Trash

So, finally I have made it to the "Trash" post: a counter-point to my "Treasure" post. Of course, I likely have forgotten half of what I was going to write about, but such is the nature of my blogging.

This post was inspired by my severe dislike of a couple of movies that I saw in the past few weeks. Over the course of a year, I see a few movies that I love, many that I like, several about which I feel ambivalent and/or completely forgotten and just a very few that I down-right loathe.

One movie that falls into the "loathe" category is "Superman Returns". If you are inclined to watch superhero movies, chances are that you have already watched or decided not to watch this particular piece of dour filmmaking. I don't think that there was a single thing that I actually liked about this film. I tried to pick something positive, but this was an absolutely unfun film. I can appreciate a serious drama, but, really, should Superman be such a serious drama? If the main cast members look as though they don't want to be in the movie, why would the audience feel any differently about watching the film?

As much as I disliked this film (I am trying to eradicate "hate" from my vocabulary, as I don't want my little ones using it), it was a gem compared to the steaming pile of yuck known as "The Last Kiss". Wow. I haven't disliked characters this much in a long time. And what a fun genre, one of those films with the message that all men are just immature babies and it is a woman's job to be mature and to drag the man kicking and screaming into adulthood. How fun. Basically what I got from this movie is that men can do whatever they wish while women should stand by and be infinitely patient and wise because eventually said men will grow up and realize that they want the dull, staid adulthood that the women already occupy. Did I mention that I didn't care too much for this film.

Speaking of things that I would like to toss onto a big pile of dung (not to be confused with Dung!), I got sucked into watching an episode of "The Moment of Truth". And now I feel really dirty. And not the good kind of dirty either.

Song of the day: "Ceremony" from New Order. No explanation, just a song that I like. Nothing trashy about it.

Kids

So, of course this blog was supposed to be entitled "Trash" and would be about a bunch of stuff I am disliking at the moment. Then, that idea got sidetracked and I wanted to blog about George Carlin because, hey, he was really smart and funny and thought-provoking. But, I don't have enough Carlin-related material to last for a whole blog and another thought came and pushed that thought away.

This morning as I was taking Jude and Sully to daycare (so I could head off to Satan's Den, where I am employed), Jude noticed a huge tent on top of a local grocery store. To be fair, it was very large and obvious, but had it been much smaller, Jude still would have noticed. Jude always notices.

"Mom, what's that?" Jude asked. "Why are people up there?"

"They're trying to raise money to help kids," I said. A local radio station does a "roof sit" to raise money to help prevent child abuse.

"Oh. Kids like me. Right, mom?"

That's when my heart just clenched up in that way it does when completely unwelcome thoughts invade. I looked into my rearview mirror and saw those hazel, not-yet-brown eyes with the long eyelashes looking at me.

"Yes, honey. Kids just like you."

Stories of child abuse have always been horrible and hard to hear, but now the thought is totally unbearable. I can't listen to stories about abuse on the news. I can't read about it in newspapers. It is too much to take.

And how will it be when I have to elaborate some day? When I have to tell Jude that not every little boy has parents who love him so much. That some moms and dads hit and hurt and worse. How do you say such things to an innocent little person who loves with his whole self and sleeps in monkey pajamas, dreaming his sweet dreams with his head resting on a Spiderman pillow?

When we got to daycare and I hugged him too long, he indulged me as he seldom does, resting his head against my chest like he did when he was a baby before he had to pull away to go "play guys" and show off his new Incredible Hulk figure. I know he doesn't understand why I pulled him so close and held him so long, wanting him to know that I love him. He doesn't understand, but I know he will. Someday. And even though maybe it shouldn't, that thought makes my heart ache. But, someday is not now. Not for a long, long time, Jude. Not for a long, long time.

Treasures

Last weekend, we had a garage sale (though, I think, technically, it would have to be considered a driveway sale). It was my first and an altogether interesting experience, laying out our belongings in the hopes that someone who needs these very items will happen along our sale. It was a positive experience and I will definitely be doing it again.

The biggest net of the day, however, came when I was looking through boxes in the basement. I opened a picnic basket (one of two that we own) and inside found not one but two lost treasures: a skirt and some CDs. When we moved almost 6 years ago, I thought I had lost my favorite skirt. It is a multi-color wonder, a skirt I purchased for $3.00 at a Goodwill store several years ago for a Jimmy Buffett concert. It is the most colorful skirt I own and I was so bummed when I couldn't find it after we moved. The CDs were a box set of Harry Chapin, the very music I had been listening to when I moved, so one of the CDs was in my car and, after a year, I misplaced that CD since I had already misplaced the case. It was a rare look into me of 6 years ago.




I came across another treasure over the weekend that I just had to share. I don't often recommend movies because well, I don't see many movies worth recommending, but any movie that makes me feel genuine affection for Steven Segal is a worthwhile movie in my humble opinion (the only opinion currently featured on this blog). I would highly recommed The Onion Movie. If you watch the film expecting supreme silliness, you will not be disappointed. Unless you will be. I can never gauge anyone else's sense of humor. There is such a crazy variety of things that make me laugh, but I never know if someone else will enjoy the same lunacy.

This week's movie review of a Movie You've Already Seen and Don't Plan to See: Dead Ringers. What a freaky little experience. Excellent performance by Jeremy Irons and a wonderful look into madness. Not a fun movie per se (unless your idea of fun is freaky twin gynecologists, in which case you should definitely call me so we can talk), but definitely a good one.

So, this week was a celebration of treasures, of skirts and CDs found, of trying (and mostly failing, but still trying) to push out negative thoughts and focus on more positive thoughts. (Oh new glorious job, you are out there somewhere. Just let me know where and it would be so much easier to find you.)

Song of the day (well, song of the week since this post has taken me about a week to finish): Harry Chapin's "Taxi". It is my favorite song of his, just a wonderful example of a "story/song" and one of my favorite song endings ever. Love it and love him. To completely veer off the topic of this week's blog, it occurs to me that if I were a princess (a big if), I don't think I would fall for a prince. The minstrels and court jesters have always been the ones to capture my heart (and anyone who can sing and be funny -- and yes, Jeff, I mean you -- well, how could a silly ol' prince ever compete with that).

The Three Faces of Me

Typically, I will start a blog in any given few spare moments I manage to steal, write a few sentences and fully intend to go back to the blog to finish what I started when I get a few more moments. Sometimes a whole week will elapse between these events, but such is the schizophrenic nature of writing. (Unless, of course, you are a professional writer, getting paid to do your work, with a set writing schedule and all that. Then you are more apt, I think, to finish something relatively close to the time that you began it.)

Let me begin, then, backwardly with this week's Movie Review of Movies You Have Already Seen or Don't Plan to See (or whatever it is that I call this feature). This week: Sybil. I refer to the television movie that played on CBS last week (I think it was last week - I lose track of time). Awful. Awful. Awful. I had the misfortune of watching this movie just a couple of weeks after the original mini-series (I really miss seeing mini-series, don't you?) finally made its way to the top of my Netflix queue.

The newer Sybil was four hours of material crammed into two hours, terribly rushed and the writing was awful. I know the source material intimately, having spent many hours of my childhood reading the book Sybil, one of the first thick paperbacks I would carry with me when I was likely too young to be reading about such things.

(Sidenote: I went through a period where I was obsessed with books about women and mental illness in various incarnations. I read every book I could about multiple personality disorder and anorexia and various other maladies. Insert your own joke about me here.)

The mini-series, Sybil, however, was slower paced (in a good way) and nuanced and featured wonderful performances by Sally Field and Joanne Woodward. Joanne Woodward was also so brilliant in The Three Faces of Eve. I adore her.

And that brings us to the three faces of me. For those who aren't aware, Sybil is the story of a woman with multiple personality disorder (now known as dissociative identity disorder) and who had 16 distinct personalities. The story also really fascinated me, but as I got older (as opposed to growing up, which I am still not sure I have done), I see that most people have so many different aspects to their personalities that it seems that we all have a bit of dissociative identify disorder (such a fancy name for a disorder). People adapt as they must to various social situations, relating to different groups of people in different ways (and yes, I have touched upon this in my blog before, but it interests me).

For me, I find that it is difficult for me to answer questions like "What is your favorite [insert item here]?" I used to think I had trouble answering this question because of my indecisive nature, but as I get older, I tend to think that it is more that different things appeal to different aspects of my personality. I've found this very true with movies: a list of my favorites changes pretty frequently because different movies speak to me in different ways. This week (last week?) I enjoyed Sybil, and then the next evening sat down to watch Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny and I laughed. Yes, it was silly and juvenile, but I still laughed. I have a soft spot for Joanne Woodward and Jack Black equally -- though not the same.

Dealing with an almost-four-year-old requires me to use nearly every aspect of my personality (along with brains and resolve) because preschoolers are strangely intelligent creatures for people with little real-world experience. Let me preface this next part by saying that I do not, in any way, endorse cannibalism. However, Jude and I play this grotesque game where we pretend to tear each other's limbs off and eat them or discard them on the floor. I like to rip off his elbows and hide them behind the couch, while he likes to pull off my ears and throw them onto the top of the television set. Earlier this week he was struggling with his pajama top and I offered to "rip off his arms" to help him out. So, I did, tearing off his arms and setting them on the floor. Instead of laughing and reciprocating as he usually does, he just looked at me very seriously and said "Mom, that wasn't nice. How am I supposed to get dressed with no arms?"



Sully still has less moods. He is pretty much happy all the time (unless he is over tired), smiling and laughing which is really great. I think he must get his disposition from his dad. In other news, Sully has officially been introduced to all of his fruits and veggies and has just celebrated his eight-month-anniversary of birth with a simple ceremony in which I said "Hey, Sullivan is 8 months old today" and everyone else in the household nodded and smiled.

In other other news (or maybe I am up to other other other news), Dung! is revamped and running again. Of course the blog's owner refuses to burn his feed, but you can check out the link here if you're so inclined.

Today's song of the day: "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead. It came up today when I was driving in my car, using my poor-woman's Ipod (a burned CD of various songs, set to play on "random" on my CD player) and I shrieked a little, excitedly, even though:
a. I burned the CD;
b. I only burn songs that I like.

Some times it takes so very little to amuse me.