Rufus & Ellie: Two Crankies

The other morning, I woke up and Rufus and Ellie were laying at the end of our bed, spines touching.  I tried to get a picture of this but of course they moved.  (Naturally). When I told a friend about this, she asked, "How old is Rufus now?"

"Oh, lord," I said, "He's got to be at LEAST 10.  I think he's more like 12."  (Ellie is probably 9 or 10 herself).

"Well, they've established a relationship," my friend said.

"Yeah, it's a weird one.  Half the time, she lays, sprawled out in the sunny window and he's huddled on the stair below.  You can almost hear him thinking 'Gee, I'd like to sit in the sunny window too but she's taking up all the room.'"

My friend laughed and said, "Poor Rufus!  They remind of me two cranky folks in the senior home.  They might screw now and then and they'll eat dinner side by side but the rest of the time, they ignore each other!"

Yep, that's Rufus and Ellie all right!

My Hair (The Saga Grows. Everywhere.)

Apres Le C. April 8, 2015. Four months after the last of the Dragon's Blood.

(Demi-amusing)

My dear friend (who makes magic with my nails and other beauty parts), gave me some shampoo samples a while back to help thicken one's hair.  Mine, to be specific.

Apparently, everything from the neck DOWN sure as heck got the memo.  Not to be too gauche, (oh, what the hell, let's be gauche) but watching one's legs become Neaandrathalic before one's eyes is a little slice of Otherworld-liness.

My razor whimpered.

My head hair, on the other hand looks like a bizarre combination of a cartoon runner with "s'ploding" (exploding) follicles, AstroBoy and a 3-D topographical color map of the Andes Mountains compete with white tops.

Make-Up This Early?

5:30 AM this morning.  I am in the cat room-slash-"boudoir" and the Spousal Unit pokes his head in (pre-coffee).
The only light is coming from the make-up mirror.
S.U.: What are you doing?
Me: Experimenting
S.U.: What?
Me: (Louder) Experimenting.
S.U.: With what??
Me: Makeup!!
S.U. (slightly baffled) OK, then.....
I have two excuses: Prednisone. And newer makeup.

Snort Fest

Having a giggle with friend Rob the day I discovered that yes, my hair was starting to fall out! There was much snorting as well....

I snort when I laugh!

Man, am I fkg fat!  Bleech!

Too Darn Hot

Holy Hot Flashes Batman, the refrigerator looks REALLY awesome at times.....

"Oh, if you were just big enough for a lounge chair, a bar, a TV set and a computer..."

I had such a bad one earlier that one of my band-aids from the port placement flew off my neck!  I mean melted like a Dali painting and THEN flew in desperation!

I look at that box of HRT patches with tearful longing, "I miss you guys, you kept my body temp normal and toned down my moodiness."

Can't decide which hurts more: my butt (from bone marrow), my chest top (from the port thingie) or where the ENT tried to extract stuff from my neck.

And nobody told me I'd be wearing a bra 24/7.  Hey, port radiology peeps, nobody told me I'd need that kind of support....

A CHRISTMAS STORY Movie Memories

Every year, about this time, people ask where I am in the movie "A Christmas Story."  I'm about 5 minutes in on your DVD player, after the choir sings, the camera pans above the window.  You'll see the top of an Army garrison cap (that's my ex, bless his heart) and then the shot will be from the inside of window.  Look for the WAC uniform, that's a (much younger) me!

Answers to the most common questions:
I got to be an extra because we decided to dress up and go down to Cleveland on a whim.  I ran into one of the local sound guys (Chuck Fleming) that I knew from a show I did (Stompin' At The State) and he took us over to one the ADs and they said, "Sure!"  I think because we were in uniform because they weren't taking any more extras.
They sent us to hair and makeup and they shaved off my ex's moustache, which I found highly amusing! One of the Hair-and-Makeup guys was my mom hairdresser, Raun, from Kirtland, Ohio!
I had two pairs of tights on (thinking ahead, just in case) but it took about 24 hours for my feet to actually get warm and fully circulating after we filmed.
We came around 5pm at dusk and left as dawn was breaking.
We were in that window for 8 hours.
There were about 400 extras in those downtown scenes total. We were in several other scenes. Everywhere you looked, it all looked old. Clothing, cars. It was very surreal and extremely cool.  As if you'd gone back in a time machine.
The Window People, as we called ourselves, amounted to about 30 of us,
It was bitterly cold (18-22 degrees) but no snow (they made it and imported it from the local ski resorts).
They filmed these scenes on January 22-23, 1983.
They fed us a very good box lunch. I was actually stunned they fed us!
The 4 starring kids were all very nice, but they got Trailer Time in the warmth every hour.  The rest of us got a slight  break and coffee, extra kids included, but we had to pretty much stay there.
The other extras were funny as heck, God how we laughed and teased each other.  Standing in the cold, huddled together, is a VERY bonding experience.
We got paid minimum wage, I still have the pay stub and they took out taxes; we had to fill out a W-2.
The movie (which premiered in Nov. 1983) was almost a flop, it didn't do well AT all in theaters.  When we went to see it, (in early Dec.) there were 5 people total in the theater. Of course, we shouting, "Oh my GOD, there we are!"
Total time for all the shots we were in on Cleveland's Public Square: 12 hours.
It's not even close to being one of my favorite holiday films.  I almost never watch it!!
Best line of the night:
AD in megaphone to 400 extras: "Ooooooooh-kaaay folks, that was great.  Go back to your original starting spots and THIS time, DON'T. LOOK. AT. THE. CAMERA!!"
I'd do it again in a NY minute!

Epic Dog Owner Fail

I wondered what the dogs were crunching on. 

I thought it was an ice chip...then I dawned on me, they haven't been outside in 2 hours.

Now I know.

I Can't Make This Stuff Up #327: Christmas 2013:

I could NOT find our stockings.  I looked everywhere. I knew that, being precious, I had put them someplace "safe."  Yes, safe and un-find-able.  Oh, dear!!  So distressing, upsetting and sad!

Today, I made it my mission to find those damn stockings. I knew they weren't in the crawl space because I HATE the crawl space. I knew they hadn't flown out of the house. I went through every box in the attic.  Made a half-pot of coffee.  Onto to check the guest room closet (which I had checked at least four times in the last week alone.)

High on a shelf was a box.  It was labeled "stockings."  I opened it and, lo and behold, there they were!  Phew!!!  Sigh and thank you!!!

I took the box downstairs to prepare to hang the stockings.  Oh, one had some things inside of them.  A Santa ornament.  A cat ornament. And....

------------------ ???????????????

What the heck are those???

Look very carefully.  They still had a bit a fragrance left.

Yes, those are oranges.  Petrified oranges. 

I Really CAN Cook

Cows: Thanksgiving 2013

I was taught by my family that if one is going to a buffet or bring-a-long you bring something. Food, wine, dessert, flowers, perhaps a hostess gift.

Something. Anything.

Showing up empty-handed at a buffet (nay, even a dinner party or get-together) is rather gauche and slightly rude. It does make me cringe inwardly. In my book, old-fashioned as it may be, it's The Thing One Does.  You bring something or you call up and say to the Host/ess, "Can I bring anything?"  You are a guest. This isn't a restaurant!  Traditionally, if it's a buffet you bring (amazingly enough) food.

I keep offering to make stuff for the Spousal Unit's family Thanksgiving dinner. My mother in law will say cheerfully, "No, that's ok....you don't need to do that."  This makes my Guest Brain Module shudder with white-gloved or farm-folk horror.  For some reason my brain-and-train feels this a true faux-pas and casts aspersions on my entire family tree.  (And yes, my family tree has plenty of farmers in it too!)

Understand, this is no small event. This casual Thanksgiving dinner gathers at LEAST 21 people.  Sometimes as many as 50 people show up. They have been holding it in basically the same location for close to 90 years.  Which is amazing, in and of itself.  The sense of continuity and history is lovely.

Now I have to admit to having a fairly well-developed palate. Perhaps not at the Sweetbreads, Chocolate-Covered-Insects or Mussels level but I like trying new things.  At least once.  (And yes, I've had all those things. Once.)  I also have to admit to be a pretty good cook.

The first year I decided to add to the buffet, I made a side dish. I made stuffing the way my sister does with a bit of apple, raisins and a hint of sage. They all looked at like it was brain matter.  No one but the S.U. ate it. This is a wonderful recipe and once a year my sister makes it for me.  (She usually doesn't add the raisins; that's my personal peculiarity.)

The next year, figuring that was far too adventurous, I made home-made, from-scratch baked mac and cheese with 4 cheeses. No one ate it.  It's MACARONI AND CHEESE, people. I even put a label on it so everyone would know what the heck it was.  I overheard whispered questions as the serving spoon tentatively hovered over the warm dish, "Who brought that?"

The Spousal Unit quietly, proudly replied, "Mia did."

Spoon withdrawn. Uneaten except by us.

WTH? Really?  Yes, OK, I'm from Ohio.  My state doesn't border yours. YOU think we can't COOK in Ohio?  Does being from Ohio mean I might poison you with buckeye additives?

Seriously?

One year, in desperation for a good dessert, I made an apple pie, from scratch (Except the pie crust. I can't do that).  It's a damn apple pie for heaven's sake. They ate the pecan pie, they ate a gross, store-bought cream pie, they ate the shoo-fly pie, the sugar pie, the pumpkin pie, the fairly dry, unfrosted chocolate cake in a pan but only one person (besides the faithful Spousal Unit) ate a piece of apple pie.

This year there were no fruit pies.  I wanted to bring one, even a store-bought one.  I was vetoed.  "Oh, there'll be a fruit pies there."  Well, there wasn't.

So damn near every year I trot my carcass out to a place in the Midwest where a few of the relatives actually like me, most tolerate me and some look at me like I'm from Planet Ogzed, murmuring under their breath, "She's one of The Actress People."

Don't get me wrong; these are basically very nice people, smart, hard-working, many are well-traveled, most are well-educated.  I do posses (through time and training) the ability to converse with a wide variety of people on a wide variety of subjects.  I just feel like an exotic, tropical bird on the other side of the moon. Which, of course,  I am far from being.  This isn't my turf, and I get that.  This is for the S.U. and I'm more than OK with him seeing his mom a few times a year. I have a lot of respect for her.  It's important and time does march on.

The Elephant Rock 2013.
We think this is the smallest group in memory to go out there.
Only six of us. Two didn't get on the rock as it's hard to get up there.

As an extra bonus I get to eat anywhere from decent to average to seriously crappy food.   Coming from a family where the Thanksgiving/Holiday food has always been decent to outstanding is a serious culinary let-down. 

Truth be told: this year, for the first time the turkey (brined and smoked) was very good.  Surprisingly, my m-i-l's ridiculously yummy deviled eggs were not all gobbled up.  Goody.  More for me later!

There is almost always good with "meh." I do like when they get out board games, card games or dominoes because, alas, my family never plays games any more. Which is quite sad and I'm sorry we've fallen away from that tradition.

I do enjoy and look forward to walking down the country road alone seeing things, enjoying the quiet solitude, photographing stuff. I like hiking out to The Elephant Rock with some of the relatives.  It is a time-honored tradition that dates back decades and decades!

But boy, it is rather fascinating that all those people who either ignore me or say three semi-awkward sentences to me all line up wanting copies or links of the pictures I took of kids.  Or cows!

Since When Is "Hot" An Insult?

I have a wonderful Spousal Unit who compliments me so well.  I am so lucky.  He will tell me I'm pretty etc and "hot."  I think he is crazy but so am I!

Now, I saw a comment on a friend's FB page by a MAN who said, "What kind of jerk calls a woman that (hot)?"  Really?

Let me tell you...at some point in a woman's life when she ain't 20 or 30 or even (dare I say it) 40, she'd probably kill if some younger guy said she was hot. I have to say, I'm almost hitting a big-0 age and the thought of some younger, good looking guy saying that to me makes me...well....it's very nice.  I also think he's probably delusional.

At this point in my life, "Hot" means I did my makeup (spackle??) right, the lighting was extremely good, he needed glasses (and a goodly distance) and my Spanx channeled a 50's era girdle with a a Scotty voice, "I'm giving her all I got, Cap'n!"

Just sayin'.

As long as it's sincere, "Hot" is a very nice compliment!

"Can We Count On Your Vote?"

It's that time of year when you get calls from the political folks running locally. 
Guy Calling For New Mayoral Candidate, Don What's-His-Hoogie: (After the intro, during which I didn't hang up. Go figure.) 
Guy: What do you think needs improvement that So-and-So can address.
Mia (not missing a beat): More. Bike. Lanes. 
Guy: That's great to know. Anything else?
Mia: The dog park needs a lot of work. It's a mud pit. I'm very grateful they have one but it's like "Let's pick the crappiest place to put it."
Guy: Thank you so much, that's something to work on.
Mia: Oh, yeah.....And please finish that stupid-a**ed thing on State Rd. (Which is usually Number One on everyone's hit parade of Things To Bitch About Locally.)
You see where MY Priorities are!

Gotcha!

Teen-agers on stunt bikes outside the library, noting my rear view mirror.
"I should have one of those."
Me: It's a great idea.
Teen: Yeah, that way I could see the cops. (Proudly) I got pulled over for speeding. I was going 35 and so was the cop.
Me: That's pretty fast, especially when the speed limit is 25.
Teen: How fast can YOU go? (Nyah-nyah tone of voice).
Me: I guess my average is about 10-13 MPH
Teen (giving me "The Pathetic Old Person" look.) THAT'S not very fast.
Me: No, not in comparison to 35, it's not.
Teens give me The Smirk.
Me: Of course, I just did that average on a 25 mile ride Tuesday....
Teens: (gulping in disbelief) Uh, really?
Me: Yep, and my husband's average is about 16 MPH on a 50-100 mile ride.
Pause.
Me: Kid, if you can do 35 on big hills for 100 hundred miles, you should be in the Tour De France.
Pause.
Teens are deadly quiet.
Gotcha, you little bastards!

Songs I Wish I Never Knew

As a singer of many songs, there are LOTS of songs I love to sing.  Songs that never grow old. I have sung "Misty" (a huge hit for Johnny Mathis) probably a thousand times and it doesn't get old.   Neither does "As Time Goes By."  I love "Because Of You."  I get chills when I sing it. Etc. Etc.

And so on.

I am, thanks to the piano player I'm working with now, learning new standards.  Exciting and terrifying.

But there is only so much room in the hard drive of my brain to hold so much information.  I'm not trying to brag here, but I would guess-timate that I know 1,2000+ songs off the top of my head. Learning something new or difficult poses some interesting conundrums.  Thank god for 4x6 file cards with the words.

I'd like to empty out some of that cranial hard drive to make room for more songs, provided I could really learn them with assurance.  Memorization is getting a bit harder, but I persevere!

So.  Here are some songs I'd love to never sing again.

OR hear again.

OR think about again.  Ever.

(The caveat being that I had to have sung them in public on a paying gig.)

In no particular order:

"Honey" by Bobby Goldsboro.
Makes any respectable baby boomer cringe.
Horrible, dripping, oozing, depressing, pestilent piece of dreck.

"Satin Doll" should be played.
Never sung.
Especially by a woman.
Every vocal version sucks, Including mine.

"Feelings."
Yes, really, I had to learn this. "Feelings....NOoooo-whoa-whoa....feelings."
God help me.

"Punky Pumpkin" 
Poor Rosemary Clooney.  In her "Patter Songs" years.
This make "Come On-A My House" look like "As Time Goes By."
A great singer singing a stupid patter song.
Kind of in the same family as "Teddy Bears' Picnic."  Except everyone over 65 or a Capt. Kangaroo watcher KNOWS that song.
I've done Punky Pumpkin twice now, at the behest of my piano player who cheerfully encourages the senior audiences by kindly saying, "You all remember this song!"  And none of them ever do.  Ever.  Two minutes of wasted musical space.  Blank faces.  Retire it.

I can now sing "Girl From Ipanema" but it's taken 20 years to get over it.

"Rag Mop"  "R./I say R.A,/ R.A.G/....R.A.G.G....RAGGMOPP, Ragmop," etc.
Make it stop.
My piano player loves it.  It was a big hit when he graduated.
Really???
Well, "American Pie" was a huge hit when I graduated.
Oh, wait.
I've sung that one too.
Shit.
I absolutely (insert long string of swear words) HATE THAT STUPID SONG.
Make it stop.

"For All We Know."  
OK, I admit to loving many of the Carpenters songs.
They are a guilty pleasure.  Like Barry Manilow.
Admit it.  'Fess up.
You all have at least guilty musical pleasure.
This is their worst song and the Worst Wedding Song ever.  OH, wait...that would be....

"There Is Love" ("He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts...")
Goes on record as the Worst Song I've ever had to SING AND PLAY.
Yes, folks, I used to play that on the guitar. A double Musical Low in Mia's Career!!

"If" by Bread.
Once a decade is about all I'm good for.

"Total Eclipse Of The Heart"
Man, what a personal, musical low point in my career. The sheer thought of having to sing that again makes me want to hurl. Dinner. Something sharp.
I'm sure Bonnie Tyler is probably a very nice lady, but what a crappy singer.

"Evergreen".  Yes, I know it won and Oscar for Best Song.  It wasn't a great year.  Obviously.
Plus to hold out those last 30-bars-on-one-breath and hit the notes right is not for the faint of heart.  Or smokers.

"The Pina Colada Song." You know the one.  "If you like pina coladas/and getting caught in the rain."  Thank god I only had to sing it once and somebody else had the words.

"Memory" from CATS.
I hear all you Broadway and Webber nuts. "How dare she slam that song? Sacrilege!"
Look, you always end up doing that damn song usually towards the END of a gig when you're butt-tired.
It starts in the stratosphere and never comes down.
It can go so wrong, so fast and make any decent singer look like a tuneless, amateur-ish hack in about 2 seconds.  You can go flatter than a triple-A bra in a nanosecond.
I always breathed a huge sigh of relief when I got through that endurance run with my dignity intact.

"All I Ask Of You." 
Please.  Don't ask me. See "Memory."  
Worst duet ever.
Oh, wait.  It's tie with:
"You Don't Bring Me Flowers."

"Tomorrow" from ANNIE.
Of all the good songs in that show (and there are a bunch), why is THAT the one everyone knows?
If I ever had to cast a kid in anything and they sang that for their audition, I'd show them them the door.  "See ya tomorrow when you've got a different song!"

"The Sound of Silence."
"Hello, darkness my old friend..."
Don't turn on the lights,  Please.
How that really made Number One for WEEKS is beyond me.  From the same folks that brought you "Feeling Groovy," which I think it a cute song.
I sang it once.  I needed a drink and at that time, I didn't drink.

There are others.  I bet you can think of some yourself, especially all your performers out there!

But, Number One, with a bullet.
The worst of the worst.
The Lowest of the Low.
The True Toilet Bottom of my 30+ years as a professional singer.
Yes, I had to do it.  Numerous times.
When my old band leader (who never wanted you to look at the words) would start playing the intro for it, I'd glare into the heavens, inwardly curse, deliberately reach into my music box and pull out the word card.  I refused, adamantly and vehemently, to learn the words.
Worst upbeat song every.
Worst country song ever.
Worst line-dancing song ever.

The Spousal Unit still thinks "Honey" should be Number One.
But since I sang this horrible piece of crap about a hundred time as opposed to two or three of the Bobby Goldsboro P.O.S., "Achy Breaky Heart" gets my vote for Worst Song Ever.

Best Line Of The Week

Time: Opening night for ROBIN HOOD CAPER, before curtain. Feb. 1, 2013

Place: Brecksville, Ohio

Scene: Men's dressing room, hanging out.

Characters: 4 men over 50, 1 man 25-30, 1 woman, the shady side of 40.

Actor One: I don't like show tunes.
Actor Two: (dead-pan, without missing a beat) You MUST be a heterosexual.

Hilarity ensues! Many high-fives for the perfect come-back! A few moments later:

Me to Actor One: HOW long you been doing theater again?
Actor One: Oh, about 5 years.....
Me: That explains it....

I Love My Brother

It's my birthday (the 24th of May) and I'm on the phone with my brother.

Him: "How old are you now?" I tell him. "How is it possible that you are now older than me?"

Me: "I don't know how that happened. Does this mean that I'm older than Our Sister too?"

Him: "Yes, yes, (pause) I guess it does."

Me: "Well if I'm older than you guys that means finally that you have to listen to what I say. I'm your Elder now."

Him: "Well....(dramatic pause).....  You know (sigh), it's so different today.  Kids today, they don't respect their elders anymore.  So, that would be.....no."

(Sh*t, he's been doing The Law thing way too long.)

I love my brother.

The Bunny

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"Honey, Please Label The Bag With Today's Date..."

I married a smart-a**