It's Fun to Be a Vampire ... In the 80s

A few nights ago I watched, "The Lost Boys," a vampire movie made in 1987. Its tagline? "Sleep all day. Party all night. Never grow old. Never die. It's fun to be a vampire." Sounds great, doesn't it? Just for the record I'm definitely not a horror movie fan. I like to say I'm one of those "sensitive viewers" that get warned at the beginning of every program to be found on TRU or ID. But football is over until the preseason, I'm not much of an NBA fan (although I do like college basketball) and TV has become a barren wasteland for the most part. But I wanted to watch something and looking through the DVD cabinet at the several $5.00 disks we've purchased but never watched I came across the unwrapped copy of "Lost Boys."

The cast intrigued me--the two Coreys are in it, as is Jami Gertz who I never even knew about before "Twister." And headlining are Keifer (Jack "get me a hacksaw" Bauer) Sutherland and Jason Patric.

***A bit of trivia here: Keifer met Julia Roberts during the making of "Flatliners." They became so enamoured of each other that they eventually were engaged and planning to to married. During the same period of time Keifer and Jason Patric were said to be best friends. Just a couple days before the ceremony was to take place, Julia, obviously practicing for her role in "The Runaway Bride" did just that. Broke up with Keifer and ran away to England with Jason Patric. I have no idea if Keifer and Jason's friendship survived that. OK, back to the movie.***

The thing is, even though I don't really care for horror movies, I love anything from the 80s. The hair, the clothes, the makeup, the music. It was just a darned good decade. And really, the movie wasn't too bad. It seems the quite inhabitants of the not-so-peaceful little town are aware there are vampires lurking around but don't know who they are. One big clue folks: anytime they're around dogs bark and growl at the bloodsuckers while apparently getting along great with all the un-undead. You know, that could explain why Oscar is barking and growling so much lately--perhaps Phoenix is infested with vampires as well. But I digress.

While the rest of the cast play their somewhat serious roles somewhat seriously, the two Coreys add a great note of levity. And unlike much more popular movies such as "Titanic," neither the plot nor the scrip caused me to cringe with embarrassment for them. (A lot more than the boat sunk in "Titanic.") For those of us who are sensitive viewers there was only one carnivorous cannibalistic vampire scene. It was shot in a way that left you with unsettling images but not the splattering unrestricted gore that you find in some horror flicks. And through it all I got to hear a great 80s soundtrack and gaze upon fantastic 80s couture.

So while I wouldn't necessarily recommend "The Lost Boys" it was a fun diversion for a couple of hours on a slow weekend day. Oh, and in case you're wondering, the humans win, the vampires lose, nobody who doesn't want to be a vampire has to--not even the kid with his pic on the milk carton--and everything's right in the world again. Hey, how could it not be in the 80s?

Who Are You?

What are the descriptives we use in dissecting our view of ourselves? I find that I tend toward familial terms. If I'm being specific I already had several at my moment of birth: daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece, cousin. A few years later I could add aunt; a few more after that wife and mother became applicable. And since then I have experienced becoming stepmother, mother-in-law and grandmother. Somewhere in the midst of all that I hope I can claim friend. That one is earned, not awarded by default.

Some of those monikers have changed. I'm no longer a granddaughter and niece is hanging on by the thread of one aunt. I don't want to think about a time I cease to be a daughter.

But like so many titles we own, these can be meaningless to those around us if they have no experience of seeing us fulfill those roles. So it is, I think, with all those excess designations with which we also define ourselves. When we find ourselves out of our natural habitat--as we do when we move across the country well into adulthood--we carry with us no record of all the things we are and all the things we were.

In high school I loved my involvement in music and drama, in fact I continued to participate in those arts until just a very few years ago. But no one here knows that. I like to believe I have a good sense of humor and a bit of clever wit within me. But when you're starting all over in a new place, a new life, it takes a while before you can establish those traits. When no one really knows you they can't possibly understand when you're serious and when you're excercising humor. Facetiousness is lost on strangers. That's too bad, really.

And no one knows how I looked years ago when I was young and considered attractive by some; when I was thin and dressed with style and taste. Perhaps they will eventually see pictures and say things like, "Wow, is that really you?" or, "you were really _________" (fill in the blank with something you wish you still were today.)

This is all part of the past we leave behind when we uproot and go far, far away. It's as if all the good we ever were or ever did is just gone. And we're left at an age when we're a bit tired to start all over again to do just that--recreate who we think we are for the people we know now.

In thinking this through I suppose some would enjoy the opportunity of remaking themselves. We can tell people who haven't known us for all our lives almost anything and as long as it's not too outlandish they have no reason not to believe it. But liar is a title I have been trying to shake off for many years. Not only does not it seem worth it, but I simply don't have the energy to try to remember a bunch of things that aren't true. I have enough difficulty remembering that which is true.

This feeling that I've lost my identity is definitely part of my difficulty in adjusting to life so far away from where I was born. I wish people here could know me the way I was known there. Or maybe it's just the way I thought I was known there.

Time Doesn't Just Fly, It Makes the Jump Into Hyperspace

I was honestly surprised when I realized my last posting was in December of 2008. There are a couple of reasons for that--one obvious and another maybe not so much. The obvious reason was because the election was over and that had been my main focus. The not-so-obvious one is that four weeks later we were unpacking and setting up house in Phoenix, AZ and, well, I was just a little bit busy with that for awhile. I may have missed a prime opportunity by not chronicling our move and the adjustments that have had to be made. But those adjustments were (and still are) much more difficult than I imagined they would be. I knew I would miss our kids and grandson, along with dear, close friends with whom we had experienced so much happiness and some sadness. I also left I job I loved at a location I loved where I worked with people I considered dear friends. And I left my siblings and father who went from being a few hours away by car to a few hours away by plane.

Fifteen months later I realize that I made a huge mistake in thinking the holes in my heart created by the loss of all of the above could be/would be filled with what I'd find in Arizona. The emotional mechanics of the heart are not set up in such a way that pieces lost can be easily replaced. The friendships we had in Wisconsin were the result of years of working and playing together. Driving somewhere for a weekend is much less expensive that flying somewhere for a weekend. Finding a job in a large metropolitan area during an economic downturn is difficult and often disappointing and demoralizing. And perhaps the hardest lesson of all has been that when you make a move of this distance, the person you were to others stays behind, but the person you carry around inside of you comes along. I would have liked it to be the other way.

A Parting Shot

I believe I understand the importance of respect and the proper time to show it. I was offended that the Oliver Stone movie, W, was released before the sitting POTUS left office. It was disrespect to the Presidency--whether one likes the one holding office or not.

So, to avoid demonstrating a dichotomy between principle and action, I will publish one more photograph of now President-elect Obama.

Actually, it's my personal favorite among all those I gleaned for pre-election posts. I think I like it because it looks much more authentic than the many pix of him looking appealing, haloed and presidential.

In this photo he looks like a Chicago politician--which he is. And it is definitely contradictory to the basketball playing, work-out addicted chief executive who is having the bowling alley removed from the White House to make way for a half-court/work-out area.

Of course, it really doesn't matter whether he smokes tobacco or not. But it is significant to me that I really never saw any uncomplimentary photos of him while he was running for President. The media served him up like a mail-order bride to the American people--every flaw concealed--so that his desirability would quickly squelch any questions there might be about his suitability for the office he sought and won.

So there it is. The President-elect. Smokin' hot, and just plain smokin'.

Change

I haven't blogged in awhile for a couple of reasons. First there was the way the election was heading. Then there was the way the election ended, which was not the way I wanted. Neglecting to blog wasn't sour grapes--I was truly hopeful until the very end, even though I felt like I was banging my head against a brick wall most of the time. For everyone who wanted change: there will be change and there will be much of the same, just like any other administration. You may end up changing your mind.

In addition to celebrity politics, there was just a lot going on. For instance: weighing the reasons to move to Phoenix against the reasons to stay in Wisconsin. All in all, my brain was pretty full.

But now the decision has been made; we're moving to Phoenix. I turned in a letter of resignation at work today, and that makes it official--along with the fact we have to be out of our apartment by the end of December.

It wasn't easy to resign from a job I really like, so I'm pampering myself tonight. I'm not watching and actually trying to ignore the really scary movie that my husband is watching on the TV on the other side of the room. The movie is titled The Descent. Basically, six beautiful women go caving together, get trapped, get lost, then end up screaming, covered in blood and--oh, yes--being eaten by scary flesh-eating humanoids that make noises like the aliens in Signs.

It's an icky movie. Don't watch it.

Getting back to the move. Yesterday it snowed a bunch which was a sort of confirmation that moving to Phoenix might be a pretty good idea. I know Scott can't wait to leave all this winter behind. As for me, I just want to be where he is. I have no idea what awaits us there, but it's good to know we'll be facing it together.

It's All About the Pork

I'm eating one of my favorite almost immediately eatable dinners: instant brown rice and Bush's Best Baked Beans. No, it wasn't served by the President as this photo suggests (although he's welcome at our house for a can anytime), but it's a tasty dish nonetheless.

I discovered Bush's Beans as an adult. Until then my exposure to baked beans was the homemade slow-cooked dish I saw (but rarely tasted) at a few dozen church potluck dinners. Conversely, my understanding of canned beans was Van Camp's (or at times, IGA) pork 'n beans. Those I did eat. I liked them a lot. So did my brothers and sisters. When I was growing up, we would often cook up a can and then argue over which of us got to eat the "pork." In pork 'n beans, the "pork" is actually a 1/2-inch cube of fat. But we fought over it anyway because it was something to fight over. Siblings need something to fight over. That way we can maintain our belief that life isn't fair and our brothers and sisters get EVERYTHING and we NEVER get ANYTHING.

I don't remember where or when I first tasted Bush's Best Baked Beans, but I know I can never go back to the pork 'n beans of my past. My determination was really rewarded tonight when I found THREE PIECES of pork in that little 8.3 oz. can. And these pieces actually looked and tasted like pork. Good things come to those who wait.

There are days when it's just good to forget about politics, financial crises and all the other things that concern and upset us. You never know when you'll score a three-pork day.

One Dog Night

It appears that I won't be seeing the slightly less than full moonrise tonight. It's been raining most of the day and even though the rain has stopped, there is still a thick blanket of clouds overhead. The few spots of blue struggling to gain ground--or rather sky--are too few and far between to help the cause.

So I am resigned to a no-moon night. But I have other entertainment to keep me busy tonight--the final debate of the 2008 Presidential Election. Instead of shivering out on a cold balcony eagerly searching the horizon, I'll be sitting snugly on our couch with our dog, perhaps sipping a toasty cup of cocoa (that would be me sipping cocoa, not the dog). And if the debate becomes too suspenseful for me to watch (ask my family about Packer games), I have a Lia Sophia catalog to browse through for a party a friend of mine will be hostessing next week. Our dog (Oscar) will be sitting on my lap under a blanket either way.

As you can see from his picture, Oscar is a noble dog. Or at least that's what he thinks. His small stature (he is a Min Pin), doesn't affect his self-confidence. He'll bark incessantly at a dog 3 times larger than him as long as it takes for the big dog to walk nonchalantly away. Yes, and he will do that with one paw tied behind his back

Min Pins are considered companion dogs, which is a nice way to indicate they have no other earthly value outside of sitting on their owner's lap, back, neck, legs, etc., making it difficult for one to move freely in one's own home. When they are not sitting on their master's lap they are jumping against him/her like a spring-loaded battery-operated teeny-tiny battering ram. Oscar can jump fairly high. He's usually pummeling my hip when he starts that. Of course, the term "companion" infers that the master is, well, the master. Make no mistake, the Min Pin rules the universe. Try to make one mind and it will demonstrate that it sees no man as his master (no woman, either).

Yes, Oscar is definitely high-maintenance. But he makes up for it by being very strange. Somehow his strangeness endears him to Scott and me. His favorite foods are romaine lettuce and frozen broccoli--when he's not stealing food off our plates, that is. He loves to play with golf balls and can remember where he left one two months ago. He can even find golf balls that are still in the box and quickly frees them with determined chewing. One of my favorite strange things is when he jumps straight up in the air (just like a cat) for no apparent reason. Once again, he can jump pretty high.

But our dog is a loving dog, I think anyway. Recently when Scott left home for a time, Oscar exhibited some classic stages of grief. The first day he sat on one of Scott's shirts and could only be drawn away for food. Classic disbelief. The second or third day he left a little doggy "present" in one's of Scott's shoes. Classic anger. Of course, Scott wants to throw those shoes away. I won't tell him which pair were desecrated.

The moon will rise in a few minutes from the time I'm typing this, but I won't see it. Instead I'll be enjoying spending time with Oscar. If he allows it.