Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Remember Hart to Hart?



The other day I woke up thinking—of all things—about "Hart to Hart," a truly awful show that could only have been spawned by the '80s.



That is, of course, Robert Wagner and Stephanie Powers, the stars of the program. The premise of the show was that there was this extraordinarily wealthy couple who were also glamorous and who solved crimes on the side. Also, they were totally in love and devoted to each other. To aid them in their efforts was their valet, Max, and dog, Freeway.

In other words, this was a show that trashed your suspension of disbelief from the get-go. Naturally, being pre-teens, this was a show that I and my older sister—I'll call her "Chris"—liked to watch. We weren't allowed to watch it upstairs in the living room; before we even got the first "H" sound of "how about Hart to Hart?" out of our mouths to suggest it, my mom was already shaking her head and saying, "uh-uh, no. No way." We had to go down to the basement and watch it on the crappy TV! There is no justice in this world—Hart to Hart in the basement, indeed!

The dialogue was insipid, even to our unformed ears. In every episode, the husband—Jonathan—would get himself into a dangerous situation (like dangling out of a window, say). And every episode, his wife (name lost to the sands of time) would yell out, "Jonathan!" while helping not a jot to get him out of his predicament. Chris and I would try and guess when this line would be uttered, and there were a LOT of misfires, accidentally on purpose. The best was when Chris hollered out, "Jonathan!" as the opening theme song played.


Monday, August 22, 2011

Kate Spade and Blocking

I love Kate Spade but she has got to give me a break on this prices. I mean, really!

In other news, if my eyes do not deceive me as I page through my GINORMOUS Vogue magazine, color blocking is BACK, darlings, and in a big way. Ooof!

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Book Opinion: Wolf Hall

So I took the opportunity this rainy weekend to pretend it was winter and sit in for the better part of both days and finish Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. Sometimes, when I like a book, I stretch out the ending. I should just finish it off, cut the chord! But sometimes it's hard. Especially when it's good shit like this.

I liked this book, even though it brought with it some challenges. Some background: the action takes place in Henry VIII's court during the time King Henry is trying to wrangle an annulment out of the Pope. He wants his marriage to Katherine nullified so he is free to marry Anne Boelyn. We see all the action through the eyes of Thomas Cromwell.

The challenge in this book is primarily one of provenance. First of all, there were WAY too many Thomas's back in the day, leading me to often wonder, "well, NOW who's talking?" Second of all, there are WAY too many people floating around Henry's court, leading me to often wonder, "who's this? What's he got to do with anything?" And finally, are the characters even talking when I think they are? Or are they just thinking these things? The writing style doesn't always make this clear. Even so, my friends, EVEN SO, this is some good, atmospheric shit. Vastly different characters are presented in a pretty singular way, so keeping track of exactly which Duke is which isn't a preoccupation. I really felt the fullness of flavor (if you will) of the times.

By the by, I picked this book up at Powell's bookstore in Portland, Oregon, when I was there visiting my beautiful friend and her family. I'm not sure I would have picked it up here, where I live, because part of the reason I chose it was because I knew it would take me to another world--funny how often when I'm traveling that feeling of wanting more travel seizes me.


Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Summer: Rides and Jiggles

Back in the olden days when I was growing up with my six sisters and three brothers, sometimes my dad would take us all on a car ride during the summertime, in the evenings.

Back in the day…

·        after the gas shortages of the 1970s but before gas prices began to rise, going for a long ride in the car was an economical activity.
·        we didn't have air conditioning in the house—I didn't know anyone who had central air, and while window units were not unknown to me, we didn't have any in our house until I was a bit older—but there was air conditioning in the car.
·        there were no laws requiring seatbelts was in the future. There weren't even shoulder harnesses, only lap belts, and no one used them. As a result, you could fit a lot more people in a station wagon then than you could now.


"Let's go for a ride," my dad would announce on a summer evening, followed by happy whooping and hollering throughout the land. Quick as a flash, we would all rush up and put on our pajamas, grab a book or two, and maybe our pillows. Then we would pile out of the back door in our bare feet and pile into the back of the station wagon. Sometimes, my dad would put the back seats down and the whole back was one flat platform. Other times, he left the back seats up and the bigger kids sat in them, while all the littler kids piled into the back flat-bed part.  Once we were all in, my dad shut the back gate, backed out of the driveway, and off we went!

We loved it.

Sometimes, we would stop at Dairy Queen and get ice cream cones. If we didn't, one of us would ask, "Hey Dad, can we stop at Dairy Queen to get some ice cream?" Sometimes he said yes, and sometimes he said, "No, not this time, we don't have any money." When he said no, we weren't sad, because going for a ride was still pretty cool. It just would have been EVEN BETTER with ice cream (what isn't?).

We would play race with other cars. If a car passed us in another lane, we "lost." We urged my dad on to drive faster, but he would just laugh and go his normal speed.

Or, we would figure out that the car behind us contained a spy! When the driver turned the same as we did, we shouted out, "oh no, the spy is still there! Turn again, turn again, dad, we have to lose him!" When we finally did "lose" the spy, we were always confounded because, what do you know, there would be another spy right behind the last one!

Or, my dad would go to a dirt road (there were lots of these, back in my day) and do Crazy Driver. He would swing the steering wheel wildly as the car lurched from one side of the road to the other. We rolled around the back of the station wagon, laughing like…crazy! "Crazy driver!," we'd yell, "crazy driver!" "Warren!," my mom would say, nervously, gripping the front glove compartment, and finally she would say, quietly, "that's enough." "Awwww," we whined, "more crazy driver! More crazy driver!" "No, no," my dad would say, laughing, "that's enough now."

As the day faded into pinks and purples, we would settle down and watch the sunset. We would arrange ourselves so we could lie down and still see the sky. Or we would read our books. Then, we would fall asleep.

And now come the hazy memories of being lifted out of the back of the station wagon and hearing crickets chirping…being carried upstairs into bed and being kissed goodnight by dad, the bringer of ice creams, and races, and spy chases, and crazy driver. The bringer of rides!

Then, there were jiggles. Jiggles are what my dad called short rides.

"Do you want to go to the store with me?"

"How far away is it?"

"Not long, just a jiggle."

"Okay."


Sometimes, one of us would have the idea for a ride.

"Can we go for a ride tonight?"

"No…not tonight."

Pause.

"Can we just go for a jiggle?"

And sometimes, he said yes.

Thanks, Dad.



 



Summer: Rides and Jiggles

Back in the olden days when I was growing up with my six sisters and three brothers, sometimes my dad would take us all on a car ride during the summertime, in the evenings.

Back in the day…

·        after the gas shortages of the 1970s but before gas prices began to rise, going for a long ride in the car was an economical activity.
·        we didn't have air conditioning in the house—I didn't know anyone who had central air, and while window units were not unknown to me, we didn't have any in our house until I was a bit older—but there was air conditioning in the car.
·        there were no laws requiring seatbelts was in the future. There weren't even shoulder harnesses, only lap belts, and no one used them. As a result, you could fit a lot more people in a station wagon then than you could now.


"Let's go for a ride," my dad would announce on a summer evening, followed by happy whooping and hollering throughout the land. Quick as a flash, we would all rush up and put on our pajamas, grab a book or two, and maybe our pillows. Then we would pile out of the back door in our bare feet and pile into the back of the station wagon. Sometimes, my dad would put the back seats down and the whole back was one flat platform. Other times, he left the back seats up and the bigger kids sat in them, while all the littler kids piled into the back flat-bed part.  Once we were all in, my dad shut the back gate, backed out of the driveway, and off we went!

We loved it.

Sometimes, we would stop at Dairy Queen and get ice cream cones. If we didn't, one of us would ask, "Hey Dad, can we stop at Dairy Queen to get some ice cream?" Sometimes he said yes, and sometimes he said, "No, not this time, we don't have any money." When he said no, we weren't sad, because going for a ride was still pretty cool. It just would have been EVEN BETTER with ice cream (what isn't?).

We would play race with other cars. If a car passed us in another lane, we "lost." We urged my dad on to drive faster, but he would just laugh and go his normal speed.

Or, we would figure out that the car behind us contained a spy! When the driver turned the same as we did, we shouted out, "oh no, the spy is still there! Turn again, turn again, dad, we have to lose him!" When we finally did "lose" the spy, we were always confounded because, what do you know, there would be another spy right behind the last one!

Or, my dad would go to a dirt road (there were lots of these, back in my day) and do Crazy Driver. He would swing the steering wheel wildly as the car lurched from one side of the road to the other. We rolled around the back of the station wagon, laughing like…crazy! "Crazy driver!," we'd yell, "crazy driver!" "Warren!," my mom would say, nervously, gripping the front glove compartment, and finally she would say, quietly, "that's enough." "Awwww," we whined, "more crazy driver! More crazy driver!" "No, no," my dad would say, laughing, "that's enough now."

As the day faded into pinks and purples, we would settle down and watch the sunset. We would arrange ourselves so we could lie down and still see the sky. Or we would read our books. Then, we would fall asleep.

And now come the hazy memories of being lifted out of the back of the station wagon and hearing crickets chirping…being carried upstairs into bed and being kissed goodnight by dad, the bringer of ice creams, and races, and spy chases, and crazy driver. The bringer of rides!

Then, there were jiggles. Jiggles are what my dad called short rides.

"Do you want to go to the store with me?"

"How far away is it?"

"Not long, just a jiggle."

"Okay."


Sometimes, one of us would have the idea for a ride.

"Can we go for a ride tonight?"

"No…not tonight."

Pause.

"Can we just go for a jiggle?"

And sometimes, he said yes.

Thanks, Dad.






Tuesday, August 2, 2011

House Smells: Odd Todd Gets It

I loved this post from Odd Todd: http://www.oddtodd.com/theres-no-smell-like-home.html.

"So the other day I was thinking about the houses of my childhood friends and how they all had a certain smell. Not necessarily a good smell or a bad smell. Just a smell that smelled like their house smelled like....Then it dawned on me that I never thought my childhood home smelled like anything in particular....Then I realized that my house DID have a smell. I just never noticed the smell because I lived in the smell all the time."

I have often reflected on this very thing. And always wondered what our house (where I grew up) smelled like. I suspect it smelled like outside, boys, and dirt. Also, if "yelling" has a smell, it smelled like that, too.

Thanks to Rachel, I know what my house smells like today.