The Myth of Family

I am beginning to think that the concept of family is a myth. Correction: the concept of extended family is a myth. I have my husband and my kids and my mom. It pretty much stops there. I moved to the crap hole known as New Jersey so that I could be near my family and extended family. Shortly after moving there my father and my brother died, within 8 months of each other. I try and keep in touch with everyone the best I can, mainly cousins. I use Facebook, send Christmas cards and emails. I really don’t know what else I can do except accept the fact that my dream of what family is supposed to be doesn’t exist. 

I had this dream that I would see my cousins all the time. I live less than 45 minutes from the epicenter of their world which is much closer than anytime in my life. I thought we would be invited to birthday parties, holiday parties, baptisms, First Communions, anniversaries, etc. Just like I have been doing to them but the invitations rarely came. I would see the postings on Facebook of my cousins’ children, the same age as mine, all gathered together hugging with broad smiles. This leaves my heart wanting and my cynicism growing. Didn’t they know I would want to be there? I tried harder when I first moved to the area but was put down for my efforts. My eldest cousin told me to not press so hard. She said it just makes everyone feel bad. She told me this every time I called her, no matter what the topic, she would press on to me to stop asking to be invited. 

Don’t worry, I’ve gotten over it, its cool. It is as it has always been, just us. My husband always comments that we need a guest room or think about when throngs of people visit us or how we can meet up with family during vacations and I have to give him the reality. No one is coming. He thinks we need to go to Florida and see our friends. I say, they can visit us. He has made many trips to Florida to see his friends – best men in our wedding, long time friends, etc. but they have never made the trip to see us. No, that’s wrong, our best man came a couple times and that was nice but I think we footed some of the bill. No, no one is coming. I have an Aunt and Uncle that lived less than 2 hours from us in Virginia, they never came to our house. Those that ever do stay with us comment on what great hosts we are. We make large breakfasts, feasts for dinner, bottles of wine flowing, fires in the back yard and seeing all the sites. But no one is going to  know it unless they come. No one comes. 

I can also begin to think that maybe its me or us. No, really, it could be. I am kind of overbearing and intimidating to people I work with and I would hate to think that I am that way to family but its possible. Nah.

I tell my husband that at the end of the day its just us. Just the 4 of us. Any vacation plans we make, room furnishings and holiday plans need to just be for us. No assumptions that we are ever going to see anyone. Nope. It makes my husband sad and he doesn’t understand it and I suspect he takes it personally. We have a great life, just the 4 of us but I wonder about my children. They never see their cousins and some day when I am gone they need to know they have family. My husband and I are older and reality is we might never see our Grandchildren. My children will live long after we are gone and they need to know family. On the bright side they do have my best friend, Evelyn and her family. My kids call her and her husband, Aunt and Uncle, and we refer to their children as cousins to mine. We make huge efforts to bridge the gaps between us in miles. When I move back to Virginia we will be only 6 hours from them. We can’t wait because I know we will see them more than my cousins that are 45 minutes away. Don’t get me wrong, I love my cousins and that will never change. I just wish I could see them more. I understand they have their own lives and own families to worry about and I am just a cousin and one of many. I cherish the childhood memories of being with them and don’t lay blame on them for this ranting. It really is me and my thoughts that the myth of family could be reality for me. 

Going Ape

The following is an excerpt from my future book, Movies with My Dad and Other Tales from a Sci Fi Life.
The Margate Twin was only open during the summer and, in a tourist town, they always had to have something playing. The $1 kid’s matinee price was priceless and what they showed were well worth the buck. My father would give my brother and me $2 each and send us to the movies. This worked well on a rainy day or a day that was just not a “beach day.” I also don't think all the movies were for him. The Margate Twin would show second run, third run and the occasional older movies like the Planet of the Apes (1968). Ah, the Planet of the Apes. About now, gentle reader, you are either saying, "ugh," "right on," or an emotion somewhere in-between. At around 7 or 8 years old the Apes movies were more than other worldly. They were amazing!

This was the early 70s and to imagine space travel like that seemed reachable. The frightening world the astronauts landed on was surreal. You knew, watching it that something was going to happen to them and it wasn’t going to be good. The landscape was absolutely desolate and creepy. The posters had the Apes on them, not so scary, but when they first appear on horseback to round the humans up, totally scary. The film angle from the point of view of the humans - seeing the net, hearing the horses, hearing the guns and seeing the hooves of the horses as the humans hid in the brush – gives me chills today. Then captured and rounded up – I was practically under my seat. Charlton Heston was already known to me as Moses, from watching the Ten Commandments on TV, but this was no Moses. His character, Taylor, was certainly tough enough and I could feel his frustration of not being able to speak. Maybe it was being a child and not being understood by adults, hard to say but I could completely understand Taylor and his need to escape. When he does finally take off out of the prison and runs through the museum, of what appears to be natural history, there is a human on display, one of his fellow astronauts. This ads to the further freakiness of the movie and my fear of being captured. When Heston speaks, the now eternal line, "Take your paws off me, you damn dirty ape," it certainly makes one take pause. The end was, of course, the big shocker - The entire time he was on Earth (sorry if I just ruined it for anyone). There were subsequent follow up movies that I enjoyed, every last bit - Beneath, Escape, Conquest and Battle For The Planet of the Apes. All of them fun for the endless pretend to play of a child.

Besides climbing from roof to roof or running through the side yards of our neighbors, the beach seemed to be the best fitting place to play Planet of the Apes. Since most of the movie is set in some kind of desert locale it was perfect. It didn't matter the time of year, the beach was fun to run on and, like in the movie, very few places to hide. There was a large concrete structure on the beach leftover from a pier, a foundation, the old boardwalk...we were never sure and we found it fun to hide behind and jump off of. We would pretend to be running from the apes or planning how to take back the Earth. Often, we would just recreate the entire movie, as much as we could, at least the outside scenes. My cousins would sometimes, once again, be sucked in. This lead to more characters like some being Cornelius or some random gorilla that was out to get us.

When I was much older and living with my father and brother, there was much excitement if there was a Planet of the Apes marathon on TV. I remember one time there was a different one on each night! We had the popcorn popping! My father would, begrudgingly, watch it with us. Since we would hold the TV hostage for the week, he had no choice. When the new movie came out in 2001, my husband and I went to see it. We were amazed by the sell-out crowd and had to see a later show. There were guys dressed in ape costumes - it was very cool. I had no idea the fervor it would bring! The movie was enjoyable. The humans were frightened, the apes were suitably scary and the plot was acceptable but it’s hard to have a Planet of the Apes movie without Roddy McDowell. No worries because there was Charlton Heston.

The Apes franchise continues and although the movies are fun and entertaining, my mind still takes me back to the Margate Twin and the days on the beach of being an astronaut.

 

Am I Worth It?

I first wrote this 2010 and it was based on this quote by Eleanor Roosevelt:
Dear Lord,
Lest I continue
My complacent way,
Help me to remember that somewhere,
Somehow out there
A man died for me today.
As long as there be war,
I then must
Ask and answer
Am I worth dying for?

When this Global War on Terrorism started the front page of every paper in America would have news of a soldier dying. Now, try and find it. Go ahead. Leaf through your paper and see if you can find their names. If it was someone that lived or graduated high school in your newspaper's readership area, then yes, you will find it on the front page. "Local Soldier Dies."

I live near a major Navy base that employs young men that do the most dangerous job in the Navy. They are Navy SEALS. Even among those of us that are also in the Navy - they stand out. They carry themselves differently, look differently and are respected differently. They are respected greatly. Because of this, the front page news is that someone that served on my base was killed. They are from this base which makes them from here. In the past month we lost three SEALS. Two of them were Chiefs. All under 30 years old. I might have known them. Seen them at the bowling alley with their family, the commissary (grocery store) or in line at the personnel department getting an ID card. It didn't hit really hard until last week.
Last Friday, a dreary drizzly day, I saw a sign that said "SEAL Memorial." I thought it was a memorial service at the Chapel. It was more than that - it was a funeral. I drove by the base Chapel on my way to work out at the gym and I saw something I will never forget. Even now I tear up at the thought.
There in front of the Chapel was a hearse and behind the hearse were eight Navy Chiefs lined up on either side of the gurney for the casket. They stood there in the steady rain, waiting. They were wearing their dress blues which looks like a black double breasted suit with a white shirt and black tie. They wore their white dress hats with black brims. In the rain. On the sleeves of their jackets were their rating badges (rank insignia patch) and they were gold. To wear gold means they have over 12 years of good conduct. On their sleeves were the gold hash marks indicating years of service. Most of them had over 4 hash marks (16 years of service). They stood in the rain doing what SEALS do. The job that no one else wants to do. The hard job.
Navy SEALS don't see the signs that say, "Bring Our Troops Home!" and think the signs refer to them. For the SEAL it's about the mission. Everyone in the Navy has a mission. But not like the SEALS. They train, eat, drink, live and die the mission. They are totally focused and doing a job. They volunteered to be SEALS and went through the hardest training the military has to offer. Most don't make through the training. Those that do - wanted it more.
Last week three Navy SEALS were remembered for their final mission. And there will be more.
We need to remember them and remain worthy.

The Big One of 1989

Written by guest contributor: Leon Acord-Whiting, Actor/Writer/Producer


25 years ago today, the San Francisco Earthquake. To honor the occasion, here's my journal entry of the first couple days:


I walk out of the State Building a little after 5, cross the street, and stop to look at the USA Today stand. The machine next to it begins to shimmy. Just as I wonder if its the wind, the ground begins to lurch! I look up to see the parked cars literally bouncing on the pavement, rocking like boats on choppy waters. "Oh, fuck!" I thought, realizing what was happening. I grab ahold of a tree, and crack a joke (which I can't remember) to someone at the next tree, while the lurching continues. I look up to the swaying Federal Building and realize this isn't the best place to be. I let go of the tree, and begin to walk, but then its over.
Everyone appears in shock, but there's a feeling of "We survived another one!" I start to walk home, immediately noticing the cloud of dust over upper Larkin. The streets are instantly filled with people. Plaster is scattered across the sidewalks, and cracks snake up the sides of buildings. Some windows are smashed out. I decided to stop by Charly's to joke about it. When I arrive, a crowd of people stand at the door. The manager is telling everyone not to go back in--he doesn't know how bad it it. Hmmmm. The intercom isn't working, so I head home. As I turn my corner, I see Charly. He's on the verge of tears. He tells me he jumped out onto his fire escape--in his underwear--when it hit, barely escaping the shelves that then crashed onto his couch, ripping the TV and VCR cords out of the wall. He's very shaken up.
We went to the Peacock Club on the corner--everything else had suddenly closed. We sat there for over an hour. The news started to come in on radio--there was no power. The Bay Bridge had collapsed. 7.0! We were to a pay phone to call home. I got through to mom on the first try, who burst into tears when she heard "collect call from Leon Acord." I tell her everything is OK. When I hang up, a crowd of about 20 has lined up for the phone. Charly calls his mom, and I went to my apartment. Outside it was cracked along both sides. I walked up the stairs (no elevator), the hallways were cracked, plaster all over the steps. In my place, surprisingly very little was out of place--but every window in the place was shattered and gone. I gathered some stuff, and met Charly. We stopped by his place (a total mess) til dark, then walked. No lights at all, except for passing headlights. Masses of people just walking the streets like "Night of the Living Dead." Dazed. Sirens and helicopters non-stop.
We went to Market Street, then back up here, and went to a bar. Then we went to Christine's restaurant for a while. Then back to Charly;s. He finally got ahold of his family. Neal called, and I finally passed out.
Hung around Charly's most of the next day, no work, still reeling from last night. We went to the Castro and got some money front the only ATM that was working, ate, hung out for a while. We went back to his place, but it was dark, and he was wired. Back to Castro for some candles, and to a bar for some wine. Castro was business as usual, but when we returned, our neighborhood was like Gotham City. Pitch black, throngs on the streets. I finally came home.
Now the streets are completely deserted. Eerie. Still no power. Still hot out. I'm so exhausted I should have no trouble sleeping throughout the generators running across the street.
2:11am
Things are calming down. No work today, and from what I've heard, no work for some time. The older side of the State Building is condemned. Lord! I just cleaned up glass.

The Memory Box

I spent the weekend cleaning out boxes. Boxes of stuff I haven’t seen in years. Stuff I forgot about and stuff that forgot about me. It was strange, sad and wonderful to go through this archeological dig through the past. As I sit here writing this I am surrounded by things from one particular box that held wonders I never imagined. To my left is my first set of drum sticks (I was 10) and my collection of souvenir pens that have something floating through them (some have dried out) and to my right are ticket stubs and old addresses of people I have forgotten.  There were other things in the box like unused 35mm film, photos, letters  and an old wallet.

Yesterday, I went through one of my husband’s boxes and found his first wallet. Its leather with “Chevrolet” emblazoned on it. I tossed it into the tub of stuff to keep. There were three boxes and a trash can. One box was stuff to keep and sort later, a box for donate or yard sale and box for my Mom’s stuff. In my box today I found my wallet. My wallet is nylon with “The Kinks” set coolly on the front of it. Inside this wallet was a snapshot of a life.  I wonder about the young woman that owned this wallet, 30 years ago, and what her hopes and dreams were. I feel strange as I sit here thinking about being an adult. When we are young adults, we have our childhood and the present – where we are now. But what about being an adult for almost 30 years? Where does that leave our memory? Our lives? I think about the many lives I have lived and experiences I have had. It makes me somber in a way but then I look at this wallet of hopes and dreams. Inside I find a picture of my best friend Dawn’s niece, “Meghan Elizabeth 4 months,” with her chubby cheeks. Meghan just had a little boy a few months ago. I also find my college ID from Atlantic Community College with a “Valid for FALL 84” sticker on it. It has several layers of stickers underneath. This ID is a point of pride for me since I didn’t graduate high school until 1985 but I was taking classes. A-ha! My learners permit from the State of NJ, June 28, 1984. Amazing. There is also a CPR card from 1986 as well as a business card from the original dooms-day-prepper  store in Vineland, The Urban Quartermaster. Not sure if it is still there but it was a funky shop with all you need in case of being nuked. For my younger readers, we were not worried about zombies but being nuked and the business card shouts, “PREPARATION NOT PARANOIA!” Those were the days. My MTV Record Club card, definitely a keeper and last but not least my Doctor Who Fan Club of America card.

In between the old Star Trek cards and concerts buttons, I found post cards from Tony Mart’s. Any fans of the movie, “Eddie and the Cruisers,” will remember this spot as one of the scenes in the movie. It was a point of pride in the area that it was shot locally. My husband, who is from the Asbury Park area, and I argue of which location was the real Eddie and Cruisers’ home. Tony Mart’s  is long since torn down and smiling faces from old photographs are also long since gone. The adult years seem to ebb and flow in my memory. I refer to things in the 1990s as, “a few years ago,” and I have to explain what “affirmative action” means to my younger co-workers. I feel old looking through these things. I feel old and I feel like I have lost something along the way. Finding these relics doesn’t make me feel better about life but instead makes me feel longing. Longing for some things in life that I miss. I miss being in dinner theater, playing drums, going to sci fi conventions, practicing karate and being free. Funny, at the time I didn’t feel I was free. Perhaps, I am freer now than I was then? Is youth wasted on the young? No, I don’t wish to go back there. For what I have gained since then is worth more to me than anything I ever could have conceived of back then.

I also found photo albums that I made when I first moved to Tampa and then met my husband. I had no idea I had so much time on my hands to make them. Ticket stubs, pictures, etc. fill the pages of my adventures and they seem to have been many. I can’t remember some of them and it’s not because I was wasted, it’s because I really don’t remember. So many memories from 15 years ago came flooding back as I looked through the album and others didn’t. My husband looked at them with me and he said the same thing – he didn’t remember some of those events. Maybe my longing is to remember those times, events, feelings whether good or bad. I don’t know.

I sit here now planning on what to do with the massive amount of concert buttons I’ve found. I have decided to pin them to a tshirt and hang the tshirt on one of the walls in my house. I can look at them and try and remember when and where I was when I got them. Maybe who I was with. Not sure.  It strains my mind to dig so far back.

I pull two more things out of the bottom of the box. The very last things. One is a Monopoly card that says, “Get out of jail free.” I don’t know why I kept it maybe because it was a “Chance” card. The other is a scrap of paper with a quote written in two different pens, as if I was so anxious to write this down that I had to use a pen and a marker, “Who made the world I cannot tell; ‘Tis made, and here I am in hell. My hand, though now my knuckles bleed, I never soiled such a deed. A E Housman.”  For who I was at the time, it appealed to me and oddly enough – it still does.

The Big "C"

I originally wrote this in June 2013 and posted it as a "note" on Facebook. I have had several tests since I wrote this and I am, currently, cancer free. I thought it was pretty good, so am re-posting it here.
Some things are shared on Facebook. Some very personal things - births, deaths, joys, sorrows, sickness, health, marriages, divorces, political things, nice things, mean things, strange things, wonderful things and there are things we hold back. At least I held back. Some of you know and some of you don't know. I had to decide how I was going to deal with this myself before I let everyone know.
I have cancer. I had a mammogram and then a biopsy and then "we see something and want to get it, oh, and a lymph node," and, "we found stage 1 breast cancer." *Deep breath* Okay, so that was a shock. I am very lucky because it was very small and they got it very early. I will need radiation for 6 weeks and some pill for 5 years. Yeah, I know, 5 years. I am told I have the same life expectancy now as I had before the cancer find. I am still going to have all kinds of tests, like the "Angelina Jolie" test to see if it is possible to have it again and some other test on the tissue. I can't remember what they are all called because they all sound so bizarre, like made up words.
I thank you, those that have and those that now will, for the prayers, good thoughts and positive energy to the universe, on my behalf. I do think it helps.
Probably everyone reading this has lost someone to this crappy cancer. I have lost my stepfather, my brother, very dear cousins and very dear friends. That is what we all think of when someone tells us...cancer.It has been an emotional roller coaster. Two surgeries in two weeks and another one today. I have been out of work since April 26th. Every time I think I am going back to work - I have to have surgery. Right now I should be back to work on July 1. I am glad I have had my school work. I am getting a Masters in Theological Studies (Biblical Studies). Most people find it hard to believe. No, I am probably not going to "do" anything with this. It is for myself. I have been able to ponder upon many subjects of this course of study including the nature of God, God's love, God's plan and all that. It is a lot more complicated than you may think and raging debate among theological scholars. It is sort of like taking a poetry class and never wanting to ready poetry again because of all the analyzing (well, maybe that was just me, but you know what I mean. I also came close to that when analyzing a movie in film school). However, it has made me think of many things. Including my mortality.
One of my favorite TV shows (Babylon 5) comes to mind. The hero makes a huge sacrifice to save the universe by giving his own life. He wakes up in a cave with a strange alien. The hero is confused on where he is and what happened. The alien keeps saying to him, "Are you tick or are you tock?" That is all the alien will say. The hero asks him what it means. The alien explains to him that the hero must make a decision. He tells him, "Fearing death is not the same as embracing life." The decision isn't just - to live or die (tick or tock) but the choice of which way it will be. Fearing death means to stop living and therefore the same as death. The scene has always stuck with me and the saying, "Fearing death is not the same as embracing life." I would lie if I said I didn't fear death. Even as a believer in God and heaven. I don't want to die.
I look at my kids and I worry for them and my husband (who lost his mother when he was 15, to cancer). I promised them I was never going to leave them. I have a promise to keep. So, embracing life it is. I am not sure how I am going to go about it. But that is my plan. My father died in September and my brother died 3 weeks ago. We all have plans and life really is too short to think about living them later.
I know how I would feel reading this, "I'm glad its not me." And its okay to feel that way. In fact, I want you to feel that way. I want to think about how you dodged that one! I would ask you to celebrate the fact that it is not you that is going through this crap. I have gone out to have my "last suppers" before my surgeries. Yeah, that sounds bad, right? I want you to go out and have a "I don't have cancer and I'm glad!" dinner! Make a toast to me and to yourselves. You have earned it! Hug your kids. Call an old friend. Watch your favorite movie. Stand with the sun on your face!
Embrace life! And don't worry too much about me. I will be okay. I always am. My grandmother says that I will always be okay (she knows there are some people that demand more worrying about than others). I will be.
I ask that you get whatever pre-screening you can to help yourself. I would like all my female friends - over 40 to tell me they get a mammogram every year without fail. If you are afraid, nervous or scared...talk to me. It isn't that bad. Gentlemen, over 50 or at risk, you know what you have to do.
And then have that "its not me" lunch, dinner or day. And enjoy it.

Bond, James Bond

The following is an excerpt from my future book, Movies with My Dad and Other Tales from a Sci Fi Life.

In 1973, my father took me to see Live and Let Die. My life would never be the same again. It’s not like I hadn't been to the movies before, I probably had to see some re-showing of Bambi or the like but this was different. I was 6 years old and probably way too young to be seeing a James Bond movie. That moment is etched in time. We went to the Ventnor Twin because the Margate Twin, which was in walking distance of our house, was only open during the summer and didn't often show first run movies. The Ventnor Twin had been a full size movie theater with a balcony. Stepping into the main lobby you could see the sweeping stair cases going up either side that had long been closed. In the late 60s and early 70s it was all the rage to make one movie house into the two theaters probably because the box office alone was worth the split.

Roger Moore was my first Bond and, as everyone knows, you never forget your first. The only scenes I recall from this movie were scenes with, what I called then, "headhunters," which were in fact some kind of voodoo guys jumping around. Never mind what it was really about, from that day forward I knew two things: 1. There was only one Bond for me and 2. I was scared to death of headhunters. Seriously, I was. I couldn't even watch Gilligan’s Island if there was a headhunter jumping out and forget about watching the Saturday morning TV show Danger Island - that was a wash! After all, the Danger Island guys were painted like skeletons and that image still freaks me out. Back to my Bond. Something about him, the tux, the accent, the black hair, I'm not sure what lured me in but I stayed. My father took me to every James Bond movie that came out. I would often walk across a room, while humming the music, "dum dum dum dum-dum dum dum dum dum-dum...DA DA!" and spin and turn on my back foot to shoot down the barrel! I could BE James Bond! I often thought I was, even though I was afraid of heights and wouldn't even climb the monkey bars...I could be him. My brother, Jack, and I would get across Margate in two ways. First was across roof tops. They weren't exactly row homes or town houses but some garage roofs were connected. We could jump from our back deck to the garage next door. The distance was probably as wide as a side walk, as our side walkway was between us below, but to me it was like jumping from the roof of the Kremlin to a moving truck...exhilarating. Sometimes I just couldn't do it, even at Jack's behest. When my cousins would come visit, especially my cousin Scotty, they would join us on the adventures on the roof tops. One neighbor had a sort of square peak on one corner of the house and we could each take a slanted peak to lean on and our feet would be steady on the ledge. We would climb up to that one, like monkeys, over the fence, onto the shower house and up on cracked edges of shingles, no doubt our doing. We thought from up there we could see the world. Well, we could at least see several blocks and the beach.  We weren't always James Bond but some kind of spy network for sure. Binoculars were standard issue and Jack's Boy Scout canteen to keep us refreshed. The other way across town, canteen and all, was through people's yards. The houses were big in Margate but close together, side yards next to side yards and shared fences made for quick escapes. Dogs were occasionally and issue and I would be lying if I said we didn't all let out a screetch and high tail it back home when one took us by surprise. The short white picket fences were easy for us to hike over and run. Someone was always chasing us and we were on a deadline in our game of war or spydom to make it through undetected. Sometimes someone was really shouting at us through the window and when we got to the end, about four blocks to where the Pantry Pride parking lot used to be, behind the Margate Twin, we could rest. We wouldn't always dare go the same way back. We would be laughing so hard we would be crying. When we pulled ourselves together we might head back on the beach. Lots for a spy to do on the beach. James Bond lived! He lived to spy another day in my neighborhood.

As my father grew older, I was the one taking him to see James Bond. We saw all the Roger Moore's at the theater and both Timothy Dalton's. My father wasn't sold on Dalton but, like me, Bond was Bond and we are fans of him, not the actor. I was totally sold on Dalton. Funny, how I saw Roger Moore as being like a spy Dad and for the first time I saw Dalton's Bond as, well, sexy as hell. The accent, the hair, yeah it was all there and he had been a girlhood crush since Flash Gordon. I could be Mrs. Bond! Nah, I could still be his partner that would go on adventures with him, yeah, I'd have his back. I knew he wasn't the settling down type. Dalton was a rugged and handsome while still being smooth, oh so smooth! I would ride through the dessert with him any day. For Pierce Brosnan’s turn, I saw those on my own first but came home when I could and if it was still playing I would take my Dad. Brosnan, yes, I would totally be Mrs. Bond. Remington Steele has come home and he is looking good doing it. He brought the grit that the other Bonds lacked while losing none of the smoothness. By the time he was Bond, the Cold War that had been built into much of the series was gone and there were new villains and madmen about. Brosnan was perfect, as we had expected he would be. My father liked him as well. He thought Brosnan brought some real Bond back into the role. We were sorry to see him go.

I never saw another Bond movie, at the movie theater, with my father again after Golden Eye. I never missed one but moved away and was on my own and not home enough to go with Dad. I would tell him all about them and we would rent them when I came to visit. It was never the same. Bond was our thing, our thing we did together. I missed going with him and often found myself going alone. Not everyone shared my passion of Bond and seeing every movie at the theater. I alone had to keep the tradition going.

My husband, Bill, had been a Sean Connery fan. Being a few years older than me, his Bond experience was different than mine. He had his Bond and felt as passionately as I did about his favorite. A line had been drawn. His Mom had been the one that took him to the movies. Bill said Connery was a "manly man" and in the 1960s that was important. He felt Moore looked too old and didn't have the physic for Bond, as Connery did. Bill did think Brosnan fit the bill perfectly because he wasn't brawny but could make it work. He appreciated him as a good fit and compared to Connery. Who could replace Brosnan? Then along came Daniel Craig.

Daniel Craig stepping out of the surf in those short shorts, in that scene from Casino Royale. Stop the press! Yes, it was all about the shaking and stirring after that. People comment that he brought back the tough Bond, true to Fleming, and brashness to the part. I didn't even notice. It was like an epiphany with heavenly angels singing when he donned the screen. And the tux. He WAS James Bond. My husband thinks that Craig is a winner and puts up with my obvious drooling. I still walk through the living room and pretend to shoot down the barrel. Who doesn’t?

When my daughter, Trinity, was 6 we took her to see Skyfall. It was time. The new movies are more graphic than the old ones and more sexy (I covered her eyes) but still Bond. My daughter only knows one Bond now. For her its Daniel Craig. He is Bond to her and there is no other. Funny, how things come around. We were watching Cowboys and Aliens on video for the first time and she commented, "That’s James Bond!" Yes, yes it is.

 

 

 

 

Today's Music: Best Ever?

One Republic, Fall Out Boy, Iggy Azalea, Nicki Minaj, Ariana Grande, Maroon 5, Nico & Vinz, Echosmith, Ed Sheeran, Pitbull… Okay, admit it, how many of you are lost? I have to admit that if it weren’t for the summer of 2013 and satellite radio, I would never know some of the most fun music I have ever heard. In today’s popular music I have heard of some of the top performers like J Lo, John Legend, Robin Thicke Beyonce and Taylor Swift. It’s not like I have been living in a bubble but in some ways I have been.


In 2013, I spent about two weeks sitting by the community pool watching my kids swim. The lifeguards had the radio on, tuned into some “top 40” station. The tunes were poppy and feel good. I have to admit my toes tapped and I did feel good when listening to them. When I started driving my kids to summer camp, I listened to the “hit” channel on my satellite radio and my kids happily sang along. I have no idea where my kids heard these songs and I felt very out of the loop. Then I watched the BET Music Awards and my eyes were opened. First, they were opened to Robin Thicke. I had no idea that kind of groove was out there and the combination of the rap with the singing was brilliant. Turns out, nothing new! Blurred Lines started it all with me. After that I could not get enough of Get Lucky, Treasure, Radioactive, Can’t Hold Us, Thrift Shop, Roar, Drunk In Love,  Wake Me Up…among others. I felt like dancing in my seat and not in my seat. I am always a fan of a song with a good groove, no matter what the musical style and these songs did not disappoint. Some might think they are just pop diddies with no substance but that’s not true either. These songs cover a range of love, lust, self-empowerment and silliness. In today’s world of TV, movies and music nothing is off limits and that shows in the music as well.

2014 brought more of the same with Problem, Shake It Off, Fancy, Happy, Rude, Am I Wrong?, Cool Kids, Dark Horse, A Sky Full of Stars, All of Me, Talk Dirty, Classic, Sing, Timber…sound familiar yet? Most people have heard of Happy by Pharrell Williams. Probably one of the most infectious songs to come out of the past year of offerings. Basically, you are dancing to this unless you are already dead. Besides danceable fun grooves, there is also the combination of rap and singing into most of these top tunes of the past 2 years. This is nothing new and has been standard in R&B for years but it was new to me. Most people, my age, hear the word rap and don’t want to listen anymore. But like the songs that are fun, the raps are the same way. There is no cursing or violence in these raps but there is plenty of discussions of fine “booty.” Fancy, Blurred Lines, Timber, Sing and Classic and many more have brilliantly combined these musical styles. Almost every song on J Lo’s latest release, AKA, is an exciting mesh of rap and singing. My favorite song being, Booty, a tribute to women with boom in all the right places. Her seductive lyrics combine in contrast to Pitbull’s rap, “I wanna take that big ‘ol booty shopping at the mall, I wanna pick it up and put that booty in my car,” and becomes more fun than should be allowed in one song. J Lo commented in an interview that R&B/pop performers love to perform together and don’t feel territorial or competitive. She had asked Steven Tyler, when they were on American Idol together, if he ever thought of teaming up other rockers and do the same thing…he said, “No.” Not that this doesn’t happen, it just isn’t so often. Maybe that is why I never hear a new rock song on the radio unless it is “alternative.”

I believe music (as with all creative endeavors) should evoke the listener to feel something. If I listen to music and don’t feel anything or don’t want to move to it…I am not interested. I really don’t care if these artists are “one hit wonders,” or “flash in the pan,” performers. They will have a lasting effect on music and on me. As I hear my daughter sing along to the radio, I know that some lyrics cross generations, “I wish that I could be like the cool kids, ‘cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in…” and I am happy to sing along.

Simply Irresistible

Last week, when we were driving home from picking up the kids from school, “Simply Irresistible” by Robert Palmer came on the radio. I looked out the window and smiled. Just before the song came on I had mentioned to my husband that I was feeling a little sad and missed my Dad. It had just been his birthday and the second anniversary of his death was approaching. Then the music began to play. I turned to my husband and said, “My Dad loved this song.” My husband replied, “I know. Me too.”

My father was a famous ladies man in his day. At my father’s funeral my cousins, all male, commented and laughed about how my father, Uncle John, had a keen eye for the ladies. When they were teenagers he was happy to have them bring their girlfriends down to our house by the beach. He had his favorites. He would also go to “Parents Without Partners” meetings in the 1970s and troll for dates. He enjoyed the single life.

I would sometimes come home from work or be watching TV, when I lived with my Dad, and I would hear blasting from the stereo upstairs, “She used to look good to me…but now I find her…simply irresistible…” It was my Dad playing my Robert Palmer album! That stereo that played Bach, Beethoven, Mozart and the greatest symphonies ever recorded was playing “Simply Irresistible.” I could hear my Dad singing along. Those that know him can only imagine. Remember my father was the epitome of the “college professor” complete with a corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows and a pipe. “Ah, Sally, those were the days,” he would say when I came up the stairs to see him. He had no regrets about his love life, that I could see or that he told of.

When “Simply Irresistible” comes on the radio I always smile and sometimes chuckle at my Dad. Singing full voice and owning that song, “She’s so fine…there’s no tellin’ where the money went…”  After all, he would know.

Doctor, My Doctor

“I am alone. The world which shook at my feet and the trees and the sky have gone. And I am alone now. Alone. The wind bites now and the world is crying. And I am alone here…Can’t see me. Doesn’t see me. Can’t see me.” Those words were spoken by new Doctor, Peter Capaldi, in the first scene in which he speaks clearly and lucidly. His companion, Clara, believes the Doctor is translating the words of a Dinosaur that is trapped in the Thames, but was he? How much of that was the Doctor and how much of that was the Dinosaur, is hard to say. He echoes that sentiment to Clara at the end of the episode as well, “I’m standing right in front of you and you can’t see me.” Some feel he was speaking to not just Clara but to the fans. Well done Moffat! Capaldi’s triumph, so far, as the Doctor comes among much fanfare, fear and trepidation of fans. It can be said without question that this is the most anticipated, advertised and scary Doctor regeneration that has ever occurred. Can the old guy pull it off? Can he replace such a loved Doctor?

Well, the second question has been answered eleven times already as the regeneration process has lead to tears of sadness of the past and embracing of the future of the newest Doctor. When the youngest actor to play the Doctor emerged on the scene there was a great deal of concern. Speaking of Peter Davison, of course, who up to that point, was the youngest actor to play the Doctor at age 29. He had one of the toughest jobs of taking over from one of the all time fan favorites, Tom Baker who played the part for 7 years and still holds the record. And for many fans in the US, was their first Doctor. It was not until 2009 when 26 year old Matt Smith again brought that youthful twinkle to everyone’s favorite time traveler. Although, David Tennant appeared to have a corner on the “fangirl” market, Smith’s appeal to all ages seems to have what had endeared him to fans. Smith played the Doctor as an old man in a young man’s body. Now, what does that leave Capaldi? Capaldi, who now looks more like the Doctors of the “classic” series has to follow a young man’s face.

The first question can be answered with a resounding, yes – he can pull it off. Capaldi’s Doctor is an emerging character that arrives with memory issues, as is common, but finds his footing quickly on who he is and what his purpose is. Unlike the two previous incarnations of “the man who regrets” and “the man who forgets,” this Doctor remembers more than he would like and in regard to regrets, plans to do something about them. He is 100% Doctor with his humor, arrogance and strong sense of justice and when he comes down the stairs of the TARDIS and says, “I am the Doctor,” I believe it.

Maybe it is because of my age that Capaldi appeals to me. He is the same age that William Hartnell was when he took over as the Doctor at age 55. Hartnell’s Doctor was an elderly grandfather type and was playing older than he was. Capaldi on the other hand is spry and physical with his character echoing the physical comedy of not only Smith’s Doctor but that of, my favorite, Jon Pertwee. Capaldi will not be attracting the fan girls and I doubt there will be any episodes of him snogging his companions and I, for one, am happy for that. The Doctor has a lot on his mind these days – his past. As he travels through this new series trying to figure out what to fix in his last 2000 years of existence, it makes me wonder. I wonder about those mistakes the Doctor feels he has made and will he actually correct any. I fear obsessing over such things may lead to his undoing in future episodes and it appears the mystery woman that is collecting the dead will be an interesting distraction.

Clara claims not to be sure who the Doctor is now. But we, the fans, know. He is exactly who we think he is. He is all 13 Doctors with one face. He is bringer of hope and salvation to many and destruction to those that will harm the innocent. He is an unlikely hero who wants neither the title nor responsibility of one. He is the Doctor. We can see you. Welcome back.

Welcome to Wilkzly Press Blog!

Welcome to the Wilkzly Press blog! I have been a blogger in the past, as The Movie Mommy, but times have changed and I have moved past just reviewing movies - I want to write my own. I am a short film script writer, mostly.  I have also written TV scripts and am currently working on either a book or graphic novel. Hard to say at this point.
I tend to think in dialogue and that what has lead me here. I look forward to hearing from like minded people. I will use this blog to update you on my progress of being published and/or finding an agent. As well as tips I find out that might help others. I also might just post random thoughts and ideas and movie and TV reviews.
Feel free to send me anything you wish me to post!
Sarah