screen (or stage, for which many works were originally adapted) is a different medium with different requirements. In fact, I’m not even going to share all the things the movie makers added, because at least one was for me a quite delightful surprise.

I thought the movie Murder Ahoy was quite entertaining. I look forward to other Miss Marple movies starring Margaret Rutherford.

In My Defense, I’m Still Sick with a Cold

So there I was, with a perfectly innocuous Miss Marple movie I could write a blog post about, yet I was writing about a rather unsavory dream I had. My object was not psychoanalytical in nature but to disprove the notion that the ideas you wake up with in the middle of the night and forget are actually any good anyways.

This was when I realized how unsavory the dream actually was, and I thought, “Wait a minute! My mother reads this blog!”

This would make an excellent introduction to a discussion on self-censorship and how we really can’t worry about whom we offend. Look, I understand the Let It All Hang Out school of art as well as the next exhibitionist. But I also agree that for some things, there is a time and a place.

The place for my dream (oh, all right, it involved body parts and probably not in the way some of you are thinking) (you know who you are) is in my notebook, safely disguised by my messy handwriting, till I re-write and edit it till I feel it is ready for public consumption. Or it will stay in the notebook and rot while I go on to write something else, having learned what I can from that bit of nonsense.

So you can stop shaking your superior artist fingers at me. I read Writing Down the Bones. I know all about first thoughts and practice writing. I just don’t think I have to post every damn thing I write. Unfortunately, since I like to post something every day, I post a lot of what I write that perhaps some people think would be better off left in said notebook. Well, think what you like.

As my headline said, I am still suffering from a head cold. I’m fuzzy, I’m unhappy. I will cease to inflict myself upon you. Let’s try for Miss Marple again on Wednesday.

Side note: Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, in case you’ve never heard of it, is a very interesting book about writing and creativity. I recommend it.

Good Job, Leonard!

Spoiler Alert! I’m going to give away a big plot point for a B-movie (Crack-Up) and an A-Movie (Gaslight). It’s actually not that well-kept of a secret, but I feel better having issued a warning.

I DVR’d Crack-Up based on the description in the digital cable guide, which says an art forgery expert is made to think he’s losing his mind. In retrospect I don’t know why I found that intriguing. Maybe I was hoping for a low-rent, gender-reversed Gaslight.

In fiction people are always trying to make other people think they’re crazy. I don’t think it happens nearly that often in real life. It seems to me that in real life, the villains just go ahead and kill the victims or rob them or discredit them or whatever. The whole “make him think he’s crazy” idea seems awfully complicated to me. Then again, what do I know? I don’t go around victimizing people, not intentionally, at any rate.

The problem with the plot device in movies is that the audience knows it’s coming. We read it in the description or the review, or see it in the trailers (I could do a whole other blog post about how those three things usually give away too much). So only the characters in the movie are wondering, “Is he really crazy?” It would be much more suspenseful if the audience could wonder too.

I’ve seen it done in novels with greater success, perhaps because I avoid reading the backs or fly leafs of novels. Of course, having read a few novels and seen a few movies, I would automatically think when a character starts questioning her own sanity (it’s usually a girl) (insert gender-based stereotype of your choice), that somebody is making her feel that way.

In Crack-Up our hero never for one minute questions hes own sanity, even though pretty much everybody else does. He insists he’s not crazy and sets out to prove it. Complications ensue.

After I wrote the above but before typing it in, I consulted Leonard Maltin’s 2007 Movie Guide (Penguin Group, New York, 2006). Leonard says, “Art critic…remembers surviving a train wreck that never took place; it’s just the first incident in a growing web of intrigue and murder.”

What a great description! It barely gives anything away! Well, the train wreck that didn’t happen, but we find out about that fairly early on, so I say that’s OK. I say, Bravo! The digital cable guide should take a lesson.

As a side note, I went on to see what Leonard had to say about Gaslight. Alas, he is not nearly so circumspect. I suppose since that is such an old movie, based on an even older play, he figured that everybody pretty much knew.

Snapshots of a Weekend

It is not Wrist to Forehead Sunday. For one thing, with the cold I am suffering, I am completely disinclined to move my limbs at all. I raise my hands to the keyboard. That’s as far as they go. Oh, well, occasionally as high as my nose, but that will give you a nasty mental image, so let’s not go there.

Where was I? Ah yes, in need of a blog post. I can just see some of you shaking admonitory fingers at me. How many foolish posts about not writing a post can I get away with, you are asking me in righteous indignation.

I seem to remember saying people could shake their fingers, their heads or their groove things at me and welcome. I thought it was a clever line at the time. Imagine my chagrin when I heard the song and in fact it is “Shake your booty,” not “Shake your groove thing.” Well, shake what you like. How about Shake’n’Bake for dinner? After all, feed a cold.

So I thought I’d mention in passing a few little things I did this weekend. Saturday I watched a movie called Crack-Up, which I had DVR’d back in October the same day I DVR’d Prehistoric Women, which I seem to remember writing kind of a fun post about (I’m not flattering myself here, it was indeed fun for me to write; I only hope it was also fun to read). Crack-Up was not nearly as fun or cheesy, but I don’t despair about finding something to say about it sometime.

For Saturday night dinner Steven called one of our favorites, Salvatore’s in Herkimer, NY. We got Greens Salvatore and Zitis with tomato sauce. Yum! So prompt of delivery, too. This time I held onto Tabby so she could not personally greet the delivery person, much to her chagrin. It was such a good dinner, I thought it not inappropriate to give them another plug. You can go to the Salvatore’s Herkimer Facebook page for a link to their website.

Gee, that’s only two snapshots. Oh, what do you people want from me? I took a couple of naps, talked to a sister on the telephone, made some silly comments on Facebook, finished knitting a scarf. I felt grateful to not have to leave the house.

So there you have it, another blogger’s sick day. Let’s hope for better health and better writing tomorrow. Happy Sunday, everyone.

In Case of Emergency, Hit Publish

Sometimes coffee is not the miracle one is hoping for.

Full disclosure: This is a Middle-aged Musings post I’m writing with no real plan as to when to post it. I thought it might be useful to have a spare column kicking about, in case of emergency.

It is Monday as I write this. Many people do not sleep well Sunday night. I’m one of them. One can temporarily overcome the deficiency with coffee. Coffee also has mood-boosting properties, which I, for one, find welcome. Sometimes not so much.

Well, at my age (middle), one does not lightly abandon an old friend after a disappointment. Besides, it still tasted good.

My second musing for the day is: sometimes the Write It Anyways philosophy works. I wrote a whole post on Saturday about how I could not write a post about my intended topic. I felt even worse on Sunday but was too embarrassed to admit it could happen to me two days in a row. The result was perhaps not brilliant but perfectly acceptable.

A small side note about the post: my sticking point was the first sentence. I wanted something less mundane than “We went here and did this.” And I felt quite incapable of going on to the second sentence and writing the first one later. Sunday, I accepted the mundane. There’s some half-baked philosophy lurking around there somewhere, but I’ll save that for Lame Post Friday.

Getting back to the Write It Anyways school of thought, I drove to work this morning feeling dry as a bone, writing-wise. I was even composing in my head a lead of “Sorry, kids, it’s Middle-aged Musings Monday.” Then when I sat down with my notebook (I had some time before I had to start work), I thought I would just try to write about a local business we had recently patronized. It worked!

So what have we learned here? I’m going to go out on a limb here and say, “Not much.” Like coffee, sometimes Do It Anyways works and sometimes it does not. And the next time it doesn’t work for me, now I have a spare column.

Side note after I typed this in: Regular readers may remember I mentioned this column yesterday, saying that I had not typed it in. So today I in fact had to type it in and not just hit Publish. Still, I thought it was too good a headline to waste. My only regret is that now I don’t have a spare post any more. Guess I saw that one coming.

I’m Type O

Well, it is Lame Post Friday and instead of my brain coming up with the usual random observations and half-baked philosophy, all I can think of is a spare post I wrote earlier this week.

You see, Monday was an awesome writing day. At least, an awesome writing morning. I wrote Monday’s post, then I wrote my “About” (you know how these blogs always have an “About” you can click on. Well, I think ever since my blog started, mine has said, “Put stuff here to tell people about your blog.” In the “About” I wrote I even mentioned how long it took me to write it. I try to be upfront about my writing shortcomings).

After “About” I went on to the next page and wrote a Middle-aged Musings. My plan for that was to put it under Drafts and publish it when I needed something. I even thought of a good title, “In Case of Emergency, Hit Publish.”

All this writing pretty much took up all my ambition for the week. I have not typed either the “About” or the ICOE draft into my computer. Which is really too bad, because I have a feeling that tonight I am going to wish I could just hit Publish. Let that be a lesson to me.

That is what I wrote on breaks at work. Then I went to give blood (a blood drive at my work) after, as it turns out, not enough food to eat. Oh, it was not pretty (cue unkind remarks about how I’m not particularly anyways). I have done dirt to myself this way before, but today it was bad enough that I seriously worried at least one co-worker. She made a guy call the boss, who called the nurse, and oh, I do not want to talk about it. I was strongly advised to NOT donate to future workplace blood drives.

So a draft post I had merely to publish would have been welcome. Instead I typed in what I wrote earlier, as it was shorter than said post, and I will hit Publish now. And, as usual, I will try to do better tomorrow. Happy Friday, everyone.

Curvy Me

I believe I’ve mentioned in passing that I work out at Curves in Herkimer, NY. I thought it was time I wrote a post about it.

My friends Kelly and Phyllis had been going to Curves for some time. I had noticed they both looked pretty terrific (actually they looked pretty terrific to start with, but you know what I mean). When Phyllis started telling me how many inches she had lost, my interest was caught.

I’ve lost weight through running and the South Beach Diet, but my figure is still not where I’d like it to be (I know, looks aren’t everything, yeah, yeah, yeah). Also, I felt I needed to work other muscles that those used in running. Doing push-ups and sit-ups on my own was not cutting it, especially since I was not exactly maintaining consistency with that program.

So now I go to Curves Monday, Wednesday and Friday after work. It’s an intense workout that lasts about a half hour and seems to utilize every possible muscle (although my knowledge of anatomy is imperfect).

You badge in with a little card that looks like those membership cards all the stores give you these days. Then as you go around the circuit, you put the card in each machine so it can track your progress. There is a little light that shows green for good and orange for not so good. Oh, I hate to see that orange! In between each machine is a pallet that you jog or march or dance on till the lady interrupts the music to tell you to change stations.

Oh yes, the music. They play quite a mixture of music, all of it set to the same beat. I make myself obnoxious by singing along to the songs I know. At least, I don’t know if anybody finds it really obnoxious. I think some folks are amused. Hey, anything to keep myself motivated.

The best thing about Curves is the people that go there. Everybody is supportive and encouraging. We yell remarks or jokes across the room and definitely let others know when they are looking good.

Curves also offers coaching, diet tips and more. Phyllis, Kelly and I may check out the Zumba class one day (that will surely rate a post). I purchased some excellent Curves socks to wear when I work out, and I will probably get a new sports bra or two as well. Perhaps a pedometer, to see how many steps I get in at work every day.

Curves in Herkimer is located at 300 Prospect St., phone 315-866-3100. They are open Monday through Thursday 5:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m., Friday 5:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., and Saturday 7 a.m. to noon. For more information, visit their website at www.herkimercurves.com or you can like their Facebook page. See you on the circuit!