Six childhood movies I still adore

Something special remains about movies I fell in love with in my youth. Even a film that could never be considered for any Academy Awards holds a power beyond its cinematography prowess when it represents the emotional state of a period of my life. Here are just a few titles that come to mind when I think of movies which have maintained that "classic" status for me, ones that I would not hesitate to watch over and over again.

In no particular order, and certainly not an exhaustive list...

1) The Cutting Edge. The glamour of figure skating. The thrill of forbidden flirtation. To this day my heart swells with unabashed joy when I picture D.B. Sweeney and Moira Kelly sharing that first kiss at the conclusion of their perilous winning performance. Cheesy, of course, but this was before I had seen 112 other movies with the same I-hate-you-but-now-I-love-you concept.

2. Dumb and Dumber. I still believe this is arguably one of the funniest movies ever made. There are so many classic lines that I continue to use on a regular basis. Tommy Boy has that similar place in my heart.

3. A League of their Own. Come on, this movie is so good! Star-studded ensemble cast, funny, touching, at least somewhat historically enlightening, and chock full of affirmative moral lessons. What more could a girl want? This is the way I want to remember Rosie O'Donnell.

4. Newsies. D U H. I'm willing to bet that I still have the soundtrack memorized, and still get twitterpated just thinking about those cuties.

5. Wild Hearts Can't be Broken. Another character-shaping movie featuring a strong female lead living any little girl's dream (performing with horses) who overcomes profound tragedy. You can watch the epic conclusion here.

6. The Chipmunk Adventure. I imagine this will be the most controversial selection on my list. There are several more "mainstream" animated films I also consider representative of my childhood, most notably Disney's The Little Mermaid, Aladdin, and The Lion King. But there is a separate place in my heart for this one, perhaps partly because it is so obscure. Much like The Brave Little Toaster, which should also be on this list. I borrowed The Chipmunk Adventure on DVD for our road trip this summer, and was fully entertained singing along to the high-pitched songs of world adventure from the front seat while Madelyn enjoyed this classic from in the car.

On a final note, I know many peers of my generation would include The Princess Bride and Goonies on a list like this. But I didn't see those movies until I was in high school and college, respectively, so I don't consider them influential movies from my youth. In addition, while The Princess Bride earns its right as a highly celebrated, timeless classic, I did not enjoy Goonies nearly as thoroughly. That is a movie, like at least some on my list here, whose frame of reference and associated memories of the viewer lend more value than the movie itself.

What movies are on your list?

Time for a toddler bed?

Many of my friends have moved their little ones into "big kid" beds, and some of these children are a little younger than Madelyn. Our crib actually features a childproof door which swings open on the front. Using it purportedly helps save Mom and Dad's backs from lifting a heavy child in and out a few times a day, and it promotes independence and self-confidence in the child. The manufacturer also suggests that consistently using the door rather than lifting a baby over the railing prevents the child from learning to try to climb over the railing to get out. I really love the crib, despite my hesitations at the sales presentation where we ultimately purchased it. I'll have to tell you about that sometime.

18-month-old climbing into bed

Peek-a-boo!

June 2008

I would love to have Madelyn in a toddler bed because she could probably get up and go potty and go back to bed all by herself now. I would still go meet her in the bathroom and make sure everything is okay, but it seems like less of a hassle than listening to her cry out and having to escort her every time. Even when she wakes up from a nap or in the morning, I wouldn't mind if she wandered out and played with toys or came to my bed rather than calling for me over and over as if I haven't heard her because of my obvious magical ability to transport myself to her bedside the moment she calls. Normally Madelyn knows when it is time for sleep and would probably stay in her bed without being contained by crib railings.

However, and it's a big however, there are those days now and then where Madelyn resists taking her nap. Naptime is non-negotiable for me, so on days that she doesn't curl up and fall right to sleep, she stays awake in her crib and I attempt to be productive through a sort-of "la la la I can't hear you!" technique. Usually she eventually sleeps, but it might be after 45 minutes or an hour of singing/crying/kicking the wall/giggling. If I weren't able to lock her into the cage that is her crib, what would become of naptime (work and me time)?

Because of our nifty crib door, it seems logical that I have the unique option of "trying it out." I can leave the crib door open and see how it goes for a while before dismantling the crib only to learn that we wish we hadn't done it yet. But I've tried that a few times, and at least once Madelyn thought it was completely silly to leave the door open, and kept slamming it shut. Another time she was alright with leaving it open, but the whole idea distracted her from nodding off because it was novel. There is something about switching altogether to the new style of bed without railings that makes it separate enough not to be associated with the way her crib "should be," if that makes sense.

This common usage of crib door opening demonstrates how sleeping with it open might not be conducive to sleep.

January 2009

While every child is different in these matters, I would appreciate any advice you fellow parents can give me. How do you deal with it when a child doesn't want to go to sleep, but definitely needs a nap, and the ability to keep her in her toddler bed has been eliminated?

Flagrant false advertising

I registered for the ORRC Blue Lake 15k Championship run for a variety of reasons. Of primary importance, the distance and date of the race (last Saturday) fit perfectly with my training plan for the October 25th half marathon. I had also heard that the location of the race in the Columbia River Gorge was quite lovely, and had a few friends on board to join me. In addition, 2009 marks the 35th Anniversary for this particular race event, so the marketing materials promised abundant raffle prizes, hot food at the finish line, and to top it all off, a free pair of running gloves to all registrants.

It sounded like a party I did not want to miss, and after suffering numb fingers through my mid-winter training last January, I was pretty dang excited about getting myself some running gloves for the upcoming chilly season.

My first disappointment manifested when all three of the buddies who originally planned to run with me each pooped out during the prior week for various reasons. All valid reasons, sure, but it left me in the position of driving over an hour from home all alone to run a very long race with no one to motivate or celebrate with me. But I was still very excited about the included pair of gloves, and considered the race an important aspect of my current training regime. Plus I had already paid, and I don't just have money to burn. Thankfully my mother-in-law, who had been planning on babysitting Madelyn for the day, agreed to come along with me and play with her at the park rather than at home. So I had company for the drive, and the valuable motivation throughout the race of loving family members ready to greet me at the finish line.

Luckily, I wasn't very hungry at the finish line, because their "hot food" consisted of hot dogs out of a warming tray on cheap white buns. I would have preferred the bananas and bagels found at many basic post-race festivities. At least there were 7 varieties of cookies to choose from.

The course was not very scenic, as I had been lead to expect. The area of Blue Lake Park that we saw was nice, but the race course almost immediately exited the park and ran alongside a boring road and around the Troutdale Airport field. I didn't catch a glimpse of any lake. It was supposed to be a flat, fast course, and would have been were it not for the severe wind blowing against us. For half of the race it felt like we were running uphill or against a slowly retreating wall. I had never before experienced a headwind strong enough to slow me significantly and require such effort to persevere. That made these 9.3 miles harder than they probably otherwise would have been, and it has kind of psyched me out for the 13.1 coming up in a few weeks. I just need to allow myself to slow down and stop being so competitive.

Anyway, like usual I sat through all of the raffle drawings and my ticket number was never called.

At least I got those sweet running gloves, though, right?

Of course I didn't expect our free gloves to be New Balance or Nike. But in my (albeit limited) experience, running gloves look something like this:

Obviously a person can go running wearing whatever keeps his or her hands warm and comfortable. It's just that the only type of gloves I have ever seen classified specifically for running are made of a high-performance material, are lightweight, water-resistant, and perhaps have a reflective strip since if you're running in the cold it is also highly likely that you are running in the dark. So I expected some generic, non-branded version of the same idea. Perhaps something like the middle example, as that is a brand I've never heard of.

Instead I received these:

And by "received these" I mean "was motioned toward a mountainous pile from which to take any two one-size-fits-all, ambidextrous knit gloves made from recycled fibers." They look a lot like the gloves that came with a set of herb-gardening tools I once received.

I know what you're thinking: They were free. I don't intend to complain as much as to share my amusement at the discrepancy between my imagination and reality, especially when combined with all the other small disappointments. That's all. These gloves are soft and warm, and I'm sure they will keep my hands nice and toasty during a 42-degree run. As long as they don't slip off my relatively dainty wrists, that is. Perhaps I'd be better off just pulling out some of the knit gloves that I already own in my own size! I just don't understand what, exactly, qualifies these as "running gloves." But I'm no expert.

One to add to my collection

In case you don't know, I am a very serious fan of The Simpsons. I distinctly remember the weeks of advertising leading up to the series premiere in December 1989, and then eagerly gathering around the television with my entire family to watch that famous first episode, "Simpsons Roasting on an Open Fire." My eight-year-old self latched onto this cartoon family and I feel like we basically grew up together. My personal character developed alongside those of Springfield USA, and as I matured, so did the show. I would say that I credit much of my own sense of humor to The Simpsons, except that I think the more apt analysis is that the series shaped what is considered humorous across popular culture in general. As a long-term fan, I notice the Simpsons' influence in so many movies, TV shows, radio jabber, and more.

The fact that I have seen every single episode aired over 20 years is not as impressive proof of my fanaticism as my prized VHS library. There was a time, not long ago, when you couldn't run to Best Buy or Wal-Mart and pick up your favorite television series' collector's edition DVD with audio commentary and behind-the-scenes footage. Back in the nineties, if you wanted to watch a show under any other circumstances than live at its scheduled time, you would

need to program your Video Cassette Recorder. Taking this idea to a new level, I created an enviable collection of 19 tapes, six to eight hours each, containing episodes recorded from television without commercials. And I carefully cataloged each episode on each tape so that there were no duplicates.

My collection of 19 VHS tapes containing commercial-free, non-duplicated The Simpsons episodes from Seasons 1 through 14

THE SIMPSONS VIII tape with typed episode label as a sample from my prized collection

The project was quite an undertaking. Upon pulling out the videos to snap those photos, I discovered my episode lists from each season with systems for tracking which ones were missing from my tapes, and the scratch paper on which I looked up online and wrote down the dates and times when those episodes would be aired. My mother was a helpful accomplice to my obsession, as she generously bought me tapes with longer recording times, and on many, many occasions sat in front of the TV with the VCR remote to record my episodes and press pause when commercials began and the show resumed. That is true motherly love right there. This endeavor continued into the year 2003, when the accelerated release of complete seasons on DVD threatened to make my collection obsolete. In addition, the invention of TiVo and our "season pass" setting allows me to select from an ever-revolving couple of dozen episodes and watch one by pressing a few buttons on the remote. And I can easily skip the commercials.

I'll let you call me a Simpsons Geek any time. It's an obsession of which I've never been ashamed. And I might not watch those videos right now, but their mere existence is cherished.

As is common when a person indicates an interest in a theme, I have received many Simpsons-related gifts and collected some unique paraphernalia over the years. Here are a few favorite, and more obscure, pieces in my varied collection:

Artwork supposedly signed by Simpsons creator, Matt Groening. It was given to me by one of my high school best friends' dads who dealt in celebrity autographs as a business. I've always wondered at its authenticity, however, especially since he didn't provide any certificate. But I still like it, and yes, I have it framed and hanging on the wall in my house.

Wow, this one is amazing. I don't know where my friend Wiyaka found it, but she sent this Homer marionette of questionable origin for my daughter's first birthday. Technically I guess it belongs to Madelyn, then, who has been able to name the Simpsons family members for about a year now I would guess. (She learned them from the set of nesting dolls below; she doesn't actually watch the show. Yet.)

Madelyn has also commandeered this cool metal lunchbox recently too. She stashed her various trinkets and treasures in there and takes them places.

Another undeniably unlicensed article was mailed to me all the way from the Izmailovsky Market in Russia by my friend Bridget, who was living there at the time. Tiny little Maggie has been misplaced--I can only hope we'll find her when the time comes to move my desk. And Marge's head was sadly crushed underfoot when they were strewn about my office floor by a toddler one day, but the many pieces were carefully superglued back together, and you can't even tell, no? This set of matryoshka dolls is probably my favorite piece of Simpsons memorabilia, due partly to its exceptional distinctiveness and foreign origins, and partly because it reminds me of the bond that Bridget and I shared as teenagers with a mutual appreciation for the creative genius that we knew as The Simpsons.

Yesterday I learned of a new item that I might need to add to my collection:

That sultry temptress Marge has agreed to do a pictorial and appear on the cover of a special Collector's Edition of Playboy as part of the 20th anniversary celebration. I assume the spread will be tasteful and artistic, because surely Marge wouldn't consent to less. Okay, I probably won't buy an issue of "entertainment for men," but I'm curious enough to see it.

Happy upcoming 20th Anniversary, Simpsons!

Ocean beauty

It's time to wonder at the miracle of nature as experienced on the surface of the ocean. I would love to share a few of my favorite photos taken by Clark Little from O'ahu, a photographer gaining deserved fame for his work. But in order to avoid copyright infringement, I'll simply encourage you to check out his gallery. Those few minutes will be well-spent.

This surfer/photographer gets drenched capturing shots from the inside of monstrous Hawaiian waves, and it makes me wonder: how does the camera lens remain dry?

Hopefully he won't mind me posting just these two to pique your interest enough to click over to his site. They are a couple of my favorites, but there are so many more to admire, depicting a range of colors and textures that I wouldn't have had the imagination to guess at previously. Enjoy.

Marlin by Clark Little

Sun Curl by Clark Little

And he wonders why he's unemployed

After getting over the shock of receiving quite unexpected 2-weeks' notice from one of my long-term and highly appreciated Curves employees, I pulled myself together and posted the job opening on craigslist a few days ago. Hiring employees is probably among the most difficult undertakings that my role as owner/manager requires, likely due to the fact that nearly every other aspect of the club operation, member retention, and my own job duties are affected by my ultimate choice. And the interviewing process offers such limited perspective of reality, sometimes I wonder if my instincts should be trusted any more than the flip of a coin.

Craigslist is my preferred method of acquiring applicants, as it is inexpensive and immediately produces a high yield of responses from which to select. Of course, the caliber of people who apply is not always outstanding, but then again, the position of interest isn't typically going to appeal to PhD's. My success in finding the right kind of people for the job improved dramatically when I discovered the category called "salon/spa/fitness" and moved my ad to there from "customer service." The number of responding applicants with a genuine interest in the field and more than call-center experience increased significantly. Working at Curves really is more customer service than anything, but it is nothing like sitting in a cubicle reading a script to people you've never met over the phone. Unfortunately, I've hired applicants from craigslist who didn't last through the initial training, and others who felt their paycheck was well-deserved simply for showing up and not breaking anything. However, I've also discovered some of our most talented team members through craigslist.

Within 48 hours of posting the opening, I had over 20 resumes in my inbox. Among them are several truly exceptional candidates (thank you, 12% unemployment rate), and more than several that I shall politely decline to interview. But no response to my employment ad has ever made as big of an impression as this, from one Nathaniel Davis, Jr. I have copied and pasted it EXACTLY as it arrived in my email box:

..................................................................................................

RE: FAT WOMESN EXERCISE COACH

HEY I WANT TO TRAIN YOUR FAT ASS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I MEAN IT TO LATE TO LOSE WEIGHT BUT THAT OK YOU CAN ALWAYS RUN CIRCLE AROUND EACH OTHER BEING THAT YALL SO DAM FAT YOU MIGHT GET TIRED ON ONE STEP.

OK GO EATS SOME DONUTS I KNOW YOUR HUNGRY FROM READING THIS>

..................................................................................................

Sigh.

This message is clearly intended to provoke. And by responding to it, he wins that game.

BUT...

there are so many things that should be said to this jerk! Not the least of which is, "Learn English you idiot!" In addition, the misconception that Curves is just for fat people really chaps my hide and is always tough for me to ignore. Then there's the fact that I am not hiring someone to train my fat ass, so his insults are not only repulsive, they are entirely erroneous. But of course any logical refutation from me would fall on deaf ears.

But I got to thinking, 'who is this loser?' To have found my post he must have been perusing the job listings on craigslist, which leaves only two viable possibilities: a) he is a lonely, punk-assed teenager with nothing better to do than surf the web looking for ways to boost his ego by sending scathing emails to individuals who he can assume would be wounded by his efforts, or b) he is a guy looking for a job on craigslist with the same character flaws as the punk described in a). I struggled to envision a grown man seeking employment who could be so stupid or entertain such a waste of time, so I assumed the former to be the most logical scenario.

I knew that responding with righteous indignation would only fulfill his wishes. And explaining how hard I laughed at his preposterously pitiful grasp of both the English language and human decency would also be worthless, because he wouldn't get it. But I could not bring myself to simply delete the email without satisfying my desire to demean this shameful excuse for a person in some small way.

So I sent him a little note:

This is really how you spend your time? How pathetic!

It doesn't encompass the full wrath I wished to unleash, but it curbed my amused outrage. If I expected any response, it would be one similar to the first email. I predicted that Mr. Davis, Jr. certainly had it in him to release his full vicious potential, but I hoped that maybe he'd worry about his mom finding out and would just leave it alone. Instead, I received this response not 10 minutes after I sent my note (again, copied and pasted exactly as he typed it):

..................................................................................................

no! not really , i been unemployed for a year I have an BA in Sociology; an i'm just frustrated. i have applied for many jobs on craigslist just like this one an never get an relied, I actually own 2 german rockwallers, but Im a dawg love, I'm not interested in employment; you could say it pathetic, but I really wanted to see due employers responded. An to due that I had to say something crazy

Hey my bad I hope Didn't scared you also I wouldn't do any thing that crazy.

..................................................................................................

Whoa! I've had to read this over several times in order to interpret, but I think I've got it now. Allow me to translate. Ahem.

No! I am a complete loser who can't spell or compose a complete sentence. I like to tell people that I have a bachelor's degree, even though any college that would offer one to me should be discredited. Otherwise, the entire idea of the degree ought to hold no merit whatsoever. I applied to work at your Curves last year [see below] and you didn't give me any relied [I cannot for the life of me figure out what this word is supposed to be]. I have a couple of big dogs [maybe?] but even though I said I am frustrated about being out of work I am not interested in employment. However, I wanted you (a due [?] employer) to respond to me, and thought that by insulting your clientèle and your core business philosophies I could get your attention. That is not pathetic at all.

Now, I can't tell if his last line ("I wouldn't do any thing that crazy") implies that working at Curves would be crazy and he wouldn't actually do that, or if sending the insulting email would be crazy and he wouldn't actually do that. But he actually did both. Well, he didn't actually work at Curves obviously, but when I searched in my amazing Gmail account for his name to find the emails I wanted to copy for this post, I discovered his resume submitted in November 2008. He GENUINELY APPLIED for a job at my Curves last year. I am sure he does not remember this or have any idea that I now know this, but it makes the entire debacle that much more hilarious to me!

I reviewed his cover and resume, and there is nothing unusual about it. Other than misspelling "craglits.com" and "exercose," his writing is intelligible and professional. It's amazing how a year of unemployment can change a man. And also amazing how one can spell the same word "do" and "due" in sequential sentences. And I use that last term loosely.

Flashback Friday: Almost popular, again

Last week I flashed back to third grade, when I was left feeling as though my chance to be Popular had been whisked away because of one silly err on my part. Now I'll recount the next time my chances of joining ranks with the "in" crowd were smashed. Only this time it was all my brother's fault.

Since moving away from the elementary school where I had once been destined for Popularity, I had hovered around the middle rungs of the social ladder in upper elementary and junior high school. I wasn't the most popular girl in school, the one lusted after by boys and envied by girls. But I didn't get stuff thrown in my hair on the bus either. I played soccer with lots of Cool Kids, and was occasionally even invited to join them at birthday parties or other social events throughout middle and high school. But my closest friendships were mostly formed with the girls with whom I went to church, and we wouldn't have been considered among the top-ranking in Popularity as far as those labels go. I enjoyed my brief moments rubbing elbows with the pre-teen elite, and regrettably struggled at times with the desire to be considered "one of them," instead of being satisfied with my more meaningful friendships or the idea that I could be well-liked and even respected without being "Popular."

Certainly it's a pathetic way to view the world, in terms of Popularity--whatever definition that word might wear.

But at any rate, that's Junior High. And this is where our story begins: at the Eighth Grade graduation party. Yearbooks are being passed around for the standard "your cool" and "have a gr8 summer" sentiments. Students are shedding tears over all the special memories they have created and the fact that they might not see one another for TWO WHOLE MONTHS over the summer. !!! What a blissful life.

Polaroid photo taken at 8th Grade Celebration. Oddly enough, almost all the peers pictured were Popular Kids. How did I get in this picture? Maybe I was cooler than I thought. Or maybe I snuck in like a 13th wheel. In case it isn't obvious, I'm the ugly one with braces on the far left.

This guy who goes by Butch strikes up a conversation with me at the party. I didn't know him well enough to be considered a friend. He was just a guy I knew, one who I would look up to from my place on the middle of the proverbial popularity ladder. He was a Cool Kid, from my vantage point at least.

In my yearbook Butch writes:

Imagine being a 13-year-old girl, and see if you can identify each nuance that might be scrutinized with delight (the misspelling of "lose" not among them). Butch also asked me to go to a movie with him in the summer. Wow. I could feel it already: Ninth grade was going to be different.

We made plans to meet at the movie theatre for our date a couple of weeks later. Yes, the proposal was genuine and the plan indeed executed!

Butch said he would buy our tickets and wait for me at the front doors. Such a gentleman, considering this was a few years before he would be old enough to pick me up on my doorstep with a dozen long-stemmed roses. Give him a break, okay?

All I had to do was procure my own ride to the theatre. For some reason my parents were both not at home this day. I was left to rely on my oldest brother for this most crucial element of what might be considered my first date. I literally cannot remember the details surrounding this life-altering quarter of an hour, but I do remember distinctly pleading with Richard to hurry up and take me to the movie so that I would not be late, and him being otherwise occupied, unwilling to relent. He finally, and with a frighteningly disgruntled sigh I'm sure, gathered himself and the keys and I hopped anxiously into the passenger seat.

Since we left our house somewhere around the time (or possibly even after) the movie was scheduled to begin rolling, it was a tense three-mile drive. I was nervous, mortified, and really at a loss for what to do. In 1994, cellular phones were still quite uncommon, and certainly no one who just finished middle school had one. I kept visualizing my soon-to-be new friend sitting outside the theatre on a concrete bench, his face lighting up when we finally pulled in, and us skipping hand-in-hand down the dark hallway toward our seats just as the opening credits concluded.

Instead, we pulled alongside the curb in front of a deserted ticket booth. Butch was nowhere to be seen. I asked my brother to wait while I checked inside, and I hope that by the time I emerged from the lobby onto the pale, desolate concrete alone that he felt sorry.

I don't have the kind of relationship with my brother that would have allowed me to air my frustration and blame the way I wanted to. Which would have involved ear-splitting yells and possibly some PG-rated violence. Instead I shrunk back into the Camry seat and stared out the window while we drove home, hiding my shameful tears from Big Brother.

I spoke to Butch once more after that, attempting to explain over the phone the humiliating circumstances that forced me to stand him up unintentionally. He said he enjoyed the movie, and didn't seem interested in forgiving me and trying again.

Maybe I could have salvaged my chance at Popularity by going inside and finding the boy. But I probably would have needed a ticket to get past the teenager guarding the hallways. And I didn't have any money. And my brother sure as hell wasn't going to give me a ride AND six bucks. And then I would have felt as though Butch had wasted his money on the other ticket. Which in essence, he had already done, so why would that have mattered? I probably also wondered if perhaps Butch had even shown up in the first place, and I didn't want Richard to leave until I confirmed his presence, and then how would I come back out and tell him it was okay to leave after successfully getting in to the movie 15 minutes late? It was all so complicated and my immature self just didn't know what to do at the time.

It's probably best that I wasn't Popular anyway. Here's to my REAL friends:

Julee, Kristen, Mikael, Bridget ~ June 1993

True friendship is fun. And forgiving.

(Like each will offer me for posting this lovely picture on the internet)