So I didn't really want to talk about a loss that completely wah-wah-wah (only my second loss of the season), but since we've sat out in pretty much everything else the atmosphere has thrown at us, I felt I did have to mention that we were at a game under a Blue Moon tonight.
Things that happen during Blue Moon Games?
1) You get out of work early, for once, and decide to head up to the game early. And that of course means it will take you over an hour to get there because of subway delays.
2) While you are delayed, a 50something crazy drunk woman and her husband get on in your car, and the woman proceeds to make quite the scene. Some younger guys on the train indulge her for awhile good humoredly, but when she starts getting slightly physical and more than crazy verbally on them - and her husband just stands and watches, even when one of the guys is like "Get control of your wife, sir" - it gets extremely uncomfortable. Then she starts fake crying. And the husband still does nothing. Another man gives up his seat for her and tries to say cheerful things to her, but she is crazy drunk and pretends to sob into her backpack. And it's all made even worse because the train is going suuuuuuuuper slow, as if on purpose. Friends, it was the craziest ride I've ever had on the New York City subway system. Mark it down.
3) Steph accurately calls that amidst the wah-wah score, some Yankee will hit a meaningless solo home run in the bottom of the 9th, all for naught. (Thanks for making that come true, Curtis.)
4) It will be an "amatuer hour" crowd, meaning it's made up mostly of those who only come to one game a season, ooh and ahh over OBVIOUS foul balls/pop flies as if they have a serious chance of leaving park, and of course boo when they think they've been wronged. I mean, how dare the Yankees make an out when you've been a long-suffering fan of six whole innings? I will give them this: they didn't start the wave. But that's because they were all heading for the exits by the end of the 7th. Boo on them, I say.
5) You will pass the bearded, very enthusiastic "Fan of the Game" on the way out. And it's like a celebrity sighting.
6) On the train ride home, not as crazy as a drunk lady yelling "Yankees Stink!", is a still-crazy-enough scenario where a guy intensely plays The Godfather theme on his electric...saxophone? I think that's what it was... and you have to start quoting the movie, of course, and then you give him money - as do many other people. Never let anyone tell you that Yankee fans aren't generous following a loss - and he is so, so thankful. So at least you helped make someone's night better.
Emails between my dad and me, after I tell him about a beloved antiques store in my old 'hood that has closed, and provide a link to the store announcing its fate:
Me: If they knock that building down to put something stupid there, I will NOT patronize there. How does a place lose its lease after 29 years except because of jerky landlords?:
http://www.monmouthantiqueshoppes.com/***
Dad:
That’s what my SMART Filter says. Sorry I didn’t shop there more often.
Me:Wow, naked statues are pornography. Okay then! I did a little digging, and it turns out the whole yellow building and nextdoor are being razed so this yuppie magnet can go in its place. Promise me you and mom won't go to the restaurant they're planning.
Dad:If it’s taking the porn away they won’t get my business.
***Editors note: There is nothing even vaguely porn-y on that site.
Also, lest you think he is some kind of perv, my father is joking. I think.
So. The Monkees. One of my first instances of appointment television, made easier by the fact that many of the episodes aired during my summer vacation, when I was either home alone or at my baby sitter's. And what's better for an only child than hanging out with four adorable, somewhat hapless-and-resourceful-at-the-same-time friends, who also provide a kick-ass soundtrack? It helps when your real-life friends are equally as into this sort of thing and your parents seem to have no problem enabling. Rock.
As a kid, it's kind of hard to resist grown-but-still-young men acting like they're your age. In this case, a struggling rock group is on their own, but they don't have all the answers yet and still manage to get in trouble, as you do. Improbable in real life - I mean, I don't know too many 20somethings mistakenly purchasing a pair of maracas with secret spy microfilm in it - but as a kid? This concept is amazing. Like, you know when you're really young and there's a party with mostly adults, and then there's that one teenager/young "grownup" who takes an interest in what you're doing and ends up playing with you? And you feel incredibly cool? That's what this show was like when I was younger.
Now, it's a whole other thing. It's certainly not rocket science and a few things are a bit dated, but there are still moments/sight gags that are laugh-out-loud funny. There are also things that make you go "aww", because you're watching it with an adult mindset and the characters are now younger than you (which is quite the mindf***). Like, one of the things that strikes me as I watch this show as an adult is how utterly devoted the characters were to each other. Like, one will get involved in a completely ridiculous situation and the rest don't get annoyed or angry. Nay, without a word or even an eyeroll, they decide to help. Again, probably not how things go in real life, but it's a pretty nice message to send kids: Have patience with other people's flaws/issues, and they will do the same for you. What a concept.
Anyhow, I thought I'd highlight some of my favorite episodes, having watched them at age 9/10 and at 35. Kid KB and Adult KB are totally high-fiving on this right now (even though Kid KB is like "WHAT'S AN INTERNET?"). I'll put links to the episodes in each title, in case you find yourself inclined to see what I'm talking about or want to relive the awesomeness yourself. And I may do a separate post on the "romp" sequences, aka a precursor to music videos, aka totally on-par with the montage-y part of an A-Team episode where they make weapons/booby traps/etc., in terms of Best Things In TV Shows.
Right after Davy died, there was a Monkees marathon on while I was visiting my parents. And we totally watched this episode, which was the first full one I'd seen since probably 1988. It's one of the first of the series, as is evidenced by everyone's hair (Peter and Mike: shortish, no mutton chops. Micky: straight. Davy: Somewhat long). Basically, the Monkees are such nice guys - once returning a wallet with $600 to the man they think is its owner - that the "owner" decides to leave them his library's organ after he passes away. But the guys must go to his creepy island mansion to claim it, and there are other people there claiming their willed gifts, and some who want the old dude's old fortune, and are PISSED when it's left to his grand niece. So of course all these stodgy "adults" want her out of the picture, and the Monkees have to help the gal out — partly because they're nice and can't resist thwarting a scheme, mostly because Davy has fallen in love even before conversing with her, as per episodic custom.
At one point, the guys decide the place is too creepy and they have to decide who stands watch while the other three sleep. Because they are not too macho to act frightened, they shoot fingers for it. And as they do, this happens...:
...which, for some reason, just cracks my s*** up now. As do all of their adorable pajamas, and the St. Bernard Mike somehow manages to summon with some random bones lying in the closet. I remember this episode from when I was a kid because it's where I learned what a seance was. And also where I learned the word "pshaw." I did not question why Micky was seemingly making his own roofies, but I was probably too entranced in his MacGyver/A-Teamness of making a radio into a telephone to notice.
You know why I remember this episode from when I was a kid? Not because Davy is the absolute definition of "I want to put him in my pocket" here. Not because Mike imagines himself a matador when tasked with milking a cow. Not because Peter is crazy crazy awesome enough to make "cream of root beer" soup. And certainly not because a horse is a special guest star. Nay. (See what I did there?) It's Micky and his, um, unique way of calling the pigs home (at the 1:25 mark).
My friends and I? Well, we rewound this scene like sixty times on the good old VCR. I kid you not. It's where I learned what "sooey pig" meant, too, and where else is a tween from suburban New Jersey going to get that sort of information? The Monkees: Bringing you The More You Know before The More You Know was even a gleam in someone's eye. (And, yes, I remember a time on NBC when that didn't yet exist in the world of Saturday Morning Cartoons. Were the Smurfs better without a commercial break "message"? Probably)
This is one of those episodes that I don't think you can appreciate unless you've watched a good chunk of the series, because it's the one that kind of goes off the rails in terms of silliness and banks a lot on the guys' chemistry. Also, I'd be willing to bet there was some, um, recreational things, going on during filming. But all the zaniness works here, and I suppose setting it in a casino with Rip Taylor as a special guest star only adds to the insanity. Micky lamenting the nonexistence of his "magic fingers" (and Davy telling him he thinks they're still nice), Peter stealing Davy's usual line of "You must be joking" and Mike blindly wandering into a wall, calling for the token hot girl of the episode all work really well, if complete and utter silliness is your bag (it's my steamer trunk, by the by).
Also, the romp, set to "The Door Into Summer" (a pretty kick-ass little tune, BTW) is pretty awesome, with some wonderful little tongue-in-cheek moments: Mike acting as a scale, everyone getting distracted by the token hot girl, Peter sitting on the roulette wheel and passing out flowers. Because it's the 60s, y'all.
I do not remember this episode from when I was a kid, and that's a shame, because taking a stab at fables and putting characters in costume, especially cross dressing, is never wrong when children are involved. But then I do not think I would've been able to appreciate Mike Nesmith's turn as "Princess Gwen" as much as I do now. If only because while also playing a lowly townsperson, he gets to lustfully admire the princess/himself with "A body like that and those sideburns"
And Micky's delivery on the line "Right, sammiches, yeah" kills me for some reason. Also "Hey, Town Cryer, baby." And glass beer stines full of...milk. And the "tall tower" where the princess is being held against her will in the medieval tale is none other than the Empire State Building, which I've posted about before. It was a sight-gag I was not expecting the first time I saw it, and literally LOL'd. Because I'm easy like that. And that's not even to mention Davy as Red Riding Hood/Gretel and Micky as Goldilocks/Hansel. And the fact that they're all wearing their modern-day watches
It's all completely silly, but it works because everyone involved seems to be having a pretty damn good time.
This might be the most sincere and sweetest episode in the whole series. Peter, the sensitive, simple one, gets lured into a music shop, where the Devil takes advantage of Peter's adoration of a harp and swindles him out of his soul for said harp and the sudden ability to play it. Of course, when the guys figure this out they're horrified, but what I really like about it is how it illustrates the depths of their friendship: Davy, upon hearing that Hell is like being in an eternal depression, volunteers to go in Peter's place, for crying out loud. That's friendship, man.
The romp - in which the guys all get to experience Hell to the tune of "Salesman" (one of the more perfect meetings of music and montage in the series) is made up of a bunch of quick shots and is one of the more modern-feeling montages they do. And then, in the trial sequence, where Micky, Mike and Davy do battle with the Devil for Peter's soul, Mike makes a lovely little speech about how Peter's love for the harp and his own abilities made him able to play it, not the Devil's powers or his contract, and nothing can take that away from him (which, sidebar is all sort of a nice little parallel to what the group was going through with trying to gain their musical independence and prove that they could indeed play their own music. It had to be pretty s***ty to have to deal with the criticism they got back then, when they did, indeed want to be part of the musical action), and then Peter's playing makes called-to-trial witnesses Billy the Kid, Blackbeard and Atilla the Hun cry.
Peter's childlike innocence, and the guys fighting to preserve that innocence puts it over the top in terms of good episodes. Also it's pretty awesome given the 20-20 hindsight you can have over saying the word Hell on TV. Oh, how times have changed.
This episode is, hands down, my favorite episode as an adult, because there is so much awesomeness jam-packed into this one. Basically, Peter is suddenly Thomas Kinkade or something, and while showcasing this ability at an art museum is recruited by two shifty security guards to replicate a famous painting they intend to steal and replace with Peter's copy. They then take him hostage, not realizing he has three friends who don't believe in calling the cops when one of them goes missing.
Why it's awesome:
- When one of the guards impatiently asks Peter to finish the painting - a centuries-old portrait - Peter lovingly adds to it a hat that looks like Mike's. Like so.
- When the other guys discover Peter missing, they split up in the museum to find him. Micky ventures into a room with an artist who is rabidly pretentious and intense (he paints with his hands and his feet) and is therefore terrifying. Mike wanders into a room where a formal-looking audience is prepared to watch a piano concert... or, rather, Liberace - yes, Liberace - destroy a piano with a golden sledgehammer...as performance art? I don't know. But I do know the close-ups of Mike's horrified face, followed by close-ups of a gleeful sledgehammer-wielding Liberace, with Mike Nesmith, the actor, collapsing with laughter in the background are worth it alone.
- The homage to Mission: Impossible, in which the guys break into the museum to switch the paintings, complete with nicknames and rope ladders.
- Micky meowing at random intervals during the caper... because he's a cat burglar, y'all.
- The romp. Oh, this one is wonderful. Between Micky and Mike waltzing with their goggles on, to Peter and Mike mysteriously - and delightedly - floating off the balcony, to the scary artist just happening to show up and spoil Micky's good time, as well as reliving some of Liberace's piano demolition, it's kind of in the pantheon of Monkee romps. For me, anyway.
It's rare that I can point to one specific moment in a show that made me fall in love with it. Like, I only know of two current programs that I can say this about (The Office, season one, the Basketball episode when Stanley starts to dribble, and "Mr. Campbell...who cares?" in season one of Mad Men), but it doesn't happen a lot, and the first time it ever happened for me was with The Monkees. In this case, the first 40 seconds of this clip - in an episode where a blinded-by-love Davy gets him tricked into performing in a talent show with a girl - made me this show's bitch. Keep in mind I was 9, but I still get a kick out it :
The bird in the bag, you guys. Oh my god. I remember watching this on Nick at Nite over at my friend Brian's house and both of us literally falling over, howling with laughter. Between the squawk, the pathetic flurry of feathers and then the pained look on Peter's face, I was totally smitten. That's the kind of kid I was. I also watched this episode recently with Davy Jones' commentary, and when this scene came on, he could not stop laughing. So I know I'm not the only one.
It's also awesome because the guys went to such great lengths to keep Davy from getting used by this chick and her stage mother. I mean, since Davy won't listen to his buds on any other matter related to women, they enter this America's Got Talent like show (no, really, people were supposed to call in and vote for their favorite act) just so they can sabotage this woman's scheming and get their friend back from her clutches. It works, and Davy apologizes, and just like that, the guys forgive him.
A passing storm, yes, but one that makes it look like if our Season Ticket Fridays were a studio-shot TV show, this would be the "Haunted Yankee Game" episode, and the Dark and Stormy Night backdrop would be called in from the set designers. There'd be castle thunder, and something zany would happen, like my hot dog gets struck by lightning, but not before Dracula and a Werewolf, sitting in our row, of course, make fun of my journal, and the studio audience "awws" sympathetically. Or Steph says something about it not being that bad, rain-wise and when she closes her umbrella, a random beer vendor suddenly tosses a bucket of water on her, mistaking her bag of popcorn for a fire or something.
None of that did happen last night, and the Yanks rallied and won and we stayed dry, and we suddenly have a new hipster friend in our section, and we had mini cupcakes for Jen's birthday, and it's "Farm for my meals," not "Fight for my meals" in "Baba O'Riley," and stuff like that.
But if Dracula and a Werewolf did mock my journal, I'd make sure to toss a random bucket of water on them. And the studio audience would cheer with zeal. You could bet your ass on that.
And that says a lot because I so totally loathe that song (which goes to show you I don't, in fact, love ALL cheese, so there).
Also completely delightful is the Paul O'Neill/David Cone combo in the booth. I've snerked several times the last few games, specifically with the two of them flipping the eff out over the idea of being patted on the shoulder reassuringly by a coach because it interferes with their intense game face or whatever.
But would they dance...if I asked them to dance?
Okay, that's it. Putting the hate hat for Enrique Iglesias' turn-of-the-century tuneage back on now.
"Some people would say, '1984, ah, a good year' for a bottle of wine. We say that for Casey Kasem's Sunday morning American Top 40 flashback countdowns. :)" - Tonya
I know you were all just dying to know how that turned out. Now you can rest easy. ETA: They've sold out a few locations already, so apparently I'm not the only nutcase out there. Good to know.
But it got me thinking about things I geek out about and it made me wonder if it's more than the average person. Like, it made me realize I have a lot of...hobbies. You totally thought I was going to say "issues," didn't you. WELL.:
Other Things I've Been Known to Dork Out Over:
- The Yankees (obviously, but this is also like knowing how to speak another language, so it should probably get more credence than just Geeking Out)
- The Weather
- The Olympics
- Young adult literature
- Anything to do with "old" music (i.e. predating 1994), particularly finishing lyrics like it's my job or something (I really kind of wish it WAS. How much would that rule?).
- Horse racing
- Putting together furniture. You got some IKEA stuff that needs assembling? I'm your gal.
- Christmas
- Period pieces (I liked Masterpiece Theatre looooong before Downton Abbey. Like, 20 years longer. Just to FYI)
- The 80s
- American Idol (for now, anyway. We'll see after this season)
- Real estate (no, really, House Hunters - loooooong before it was cool to watch it - and those free real estate guides in the supermarket are like my crack)
- The following TV shows: Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Friday Night Lights
So there you go. Now you should never be surprised if you see me blogging about building a bookcase with an unpronounceable Scandinavian name during a blizzard while a House Hunters marathon is on...God, that sounds like a great day.
No, really, I need you looking the other way, in case this is foretelling a 3/4 Monkees reunion (there's going to be a special announcement on the Monkees' Facebook page tomorrow too, so there's a good chance Mike isn't using the royal "we" here), and it comes to NYC, and I decide to get myself a ticket and not feel you judging me with your judging eyes. Oh, all right, fine. I get it. Just promise me you won't roll your eyes until you're off this page, Judgey McJudgerson.
But, seriously, if it is true, that status gets a slow-clap from me. He must've been waiting years to say that...
Those of you who are longtime readers of this blog know how seriously I take the Olympics (nerrrrrrd alert). You also know how seriously I take the media when a torches-and-pitchforks mentality is involved (see: Rodriguez, Alexander Emmanuel, pre-steroid scandal). So whence the two meet, it's like my brain starts imploding upon itself, and I am all but powerless against the urge to blog about it.
It all started today when Vicki and I were discussing McKayla Maroney's silver-medal-winning vault, and her ensuing looks of disappointment/frustration and how people were calling her out for what they perceived as her being ungrateful. Which is funny, because as I watched last night's broadcast - and not going off of pooled-together pictures and videos - I was surprised how composed she was after it all, and yes, saw her hugging her competitors with my own two eyes. Then it took another step for me this afternoon when I started seeing several websites calling her out on her facial expressions and lack of proper "sportsmanship" because she didn't give a big-ass hug to one gymnast and dared to look tight-faced at certain points. Because, you know, if she'd stood there on the podium blubbering, that would've been okay.
What I really take offense to is this labeling of her as a "brat" and a "mean girl" because of pieced-together footage (i.e., people making judgments after not seeing the entire thing played out). Now, I don't know her, and therefore I don't know if she isn't a "mean girl" in real life. But you know what? You don't know that she IS one, either. To just assume and name-call is irresponsible, especially given how quickly memes catch on on the internet these days. And especially given that she's so young. Because I'm sure we all had boatloads of grace under pressure, which this girl apparently "lacks," when we were her age.
Oh, yes.
Even more bothersome is that McKayla Maroney went from Girl Who Landed One of the Most Beautiful Vaults of All-Time — Here, Look at My Fanboy/girl-y GIF Collection of It If You Don't Believe Me! to Bitchface Gymanast Who is Ungrateful for a Silver Medal, Oh, and She's a Mean Girl. And you know this for a fact because she twitched her nose to the side during the medals ceremony (and we'll just ignore the pics of her actually smiling afterward). It's not only jarring because the change in attitude happened over the span of a few days, but because people are taking equal delight in the tear-down. It shouldn't surprise me, given how this has happened since the beginning of time, but it still is kind of gross. There's breathless praise and breathless scorn (why, yes, scorn can be breathless too), and somewhere in the middle is a rational truth - but that's unfortunately too boring for most websites, I guess.
And what's even MORE frustrating is that she clearly knew she beat herself here - she wasn't pointing fingers or playing the blame game like an entitled diva. It wasn't a scoring decision from a shady judge that put a puss on her face, or a teammate faltering at the wrong time whom she just HAD to show up in bratty fashion - it was her own fault. And, as Vicki pointed out, she was quoted as saying as much afterward. She, herself, thought she didn't deserve gold. Yet other people? Are still saying the color of the medal is the problem here for her and not the torture of "What could I have done differently?" Because the memes don't mention that - it wouldn't further their agenda, be it humorous or "informative" or whatever, you see.
And even if she WAS disappointed in her silver medal - what's it to us? I mean, we can't be the ones who bitch about the "snowflake generation" — which Ms. Maroney is entrenched in — and how they're all told how special they are and that there's never a loser and everyone gets a trophy, even if they don't try hard (and then turn out entitled as all get out and are unleashed on an older workforce and...SIGH)... and then turn around and call this girl a "brat" because we perceive her to — gasp — be annoyed that she didn't perform as well as she thought she could have. After she worked toward this goal for her entire life. Like, how many of us can say that we sacrificed our childhoods and teen years to become the best at what we do, snowflake generation or older? And then fell flat on our ass in front of god knows how many millions of people? At sixteen years old?
No, me neither.
But thank god there's the internet. Because where would these athletes be if not for an army of arm-chair Olympians here to help police their emotions?
SIGH.
Some snaps of this evening's evil-looking clouds... which, I swear, if this storm interrupts Breaking Bad I'll be really, really pissed... Oh, just pretend you're interested.
Rolling on in...
...and because we just have to have the hipster-esque retro view to make it look creepier.
Not a funnel cloud. Some faint little cloud burst, I imagine.
This is when the wind started kicking up. It only lasted a few minutes, but it was just as bad as it was during the hurricane. No lie.
The cat hid under the bed at this point, so I took that as my cue to retreat to a slightly-less windowed room. Which is hard in an apartment, but you do what you can.
And after the rain. What happens after that, you say? Let these guys tell you:
Whatever happened to wind fans and pyrotechnics? Kids today don't know what they're missing from their music videos, I swear. Also... 18 years old and your dad's still buying your cassette tapes? I don't know, kid...
My mom has long accused me of being stubborn. I prefer "steadfast in my beliefs", but I assume it stems from being a Taurus. Anyway, such is my steadfastness, that I decided this Olympics, I wasn't going to spoil myself with any results, because NOTHING beats the true and utter delight of sports stress. Well, when the result is good, anyway. I've been going to some slight extremes, mostly just plain-old avoidance to ensure that the results are unknown to me. It's pretty much a full-time job during my waking hours.
Things I've done to not be spoiled:
- Ripped the earbuds out of my ears the second the DJ of the station I listen to starts going into his whole "And how do you think the Olympic team is —" I DON'T THINK, MR. DJ.
- Not gone on Twitter between 8 a.m. and 11:30 p.m.
- Not gone on Yahoo for DAYS.
- Not visited CNN, or any news site, for that matter. I've essentially been in a bubble from the news. Which might actually be good for my psyche given some of the junk I've been hearing about through friends.
- Not watched the Yankees/Red Sox game on Sunday night because of the stupid constant ticker going across the bottom of the screen
This is all key because even with my steadfastness, I HAVE seen some results. And it sucks.
How I've been spoiled:
- Fact-checking Ryan Lochte on Google for work... and the results of his race that day coming up right there for all the world to see. Yes, thanks.
- A girl's iPhone on the PATH peeking out from under her book with another Lochte-related headline in like 100-point font. It killed me because she was reading the book, NOT the phone.
- My office building's elevator TV revealing the gold medalist from the Men's All-Around. It usually warns you with a big blinking screen before posting spoilers - which is really nice of it - but I must've gotten in after that.
Thanks to a bathroom break, I avoided the majorly stupid spoiler of the week, in which NBC plugged Missy Franklin and her gold medal being on the Today show the next morning... before her race even aired. Or as Dexter, who was not so lucky, Tweeted at me: "Nice! Nature's call saved it for you!"
And I didn't go on Twitter to retrieve that post until AFTER I'd seen the Women's All Around (Yayyyy!). So how do you like them steadfast-ass apples?