I know I’m always ranting about crappy movies, but, seriously???

Who in the hell thought it would be okay to make a movie with this title: ‘Abraham Lincoln; Vampire Killer’? What empty, soulless, money-hungry demon of Hollywood said, “I know, let’s just go ahead and admit to the world that we have no stories left in us.”?

I mean, should I even go on? This is pitiful on so many levels. I do plan to watch the remake of ‘The Three Stooges’, just because I can appreciate the Farrelly Brothers’ sense of respect for the trio. I didn’t watch ‘Footloose’ (which felt like blasphemy). This, however, goes way too far. If they need decent writers, I would be happy to help them out with a screenplay. In fact, I have a project in mind, that might sell without turning a historical figure into Buffy (Kristy Swanson or Sarah Michelle Gellar; take your pick; they both sucked), for God’s sake.

I might as well start at the beginning. I went to see ‘The Dicatator’ tonight (Sacha Baron Cohen is our Peter Sellers; he is the funniest man alive). Mixed in with the regular previews for movies that make a tiny bit of sense, was this visually stunning preview for a movie with Abraham Lincoln. I thought it was going to be about John Wilkes Boothe, or the Civil War, so I thought I might watch it. Then, the title flashed…

I hope they sick him on Twilight, so we can kill two horrible ideas with one top-grossing stone.


“Hump Day”

Of course, I always thought the term was pretty funny, as a kid, in a pre-pubescent, dirty-ish way. (Insert Peter Griffin laugh, here), ahh “hump day”. Now, I get so thrilled when Wednesday is over. The week shortens, immediately, in my mind. I breathe a sigh of welcome relief. Only a couple more days to go, until Friday night.

In fact, Wednesday is almost like a mini Friday night for me. I let my hair down and start to unwind in anticipation of the lazy couple of days with my daughter and her dad.

Clocking in on Monday, the week stretches ahead of you, like an endless wind tunnel of horror. A faulty one (much like the very pricey “Big Dig”, fellow New Englanders), who might hurl chunks of your hard-earned tax money at you for your efforts.

Clocking out on Wednesday, the week narrows down to a big backyard with the evening fireflies dancing a scene of Sugar Plum Fairies around  the beatific three-year-old who welcomes them to her ranks. Yes, folks, your ‘hump day’ is my glimpse at freedom. For a couple of sun-filled, windowless days, anyhow.

TV: The Modern Mom’s Understudy

How often do you plop your kid(s) in front of the television with a favorite show or movie to keep them occupied while you get stuff done (dinners cooked, dishes washed, laundry folded, and what-have-you)? Don’t feel bad. I’m rather guilty of it, myself. I’m pretty quick to turn on some Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, just so I can start supper. It only works for so long, though, until my daughter is back up and under my feet where I can’t cross the kitchen without tripping over or stepping on her. If I’m trying to write; well; TV only holds up for about 47 seconds, or so. I basically have to leave the house to do this.

I’m starting to get really concerned, however, about the actual amount of television she is watching and (particularly these days, as I was of the “television rots your brain” era) what sordid scenes she’s exposed to. It can’t be a healthy amount, or helpful for her mind and self-esteem. It’s enough to make me think that I need to change these practices, altogether. Perhaps the answer is to involve her, more,  in my chores and obligations. It would serve to keep her out of harm’s way, teach her how to accomplish basic household tasks, and build up her confidence while allowing the two of us to spend more time together.

Hmmm…methinks there will be a follow-up to this blog. It’s time to implement some of these thoughts to improve the quality of our lives and our relationship. I’m going to start now, and I’ll write more next Monday on this particular topic. Meanwhile, I want you other Moms and Dads to think twice before automatically sitting your kid(s) down in front of the TV every time you need a few minutes of peace. After all, we can’t always substitute their favorite characters for our own presence.


What is a “monster”, really? A figment of an overactive imagination, to be held at bay with a talisman of any faith/opinion/supposed sanctity, at our fingertips, or, a real and intruding danger to all that we hold dear?

THINK about it…

From birth, we are susceptible to every brand of fear our media can cook up for us, to imagine. To death, we are vulnerable to the pre-existing conditions that set up the human psyche for failure, in general. It’s a somewhat broad statement, but true, for most of us. Are you, for example, what you wanted to be, when you were grown up? Are you; dare I ask; even close?

I do, indeed, rest my case.

You see, in the innocence of childhood, a warm glow is all it takes, to soothe every fear and lingering doubt. Sometimes, this glow is accompanied by a magical blanket from a faraway land, or a soothing (pick a finger, any finger) thumb-sucking, eyelash rub, back-scratch, thumb-and-forefinger hair-twirling bit, or a Disney-type daydream, where all the animals talk to you and you understand them. Pick your poison. Regardless of your particular source, the comfort is all the same; and complete.



We’ve forgotten, or, left behind that perfect and simple sure foe every malady in our “Ascension” to adulthood. We forget that each day is its own, with all of the bad sucked out of it by some benevolent force of chance (in that, looking back, all we remember are the high points of our awful days). We live to dwell on the past, just as we die stuck on what we might have done, in the future. To enjoy ourselves, ever,we must heed the past, bear in mind, occasionally, the future, and stop to love the little intricacies and tiny intimate joys of a life we can’t fathom. Each day is a gift; a lesson; a tool, by which we measure the beauty of a life. Any, and usually not our own. We are, all of us, a part of the life/quilt/path who lead each other. When we walk by and discount the existence of strangers, the intimacies of the “extras”, we have also discounted ourselves.

We are, all of us, players. By this, I don’t mean to say that we are shitty actors in the movies we pump out today, but that we are the last and lonely players a Writer greater than Shakespeare, or Chaucer, or Dante (anyone, really) might ever have dreamed up. When we acknowledge and serve in the lives of others, we become the proverbial night-light, helping them through darkness to the breaking dawn, to safety and hope.