Look-a-likes

Two nights ago a youthful neighbor stopped by for a visit with conversation and cheap wine.  I needed to mention she was youthful as I can be considered decrepit. 

 

Sure, I was once young and at one time I actually knew all the current bands, actors and actresses, and modern lingo.  I was hip.

 

And throughout the years I tried to stay in cultural shape by listening to the newest music, watching the premiers of television shows, and even combined the two with the help of MTV and VH-1.  Long, long ago, VH-1 was akin to MTV in that they both showed music videos.  Both aired music videos which featured cool performances from the latest artists.  In essence, these were mini concerts for shut-ins and the short-attention spanned – like me.

 

In any case, this was the only way I would know who Madonna was, or Sheila E., or any of the other three-thousand female singers of the 1980’s and 1990’s.

 

Hearing only a voice on the hi-fi was not enough to conjure up a visual image of the artist, much less get an action scenario of the song itself.

 

Unfortunately, both MTV and VH-1 have gone the way of common morality in America.  You’d have better luck finding a bag of crack in a convent than finding a music video on the music channels.

 

I no longer patronize those former music TV channels because of their lack of content I desire.  Keep in mind there is no alternative outside of the internet for such music viewing.

 

The result is my falling out of “perpetually-hip” status and into the “I-don’t-have-a-clue category.”  And to me that is a big deal.  But, I digress.

 

So my neighbor is drinking wine when a shrill voice and blonde, overly made-up woman appeared to hawk the newest amateur singer show.  Yes, America is searching for more singers, as if we were having a yodeling drought.

 

My sainted wife asked the general question as who that unrecognizable screaming woman with a guitar was.  Our youthful neighbor said that it appeared to be Christina Agulera.  It could have been; I didn’t know.

 

The conversation continued and the wine freely flowed for the balance of the evening.

 

Yesterday I looked for blonde singers in the hope of identifying this mystery woman.  My search was mixed in results as the names of Christina Agulera, Gwen Stefani, Lady Gaga, and Johnny Winter all turned up as viable identifications.

 

It may have been any one of them as they all looked pretty much alike – save for Johnny Winter who was clearly older and less made up.

 

Nonetheless, the mystery remains and the woman in the ad is still unknown to me.  I do feel old now because I am no longer able to point at people, or recognize songs, or even pick movie and TV stars out of a crowd any longer.

 

 I do find it odd that there is a TV show featuring a woman beating a cat with a guitar, though.

Come On Down!

While taking a reprieve from time in my workshop for a bite of lunch, I noticed my sainted wife was enthralled in a television program.

It is The Price is Right, and chock full of ritz and glitz.  It seems as though the show has changed hosts with the former one, Bob Barker, gone to a California golf course.

I remember Bob was old when I was a kid and he emceed the show with a microphone that closely resembled a giant lollipop.  He ended each show with a warning-like-suggestion to “spay and neuter your pets.”

Ol’ Bob was put out to pasture some years ago and replaced with someone who still has a pulse – Drew Carey.

The show has taken on an ultra-hip atmosphere with new games and hoopla and extravagant prizes in the form of luxury automobiles and fabulous trips.

This particular episode showed a $300 blender, $2400 in luggage, and women’s and transvestite’s shoes worth thousands.  Gone are the days of Rice-A-Roni.

But what really caught my attention was the Drew’s Crew members.  Bob used to have comely ladies who stood by prizes as they spun around on a giant turntable; they referred to as Barker’s Beauties.  I can only assume Drew’s ladies would have earned a similar moniker.

In any case, there were two models that were simply stunning.  Yes, I can say this because my sainted wife does not read www.easternshorefishandgame.com. 

One was named Manjuela, the other was Rachel.  Both were, again, stunning.

I was mesmerized by their leggy gyrations around a riding lawnmower, and later a dehumidifier.  Both prizes appeared sexier because of the way these two ladies maneuvered around them on the stage.

Just as with people who say, “Everything tastes better with bacon,” these models do the same thing to floor lamps – they make them better.

My mind drifted away to my “happy place.”  In the event you’re unfamiliar with happy places, those are where you mentally go to reduce stress and want to relax.

I was mentally in my workshop preparing to fire-up my drill press when my sainted wife entered.  In her hand was a steaming cup muscular black coffee.  She was wearing a sequined gown with satin pumps and motioned with her free hand that this cup of joy was mine.  A facial gesture along with a smile and wink from her confirmed this scenario.

A quick twist of her head and a bigger grin appeared that coincided with a small nod…

 

I returned to reality when I heard Drew’s voice say, “Place your bid to the nearest dollar without going over.”

 

Perhaps my sainted wife could try a smooth wave and hand motion when she announces dinner is ready, or maybe she could sashay over to me while I’m painting and offer me some iced tea.  The bottom line is presentation is everything.

 

That lucky Drew fell into it.

Doctor, Doctor!

Three months ago I, along with countless other dupes, made a New Year’s resolution.  My resolution was to diet, exercise, and get healthier.

 

I’m proud to announce that after 68 solid days of regimented living I have lost a total of – drum roll, please – 2 pounds!

 

This health marathon did not begin January 1^st.  Rather, it began decades ago when my clothes started shrinking.  Actually, they remained the same, I was simply growing.

 

To stave off serious illness later in life I began eating “lite” foods.  After a few years of that I began eating less lite.  There has been no alcohol in the form of beer, liquor, wine, or even flambé dishes.

 

The result was being a fat guy who didn’t drink.  That’s even less fun than being just a fat guy.

 

In any case, my doctor decided to send me to a dietician.  There I collected papers, menus, and sage advice from both the dietician and the other participants.  I should have known better since my fellow dieters had been attending this diet clinic for years, and still they were 80 pounds heavier than I.

 

My dietician put me on a 1200 calorie per day diet.  If you don’t know how much 1200 calories is, stop by my house and look in Smokey the Cat’s bowl.  That is 1400 calories.

 

I’m bringing this up now because I have a doctor’s office visit scheduled for this week and am prepared to duke it out.  You see, I gained 14 pounds on my diet since my last doctor visit.

 

This past year I changed my diet to be even healthier.  I grew my own veggies and fruits, and I know that they are all organic because I know what I put in and around them.

 

My doctor was talking to me about lettuce I grew and asked me if I got any.  I told him no, because I was too busy growing lettuce to get any.  He didn’t think that was funny.

 

But I got my blood test results back and they look pretty good considering I have one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.

 

Of course my doctor won’t let me die until I reconcile all my bills.

 

For all you spindly folks reading this, keep in mind I have a metabolic imbalance –through no fault of my own - that is being re-balanced through pharmaceuticals.  Nonetheless, the antics and gyrations that are being performed are tenuous and un-fun.

 

And until I drop another 78 pounds, I’ll be the guy no losing weight on a diet.

Deja View

Not Smokey the Cat

With the Oscar ceremonies still warm in our brains, I’d like to visit an arena of cinema of which no one speaks: Remakes.

 

I enjoy movies as much as anyone because they are commercial-free in their original form.

 

Remakes are not those tired movies that get recycled like old newspapers or soda cans rather, they are original movies that are re-made by someone other than the initial director and cast to improve the film.

 

The first one that comes to mind is King Kong.  This movie was first seen by me as a child when I was inside on a Saturday morning.  It appeared on TV and enthralled me that such a large monkey was able to escape in a large metropolitan area.

 

Of course that was not the point of the flick as I later learned.  Still, I was agog at the amazing cinematography which, today, looks like it was done with crayons by baboons.  Nonetheless, it was cutting-edge technology interspersed with real actors, and it was exciting.

 

Its remake was touted as the biggest thing since the moon landing.  It wasn’t.  But, this led the pack in the remake world.

 

No one would think of remaking Rocky.   We’re up to Rocky XXXIV, I think.  We‘re also lousy with Die Hard movies, Shrek films, Rambo, and Saw cinematic works that can be easily distinguished by the numbers following the title.

 

James Bond adventures do not fit into these forms as they are all their own individual adventure, often with a different title character portrayer.

 

But movies like The Karate Kid was good.  It didn’t need to be remade, but it was.

 

Arthur is another that had a fine original but, was painfully contorted into a weak attempt to make money off the original.

 

It must be a sense of an overinflated ego that feels they have a better idea as to what the original should have been like.  One successful movie is the Wizard of Oz.

 

The Wizard of Oz was released in 1939 and has enjoyed great success for decades on both the silver screen and the small screen.  It is still shown as an annual event on television.

 

Enter Sidney Lumet who directed a black version of the Wizard of Oz entitled The Wiz.  It starred Dianna Ross, Michael Jackson, and many other black actors because it was set in Harlem.

 

Just as The Great Gatsby was remade into a black version called G.  G is a modern day story about a hip hopper named Summer G.  Summer G spends years making himself into an entrepreneur to entice his wanna-be squeeze back into his arms.  Wow!

 

Speaking of nutty, let us not forget the remake of that Walt Disney classic The Nutty Professor.  Yes, that too was remade starring Eddie Murphy.

 

Not to be outdone, check out the new version of Annie.  It seems as though Annie is now a sassy black girl who lives with her mean foster mother and is taken in by the mayoral candidate who happens to be a business tycoon.

 

The originals were just fine.  Let them be and please come up with some new, fresh, original ideas for movies.  I’ve already seen that one you’re trying to remake.