I’m on a plane. Like, right now. And my laptop is plugged in, charging, and connected to WiFi. I’ve previously mentioned my love for Virgin America and their fleet of Soul Planes, but until I discovered that they had outlets under the seats, I couldn’t bring myself to pay $12.95 for the 20 minutes of internet use my crap laptop battery would have afforded me. How dare I forget, Sir Richard Branson thinks of everything.
Back to the Future Part II has long been a barometer for me when trying to figure out if the future has arrived yet. Like most of my contemporaries, 2015 looms out there as a deadline for when my car will fly, my kid will ride a hoverboard, and I’ll be able to re-hydrate a pizza rather than wait for delivery. While I’m not sure current technology is keeping up with the McFly’s, I do get excited every time we make a small step forward (as excited as Scott and I got when his iPod alarm clock randomly selected “BACK IN TIME” one morning, and we both woke up having a dance party instead of groaning for once) The fact that my four year old neice thinks Video Chat is totally normal never ceases to amaze me, so yeah…blogging from 30,000 feet in the air has me just tickled pink, even though I’ve been up since 4am, my floating rib is stabbing me in the heart, and I had to unhook my bra just to make sitting in this cramped seat bearable. Pregnancy rules.
Oh my god…I wonder if I could video chat FROM the plane. THAT would be the future for sure.
Nothing brings me back to being 8 years old and running around barefoot in the backyard at a sunday BBQ like the Stand By Me soundtrack. I rediscovered it this morning, and it’s getting me through the hell that is Spring Cleaning today. While thoughts of the boys above pulling leeches out of their underoos still gives me the willies, there’s something about the Bobette’s singing Mr. Lee that will always remind me of my childhood here in The Valley…back when The Weiner Factory was packed every day of the week, white convertible VW Rabbits ruled the road, and everywhere in LA really was only 20 minutes away.
Back in those good ‘ol days we call the ’80’s, I was treated at LA’s Children’s Hospital for a mastoidectomy that saved my life. My ears had been causing me problems since the day I was born, and as a result, they were excluded from my parent’s health care plan (thank you, American Health Care System.) I’ll spare you guys the pathetic images of my bandaged little head as I spent 17 days recovering @ Children’s, but suffice it to say that my parents were hit with a bill that would make anyone want to run for the hills. It was thanks to the kindness of strangers that we were able to qualify for a grant that paid for most of my treatment, and tomorrow I’ll have a chance to pay it forward at a Charity clothes swap that will benefit the very hospital where I underwent my first operation all those years ago.
I’ve spent the morning cleaning out my overflowing closet (and anyone that knows me knows what a daunting task this is) – fighting the urge to save my Catholic School Uniform skirt any longer (y’know, just in case I need it for a Halloween Costume,) reminding myself that the kids at Children’s Hospital LA are a worthwhile cause for these red sparkly roller-skates to go to, along with my extensive collection of Canal Street Couture.
So I bid you farewell, closet-full of Forever 21 clothes from my heavier days, Salmon-colored Marc Jacob’s pants I bought on eBay, and floor length Michael Kors jacket I snagged at this same event last year…time for you to do good elsewhere.
If you’d like to help out the patients at Children’s Hospital LA during these tough times, click here to discover all of the different ways you can get involved.
It’s that wonderful time of year again…It’s girlscout Cookie time! This morning, at Ralph’s, I was accosted by a brownie troop insisting that I buy 20 boxes of thinmints. While that’s the cookie I’d load up on if I were going to buy 20 boxes of anything, don’t these kids know we’re in a recession? Four bucks a box is a hell of a lot steeper than the days when I would dance around in my brownie sash trying to get weary supermarket shoppers to buy our last few boxes at a dollar fifty a pop.
I selected a fiscally responsible FOUR boxes, but was given the hard sell by one especially tenacious scout, who – noting that I was paying with a twenty – told me I could surely afford another box. When Scott gets home, he’ll be thrilled to find three boxes of thinmints chilling for him in the freezer, rather than our usual two. (My other picks were Somoas and Tagalongs…old time favorites.)
Despite the fact that my own girlscouting days were often fraught with angst and drama (troop 323 was always good for ganging up on somebody) I still look back with a warm heart, and treasure some of the friendships I made during those formative years (most of which have unfortunately been relegated to facebook, but it’s still great to see what everyone’s up to!)
So, in celebration of girlscouts everywhere – here’s the song I used to sing whenever I’d go boothing, from one of the greatest movies of the 80’s: Troop Beverly Hills. (For all you Rilo Kiley/Jenny Lewis fans, that’s her on backup vocals…the redhead who ISN’T Harriet from Small Wonder.)
This classic has perfectly preserved Sherman Oaks as I remember it…before the Galleria was reduced to just a Cheesecake Factory and a Business Park. (Okay fine, there’s an Arclight, but I still miss the food court.) Nowadays, I keep this poster hung above my desk as a constant reminder of all that is awesome.
I once heard rumblings that MGM was going to turn it into a musical. All I have to say is if it doesn’t open with with teenage girls in Hot Dog on a Stick Uniforms doing a big dance number to a song called “10 Degrees Hotter” …I’m gonna be pissed.
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UPDATE: I’ve got it on good authority that the script is in on Valley Girl, and it is supposedly pretty funny.
If you have an internet connection, then you’ve probably heard everyone’s favorite Newsie flip out like a ninja and tear the Terminator 4 DP a new one, like only a self-important celebrity can.
Well, now he’s begging forgiveness and doing quite an impressive job of choking down that humble pie, as he apologizes for his behavior via the tabloids. (I personally love the part where he asks audiences not to hold his tirade against the film opening weekend.) Check out the [kind of hilarious] interview with Us Weekly here.
And below, a clip from the poignant 1992 Disney Musical based on the true story of the New York Newsboys Strike of 1899. Sing it Bale!
