I am a little bit of a movie buff. It makes sense, if you think about it. After all, popcorn does top my list of all time favorite foods. And popcorn and movies are one of those matches made in heaven.
I watch a lot of movies. Some good, some terrible. Some surprisingly good even though they are panned by the critics (think "Catch and Release" - and NOT just because of Timothy Olyphant). Some that I can't stop thinking about long after I've left the theater. (These are my favorite - they can be anything from "Schindler's List" to "Love, Actually" - I don't discriminate on a genre-basis.)
What I find funny, though, is movies that I THOUGHT were good when I first saw them, but later realized that they were total junk. Again, there's no genre or setting/decade bias here. I have seen "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead" at least ten times, most of them unintentional (HBO seems to like this one). I saw it shortly after its video cassette release (sadly missed this one at the Winchester Mall when I was in high school). And you know what? I still freaking love this movie. The premise is ridiculous, the plot cheesy, the clothes are BEYOND dated. And yet, it is irresistible. Christina Applegate is fantastic, and where else can you see the early work of a rising David Duchovny?
But last night, I was reminded of another one of my favorite movies of the early '90s: one "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." This movie is not just mediocre; it is downright awful. It is melodramatic and stupid, and Kevin Costner's acting sets the bar for horrific. And yet I was so drawn to it that I had to buy it immediately after its video release. The best part of this movie is the ridiculously overexposed Bryan Adam's ballad "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You."
Now that's saying something.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Next Fifteen Minutes
Andy Warhol's "fifteen minutes of fame" is one of my favorite prophecies of all time. It's certainly a recurring theme these days, with all of the reality television clogging up the airwaves. The question for me is this: when it comes to our "fifteen minutes," what counts?
Now, I don't have any grand illusions of becoming the next Reese Witherspoon or Scarlett Johansson or anything of the sort. I don't really want to be famous like that; I'd like to continue my routine of dining in obscurity (although, did you know that you can "hire" paparazzi to follow you around? interesting concept). What I do strive for, however, is success with my writing. I'd love to land a contract with a publishing house and see my book in print. I guess you could say that achieving this dream would involve a certain amount of "fifteen minutes," even if my writing never makes it to the level of Marian Keyes or Lauren Weisberger.
I worry, however, that if Mr. Warhol's prophecy rings true, my "fifteen minutes" may already be up. On three occasions now, I have been interviewed by the local news. Once was in Washington, D.C., while I was lunching at Freedom Plaza (Channel 7 news asked me what I thought about the height restrictions on buildings in the city). The second, hilariously, was in London's Covent Garden (some morning show correspondent asked me if I was concerned about the salt content in pre-packaged foods - my reply: "I like salt. I have low blood pressure."). And finally, just yesterday, while sipping on a mocha light frappucino from the Riverwalk Starbucks, some San Antonio news channel asked me how seeing drunk drivers swerving on the highway "makes me feel" (this inspired me to wonder about this woman's journalism education - kind of a loaded question, don't you think? It's not like I was going to answer "Why, it makes me feel great! I'm all for it!" (although I did think about it, given the stupidity of the question)).
In any case, while I have yet to see any of my "interviews" on television (couldn't find the London program and believe my D.C. footage was left on the cutting room floor), a part of me worries that this is it for me. My "fifteen minutes" of cheap, localized fame.
Let's hope that's not the case.
Now, I don't have any grand illusions of becoming the next Reese Witherspoon or Scarlett Johansson or anything of the sort. I don't really want to be famous like that; I'd like to continue my routine of dining in obscurity (although, did you know that you can "hire" paparazzi to follow you around? interesting concept). What I do strive for, however, is success with my writing. I'd love to land a contract with a publishing house and see my book in print. I guess you could say that achieving this dream would involve a certain amount of "fifteen minutes," even if my writing never makes it to the level of Marian Keyes or Lauren Weisberger.
I worry, however, that if Mr. Warhol's prophecy rings true, my "fifteen minutes" may already be up. On three occasions now, I have been interviewed by the local news. Once was in Washington, D.C., while I was lunching at Freedom Plaza (Channel 7 news asked me what I thought about the height restrictions on buildings in the city). The second, hilariously, was in London's Covent Garden (some morning show correspondent asked me if I was concerned about the salt content in pre-packaged foods - my reply: "I like salt. I have low blood pressure."). And finally, just yesterday, while sipping on a mocha light frappucino from the Riverwalk Starbucks, some San Antonio news channel asked me how seeing drunk drivers swerving on the highway "makes me feel" (this inspired me to wonder about this woman's journalism education - kind of a loaded question, don't you think? It's not like I was going to answer "Why, it makes me feel great! I'm all for it!" (although I did think about it, given the stupidity of the question)).
In any case, while I have yet to see any of my "interviews" on television (couldn't find the London program and believe my D.C. footage was left on the cutting room floor), a part of me worries that this is it for me. My "fifteen minutes" of cheap, localized fame.
Let's hope that's not the case.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Who's Married to Her??
This afternoon, I took a little break from my lovely "office" at the Hawthorne Suites. Now don't get excited. It was just a run to Target for contact lens solution and whatever other random stuff I might come across while there (oh yeah, and Shawn requested that I pick up some Stride spearmint gum (very specific)). When I got to the eye care aisle, I had to scoot past a woman with a cart, small child in tow (now if this had been Wal-Mart, I would have simply backed up and tried to get to the contact solution from the other end, seeing as how even two women under 150 pounds cannot possibly squeeze into the width of a Wal-Mart aisle (I must note that this woman, however, was well over that weight - not fat - just very very tall and solid)).
You wouldn't think this woman's size would be relevant to this story, given that I was able to retrieve the desired Target-brand contact solution with no problem. But I promise it is (stay with me . . .). As I reached for the solution, I heard a very loud instrumental version of Carrie Underwood's monster country crossover hit, "Before He Cheats." At first I didn't think anything of it. After all, we were not far from the music section. Somebody probably just hit a button on one of those CD sample displays. But oh no. "Before He Cheats" is this woman's ring tone!
Because I am 100% nosy, I took a little extra time in that aisle. I had to see who was on the other end of the phone. If it were a girlfriend calling, perhaps, the ring tone might be a little funny. Okay, you're a Carrie Underwood fan. Whatever. People made fun of me for my very stellar choice of the theme to "Beverly Hills Cop." But when she ended the call, there it was: an unmistakable "I love you, honey. Goodbye."
It got me thinking. Does this poor guy have any idea of the song that comes up when he calls? And if he doesn't, I feel like we should warn him. If he cheats, not only is he going to have all four of the tires slashed on his pretty little four-wheel drive, but unless he has the stature of Paul Bunyan, that woman is going to beat him to a bloody pulp. Think before he cheats, indeed!
You wouldn't think this woman's size would be relevant to this story, given that I was able to retrieve the desired Target-brand contact solution with no problem. But I promise it is (stay with me . . .). As I reached for the solution, I heard a very loud instrumental version of Carrie Underwood's monster country crossover hit, "Before He Cheats." At first I didn't think anything of it. After all, we were not far from the music section. Somebody probably just hit a button on one of those CD sample displays. But oh no. "Before He Cheats" is this woman's ring tone!
Because I am 100% nosy, I took a little extra time in that aisle. I had to see who was on the other end of the phone. If it were a girlfriend calling, perhaps, the ring tone might be a little funny. Okay, you're a Carrie Underwood fan. Whatever. People made fun of me for my very stellar choice of the theme to "Beverly Hills Cop." But when she ended the call, there it was: an unmistakable "I love you, honey. Goodbye."
It got me thinking. Does this poor guy have any idea of the song that comes up when he calls? And if he doesn't, I feel like we should warn him. If he cheats, not only is he going to have all four of the tires slashed on his pretty little four-wheel drive, but unless he has the stature of Paul Bunyan, that woman is going to beat him to a bloody pulp. Think before he cheats, indeed!
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Starbucks Survivor
A few days ago, you heard me lament about the sad absence of "Face Time" with my new "remote office." But of course, there are positives to working remotely too (aside from being able to work in my pajamas). One of these positives is the ability to be able to take my office basically anywhere (hence the use of the term "remote").
Today, I am in NYC, visiting my friend Michelle and planning to go to a book signing of one of my favorite authors. I felt a little silly booking the trip, but why not? I should take advantage of one of the perks of my job. Does anyone really care whether I am at the San Antonio Hawthorne Suites or East Village? I see no difference. And, in fact, I am getting a better internet connection here at Starbucks than I did at the hotel.
So I have been here for three hours and counting. Don't worry - I'm not a freeloader. I bought my coffee and breakfast here and enjoyed it for quite awhile now (I recommend those little petite vanilla scones - delicious!). What is interesting, setting up office at Starbucks, is the number of people who come in and out. While a frequent Starbucks patron, I can't really say I've been here for the long haul. But surprisingly, even the people with laptops - they don't last forever. Forty-five minutes maybe. An hour tops.
Except for the one guy in the other corner, who was here when I arrived. He's committed to his laptop and his earphones. I haven't seen him move once, not even to take a bathroom break. I've outlasted everyone else, but can I outlast him? Stay tuned.
For more Starbucks Survivor.
Today, I am in NYC, visiting my friend Michelle and planning to go to a book signing of one of my favorite authors. I felt a little silly booking the trip, but why not? I should take advantage of one of the perks of my job. Does anyone really care whether I am at the San Antonio Hawthorne Suites or East Village? I see no difference. And, in fact, I am getting a better internet connection here at Starbucks than I did at the hotel.
So I have been here for three hours and counting. Don't worry - I'm not a freeloader. I bought my coffee and breakfast here and enjoyed it for quite awhile now (I recommend those little petite vanilla scones - delicious!). What is interesting, setting up office at Starbucks, is the number of people who come in and out. While a frequent Starbucks patron, I can't really say I've been here for the long haul. But surprisingly, even the people with laptops - they don't last forever. Forty-five minutes maybe. An hour tops.
Except for the one guy in the other corner, who was here when I arrived. He's committed to his laptop and his earphones. I haven't seen him move once, not even to take a bathroom break. I've outlasted everyone else, but can I outlast him? Stay tuned.
For more Starbucks Survivor.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Face Time
I'm a social person by nature. Whenever I get my annual review at work, one of the positives is usually "good with the clients." On the negative side, I get something along the lines of not "digging deep enough." Both are pretty accurate, I'd say. Mingling with clients can be tough at times, especially during detailed discussions of the industry, but I am all about expressing interests in their hobbies, their children, their guinea pigs (seriously). And I joke around with them (although I am pretty careful about taking any joking too far).
I also work very hard about establishing good friendly relationships at the office, whether it is with my superiors or the support staff. I take a certain pride in having won over the veteran secretaries in my office. Believe me, it wasn't easy. But I know that it is important to have a good rapport with everyone, and the support staff plays an essential role in business. Without them, I'd be in trouble.
Given my social nature, working remotely, from the comfort of the Hawthorne Suites (currently) is a very strange experience. Sure, it's nice to be able to just roll out of bed to go to the "office." It's great to know that I can move my office to the pool deck or to the Riverwalk Starbucks.
But it's sad too. Technology is amazing, but it's no substitute for the real thing: face to face contact. Getting up to go to work was a pain, but there was often a certain excitement wondering what the day would bring. And when I bought a new outfit, there was nothing better than taking it out to show it off.
Dressing up to go to the grocery store somehow isn't the same.
I also work very hard about establishing good friendly relationships at the office, whether it is with my superiors or the support staff. I take a certain pride in having won over the veteran secretaries in my office. Believe me, it wasn't easy. But I know that it is important to have a good rapport with everyone, and the support staff plays an essential role in business. Without them, I'd be in trouble.
Given my social nature, working remotely, from the comfort of the Hawthorne Suites (currently) is a very strange experience. Sure, it's nice to be able to just roll out of bed to go to the "office." It's great to know that I can move my office to the pool deck or to the Riverwalk Starbucks.
But it's sad too. Technology is amazing, but it's no substitute for the real thing: face to face contact. Getting up to go to work was a pain, but there was often a certain excitement wondering what the day would bring. And when I bought a new outfit, there was nothing better than taking it out to show it off.
Dressing up to go to the grocery store somehow isn't the same.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Taking it Personally
One characteristic you will never hear used to describe me is "tough skinned." It's just not me. Sure, I try to be laid back. And I am sometimes - about some things. I have fun with life, and I try to see the humor in a bad situation (if you look closely, there is a lot of it). I am self deprecating. But I also take some things personally.
That's not to say "taking it personally" is always the wrong reaction. When my husband and I debate about things, he sometimes throws that "don't take it so personally" argument my way. This will annoy me because what we're talking about is a personal matter. So of course I will take it personally.
But I take it personally where I shouldn't too. Case in point: the sale of our townhouse. My realtor set up this nifty survey that he would send out to each of the showing agents. Sometimes they responded, sometimes they didn't. But I will tell you one thing: I was always disappointed. My favorites were the first two questions, "Did your client like the property? Answer: no;" "Is your client considering a second showing? Answer: no." Makes you feel great, no? No. It made me feel like all of that time I spent remodeling my kitchen, my master bath, installing hardwood floors, and buying new carpet weeks before it went on the market were all for NOTHING!! Never mind that I bought state of the art stainless steel appliances and created a kitchen that is 100 times better than what was there when I moved in, my house was "average." I took this as a reflection on me.
Well, we finally got an offer on the place, and it looks like we are on our way. And that's all great, and I am happy. Not as much as I wanted, but hey - I still come out ahead. But you know what my favorite part of the whole deal was? The buyer wanted me to leave the wall vases in the dining room - vases I picked and installed myself.
She likes my house, she really likes it!!
That's not to say "taking it personally" is always the wrong reaction. When my husband and I debate about things, he sometimes throws that "don't take it so personally" argument my way. This will annoy me because what we're talking about is a personal matter. So of course I will take it personally.
But I take it personally where I shouldn't too. Case in point: the sale of our townhouse. My realtor set up this nifty survey that he would send out to each of the showing agents. Sometimes they responded, sometimes they didn't. But I will tell you one thing: I was always disappointed. My favorites were the first two questions, "Did your client like the property? Answer: no;" "Is your client considering a second showing? Answer: no." Makes you feel great, no? No. It made me feel like all of that time I spent remodeling my kitchen, my master bath, installing hardwood floors, and buying new carpet weeks before it went on the market were all for NOTHING!! Never mind that I bought state of the art stainless steel appliances and created a kitchen that is 100 times better than what was there when I moved in, my house was "average." I took this as a reflection on me.
Well, we finally got an offer on the place, and it looks like we are on our way. And that's all great, and I am happy. Not as much as I wanted, but hey - I still come out ahead. But you know what my favorite part of the whole deal was? The buyer wanted me to leave the wall vases in the dining room - vases I picked and installed myself.
She likes my house, she really likes it!!
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
A Tale of Two Shirts
This past weekend, my husband Shawn and I went to the FedEx Kinkos Classic tournament in Austin. It was a real treat for him - my friend Jenn's parents got us the tickets, including entry into the VIP lounge on the 16th hole. Not too shabby. According to Jenn, her dad is basically the mayor of Lakeway, or at least it seems that way based on his popularity among the retired set. Shawn happily tagged along with Jenn's dad all day to watch numerous holes. During this adventure, he confirmed that, in fact, everyone knows Jenn's dad.
While Shawn and Jenn's dad were out gallivanting, Jenn and I decided to hit the gift shop. I wanted to buy Shawn a souvie for his birthday (today!!). Jenn thought she would buy a shirt too for her boyfriend. She decided against it when she saw the hefty price tag. But then the sales clerk revealed a special deal: buy a shirt on a hanger and get a folded pique shirt for only $10. What a bargain!! I had already selected one of the hanging shirts (a pretty blue number), so I told Jenn that she could pick out a $10 shirt for her boyfriend. We spent a long time debating the color. Would it be orange, or green, or yellow? (her boyfriend is drawn to bright hues). After the debate, we finally selected blue. The salesclerk bagged them for me, and we headed back to our home base: the VIP lounge.
While we spent a great deal of the day going our separate ways, at one point, all five of us (Jenn, Jenn's mom and dad, and Shawn and me) managed to be in the same place at the same time at the 16th hole. We sat and watched the current foursome tee off, and Shawn revealed to me that one of his favorites was in this foursome: one Ben Crenshaw.
Well, soon Shawn and Jenn's dad were on their merry way again, and Jenn and I walked around some more with Jenn's mom. We walked past the 16th hole and along the 17th. Finally, we got to the 18th hole, where a foursome was just finishing up. As they walked off the hole, people were lined up getting autographs. And this is where we realized - this was Ben Crenshaw's foursome!! Well, I knew what I had to do - I had to get that autograph! Only problem was that I had nothing good to sign. A lot of people had hats and gloves and balls. I had none of these. I really thought about going back to the shop and picking up a hat, but alas, I just didn't think I had the time. I started to panic. I couldn't miss out on this grand opportunity. So I decided it had to be done: I had to have Ben sign the shirt I bought. I pulled it out of the bag, and I positioned it on a program for easy signing. And sure enough, Ben came through and signed my shirt. I even got extra interaction with him because I had to pull the shirt taut while he signed. I was so thrilled with myself. It was the perfect gift!!
It was only when I walked away from the line with a big old grin on my face that I looked at the tag: XL. For some reason, I thought I had bought Shawn a Large.
"Yeah, I wondered about that," said Jenn. "That was Tom's shirt."
Whoops! Not anymore!
While Shawn and Jenn's dad were out gallivanting, Jenn and I decided to hit the gift shop. I wanted to buy Shawn a souvie for his birthday (today!!). Jenn thought she would buy a shirt too for her boyfriend. She decided against it when she saw the hefty price tag. But then the sales clerk revealed a special deal: buy a shirt on a hanger and get a folded pique shirt for only $10. What a bargain!! I had already selected one of the hanging shirts (a pretty blue number), so I told Jenn that she could pick out a $10 shirt for her boyfriend. We spent a long time debating the color. Would it be orange, or green, or yellow? (her boyfriend is drawn to bright hues). After the debate, we finally selected blue. The salesclerk bagged them for me, and we headed back to our home base: the VIP lounge.
While we spent a great deal of the day going our separate ways, at one point, all five of us (Jenn, Jenn's mom and dad, and Shawn and me) managed to be in the same place at the same time at the 16th hole. We sat and watched the current foursome tee off, and Shawn revealed to me that one of his favorites was in this foursome: one Ben Crenshaw.
Well, soon Shawn and Jenn's dad were on their merry way again, and Jenn and I walked around some more with Jenn's mom. We walked past the 16th hole and along the 17th. Finally, we got to the 18th hole, where a foursome was just finishing up. As they walked off the hole, people were lined up getting autographs. And this is where we realized - this was Ben Crenshaw's foursome!! Well, I knew what I had to do - I had to get that autograph! Only problem was that I had nothing good to sign. A lot of people had hats and gloves and balls. I had none of these. I really thought about going back to the shop and picking up a hat, but alas, I just didn't think I had the time. I started to panic. I couldn't miss out on this grand opportunity. So I decided it had to be done: I had to have Ben sign the shirt I bought. I pulled it out of the bag, and I positioned it on a program for easy signing. And sure enough, Ben came through and signed my shirt. I even got extra interaction with him because I had to pull the shirt taut while he signed. I was so thrilled with myself. It was the perfect gift!!
It was only when I walked away from the line with a big old grin on my face that I looked at the tag: XL. For some reason, I thought I had bought Shawn a Large.
"Yeah, I wondered about that," said Jenn. "That was Tom's shirt."
Whoops! Not anymore!
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